The night was alive with the roar of thunder and the continuous pelting of rain—the storm was relentless. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the battlefield—a tableau of horror where dozens of assassins, clad in darkness and masked, lay strewn across the ground like broken puppets. Some were headless, their necks cleaved clean by a single, merciless slash. Others sprawled in grotesque, twisted heaps, limbs sheared away, torsos split open. The rain pooled scarlet beneath them, resembling a vast crimson lake that swallowed the earth.
At the heart of this endless carnage stood Mo Yanluo, the Demon Lord. His robes were soaked through, clinging to his lean, powerful frame. His blade, black as midnight and stained with the blood of those who had slain, glinted in the lightning's flash. His eyes, cold and unyielding.
The assassins had come at him in waves, their numbers seeming endless. But Mo Yanluo was no mere cultivator. He was a legend, a demon born from the depths of the Underworld.
As he fought, he unleashed the forbidden Qi Absorption technique, a dark art that had help earn him his demonic reputation.
With every assassin he slaughtered, he drained their life force, their essence, their very souls. Their bodies withered before they even hit the ground, skin shriveling, bones turning into powder, eyes hollowing into vacant sockets.
The stolen power surged into Mo Yanluo, feeding his strength, sharpening his senses, making him faster, and far deadlier than before.
Mo Yanluo moved like a shadow, his blade dancing in the darkness. He was a whirlwind of destruction, his movements fluid and precise. The assassins were nothing more than nourishment for him. They fell one by one, their screams lost in the storm.
The assassins' fear was palpable. They hesitated, their blades trembling, their breath ragged. But their leader—a towering figure in silver and black robes, his face hidden behind a mask of dazzling chrome—stepped forward.
Mo Yanluo felt it, he was at the middle-stage of the Transcendent Realm, his aura thick with killing intent. He raised his weapon, a single-edged, curved blade that shimmered with a sickly green light.
"Demon Lord," he sneered, voice dripping with venom, "your reign ends tonight."
Mo Yanluo did not answer. He simply lifted his own sword, the air around him crackling with the stolen Qi.
The leader lunged at him, his blade cutting through the downpour.
Mo Yanluo parried, the clash sending sparks flying. The two warriors became a tempest of steel, their blades flashing faster than the eye could comprehend. The leader was skilled, his technique refined, his strikes precise and deadly. He pressed Mo Yanluo, forcing him back step by step, his sharp blade seeking to bite and tear into his flesh.
However, Mo Yanluo was faster, he dodged and blocked. The leader's attacks always one step too late. Mo Yanluo's movements resembled a graceful dance—no wasted movement, and no hesitation in his actions.
Suddenly, the leader feinted, then slashed for Mo Yanluo's throat. Mo Yanluo twisted away, the blade grazing his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. He retaliated with a downward slash that forced the leader to leap back.
The battle raged on, the storm howling around them. The leader pressed again, his sword a blur of green and silver. Mo Yanluo parried again, then countered with a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed at a vital point. The leader blocked, his arms trembling with the force of each strike. The tides began to change, the leader was being pushed back, his boots splashing in the blood-soaked mud. Mo Yanluo continued his assault, each strike growing fiercer and bolder than the last.
Finally, Mo Yanluo saw his opening. The leader had overextended, his guard wide open for a fraction of a second. Then, Mo Yanluo's blade flashed, a black arc in the night.
The leader's head tumbled from his shoulders, his body collapsing to the ground. Before it could hit the earth, Mo Yanluo unleashed the Qi Absorption technique for one last time. The leader's essence was ripped from his corpse, his body withering into a dried husk, his power absorbed by the Demon Lord.
The battlefield fell silent, save for the storm. Dozens of dried corpses littered the ground, their forms twisted and broken. Mo Yanluo stood amidst the carnage, his body thrumming with stolen power. He was stronger now, more dangerous than ever.
But there was no time to rest. As he turned to return to his disciples, a distant scream pierced the night—a woman's voice, sharp with pain and desperation. Mo Yanluo's blood ran cold. He moved without thought, his body a blur as he raced toward the sound.
Deep in the grove, Xiao Fengwu, the Azure Blade, fought for her life. Her azure robes were torn and stained with blood, her raven-black hair streaked with rain and sweat. Around her, laid the corpses of dozens of assassins.
She was surrounded, their numbers still overwhelming despite her efforts. Her sword was a silver blur, her movements graceful and lethal, but she was outnumbered and exhausted. A deep cut on her slender left arm, blood dripping steadily to the ground. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurring at the edges.
The assassins charged in, their blades flashing. Xiao Fengwu parried desperately, her sword ringing with each block, her muscles crying out in pain with each deflection and parry.
One assassin successfully landed a slash at her side, the blade cutting deep into her slender figure. She cried out, staggering back, the sword in her hand trembling. Another assassin lunged, aiming for her heart. She barely managed to deflect the strike, but the force sent her crashing to the ground. Mud clung to her battered body as she let out a pained gasp.
The assassins followed suit, their eyes blinded with malice. They raised their blades, ready to deliver the final blow.
"You fought well, Azure Blade," one sneered. "But your legend ends here."
Xiao Fengwu gritted her teeth, her stormy blue-gray eyes blazing with defiance. She would not beg. She would not yield even in her final moments.
Just as the assassins swung down their weapons, a dark figure burst into the grove, intercepting their attacks.
Mo Yanluo, the Demon Lord, descended upon them with the fury of a vengeful beast. His blade was a streak of darkness, cutting through the assassins with terrifying speed.
Heads flew, limbs were severed, bodies sucked dry. The assassins barely had time to scream before they were cut down. Their vitality siphoned.
Mo Yanluo stood over Xiao Fengwu, his presence radiating with power and murderous intent.
The remaining assassins hesitated, their movements radiating fear and submission. Mo Yanluo's eyes narrowed, a silent fury behind them, and his voice a silent threat that sent a shiver down the assassins' spines.
"Leave, or join your comrades in death. I've already killed your leader."
The assassins fled with their tails tucked behind their legs, after learning of their commander's death.
Mo Yanluo knelt beside Xiao Fengwu, his expression unreadable. She looked up at him, her vision swimming, her strength fading.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice weak and muffled by the storm.
Mo Yanluo nodded. "You are Xiao Fengwu, the Azure Blade. Am I right?"
She managed a weak smile. "You've heard about me?"
"I have heard of your skill. You are a legend even among sword masters."
Xiao Fengwu's eyes fluttered shut. "And you are Mo Yanluo, the Demon Lord. I have heard of your reputation as well."
Mo Yanluo gently lifted her, cradling her in his arms. "You are safe now. Rest."
He carried her back to the cave, where his disciples waited, their faces pale with worry. They gathered around as Mo Yanluo laid Xiao Fengwu by the fire, tending to her wounds using his healing arts.
Ming Yue stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Master, who is she?"
Mo Yanluo looked at his disciples, then at the woman who had fought so bravely. "This is Xiao Fengwu, the Azure Blade."
The disciples murmured in awe, their respect for their master deepening. Xiao Fengwu, though weak, managed a small nod of gratitude.
As the storm outside began to fade, the group huddled around the fire, their spirits lifted by the presence of a new ally. Mo Yanluo sat apart, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead. The Grand Tournament was drawing near, and with it, the dangers that awaited.
But for now, he was content. He had protected his disciples, saved a legend, and grown stronger from the night's trials. The road ahead was long, but he was ready to face it—with his family by his side.