Ming stepped forward.
His sword rose—
And stopped Sao's blade.
Clang.
Sao's smile vanished.
His eyes widened as he stared at Ming.
Blocked…?
Not barely.
Not with effort.
Blocked cleanly.
Even Jinhai—who had fought with everything he had—couldn't do that.
Sao jumped back instantly, creating distance.
His mind raced.
He's stronger than I thought… far stronger.
Sao narrowed his eyes.
First, I'll test his limits.
He raised his hand sharply.
"Kill them."
His companions charged forward.
Sao stayed back, watching closely—waiting for Ming to slow, waiting for exhaustion, waiting for a fatal opening.
But what happened next shattered every expectation he had.
Wrath moved.
So did Ming.
They didn't fight—
They slaughtered.
Wrath's ice flashed like pale moonlight.
One step.
One strike.
A man froze mid-scream before shattering into countless pieces.
Ming moved like a raging tiger.
His blade carved through flesh and bone without resistance.
Heads flew.
Limbs scattered.
Anyone who touched his sword lost something—
An arm.
A leg.
Or their life.
To Jinhai…
It was beautiful.
A deadly dance.
Ming didn't fight like a man.
He fought like a demon—
One who had mastered slaughter until it became art.
Blood painted the floor.
Screams died one by one.
Sao's breath grew heavy.
His hands trembled.
These people… they're on another level.
Only then did he realize the truth.
He never stood a chance.
When the last of Sao's companions fell, silence crashed down on the tavern.
Bodies lay scattered across the floor.
Blood pooled beneath shattered tables.
The air reeked of iron and fear.
Ming stood at the center.
His sword dripped red.
Slowly, he turned his gaze.
Sao felt it.
That gaze wasn't hatred.
It wasn't rage.
It was judgment.
Sao's heart nearly stopped.
"This… this isn't possible…" he muttered, backing away.
Moments ago, he had been the hunter.
Now—
He was prey.
Ming took one step forward.
That was enough.
Sao screamed.
He turned and ran, shoving past tables, slipping in blood, bursting through the tavern doors and into the street.
Outside, people froze.
A Black Serpent Sect disciple—
Running like a rabid dog.
"Is that Sao…?"
"Why is he running?"
Sao didn't hear them.
All he heard was his heartbeat.
Behind him—
Ming walked.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Each step echoed like a death drum.
Sao looked back once—
And nearly collapsed.
Ming was still there.
Unhurried.
Unstoppable.
"I'm sorry—!" Sao cried, tears streaming. "Please—!"
Ming raised his sword.
And ended it.
Silence followed.
Sao's body lay motionless, eyes wide open—fear carved permanently into his face.
Cheers erupted.
"They're dead!"
"We're free!"
Jinhai clenched his fists, trembling—not from pain, but emotion.
But Ming had already turned away.
"Why…?" Wrath asked quietly. "They think it's over."
"It isn't," Ming replied.
Jinhai also know that.
The insignia.
Incomplete.
Not a core elder.
Not a true leader.
"Sao was nothing," Ming said calmly.
"The Black Serpent Sect has seven branch leaders like him. Above them—elders. Inner disciples."
He paused.
"And a Sect Master."
Wrath's eyes narrowed.
"So this was only the beginning."
Ming glanced at the corpse.
"We cut off a finger."
"But the serpent still lives."
Far away—
A jade tablet shattered.
An old man opened his eyes.
Slit pupils gleamed.
"Sao is dead," he whispered.
"Good," the Sect Master said, smiling.
"Let the murderer come."
Murim had just gained a new enemy.
And a war it was not ready for.