Beyond the Timescape

Chapter 37: Power Over Life and Death

The moment the teacup clinked against the table, the long street outside the Camp Master’s estate had already become a river of blood.

Xu Qing moved like a starving tiger. Wherever he passed, blood sprayed in wide, gruesome arcs. He carved a path of absolute carnage, walking and slaughtering without a single wasted breath.

Ahead of him, the Camp Master’s guards swarmed from all directions, joined by dozens of strangers in black—cultivators from the caravan. Their target was identical: Xu Qing.

As they closed in, a sudden gust of wind swept the hair from Xu Qing’s eyes. Finding the unfamiliar longsword on his back too cumbersome, he drew his dagger. Melting into the howling wind, he lunged straight at a sixth-level Qi Condensation caravan cultivator.

They crossed paths. A head spiraled into the air.

As blood rained down, more black-clad men and guards rushed forward to fill the gap.

Staring at the caravan cultivators, a sudden realization pierced Xu Qing’s mind. He remembered the day the caravan arrived. Captain Lei had gone out to buy groceries but returned almost immediately. He must have spotted his old enemies and tried to flee the camp early.

Xu Qing fell silent. His killing intent thickened into something suffocating. Abandoning all evasion, he exploded forward, charging headlong into the fray.

In the distance, two figures stood atop a rooftop.

One was an old man in a blue Daoist robe, hands clasped behind his back as he coldly observed the street. The other was a middle-aged man in martial attire, sitting casually while chewing on a thick, tendon-like cord. A closer look revealed it to be Cross’s bowstring. Cross’s bowstring was forged from extraordinary materials, impervious to ordinary iron, yet this man was gnawing it into pieces.

“Interesting. He’s a body refiner like me, though only around the sixth or seventh level. He should be much more fun to break than that guy with the cross scar.”

“Will you take him, or shall I?” the old man asked, his voice placid.

“This is Vajra Sect territory, and the Camp Master is an Elder of your Sect. Naturally, the honor belongs to you, the newly promoted Elder,” the middle-aged man sneered, spitting out a wad of chewed tendon.

A deafening boom interrupted them. Shrill screams echoed down the street as the seven or eight guards and black-clad men surrounding Xu Qing were violently thrown back. They staggered, vomiting mouthfuls of blood, each bearing a fatal wound before collapsing into the dirt.

From the center of the carnage, Xu Qing emerged.

His fur-lined coat was saturated with gore. His straw sandals were dyed pitch-black. His long hair whipped wildly in the wind, framing eyes as cold and desolate as a lone wolf’s. His right arm hung loose at his side, blood sliding down the blade of his dagger to patter against the earth.

The corpses around him were mangled beyond recognition. Xu Qing hadn’t tortured them; he simply struck exclusively at their vitals, leaving behind a horrific tapestry of ruined flesh. His strikes were purely lethal, devoid of any wasted movement. The scavengers watching from the shadows felt their souls tremble.

Xu Qing didn’t spare the bodies a single glance. His face was a mask of apathy, but his eyes boiled with bloodlust. He marched relentlessly toward the Camp Master’s estate, now barely three hundred zhang away.

As he approached, the remaining caravan cultivators and guards stationed before the estate trembled, instinctively backing away from the approaching reaper.

Xu Qing picked up his pace, his gaze locking onto the two figures on the distant roof. Their auras were the strongest he had encountered tonight. He knew exactly what this meant. Once he chose to draw his blade, he had to slaughter his way to the very end. And they were blocking his path.

He stopped, raised his left hand, and curled his finger in a slow, deliberate beckon.

“Arrogant!” The blue-robed old man narrowed his eyes, a lethal glint flashing within. Wind surged beneath his feet as he stepped off the roof, seemingly walking on thin air straight toward Xu Qing!

The guards, the caravan men, and the hiding scavengers gasped in awe. In their eyes, only Foundation Establishment experts could tread the heavens. To them, Foundation Establishment cultivators were akin to gods—beings capable of ruling a small faction like the Vajra Sect as a patriarch.

But this old man was no Foundation Establishment expert; he had merely broken into the eighth level of Qi Condensation. His ‘air-walking’ was a cheap parlor trick born of his wind techniques. It drained energy, couldn’t be sustained, and held zero practical combat value. It was pure pageantry.

Yet, it was enough to terrify the ignorant.

Xu Qing was entirely unimpressed. The moment the old man descended, Xu Qing discreetly scattered a handful of poison powder into the air and launched himself forward. He moved so fast he left an afterimage. Before the old man could even register the shift, Xu Qing was already in his face.

Xu Qing threw a devastating punch. The phantom of a Kui materialized over his fist, unleashing a silent, earth-shattering roar. Caught mid-air, the old man couldn’t dodge. He frantically formed hand seals, conjuring a wind barrier.

Boom!

The barrier shattered like glass. The sheer kinetic force sent the old man tumbling backward. Simultaneously, a black iron tag shot from Xu Qing’s sleeve, whistling toward the old man’s heart.

Clang!

