The courtyard had been reduced to a butcher's shop.
The ground was cratered and scorched, the aftermath of explosive violence that had torn through the stone pavers like wet paper. Bodies—or what was left of them—lay scattered in grotesque tableaus, flung by forces too great for human anatomy to withstand. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the lingering screams that seemed to echo even after the throats that made them had been silenced.
For the Hall Masters and Helm Masters of the Black Tiger Gang, the scene was a waking nightmare. These were men hardened by turf wars and street violence, yet now they lay paralyzed on the ground, their bravado stripped away. Many had lost control of their bowels, the stench of excrement mixing with the smell of death. They trembled uncontrollably, their minds unable to reconcile the reality before them.
Had they known this kind of power existed, they would never have hesitated. They would have crawled to the Flame Gang on their knees to beg for admission.
Finally, the slaughter ceased.
Jiang Dao sat casually atop a mound of rubble, his posture relaxed, almost bored. Yet, the air around him shimmered with a lethal heat. This was the Fire Poison Domain. It radiated from his skin, a suffocating, invisible pressure that kept the few remaining survivors pinned to the floor like insects under glass.
Only seven or eight young disciples from the three opposing major forces remained alive. They huddled together within the toxic heat of the domain, blood trickling from their lips, their eyes wide with the kind of terror that shatters the mind.
"The ones who needed to die are dead," Jiang Dao said, his voice calm, cutting through the silence. "Now, we discuss other matters."
He raised a hand and made a grasping motion at the empty air.
Thirty feet away, a young disciple of the Tuoba family was yanked forward by an invisible force, flying across the debris to land in Jiang Dao's grip. The boy shook violently, his face drained of all color.
"Listen, kid," Jiang Dao said, a pleasant smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm thinking of pulling all three of your organizations out by the roots and erasing them from history. Tell me, how should I go about it? Give me a viable strategy, and you walk away with your life."
"I don't know... I really don't know..." the Tuoba disciple stammered, tears streaming down his face, mixing with dust and blood.
"You don't know?" Jiang Dao tilted his head. "Then let's talk about your stall tactics. You were buying time. Who were you waiting for?"
"The Family Head," the boy sobbed. "We sent for the Family Head... he's bringing the Saint Weapon to kill you..."
"Oh? A Saint Weapon?"
A predatory gleam ignited in Jiang Dao's eyes. The temperature in the courtyard seemed to spike. "Excellent. And which lineage are you? Tuoba or the Anyang Xie family? What route are they taking?"
"I... I'm Tuoba. The Family Head and the others... they're taking the Yiling Ancient Path..."
"The Yiling Ancient Path." Jiang Dao rolled the name around on his tongue. He smiled again, sharper this time. "Tell me, who is stronger: your Family Head or the Palace Master of the Spirit Child Palace?"
"I don't know! Sob... I really don't know, please, just spare me..."
"No rush," Jiang Dao soothed, his grip tightening just enough to remind the boy of his fragility. "But there are things you do know. Where is your family headquarters? Where is the Anyang Xie headquarters? And the Corpse Dao Sect. Tell me everything."
"The headquarters is at Great Green Mountain..."
The disciple broke. He spilled everything—locations, defenses, secrets. He dared not hold back a single syllable. The fear Jiang Dao inspired was absolute, a despair so profound it eclipsed loyalty. Facing this monster, the boy wished for unconsciousness, but the adrenaline of terror kept him cruelly awake.
Jiang Dao listened, nodding as he built a mental map of his enemies. When he was satisfied, he tossed the boy aside like a rag doll and grabbed another. He repeated the questions, cross-referencing the answers to ensure truth.
Only when the details aligned perfectly did he nod, satisfied.
"I appreciate your cooperation," Jiang Dao said, standing up and brushing dust from his robes. "Truly. To show my gratitude, I will send you all to the afterlife together."
Boom!
The Fire Poison Domain collapsed inward. It was like a miniature volcanic eruption, a concentrated implosion of heat and toxicity. The seven remaining disciples didn't even have time to scream before they were crushed, their bodies detonating into a fine mist of blood and bone.
