Boom! A deep, resonant hum shook the battlefield. Every eye—human, demon, and beast—watched Demonstone charge like a living siege engine, his hulking silhouette more monster than man. Yet, ten yards short of Jared, the general’s greatsword met an unseen barrier harder than anything in the world.
Steel screamed, then both blade and the arm that wielded it burst apart in a spray of gravel-like flesh and molten sparks. An instant later, the giant torso, plated in craggy keratin, was hammered backward by that same invisible force, hurtling through the air faster than it had advanced.
While Demonstone tumbled, the rocky armor shattered piece by piece; blood and shards of organ geysered from his mouth and nose.
He traced a gruesome arc of scarlet across the sky before crashing into the ranks of the Melded Beastkin army below.
Several soldiers were pulped beneath him, and, after two twitching spasms, Demonstone lay still, life snuffed out, aura erased.
A warrior famed for raw strength, perched at Top Level Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Five, had been swatted aside and annihilated by nothing more than a casual wave of Jared’s sleeve.
Silence fell, so complete even the wind forgot to breathe. From Demon Sect to Melded Beastkin to Mystic Sky Sword Sect, every witness stood frozen, minds wiped clean by shock.
What the hell did we just see? Was it a hallucination? That was a Top Level Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Five powerhouse, not some random noob!
There should have been clashing spells, earth-splitting impacts, anything except being swatted to death like a fly!
Sheldon Soulsby’s predator-wide grin froze; his eyes, the size of bronze bells, seemed ready to crack.
Linden Cloudridge and every elder and disciple of the Mystic Sky Sword Sect were struck dumb with awe. Yes, they had known Jared was strong—he had chased Sheldon from Blood-Scar Plains—but seeing this, it was beyond their expectation!
The display stretched far beyond anything their experience could frame. How could someone in the Human Immortal Realm wield such terrifying might?
Jared himself behaved as though he had merely brushed away dust, and not once did he spare a glance toward the corpse he had created. Instead, his calm gaze remained fixed on Sheldon and Garth, and a thin thread of impatience colored his voice.
“Insignificant beings, the pair of you. You are not even worth the trouble of me drawing my blade,” Jared said, his voice drifting across the battlefield—steady, unhurried, almost bored. “Well? Does anyone else want to step up and test their fate?”
The simple question struck the ranks of the Demon Sect and the Melded Beastkin like a sheet of black ice. For an instant, the world froze, soundless and brittle.
Then, the silence was shattered. Panic surged, boots scrambled, and angry voices tumbled over one another in a dissonant roar.
“N-No… This is impossible!”
“How can General Demonstone die just like that?”
“W-Who the hell is that man? What kind of monster is he?”
Fear spread like plague spores on a damp wind, seeping into the lower-ranked disciples and Melded Beastkin warriors until wide eyes and quivering hands became contagious.
“B*stard! Enough of your swagger!” Sheldon forced the words through clenched teeth, his face the color of forged iron. Sweat prickled beneath his collar, but he strangled the terror with sheer will.
He can’t truly overpower us… He must have used some bizarre trick or secret magical item to fell Demonstone in a single stroke. Yes, yes, that has to be it!
“Everyone, get into position for the Ten-Thousand-Soul Devouring Array! Lock him down and crush him!” Sheldon howled.
“Melded Beastkin warriors, get into your battle formations and charge at him! Wear the b*stard out!” Garth Thornscale finally found his voice, the order tearing from his throat in a guttural roar as he rallied his stunned warriors.
Jared exhaled, patience spent.
“How noisy…” he muttered, almost softly, and at last wrapped his fingers firmly around the hilt of Dragonslayer Sword.
There was no earth-shattering opening move, no charging of power, no battle cry. He simply lifted Dragonslayer Sword and drew a level, unadorned arc through the air.
From the blade slipped a crescent of chaos-tinged light, thin as cicada wings, nearly invisible. It floated forward with the grace of a drifting feather, carrying no thunderous boom, no palpable surge of power.
Ten yards on, the crescent quivered, and detonated in silence. One became two, two became four, four became eight, until hundreds, then thousands, of gossamer slivers fanned outward, each thread sharper than regret and tinted the same formless grey.
Like living vipers of primordial mist, the threads of sword energy swept downward, selecting the Demon Sect members and Melded Beastkin warriors who still struggled to form ranks.
Soon, everyone with an aura between Earthly Immortal Realm Levels Four and Five quickly fell beneath that expanding net. They arrived too fast for mortal eyes, faster than spiritual sense could register.
Pop! Pop! Pop! A staccato burst of sound, like thousands of bubbles popping in the same breath, ripped across the battlefield.
It was the sound of flesh parting and armor bursting, a grisly percussion that rolled across the valley like a death drum. The blast came so dense and sudden that every scalp tingled and every heartbeat stumbled.
Below, more than three hundred Demon Sect enforcers and Melded Beastkin leaders froze mid-formation, mid-roar, mid-charge. Their faces stayed locked in ferocity, zeal, or astonishment, yet the light inside each eye died in a single beat.
An instant later, their bodies, along with armor and weapons, powdered into wind-worn sand.
A gentle breeze lifted the pale dust skyward; not a drop of blood, not a shard of bone remained. All that lingered were vacant patches of earth and a glitter of untouched storage rings and pouches.
One sword stroke had brought about total annihilation, and over three hundred Earthly Immortal Realm Level Four and Five cultivators vanished without a trace.