A defensive shield materialized, blocking the iron tag. The shield splintered into pieces, absorbing the blow, but the old man behind it coughed up blood, his grand entrance reduced to a pathetic scramble.

The old man’s face twisted in humiliation. He opened his mouth to speak, but the expressionless Xu Qing stomped the ground, closing the distance with an explosive boom.

Panic and rage flooded the old man’s eyes. He threw his hands up, summoning a violent gale that swept outward in all directions. Taking a massive breath, he sucked the swirling wind into his lungs. His face flushed crimson, his eyes gleaming with sadistic intent as he prepared to exhale a devastating blast.

Then, his eyes bulged. His skin rapidly blackened, the unmistakable rot of potent poison taking hold. Violent tremors wracked his body.

“You—”

Before the word could fully leave his lips, Xu Qing was upon him. Driven by terrifying momentum, Xu Qing’s dagger glowed red-hot like a branding iron. He slashed it brutally across the old man’s throat.

A geyser of blood erupted. As the old man shrieked, Xu Qing’s left hand clamped onto his hair, ripping the severed head from its shoulders without breaking stride.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Without missing a beat, Xu Qing hurled the bruised, poisoned head at the middle-aged man on the roof. The man had just stood up, his face pale, his eyes now wide with profound dread. Xu Qing raised his left hand and, just as before, beckoned him.

Time seemed to freeze. The scavengers, the guards, the caravan escorts—everyone was paralyzed by a tidal wave of terror. An indescribable chill gripped their spines.

“He’s… a monster…”

“Was that poison? What kind of poison acts that fast?!” a scavenger stammered.

On the roof, the middle-aged man’s breathing grew ragged.

Are the Vajra Sect cultivators all brain-dead? Why the hell was he showing off in a deathmatch?!

He knew the blue-robed Elder wasn’t weak; his wind arts were genuinely lethal. But his fatal mistake was sacrificing the initiative for a flashy entrance, underestimating his opponent, and blindly inhaling a lungful of poisoned air. Ultimately, the pampered life of a Sect cultivator had dulled his survival instincts. He lacked the ruthless, hyper-vigilant edge forged in the scavengers’ meat grinder.

Refusing to make the same mistake, the middle-aged man instantly pulled out seven or eight anti-poison Pills and swallowed them dry. He gritted his teeth. A sickening chorus of cracking bones echoed from his body as his already massive frame swelled with unnatural muscle. Leaping from the roof like a diving hawk, he plummeted toward Xu Qing.

Xu Qing lowered his head, his dark hair shadowing his eyes. He accelerated, sprinting directly at the falling giant. In the final second, both men pushed their speed to the absolute limit and collided.

Boom!

The middle-aged man shuddered violently, absolute horror dawning on his face. The shockwave blew Xu Qing’s hair back, revealing eyes burning with a demonic, blood-red glare.

The man’s physical strength was staggering, but it still fell short of Xu Qing’s. And Xu Qing’s regenerative abilities were monstrous. Unleashing the full, explosive power of his cultivation, Xu Qing threw another punch!

A battle between body refiners was a brutal, primal affair. They traded blows on the blood-soaked street, the concussive booms of their fists shattering the surrounding houses.

Within moments, the middle-aged cultivator was gasping for air. His face drained of color, his muscles spasmed, and his veins bulged as if ready to burst. Bloodshot eyes betrayed his mounting despair. He was outmatched in speed, outclassed in strength, and completely eclipsed in endurance.

The fight lasted barely thirty breaths.

Under Xu Qing’s overwhelming force, the man’s fist caved in, reduced to a mangled pulp of flesh and bone. The destructive kinetic energy traveled up his arm, shattering it completely. As the man unleashed a bloodcurdling scream, Xu Qing vaulted into the air and drove his knee squarely into his opponent’s forehead.

Crunch.

The sickening sound of a caving skull cut the scream short. The man dropped dead.

Xu Qing didn’t spare the corpse a second glance. His eyes were fixed on his ultimate target. Using the dead man’s chest as a springboard, he launched himself straight at the Camp Master’s estate.

The remaining guards and caravan escorts had long since lost their nerve. Watching this blood-drenched demon slaughter his way toward them, their survival instincts overrode all loyalty. Someone broke ranks, and within seconds, the entire defensive line scattered into the alleys.

Under the utterly terrified gazes of the camp’s scavengers, Xu Qing rode the howling wind straight to the estate’s heavy wooden gates.

Just as he was about to breach them, the gates exploded outward.

A fist punched through the splintering wood, colliding directly with Xu Qing’s strike.

Boom!

For the first time tonight, Xu Qing was forced backward. He skidded back three steps, his hawk-like gaze locking onto the figure emerging from the ruins.

It was the Camp Master, clad in golden robes, his face twisted in ugly fury. Behind him stood a gloomy, mean-faced old man in brocade robes.

But it was what the old man held in his hand that made Xu Qing’s blood run cold.

Seeing that familiar figure, Xu Qing’s body trembled violently. An apocalyptic storm of emotion violently churned in his chest.

It was Captain Lei.

Battered, broken, and clinging to his last breath.