Chapter Seventy-Two: The Slaughter Begins

At the summit of Blood Spirit Mountain, the blood pool seethed in turmoil. The taiji shadow at its heart spewed forth a nauseating stench of blood that now reached its most suffocating peak. Above, blood-red clouds roiled across the heavens, churning like some monstrous beast; even the most hardened warriors, seasoned in the art of slaughter, felt a pressure in their chests, as though the very air threatened to choke them.

Shrouded beneath the crimson haze, seven figures hovered above the taiji blood pool, their eyes gleaming with a terrifying red light. The aura they exuded was so dreadful that stones cracked and splintered on the mountainside, and the entire summit trembled with the fury of a storm, fraying the nerves of all who stood beneath their gaze.

“Run for your lives!”

Unable to withstand the mounting terror, many of the unaffiliated cultivators who had reached the peak finally broke, fleeing down the mountainside in panic. None of the great sects paid them any mind; to them, the true enemy now was the bizarre company of seven from the Myriad Demon Sect.

A thunderous boom split the air. The seven, suspended above the blood pool, unleashed a torrent of spiritual power. Blood-red energy surged skyward like a furious dragon, coalescing into a massive hand inscribed with demonic sigils. It swept down upon the fleeing cultivators like a judgment from the heavens.

A series of explosive detonations rang out. The blood-etched hand seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality, rending the air with violent shockwaves. Cracks spidered through the void, and every last escaping cultivator’s body ruptured grotesquely, their remains sucked across the distance in rivers of crimson, drawn inexorably into the shadowy depths of the blood pool.

“The Maha Palm! But how could it be this powerful? What are those blood-red markings?” A disciple of the Myriad Demon Sect gasped as he recognized the technique. Many among them had practiced the Maha Palm, but never had it wielded such deadly force; with a single blow, every fleeing cultivator was slain. It was clear the seven intended that none should leave Blood Spirit Mountain alive.

“This is power on par with the Celestial Astral Realm,” admitted even the mighty Yue Jingfeng and Sun Wutian, shaken by the overwhelming might of that strike.

The human body possesses thirty-six vital acupoints—each one a celestial aperture. After reaching the Blood Condensation Realm, a cultivator channels their boundless blood energy through these points, transcending mortality and entering the Celestial Astral Realm. In this realm, one draws upon the power of the thirty-six stars, mastering mysteries far beyond the imagination of those below.

“Kill!”

It was unclear who first shouted the word, but in the next instant, a torrent of spiritual energy erupted from the summit. With a deafening war cry, Yue Jingfeng of the Limitless Sword Sect, Sun Wutian of the Myriad Demon Sect, Xuan Tianhe of the Wildfire Cult, and Guo Tiandu of the Skysea Sect struck out together. Five columns of terrifying spiritual power swept toward the seven sinister figures suspended in the air.

A chorus of sinister laughter echoed from above. The seven responded, their bodies erupting with a bizarre, sanguine light that poured out like fresh blood. A wave of blood energy surged forth, forming an unbreakable barrier that shattered the incoming spiritual attacks.

“Retreat!”

Seeing their strike fail, Yue Jingfeng and the others immediately pulled back, wary of the seven’s uncanny blood powers. But the seven, gazing down from above, would not allow them to escape so easily.

A deep rumble emanated from the blood pool. Waves of blood crashed against the shore, and from their midst burst forth spectral claws, leaving crimson trails across the void as they raked out in every direction.

“This is bad!”

The sudden appearance of these blood claws caught many unawares. Ro Hao and Su Yu, together with Ji Rou and several others, reacted with lightning speed, narrowly evading the deadly swipes. But most were not so fortunate; caught off guard, the majority of the warriors were seized and crushed to blood mist.

As he dodged, Ro Hao noticed that the blood mist from slain cultivators was rapidly sucked into the pool, and with each absorption, the power radiating from the taiji shadow only grew stronger.

Screams of agony resounded. Blood ran in rivers, staining everything in sight. Within Ro Hao, the ancient mirror shuddered in fierce resonance, his spine burning hot, the blood of his people boiling with the desire for battle.

