The colossal flower boat cut through the water, guided toward the riverbank by the combined efforts of several Flame Gang members. The rhythmic splashing of oars was the only sound until the silence was shattered by the roar of a smaller, faster vessel tearing across the surface of the water.
It was a Flame Gang cutter, moving with frantic urgency. As it drew near, the vessel slewed to a halt, rocking violently in its own wake. A disciple stood on the prow, fists cupped in a desperate salute.
"Gang Leader! An urgent Divine Fire Order from Black Mountain Ridge!"
On the deck of the flower boat, Jiang Dao's brow furrowed. That was fast.
He didn't wait for the boat to dock. He raised a hand, fingers hooking into a claw. A web of scorching, poisonous qi erupted from his palm, snatching the wooden message cylinder from the disciple's grasp across the gap of water. The wood splintered in his grip. He unfurled the slip of paper within, his eyes scanning the hasty scrawl.
The news was grim. The Black Mountain Ridge branch was hemorrhaging stability. A faction of unknown origin had descended upon Black Mountain Town, sowing chaos in the streets. Disciples were vanishing in the night, swallowed by shadows. The plea for reinforcements was desperate.
Pfft.
Jiang Dao's hand closed into a fist. The paper didn't just crumple; it disintegrated into ash under a sudden spike of thermal pressure. His expression became a mask of turbulent storm clouds.
It seemed the rats and ghouls were already swarming toward Black Mountain Ridge. It was to be expected. They were dealing with a Saint Artifact—something of Xuan or perhaps even Earth rank. Such a weapon was exponentially more terrifying than the Heavenly Demon Heart-Crushing Claw or the Spirit-Slaughtering Mountain-Splitting Axe. It was a beacon for the greedy, the ambitious, and the monstrous.
"Gang Leader," Xiang An asked tentatively, reading the shift in the air, "do we proceed to Jin'ao Island for the inspection?"
The Divine Fire Order was the highest tier of alert. When that flame was lit, the gang was at war. Xiang An knew Jiang Dao had no patience for pleasantries when blood was being spilled.
"Cancel it," Jiang Dao said, his voice low. "The Black Mountain Ridge branch is compromised. We return to headquarters immediately."
"Understood!" Xiang An turned, barking orders to the crew. "Hard to port! Return to base!"
The massive rudder groaned as the disciples threw their weight against it. The tiered boat carved a wide arc, churning up white foam as it reversed course, leaving the leisure of Jin'ao Island behind for the brutality of business.
An hour later, the boat docked. Jiang Dao wasted no time. He descended the gangplank and mounted a waiting stallion, spurring it into a gallop toward the Flame Gang's central headquarters.
They were within sight of the main gates when another disciple came thundering down the road on horseback. Seeing Jiang Dao, the man practically threw himself from the saddle, skidding to his knees in the dust.
"Gang Leader! Trouble at the gates!" the disciple gasped, face pale. "Two sedans are blocking the entrance. They refuse to speak, refuse to disembark, and refuse to move. The bearers… they aren't breathing. Several brothers tried to move them and were maimed."
"Blocking my front door?" Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. "Who has the nerve?"
"We don't know, Gang Leader. But the sedans are… wrong. They are cast entirely of wrought iron."
Interesting.
A cold smirk touched Jiang Dao's lips. He snapped the reins, urging his horse forward. Behind him, Right Guardian Xiang An and Left Guardian Yan Wushuang exchanged worried glances before accelerating to keep pace.
Moments later, Jiang Dao reined in his horse, the beast stamping nervously as the scene unfolded before them.
Two sedan chairs sat in absolute silence, arranged in a line directly in front of the Flame Gang's grand entrance. They were imposing structures, not made of wood or wicker, but of solid, pitch-black wrought iron. Under the midday sun, they didn't gleam; they seemed to swallow the light, emitting a dull, ominous luster.
Flanking each sedan were four bearers—sixteen in total.
Jiang Dao scrutinized them. Their skin was the color of old parchment, deathly pale with a faint indigo tint gathering between their brows. They stood with unnatural stillness. There was no rise and fall of chests, no blinking. They were lifeless. Corpse Puppets.
