"They were my junior brothers too," Mei Lin murmured. "Even if we both know what's coming… I can't pretend they meant nothing."
"You're going to die," Xiao Ning said flatly.
"Maybe," Mei Lin lips curved upward. "But I can't stay here, pretending I don't care."
A moment passed.
He finally turned to face her. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes glinted faintly with something she couldn't quite name—was it disdain? Pity? Or perhaps…
"Take care of yourself, Xiao Ning. If the sect survives… perhaps we'll meet again."
Mei Lin rose into the air, a green arc of light forming beneath her feet.
Without another word, she flew off into the distance.
Xiao Ning watched in silence as her figure faded into the sky.
After a moment, his lips curled into a faint smirk.
"Finally, that woman's gone. Hmph… she really does talk too much."
His gaze shifted northward, and a glint of malice flashed in his eyes.
"Better to catch the prey before it slips away."
With a low chuckle, his figure blurred into an arc of black light and shot across the sky, vanishing toward the northern horizon.
Outside the Shadowclaw Sect headquarters, a sudden change swept across the heavens.
Without warning, the sky above the entire mountain range dimmed, as though a vast curtain had been drawn across the sun. The clear air grew thick and heavy, and even the clouds scattered, revealing a vast and silent void overhead.
Then—
Boom.
A muffled, formless pressure descended from above, spreading outwards like an invisible tide.
The spiritual beasts atop the outer peaks howled in terror and fled. Birds fell from the air mid-flight. Even the formation nodes hidden beneath the mountain trembled as if crushed beneath a greater will.
The Sect's protective arrays activated automatically—barriers of light shimmered to life, talisman wards ignited along the walls, and dozens of defensive nodes pulsed with desperate energy.
But it was like trying to hold back a flood with paper fans.
A golden radiance broke through the thick sky.
Like a second sun descending from the heavens, it swept across the mountain range in a wave of dazzling brilliance. Beneath that light, the world felt still—silent, reverent, and utterly insignificant.
Then, she appeared.
A figure suspended high in the air, cloaked in robes the color of moonlight, her presence wreathed in a soft yet blinding golden halo.
Her long hair drifted in the windless sky, untouched by worldly forces. Her cold gaze swept downward.
Su Jen.
There was no mistaking her aura. It was the same terrifying pressure Xiao Ning had sensed days earlier—but now it had been fully unleashed, and there was no distance to soften the blow.
Even Nascent Soul cultivators watching from within the sect felt their souls shudder and their minds blur, as if a divine hand were pressing down on their heads.
Several weaker disciples dropped to their knees involuntarily, clutching their chests, their spiritual seas in chaos.
Then, her voice rang out.
It wasn't loud, but it carried far—across the mountains, through the sect halls, into every disciple's ears.
"Today is the day of justice."
"The Shadowclaw Sect has brought nothing but pain to the cultivation world. Your elders practice forbidden arts. Your disciples walk the path of cruelty. You enslave souls, defile the dead, and call it cultivation."
Her eyes swept over the mountains below.
"Enough is enough, I have come to put an end to it."
"This is not revenge. This is justice. From today onward… the Shadowclaw Sect will no longer exist."
In the world of cultivation, strength was not measured solely by one's realm.
Just as there were realms—Foundation, Core, Nascent Soul, and beyond—there were also paths. The philosophies a cultivator followed, the principles they embodied, and the methods they employed could shape their destiny as much as their cultivation base.
These paths defined the landscape of the cultivation world just as surely as mountains and rivers.
Foremost among them was the Righteous Path.
Righteous cultivators upheld the heavenly order, walking in harmony with natural laws and moral justice. Their sects were often ancient and majestic, built atop sacred mountains, celestial lakes, or places where the spiritual energy flowed pure and abundant.
Their techniques were luminous and refined—sword light that cut through falsehood, talismans drawn with karmic force, flames that burned with divine authority.
To such cultivators, destroying an evil sect was not an act of aggression—it was a sacred duty. Su Jen, with her unyielding qi and presence like a heavenly sword, was undoubtedly one of them.
Opposing them stood the Evil Path—feared, reviled, and ever resilient.
Cultivators on this path pursued power at all costs. Blood-refining techniques, soul-devouring arts, corpse puppetry, demonic contracts, and body tempering through torture—nothing was off-limits.
Their sects thrived in shadow, buried in poisonous valleys or cursed lands, bound not by morality but by fear and ambition.
To them, life was a currency, and the heavens were something to defy—not obey. Xiao Ning, for all his cunning and power, had walked this path without illusion or shame.
Between these extremes lay the Natural Path.
Cultivators of this lineage followed neither heaven's law nor demonic madness. Instead, they harmonized with the primal forces of the world—earth and sky, wood and flame, ocean and starlight.
Their sects were few and often hidden: ancient groves, sky-reflecting lakes, secluded monasteries, or beast-taming clans deep in wilderness.
They were elusive, deeply respected, and often inscrutable.
And lastly, there were the Rogues—wandering cultivators with no sect, no doctrine, and no allegiance.
Some were self-made geniuses who rose through adversity. Others were fallen disciples, exiled for taboo practices or clashing ideals. Most walked alone, relying on their wits and fists to survive.
Rogues could be saints or monsters, saviors or bandits. Their unpredictability made them both dangerous and compelling.
A few carved legends that shook continents. Many more died nameless, their bodies forgotten on some roadside battlefield.
But to be rogue was to be free—and in a world of hierarchies and divine laws, that freedom was priceless.
Far to the west, deep within a secluded valley veiled in silver mist, moonlight poured down like flowing water. The still surface of a small lake mirrored the sky, and the trees surrounding it stood motionless, untouched by wind.
Built against a sheer cliff face, a quiet jade pavilion lay half-hidden among hanging vines.
Inside, a lone figure leaned heavily against a stone pillar.
His face was pale, almost bloodless, and his robes were in disarray. A thin line of crimson trailed down from the corner of his mouth, staining the front of his tunic.
His chest rose and fell with difficulty, as though even breathing had become a burden.
He had used the last of his strength to activate the final talisman.
But it had worked.
He had fled from that woman's grasp.
Just as the man closed his eyes to steady his breath, a voice drifted in from the moonlit courtyard outside.
"What a nice place you have here."