Jiang Dao stepped through the crimson haze, his gaze landing on the terrified remnants of the Black Tiger Gang.
"Gentlemen," he said flatly. "We are all human here. I have no desire to butcher you unnecessarily. From this moment on, you are members of the Flame Gang. You will obey without question. If I sense even a whisper of betrayal, I will not just kill you—I will wipe out your entire bloodlines."
Whoosh!
Before the last syllable had fully faded, he was gone. He vanished in a surge of displaced air, leaving only a vacuum where a monster had stood.
"Thank you, Gang Leader Jiang! Thank you for your mercy!"
"Long live the Gang Leader! Long live!"
"We will serve with our lives!"
The men slammed their heads against the stone, kowtowing with frantic desperation. Even long after Jiang Dao was miles away, the rhythmic thud of foreheads hitting pavement continued, blood staining the ground. To them, losing an arm or a leg would have been a blessing; keeping their lives felt like a miracle.
The Yiling Ancient Path was a scar on the landscape, a narrow fissure winding between towering black cliffs.
It was a place where the sun seemed afraid to touch. A perpetual, suffocating fog clung to the ground, swirling in unnatural patterns. High above, vultures circled in tight formations, their cries echoing off the canyon walls. Occasionally, one would dive, its feathers reeking of rot, its eyes black and empty like abyssal vortices, staring into the souls of those who walked below.
Through this gloom, a convoy of carriages raced forward.
The wheels clattered loudly, but there was no sound of hoofbeats. The creatures pulling the carriages were Nether Horses—nightmare beasts with obsidian coats and silent steps. The drivers were no more alive than the mist; they were spectral figures, wreathed in death energy, their bodies translucent in the gloom.
Black flags snapped in the biting wind atop the carriages, bearing the bold inscription: Spirit-Purging Tuoba Family.
Just as the convoy neared the exit of the gorge, the lead Elder of the Tuoba family yanked hard on his reins. The spectral horses skidded to a halt in absolute silence.
"Halt!"
Ahead, on the opposite side of the winding mountain track, another group waited.
They, too, traveled with the dead—corpse puppets and Nether Horses—but their attire was different. Men and women stood in silent ranks, their Yin energy thick and cloying. It was the elite force of the Anyang Xie Family.
"Family Head Xie," the Tuoba Elder greeted with a curt nod.
"Xie Lingtong is dead," the Head of the Anyang Xie family said. His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a heavy stone. "Every disciple who went with him has been extinguished. What of your side?"
The Xie family had arrived hours ago but had refused to advance. The rapid extinguishing of their clansmen's "Soul Lamps"—mystical artifacts linked to their life force—had terrified them. Xie Lingtong was a powerhouse; for his lamp to go out instantly implied an enemy of catastrophic strength.
"Our Fourth Elder is the same," the Tuoba Elder replied, his face grim. "We received the distress call and mobilized the Saint Weapon immediately. But before an hour had passed, his light was gone."
"Is your Patriarch here?" Xie asked.
"Brother Xie. I am here."
The voice was like sandpaper on bone. From the rear carriage, a figure emerged. He was a small, withered old man, barely five feet tall, with thinning grey hair. Yet, as he stepped out, the temperature in the gorge seemed to drop ten degrees. His aura was not just cold; it was soul-stealing.
This was the Tuoba Patriarch.
"The Palace Master of Spirit Child Palace is dead. Tuoba Guang is dead. Shi Wuliang and your Xie Lingtong are dead," the Patriarch rasped. "The situation in the Southern Region has become a labyrinth. I suspect these are not isolated incidents. The entity killing our people is likely one man."
"One man?" The Xie Family Head narrowed his eyes. "You think the Flame Gang has a hidden grandmaster backing them?"
"It is highly probable. Have you seen the Corpse Dao Sect?"
"No. They are erratic at the best of times. I mobilized the moment I got the news; who knows if they will even show up."
