Merin sprints forward and reaches the bear first.
The mountains lie close to the capital, patrolled year-round, and any beast that develops cultivation is hunted down quickly.
This bear is nothing more than an ordinary beast.
Large.
Strong.
But mundane.
Merin's sword flashes.
One clean arc.
The bear's swinging arm is severed at the shoulder, blood spraying across the broken barricade.
Merin steps in without slowing.
His blade drives straight into the beast's chest and pierces its heart.
The impact shudders through the massive body.
The bear staggers.
Merin exhales and relaxes a fraction.
Then a shout tears through the chaos.
"Lieutenant, watch out!"
Merin's eyes snap up.
The bear is still moving.
Its remaining arm swings wildly, fueled not by strength, but by madness and the black mist clinging to its fur.
Merin does not retreat.
An ordinary bear cannot harm him.
He raises his free hand and catches the incoming limb mid-swing.
The impact sends dust and splinters flying, but Merin's stance does not shift.
He twists.
His sword rises again.
One smooth motion.
The bear's head separates from its body.
The corpse crashes backwards with a heavy boom, shaking the ground.
The severed head rolls across the clearing and stops at the edge of the firelight.
Silence lasts only a heartbeat.
Commander Di steps forward, eyes sharp.
"Merin, what is going on?"
More roars answer before Merin can respond.
Closer.
Multiple.
Merin wipes his blade and points toward the broken barricade.
"This bear forced its way through here," he says calmly.
"And killed this guard."
The mauled body lies twisted against shattered logs, blood soaking into the earth.
Before Commander Di can speak again, new sounds rise.
Sharp calls.
High-pitched.
The pounding of hooves.
The ground begins to tremble.
From the forest, deer burst into the clearing.
Too many.
Too fast.
Eyes glazed black.
Foam dripping from their mouths.
They lower their antlers and charge straight toward the gap in the barricade.
"Stand guard!" Commander Di roars.
Lower-ranked Divine Guards rush forward at once, forming a tight line.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Shields lock.
Spears angle outward.
The deer crash into them.
The impact is brutal.
Wood splinters.
Metal screeches.
One guard is knocked backwards, skidding across the dirt before others drag him back into line.
Another is gored through the thigh, screaming as blood pours out.
The guards stab in unison.
Spears pierce flesh.
Deer collapse.
More take their place.
Merin moves.
He darts along the line, sword flashing.
Each strike is precise.
Necks severed.
Spines split.
Blood sprays across armour and ground alike.
Still, they keep coming.
Commander Di turns sharply.
"Elder Lin," he demands, "what is happening?"
Elder Lin grips her staff, eyes narrowed as she watches the forest.
"How should I know?" she snaps.
"This isn't a normal beast tide."
The answer comes before she finishes speaking.
Deep roars roll through the trees.
Lower.
Heavier.
The forest canopy shudders.
Branches snap.
From the shadows, apes leap.
Massive bodies sail over the barricade, landing inside the camp with crushing force.
They roar as they land, black mist pouring from their mouths.
One slams into a shed, tearing it apart with a single blow.
Another grabs a guard and hurls him aside like a doll.
The camp erupts.
Orders are shouted.
Weapons clash.
Qi flares.
Merin pivots, Blood Qi surging through his limbs.
He launches himself at the nearest ape, blade cutting upward as the beast swings down.
Steel meets bone.
The ape shrieks, stumbling back.
Around him, the Divine Guards fight desperately to hold the line.
The barricade no longer matters.
The battle is everywhere.
Merin hides the truth of his cultivation.
The bronze refinement of his Blood Qi is sealed deep within, layered beneath restraint and intent, invisible to all but himself.
On the battlefield, he does not appear to be a cultivator breaking limits.
He looks like a warrior.
A master honed by time rather than realm.
He moves without excess.
No flaring Qi.
No crushing pressure.
Only precision.
Watching Merin fight is like watching a dance written in blood.
His steps are measured, never hurried, never wasted.
He flows between beasts as if he already knows where they will strike, where they will stumble, where they will die.
A wolf lunges.
He turns his wrist, blade whispering once.
The head separates cleanly and spins away before the body realises it is dead.
A tiger rears, claws tearing through the air.
Merin steps inside its reach, too close for strength to matter.
His sword rises, falls.
The spine parts.
The body collapses.
An ape crashes down from above, arms raised to crush him.
Merin pivots beneath the shadow, blade flashing upward in a perfect arc.
The ape's roar becomes a wet gurgle as its throat opens and its head slides free.