Beyond the iron blockade sat several high-spirited horses mounted by young men clad in robes of bright yellow silk. They held their weapons with an arrogant casualness, looking down at seven or eight Flame Gang disciples who lay groaning on the ground, nursing broken limbs.
Xiang An and Yan Wushuang rode up beside Jiang Dao, their faces tightening as they recognized the attire.
"Gang Leader," Xiang An whispered, "that yellow silk… those are members of the Imperial Family."
Jiang Dao's gaze swept over the royals with the indifference one might show a buzzing fly. He didn't address them. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the heavy, black iron sedans.
"Who are you?" Jiang Dao's voice cut through the air, icy and demanding. "Why do you block my headquarters and injure my men?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a voice scraped from the interior of the lead sedan. It was dry, raspy, and unpleasant, like stones grinding together in a crypt.
"Flame Gang Leader Jiang Dao? Was it you who exterminated the Spirit-Exorcising Tuoba Clan?"
Jiang Dao didn't blink. "It was."
"A mere mortal annihilated the Tuoba Clan?" The voice was laced with mockery and disbelief.
"Who are you?" Jiang Dao countered. "Here to avenge them?"
"There is no rush for vengeance," the entity in the iron box rasped. "You claim to have destroyed the Tuoba. That implies the Spirit-Slaughtering Mountain-Splitting Axe and the Blood Demon Armor are now in your possession."
"And if they are?"
"Good. Very good." The voice dropped an octave, vibrating with greed. "The Axe is a sacred relic of my Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain. It was merely loaned to the Tuoba. Return it to me. Hand over the Blood Demon Armor as well, and we shall overlook your transgression against our vassals."
The Imperial Family members watching from their horses shifted uncomfortably. One of them leaned down, whispering toward the sedan. "Senior, be wary. Jiang Dao has killed experts from the Imperial Court before."
Jiang Dao laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound. "A joke. Since when do ghosts and freaks give me orders?"
"You refuse?" The voice in the sedan spiked in volume, the temperature around the gate dropping perceptibly.
"You block my door. You maim my men. I haven't even settled that debt with you yet," Jiang Dao said, his voice darkening. "And now you demand the Axe? The Tuoba used that weapon to butcher my people. How do you intend to pay for that?"
As he spoke, the air around Jiang Dao began to shimmer. The temperature didn't drop; it skyrocketed. Waves of heat began to radiate from his skin, warring with the cold aura of the sedans.
"Impudence!" one of the Imperial youths shouted, pointing a sword at Jiang Dao. "You dare speak to a Lord of the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain in such a manner?"
"Lord, you see his arrogance!" another chimed in. "This peasant has no respect for the true powers of this world. Please, eliminate this aberration!"
"Jiang Dao," the voice in the sedan hissed, "I offered you mercy. You have chosen poorly."
Whoosh!
A streak of black light erupted from the iron sedan. It moved with blinding speed, a concentrated projectile of death aiming straight for Jiang Dao's chest.
It was a hand. A massive, grotesque, severed hand composed of rot and shadow.
Boom!
Corpse qi detonated on impact. Flesh flew. Jiang Dao's horse screamed as it was obliterated, exploding into a mist of blood and bone.
But amidst the crimson rain, Jiang Dao stood firm. His own hand had expanded, morphing into a terrifying claw of heat and muscle, catching the spectral attack mid-air.
Clang!
The sound was metallic, deafening. The collision of the two forces sent a shockwave rippling outward, knocking the Imperial horses backward. The air screamed as the rotting gray corpse qi battled against Jiang Dao's fiery, poisonous red aura.
The Flame Gang disciples watched in horror, but their fear spiked when the dust settled.
Standing in front of Jiang Dao was no longer a shadow, but a physical nightmare. The entity stood over three meters tall, a towering monstrosity of death. It reeked of the grave. Its body was plated in jagged white bone scales, and yellow ichor wept from sores between the armor. Its face was a blurred ruin of features, dominated by two bulbous, bloodshot eyes the size of saucers. Maggots writhed in the open wounds of its flesh.