"Very well," the Tuoba Patriarch said, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Then the two of us shall descend upon the Southern Region together. If the combined might of our families cannot solve this, then the sky has truly fallen."
"Agreed."
The alliance was struck. The convoy lurched forward again, unified in purpose.
Miles away, a figure tore through the wilderness.
Jiang Dao was a blur of motion. He had engaged the Hundred Li Like a Dragon technique, transforming his body into a kinetic projectile. He didn't run so much as flow over the terrain, each step propelling him dozens of meters. The wind roared in his ears, sounding like a tearing canvas.
He was a meteor of muscle and intent.
Every few miles, he would skid to a halt, unfolding a map with precise, jerky movements, verifying his trajectory against the rugged terrain, before exploding into motion again. A journey that should have taken days was devoured in a single hour.
He reached a chaotic, jagged mountain range that loomed over the landscape. With a leap that defied gravity, Jiang Dao landed on a massive boulder at the pinnacle.
Below him lay the choke point. The only exit from the Yiling Ancient Path.
If the Tuoba and Xie families wanted to reach Sifang City, they had to pass beneath him.
"Come," Jiang Dao whispered to the wind. "I hope you all come. Let's finish this in one stroke."
He sat cross-legged on the stone, closing his eyes. He began to circulate his Regimen Art. The exhaustion from the sprint evaporated as a warm current flooded his meridians, knitting together fatigue and priming his internal energy.
He needed to be perfect. The Tuoba family was bringing a Saint Weapon. One mistake, one miscalculation of timing, and the hunter would become the prey. He needed to be a loaded gun, ready to fire.
Time dragged. High above, birds drifted on thermals. In the brush, predators stalked prey.
Thirty minutes passed.
Suddenly, Jiang Dao's eyes snapped open.
A heavy, suffocating pressure was rolling up the valley floor. It was a tide of Yin energy, dense as black fog. Through the haze, he saw them. Two columns of spectral horses and walking corpses, banners fluttering in the gloom.
"Good," Jiang Dao thought, his pulse steady and slow. "Together. Just as I hoped."
He breathed out, and with the exhalation, he disappeared.
He didn't move; he simply ceased to exist to the senses. The Illusion Form Divine Art took hold. His pores closed, locking in his heat. The Fire Poison Qi web wrapped around his organs, suppressing the thrum of his life force. He stood on the rock, still as granite, his muscles coiled like high-tension steel cables.
Below, the spectral convoy moved fast. The Yin Horses glided inches above the ground, silent and eerie.
The Xie Family Head, riding near the front, frowned. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. A primal instinct, honed by decades of survival, screamed at him.
He slammed on the reins. "Halt! Something is wrong!"
"Family Head Xie?" The Tuoba Elder turned, confused. "What is it?"
The question hung in the air for a fraction of a second.
BOOM!
The boulder above them didn't just crack; it exploded.
A shadow descended from the cliffs, moving with a velocity that the eye could barely track. It was no longer a man; it was a landslide of flesh and fire. As Jiang Dao fell, he shed his disguise. His body swelled, muscles engorging, veins popping like ropes, heat radiating off him like a blast furnace.
He didn't aim for the guards. He aimed for the strongest aura he could feel.
"Impudent!" the Tuoba Elder screamed.
But it was too late.
Jiang Dao was already there. His hand, now a massive, hideous claw black as obsidian, swiped down at the Xie Family Head.
The Xie Patriarch reacted with the speed of a master. He roared, throwing his arms up, summoning a shield of purple, crystalline light.
It didn't matter.
CRACK!
The sound was sickeningly loud, like a church bell struck by a freight train. The shockwave pulverized the spectral horses and corpse puppets in a fifty-foot radius, turning them to dust. The Xie Patriarch's purple shield shattered instantly.
Jiang Dao's claw continued its arc, slamming into the man's chest.
There was a wet thud, and the Xie Family Head was launched. He flew backward like a ragdoll, slamming into the cliff face with enough force to embed his body in the stone, creating a spiderweb of cracks.
