The battle at the Second Gate burned hotter than ever. Both the City Lord and Ye Chen stood against three retainers each. Though outnumbered, they fought on equal footing — for every retainer was at the Peak Martial Artist Realm, while the City Lord and Ye Chen stood one step higher, in the Body Realm.
Even though it was just a single realm apart, the difference in strength was like the gap between heaven and earth.
Ye Chen, trained in the Wudang Sect, drew his twin swords and unleashed the Fourth Form of the Yan Savior Style — Heaven's Descent. The moment his technique activated, countless black swords seemed to rain down from the sky, the illusion so real that even the air trembled.
The retainers froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the overwhelming pressure. Then, in desperation, they activated their Blood Art: Tortoise Shell of Crimson Defense. Blood gathered before them, forming a solid, glowing crimson shield.
But even with that formidable defense, they could not withstand Ye Chen's strike. The black blades pierced through the shell, shattering it like glass, and all three retainers were thrown backward, coughing blood as they crashed into the scorched earth.
The City Lord, locked in combat with three other retainers, was also beginning to push them back. His Iron Sword Technique was known throughout the city — a style built for pure defense. His weapon, a long, heavy sword nearly three feet long and fifty kilograms in weight, struck fear into anyone who faced it. Yet in his hands, it moved like a feather, each swing filled with crushing strength.
Unlike Ye Chen's swift and destructive attacks, the City Lord's strength lay in his endurance. His every movement blocked, countered, and deflected, creating a wall of unbreakable steel. After a relentless exchange, he managed to drive the three retainers back several steps.
He took a moment to scan the battlefield. Despite being outnumbered by hundreds, the city guards were gaining the upper hand. It's only a matter of time before we win, he thought confidently.
But then his gaze shifted toward Shen Yue, who stood calmly atop the walls, overseeing the chaos below as if everything was unfolding exactly as he planned. A sudden unease crawled up the City Lord's spine.
At that same moment, both he and Ye Chen noticed something strange — the wounds they had inflicted on the enemy retainers were healing rapidly. Gashes that should have taken months, even years to recover from, sealed up in mere seconds. Torn flesh mended. Broken bones realigned.
"What… what is this?" Ye Chen muttered, his eyes narrowing.
The City Lord's grip tightened on his sword. "Even a Divine Healer couldn't mend such wounds this fast…"
The two warriors exchanged a tense look. Whatever was happening, it was far beyond normal martial arts.
On the other side of the battlefield, the platoon commander and his fifty elite guards faced the same terrifying situation. No matter how many times they struck the enemy, the wounds simply closed — flesh knitting, bones reforming, as if nothing had happened at all.
The soldiers began to panic, their blades soaked in blood that refused to stay spilled.
Gritting his teeth, the platoon commander lunged at one of the red-cloaked enemies. Channeling his qi into his blade, he swung with all his strength — the sword cut clean through the enemy's neck. The head rolled across the dirt… and for the first time, the body didn't move. No regeneration. No recovery. It simply collapsed.
The commander's eyes widened. So that's it!
He drew in a deep breath, then roared — his voice infused with qi, echoing across the battlefield:
"Cut off their heads! Only then will they die!"
The shout carried far, reaching every corner of the battle. The moment the soldiers heard the command, they adjusted their attacks. Before, no matter how deep their cuts, the enemies just regenerated — but now, with their weakness revealed, the tide began to shift.
Blades flashed. Heads fell. The undead enemies who once seemed unstoppable now dropped one after another.
Even the City Lord and Ye Chen, realizing the truth, changed their approach. Their strikes became sharper, faster — always aiming for the head.
But those strange red-cloaked retainers also seemed to understand what was happening. Their movements grew sharper, their dodges quicker. The battle was far from over — now, it had truly
The battle had turned into a fight for survival.
In the midst of the chaos, Soho, Tian Hao, the monks, and Elder Linghui were fighting fiercely, trying to capture at least one enemy alive. After a long struggle, Hao managed to slip through enemy lines, strike a red-cloaked fighter in the back, and knock him unconscious.
Dragging the prisoner out of the battlefield, the group found a half-burned house at the edge of the city — silent, abandoned, the perfect place for interrogation. They threw the red-cloaked man inside and bound his hands tightly.
Elder Linghui stepped forward, his expression calm but sharp.
"Tell me," he said, "why are you attacking this city?"
The prisoner suddenly laughed — a hoarse, mocking sound.
"Ha… haha… You think I'll just tell you? I'd rather die than betray him!"
Linghui eyes darkened. "We don't have much time," he said coldly. Then he turned toward Soho.
"Soho, lend me your sword for a moment."
Soho hesitated, then nodded. "Sure… here."
Taking the blade, Linghui pressed its edge against his own finger — blood welled up as he began to trace ancient runes in the air, his hand trembling slightly. Pain flashed across his face, but he didn't stop.
Soho quickly stuffed a cloth into the prisoner's mouth to silence any screams as Linghui continued. One by one, he cut the prisoner's fingers — slow, deliberate strikes — until only two remained.
Linghui voice was steady, almost emotionless.
"Now… will you talk, or shall I take the last two as well?"
The prisoner's entire body shook. His face turned pale, sweat dripping down his temples. He nodded desperately.
Linghui removed the cloth from his mouth. The man gasped for air, then whispered with trembling lips,
"Glory… to the Blood…"
Before anyone could react, he bit through his tongue and collapsed — dead instantly.
Everyone stood frozen. The air was heavy with the smell of blood and silence.
Tian Hao muttered, "How can someone value this organization more than their own life?"
Linghui stared down at the corpse, his eyes filled with unease.
"This isn't loyalty," he said softly. "It's… devotion born from madness."