A mighty dragon’s roar echoed across the heavens, vast and immeasurable. Pure dragon might burst from Ro Hao’s body, suppressing the overwhelming stench of blood. If previous dragon roars had been grand and imposing, this one—perhaps influenced by the fallen dragon's bones from the lost battlefield—carried a sense of ancient, timeless power.

“What’s happening to you, brat?” Ji Rou’s beautiful eyes were tinged with concern as she sensed the change in Ro Hao’s state.

The ancient dragon’s cry drew countless eyes, even Yue Jingfeng and the others in the thick of battle glancing over in shock.

Golden dragon power, fused with boundless battle energy, soared skyward like a divine serpent, dispersing the blood clouds above in a sweeping tide. Ro Hao’s body glowed with divine radiance; in that moment, he was like a god or demon striding among mortals, striking without mercy. His golden fist swept across three thousand leagues, shattering the attacking blood claws, igniting the air with dragon fire that burned away every trace of the bloody haze.

“He’s so... so powerful,” Su Yao murmured, lips parted in awe, her bright eyes wide with astonishment.

“Junior Brother Ro must have cultivated a supremely masculine art, and it seems tied to the dragon clan. It’s perfectly suited to counter the evil before us.”

After the initial chaos, the great sects quickly recovered and organized a coordinated defense, unleashing waves of spiritual force against the encroaching blood claws.

All across the summit, battle raged with terrible ferocity. Meanwhile, Yue Jingfeng and the others found themselves steadily forced back by the seven Myriad Demon Sect disciples, now puppets of the blood pool.

“Die!”

With a single punch, Ro Hao shattered the blood-red waterfall and spectral claws before him. He no longer hesitated, striking directly at one of the seven. He did not do this out of any desire to help Yue Jingfeng and the others—but because the seven, now equal in strength to Celestial Astral Realm warriors, left no hope of escape for anyone acting alone. Without unity, they would all meet the same fate as the slaughtered cultivators.

The golden power of his punch shone with righteousness, and the Myriad Demon Sect disciple before him—his face marked with shifting blood runes—glared at Ro Hao with undisguised loathing for this golden dragon might. With a howl, he transformed into a streak of blood-red light, streaking toward Ro Hao.

“Junior Brother Ro, we’re with you!” As the blood light surged forward, Ji Rou and her two companions appeared at Ro Hao’s side, joining him against their foe.

“Sister Ji, I can hold on for a while longer—quick, go and tie down one of the other six blood slaves!” Ro Hao called to them without time for further explanation.

“Blood slaves?” Though puzzled, the three women did not hesitate, moving to engage another of the remaining six. The battle shifted once more: Yue Jingfeng and Xue Yue of the Limitless Sword Sect, Xuan Tianhe of the Wildfire Cult, Sun Wutian and Yang Li of the Myriad Demon Sect, Guo Tian of the Skysea Sect, Ji Rou and her companions, as well as Feng Wuhen and the man in yellow from the Western Hills, all joined the fray against the blood slaves.

Battle energy soared to the heavens, murderous intent reverberated through all living things. Torrents of spiritual force swept toward the seven blood slaves, while at the same time, a pillar of blood-red light shot up from the taiji shadow, enveloping Ro Hao and his allies.

Outside the pillar, warriors continued their desperate struggle against the spectral claws. Amidst the chaos, Yang Li cast a cold glare at Ro Hao, who was locked in battle within the pillar’s crimson glow.

Blood splattered, the fighting grew ever more savage. The sky was shrouded in red mist for a hundred miles, blotting out the sun. Within the blood pillar, Ro Hao and his companions fought desperately against the blood slaves. Of them all, Ro Hao’s cultivation was the lowest, his situation most dire; blood seeped from countless wounds, and more than once he narrowly escaped being cleaved in two.

“Are you all still holding back? Unleash your Blood Armaments!” Guo Tian of the Skysea Sect shouted amid the fray. The others nodded grimly. Ro Hao’s heart pounded—he knew all too well the power of the Blood Armament, the scar on his chest still a bitter memory. If all of them unleashed this forbidden art at once, the resulting devastation would be unimaginable; even the thought of it made his scalp crawl.