"I intended to kill you gently," the corpse-monster grated, its voice vibrating in its hollow chest. "But you insist on pain."
Boom!
The monster lunged, its other hand sweeping toward Jiang Dao's face, trailing a thick fog of toxic decay.
It never connected.
Before the claw could descend, a pressure erupted from Jiang Dao—a gravity well of sheer violence that stopped the breath in everyone's lungs.
The corpse-monster's pupils constricted. Its instincts, honed over centuries of slaughter, screamed of danger. Without a thought, it retracted its arms, crossing them in a defensive guard. The bone scales on its body shifted and interlocked, hardening into a shield tougher than divine iron.
It wasn't enough.
A claw, larger and more terrible than its own, materialized from the heat haze. Jiang Dao struck.
Thump!
The impact was cataclysmic. Fire flashed. The ground liquefied.
The corpse-monster was launched backward. Its feet plowed through the earth, ripping up cobblestones and bedrock, creating a trench ten meters long. It finally skidded to a halt, chest heaving, yellow fluid pouring from its defensive arms. It roared in frustration, shaking off the blow.
But when it looked up, its roar died in its throat.
The puny human was gone. In his place stood a titan.
"What are you babbling about?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice now a deep, resonant rumble that shook the teeth of everyone present. "Who exactly are you trying to 'deal with'?"
Jiang Dao grinned. His mouth was too wide, filled with rows of razor-sharp, serrated teeth. Thick jets of white steam vented from his nose and mouth like a locomotive.
He had grown. He was inflating, muscles piling upon muscles until his upper garments shredded, hanging off his frame like wet tissue paper. Hideous bone spikes erupted from his spine, shoulders, and knees. Purple-black veins pulsed across his skin like a living map of agony. His hands were the size of winnowing baskets, glowing with a red, radioactive heat.
He stood nearly four meters tall—dwarfing the monster that had just attacked him.
"You!" The corpse-monster took a step back, genuine fear flickering in its dead eyes.
The Imperial disciples were paralyzed. This was not a martial artist. This was a calamity.
"I asked you a question," Jiang Dao said, cracking his neck. "You come to my home, block my door, and talk endlessly. Do I look like I run a charity for the undead?"
He moved. It wasn't a run; it was a blur of mass and acceleration.
"You're just posturing!" the corpse-monster shrieked, desperate to regain control. "Let's see your true strength!"
Boom!
The ground shattered as the corpse-monster charged to meet him, channeling every ounce of its necromantic power into a layer of bone armor.
Jiang Dao didn't dodge. He didn't block. He simply swung his open palm.
The air distorted around the hand. The heat was so intense it warped the light.
Smack!
It sounded like a thunderclap. The slap bypassed the monster's guard and connected with its face. The force was absolute. The monster's cheekbone collapsed, its eye burst into a spray of jelly, and its neck twisted at a sickening angle. Corpse water and maggots sprayed across the courtyard like rain. The creature spun in the air like a ragdoll, smashing through the wreckage of its own iron sedan before plowing into the earth.
It tried to rise, gurgling, its head dangling loosely from a broken spine.
"My Lord!" the Imperial disciples screamed.
"Down already?" Jiang Dao loomed over the wreckage, a cruel sneer on his monstrous face. "I was barely using my wrist."
"Enough!"
The command came from the second iron sedan. It was quieter, deadlier.
Jiang Dao turned, sensing the shift in the air.
Whoosh!
A blur of black motion. A second figure appeared behind him. This one was larger, heavier. Its skin was gray and leathery, like an elephant's hide, covered in the same bone plating but radiating a far denser aura of malice. It moved with the speed of a phantom.
"Another one," Jiang Dao noted, unimpressed.
"Do you comprehend what the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain represents?" the new monster hissed.
"Enlighten me."
"We are the Destined Royal Clan of this era. We are Kings. Exorcists, Evil Spirits, Monsters—all bow before us. To strike us is to strike at the heavens."