There is no hesitation in him.
No anger.
No fear.
Only rhythm.
Thousands of years of combat experience guide his hands, not his thoughts.
Angles.
Timing.
Momentum.
He cuts not where the beast is, but where it must be.
Beasts that refuse to die to heart wounds fall to complete destruction.
Heads severed.
Necks shattered.
Spines split.
Limbs removed so bodies cannot rise again.
Blood splashes his uniform.
Fur clings to his boots.
Still, his movements remain clean.
Almost elegant.
Around him, Divine Guards struggle, Golden Lotus fire roars, screams rise and fall.
Yet Merin exists in a different space.
Where he passes, the ground clears.
Beasts fall in silence.
Some guards pause mid-fight, breath hitching as they glimpse him moving through the chaos.
Not reckless.
Not overpowering.
Perfect.
It is not the strength of a rising star on display.
It is the calm lethality of something ancient wearing a young man's body.
Merin does not roar.
He does not shout commands.
He simply kills.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until the beasts begin to falter.
Until the tide breaks.
Until the mountain itself seems to recoil.
And only then does he slow, blade dripping, breath steady, eyes clear.
As if the slaughter were nothing more than another practised form.
Merin continues moving through the chaos, blade rising and falling in seamless arcs, until a sudden change ripples through the battlefield.
Elder Lin plants her staff into the ground.
This time, she does not strike.
She slams it down.
Golden light erupts outward, not as flame but as structure, forming interlocking sigils that bloom into a vast dome.
The barrier seals shut with a resonant hum.
Beasts charging from the forest crash into it and rebound violently, shrieking as golden light burns into their flesh.
The camp is cut off.
No more beasts can enter.
Inside the dome, the remaining corrupted creatures are hunted down quickly.
Without reinforcements, they fall one by one.
Steel flashes.
Fire roars.
Blood spills.
Then silence returns.
Bodies litter the ground.
Smoke drifts upward.
The barrier glows steadily above them.
Within the camp, nearly everyone collapses.
Divine Guards slump against broken barricades or fall flat where they stand, weapons slipping from numb fingers.
Golden Lotus members sit cross-legged where they fought, chests heaving, faces pale, Qi nearly exhausted.
Only four figures remain standing.
Merin.
Commander Di.
Elder Lin.
And the veiled young woman of the Golden Lotus Sect.
Commander Di exhales heavily and turns toward Elder Lin.
"How long can you hold the barrier?"
Elder Lin grips her staff tighter.
"Not long," she says bluntly.
"So recover your energy. Quickly."
Commander Di does not argue.
He sits down heavily on a fallen beam, pulls out a pill bottle, and swallows its contents without ceremony.
His shoulders relax slightly as energy begins to return.
Merin does not sit.
He walks to the edge of the golden dome and looks out.
Beyond the barrier, beasts gather in the mist.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Their eyes glow.
Their bodies twitch with restrained violence.
They circle, waiting.
Merin turns back.
"I will go and thin their numbers."
Commander Di snaps his head up.
"Don't," he says sharply.
"Merin, it's too dangerous."
Merin's expression does not change.
"Don't worry."
Before Commander Di can stop him, Merin steps forward.
The golden dome parts for him like water.
He passes through.
The barrier seals behind his back.
For a brief moment, the camp holds its breath.
Then Merin moves.
He does not rush.
He walks into the swarm.
The beasts surge toward him.
They never reach.
His sword flashes, carving precise paths through fur, bone, and corrupted flesh.
Heads fall.
Bodies collapse.
Beasts leap and die midair.
Those charging from behind trip over corpses before his blade reaches them.
No creature comes within arm's length.
From within the barrier, exhausted eyes widen.
Even drained, even wounded, they cannot look away.
Commander Di watches, stunned.
His Blood Qi, refined to silver, pulses faintly beneath his skin.
Yet as he watches Merin fight, a bitter truth settles in his chest.
"In direct combat," he murmurs, almost to himself,
"I would not be a match."
Beside him, Elder Lin follows Merin's movements with sharp, calculating eyes.
Her lips curl slightly.
"Tell Song Ziyuan," she says coolly,
"They cannot control him."
"Give him to us."
Commander Di does not respond.
His gaze remains fixed beyond the barrier.
On the lone figure moving through death like a dancer through rain.
On Merin, whose blade does not falter, whose breath does not quicken, whose presence bends the battlefield itself.
Outside the dome, beasts continue to fall.
Inside, the camp waits.
And the mountain watches in silence.