Jiang Dao prepared to follow up, to crush the man's skull before he could recover, but his instincts screamed.
Whoosh!
Death approached from the right.
Jiang Dao spun in mid-air, abandoning his kill to defend himself. He lashed out with his claw, meeting the incoming attack head-on.
CLANG!
A massive black axe, radiating an aura of absolute demise, collided with his hand. The Tuoba Patriarch held the weapon, his face twisted in a rictus of hate. Beams of black necrotic light shot from the blade.
The impact was cataclysmic.
Jiang Dao was blasted backward, his boots carving deep furrows into the earth before he slammed onto a ledge halfway up the cliff. He stood there, chest heaving, steam rising from his skin. He looked less like a martial artist and more like a demon from the deepest hell—muscles knotted, bone spikes protruding from his spine, eyes burning.
The Tuoba Patriarch was also thrown back, landing heavily. He glared at Jiang Dao, the death energy around him swirling like a storm.
"Who are you?" he rasped, his voice trembling with rage.
The ambush had been devastating. In seconds, dozens of their elites were dead, reduced to red paste.
From the crater in the wall, the Xie Family Head pulled himself free. He was a ruin of a man—half his ribs were powder, his jaw hung loose, and blood masked his face. But he was alive.
"The Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw!" Xie screamed, pointing a shaking finger. "He has the Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw!"
The Tuoba Patriarch's eyes went wide.
"I am the one you were looking for," Jiang Dao bellowed, his voice echoing off the canyon walls. "I am Jiang Dao of the Flame Gang. You wanted to kill me? Come and try!"
"You killed Tuoba Guang?" The Patriarch roared.
"He was trash, so I disposed of him. You are trash too, so you will join him."
"Kill him!" The Tuoba Patriarch raised the giant axe. "I don't care what he is. He dies today!"
The old man charged, a blur of shadow. The black axe—the Spirit-Slaughtering Mountain-Splitting Axe—hummed with a horrific sound, firing a dozen black energy blades that sliced the air.
Jiang Dao didn't retreat. He advanced.
He weaved through the barrage of energy blades, his movements blurry. He met the Saint Weapon with his bare hands.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Sparks flew like fireworks. The valley shook with the concussions. Jiang Dao's palms, hardened by the demonic arts, struck the axe blade again and again. He was fighting a holy artifact with flesh and bone, and he was winning.
"Spirit-Slaughtering Mountain Splitter!" the Patriarch shrieked.
The axe spun, transforming into a vortex of cutting force.
Jiang Dao roared, ignoring the pain stinging his palms. He reached into the vortex. His hand, like a dragon's claw, clamped onto the blade of the axe. He heaved, muscles tearing, trying to rip the weapon from the old man's grasp.
The axe retaliated. A surge of freezing, necrotic energy shot from the metal, drilling into Jiang Dao's palm and racing up his arm, trying to stop his heart.
Bang! Bang!
His internal meridians exploded with noise as the cold clashed with his internal fire.
"Suppress!"
Jiang Dao's internal Fire Poison Qi collapsed onto the intruder, wrapping the cold energy in a net of heat and crushing it.
With his right hand holding the axe immobile, Jiang Dao raised his left hand. The Heavenly Demon Claw gleamed in the twilight.
"Die!"
The Tuoba Patriarch's eyes bulged. He tried to let go, tried to block, tried to scream.
SPLAT.
Jiang Dao's claw descended. It smashed through the Patriarch's hasty defense and connected with his skull. The old man's head disintegrated like a dropped melon, red and white matter spraying across the canyon floor.
The body went limp. The Saint Weapon, now masterless, fell into Jiang Dao's waiting grip.
He leaped back, landing on a high rock, the bloody axe in one hand, gore dripping from the other. The heat rolling off him distorted the air.
Jiang Dao looked at the devastation, at the Saint Weapon in his hand, and threw his head back.
He laughed. It was a terrible, booming sound that made the surviving vultures take flight in terror.