Bang!
And the sky split in two, a deafening crack of thunder tearing through the sect as Lei Jiang soared high above, his presence a looming storm. Lightning crackled and writhed around his fists, illuminating his twisted grin as he gazed down upon the struggling defenders. With a roar, he gathered the crackling energy into his hands, the air distorting around him as the sheer power bent space itself.
Bang!
He plummeted. The impact cataclysmic.
Thunder and steel clashed as his fist struck the sect's defensive formation. The protective barrier that had held firm through countless invasions shuddered, fractures spiderwebbing across its surface. For a moment, it resisted, glowing defiantly.
Crack!
Then, it shattered like brittle glass.
The explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield, flinging bodies aside like ragdolls. The ground beneath the sect trembled as debris rained down, and what remained of the formation flickered and died.
The last line of protection was gone.
Silence followed, but only for a heartbeat.
Without stopping, the Hall of Nine Sins surged forward, their war cries filling the void left by the fallen barrier. The massacre was about to begin in its earnest.
The Sword God Sect was already bleeding, its proud walls scorched by battle, its disciples fighting tooth and nail to survive. But amidst the chaos, another war was brewing—one hidden beneath the surface, festering like a wound left untreated.
Within the heart of the sect's grand hall, beneath the flickering flames of the shattered formation cores, the three Grand Elders stood side by side—Xiao Ren, Bai Rong, and Ji Xian. Their robes, once symbols of honor and tradition, now carried the taint of something far darker.
Grand Elder Rong sneered, his sharp features illuminated by the dying embers of the sect's ruins. "For centuries, we have bowed to the Supreme Elder's tyranny, allowed him to dictate the future of this sect. That ends today."
Grand Elder Ren scoffed. "The weak perish, the strong endure. That is the law of the world, and we will be the ones to usher at the top."
The final betrayer, Grand Elder Ji, chuckled darkly. "That is the spirit, junior brothers! This sect has always been ruled by the blade. If the Supreme Elder falls, the rest will follow."
Their gazes turned toward the bloodstained battlefield where disciples clashed with assassins of the Hall of Nine Sins. While the sect fought for survival, they had already sealed its fate from within.
Not far from the grand hall, amidst the raging conflict, Cheng Feng stood unmoving, his remaining hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. His face twisted with bitterness, eyes burning with resentment as he watched the battle unfold.
His father, the once-proud Patriarch of the Cheng Clan, had always warned him—power was everything. And yet, Dao Wei had taken everything from him. His status. His dignity. His arm.
A figure stepped beside him, the insignia of the Du Clan embroidered onto his dark robes. "It is time to pledge yourself fully, and the Hall of Nine Sins will grant you what you seek."
Cheng Feng did not reply immediately. His gaze was fixed on the Grand Arena, where the last vestiges of the sect's future crumbled under the weight of betrayal. His hatred ran deeper than his loyalty to the sect.
"I want Sword Childe dead," he finally said, voice hoarse yet resolute.
The Du Clan's envoy smirked. "Then show us your loyalty, and we will see it done."
Meanwhile, back in the grand hall, the Fourth Elder's presence loomed like an unshakable mountain. His once-serene expression was now lined with blood and disappointment as he faced his old comrades.
"Xian. Ren. Rong. I should have seen it coming," he murmured, voice filled with quiet fury. "You betray not just me, but generations of ancestors who bled to protect this sect."
Grand Elder Ji scoffed. "Ancestors? Ha! They are dust, and we refuse to follow them into the grave. The sect must evolve, or it will perish!"
The Fourth Grand Elder shook his head. "It is not the sect that has perished. It is your honor."
Grand Elder Ren's expression darkened. "Enough talk. If you stand in our way, you die with the old regime."
Whoosh!
In an instant, killing intent surged. Blades were drawn. The battle within the sect was no longer just against an external enemy—it was against itself.
And the Sword God Sect, already teetering on the brink, might not survive the storm.
Flames crackled through the once-proud halls of the Sword God Sect, illuminating the battlefield in eerie shades of crimson and gold. Screams of the dying blended with the clashing of steel, yet in the heart of the chaos, a battle far more insidious raged—one not just of power, but of ideology, of ambition, of greed.