"Kings," Jiang Dao mused, the word rolling around his mouth like a piece of gristle. "Tell me, do the Royal Clan members know how they want to die?"
"You—"
Boom!
Jiang Dao exploded into motion. The heat radiating from him turned the cobblestones to slag. He bridged the gap instantly, his claw descending like a falling mountain.
"Presumptuous cur!" the second monster roared. It hardened its body, bone scales fusing into a solid plate, and threw a punch designed to shatter city walls.
Crack!
Fist met claw. The monster's bone armor shattered instantly. The yellow corpse water vaporized into foul steam. The indigo flesh beneath the armor pulped.
The monster shrieked, stumbling back. " The Heavenly Demon Heart-Crushing Claw? You fused it into your flesh?"
"Die," Jiang Dao grunted.
He didn't give it space. He stepped in, his massive hand glowing with fire and poison, grabbing the monster by the torso. The heat was unbearable. The monster thrashed, throwing punches that landed with dull thuds against Jiang Dao's iron-hard skin, each blow only serving to shatter the monster's own knuckles.
Meanwhile, the first monster had managed to reset its neck. It scrambled up, eyes burning with humiliation and rage. Roaring, it threw itself at Jiang Dao's exposed back.
"Jiang Dao! I will flay you—"
Smack!
Jiang Dao didn't even turn fully. He backhanded the creature with one hundred and twenty percent of his power.
There was a wet, tearing sound. The monster's head didn't just break; it spun two full rotations before exploding under the hydrostatic pressure. The headless body was launched across the courtyard, twitching violently.
The second monster, seeing its companion liquidated, broke. The arrogance of the "Royal Clan" evaporated, replaced by the primal urge to survive. It turned to run.
"Leaving so soon?"
Jiang Dao was faster. He appeared behind the fleeing titan, his shadow engulfing it.
Squelch!
His hand plunged into the monster's back. It went through the bone armor, through the spine, through the dead gray flesh, and punched out the chest cavity.
The monster looked down, stunned, to see Jiang Dao's massive, burning hand holding a black, calcified heart.
"You... you..."
Rip!
With a savage jerk, Jiang Dao tore outward. The Corpse Demon was ripped apart, quartered by sheer brute force. Burning chunks of flesh rained down, igniting the dry grass.
The silence that followed was heavy.
The Imperial disciples stared at the carnage, their minds unable to process the violence. Their mounts panicked, rearing up. Then, as one, the humans broke. They turned their horses and fled, screaming.
Jiang Dao watched them go with cold, reptilian eyes. He didn't chase. He simply expanded his Field.
A wave of invisible, scorching poison rippled out, faster than any horse. It washed over the fleeing royals and the remaining Corpse Puppet bearers.
"Ah!"
"The Mountain will not forgive—"
Pop.. Pop.. Pop.
Bodies exploded in clouds of red mist and black ash. Silence returned to the front gates of the Flame Gang.
From the safety of the perimeter, Han Ming watched, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"He killed them all..." Han Ming whispered, his voice shaking. "He actually butchered the envoys of the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain..."
He forced his legs to move, approaching the towering, steaming figure of his leader.
"Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain..." Jiang Dao muttered. His body began to hiss as it decompressed, muscles knitting back into a human shape, the bone spikes retracting with wet slides. He turned to his subordinate. "Han Ming. What exactly is this faction?"
"My Lord... you truly don't know?" Han Ming looked as if he might faint.
"Hmm?" Jiang Dao's eyes, still fading from red to black, narrowed.
Han Ming straightened, realizing the danger. He spun to the gathering crowd of disciples.
"Listen to me!" he bellowed. "Today's events never happened! Anyone who speaks a word of this to an outsider will be executed! Their families will be executed! Total silence!"
Xiang An and Yan Wushuang rushed over, pale and shaken.
"My Lord," Han Ming whispered, leaning in close. "We need to go inside. This... this is a conversation for behind thick walls."
Jiang Dao frowned, sensing the genuine terror in his right-hand man. He nodded slowly.
"Lead the way."