The three of the Grand Elders standing at the center of the shattered sect hall, their once-regal robes stained with the crimson of their former disciples. They no longer hid their allegiance; dark, sinister energy pulsed around them, the unmistakable aura of the Hall of Nine Sins now fully consuming their once-righteous presence.
Across from them, the last bastion of the sect's true legacy—Grand Elder Mo Lin—stood unshaken. His sword, old yet unyielding, glowed with ethereal light.
The storm of betrayal had reached its peak.
Mo Lin sighed, his voice carrying across the wreckage. "Ren, Rong, Xian… was it truly for power that you sold your souls? You betray the very foundation we built!"
Xiao Ren chuckled darkly, twirling his curved sword in one hand. "Foundation? No, old fool, we tear down a relic of the past to build something greater."
Bai Rong's eyes gleamed with malice. "The Supreme Elder was always a roadblock. We simply chose the winning side."
Ji Xian cracked his knuckles, dark energy forming in his palms. "Enough words. You are the last wall standing between us and our goal."
Boom!
And with that, the battle erupted.
Mo Lin moved first.
The air trembled as he vanished, his form becoming a streak of golden light. His sword carved through the air in a perfect arc, a crescent of brilliance that sought to split Xiao Ren in two. But Xiao Ren was no amateur.
Whoosh!
With a sharp breath, he twisted his blade in a spiralling motion, intercepting the strike with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the ruined sect hall. Sparks cascaded like shooting stars as their swords clashed, the sheer force of their engagement shattering the stone beneath their feet.
Bai Rong wasted no time. He flanked from the side, his hands a blur as he conjured a tide of spectral daggers, each one forged from malice and blood. They shrieked through the air, a crimson storm of death. But Mo Lin… his perception sharpened beyond mortal limits, twisted mid-air.
Clang! Clang!
His sword flickered like a phantom—one cut, two cuts, a hundred cuts in an instant. The daggers shattered before they could find their mark, their dark energy dispersing into the wind. Bai Rong barely managed to dodge as a sliver of his robe was sliced clean off.
"Still as sharp as ever, old man," Bai Rong spat, but his smirk faltered when he saw Mo Lin's weary eyes—calm, unreadable, deadly.
Before Bai Rong could press another attack, Ji Xian roared, his fists slamming into the earth. The ground cracked, and from the fissures, black chains erupted, surging toward Mo Lin like ravenous serpents. They coiled around his arm, their eerie glow pulsing with ancient power meant to suppress all movement.
Xiao Ren seized the moment. His figure became a blur, his sword lunging straight for Mo Lin's heart.
A fatal strike.
Yet in that instant—Mo Lin exhaled, his sword pulsing with golden energy. Sigh!
"Flowing Mirage Sword Art: Thousand Leaves of Time."
With a single flick of his wrist, his blade blurred, as if existing in multiple places at once. The chains binding him shattered into mist, dispersing like an illusion that had never been real. He twisted just as Xiao Ren's sword came within a hair's breadth of his chest, and the miscalculation was instant.
Boom!
Mo Lin's blade hummed—a single, precise slash.
A crimson line bloomed across Xiao Ren's chest.
Xiao Ren gasped. Blood gushed from the deep wound, staining his robes. His pupils quivered with disbelief. "I-Impossible…"
Mo Lin did not hesitate.
Slash!
With one swift, merciful stroke.
Xiao Ren's head slowly slides off his neck, falling from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed sporadically as Xiao Ren's hands instinctively held onto his severed neck.
For half a breath, silence reigned. The Flowing Mirage Sword Art apart from being one of the most common techniques, was part of the Five Mirage Sword Arts. These arts aside from being popular, these were also some of the most powerful techniques once mastered—and no two people understood them the same, making them highly unpredictable and versatile. A few could boast of achieving the Perfect Realm of Completion for the five arts.
Roar!
Bai Rong screamed in fury. His aura ignited into a swirling maelstrom of shadow and rage, his daggers splitting into a thousand reflections, each one a cursed weapon forged from years of slaughter. He moved like a phantom, weaving through the battlefield, his strikes unpredictable, relentless.