Spiritual roots are quite wondrous, aren't they?

The shout of the Sect Leader Yuqian rang out like a voice carried for miles, clear and unmistakable to every disciple present.

“An elder? You become an elder just by killing Brother Agni?”

“But… Brother Agni has always taken such good care of us…”

“It was all an act! He’s the Midnight Headsman! He’s a wanted criminal!”

“Are we even capable of defeating him?”

The disciples murmured among themselves, hesitating, none daring to make a move. The tension in the air grew so thick it threatened to suffocate them—until once more, the Sect Leader’s rallying cry thundered forth:

“Any who dare take the field will each be rewarded with an artificial spirit root!”

At these words, confusion flickered in the disciples’ eyes, which swiftly gave way to a burning frenzy.

“Artificial spirit root…”

Throughout all the cultivation methods of the Daoist sects, there was no escaping the concept of the “spirit root.” It was the measure of one’s innate aptitude—some were graced with extraordinary spirit roots, destined for greatness in cultivation; most, however, possessed flawed and marred roots, doomed to mediocrity. It was as though the arc of one’s life was inscribed by the heavens long before it began.

But everything changed when the sect pioneered the creation of artificial spirit roots. The doctrine of predestined fate was shattered.

No one outside the highest ranks of the sect knew how these artificial roots were forged. The disciples only knew that with one, even an ordinary soul could gain the potential of a prodigy, and those fated for obscurity could taste the radiance reserved for the chosen few.

Though artificial roots were dear and rare, the chance to rise above all others was enough for the disciples to pledge themselves wholly to the sect.

“To battle! To battle! Down with the Midnight Headsman!”

No one knew who gave the first shout, but in an instant, hundreds of disciples surged forward as if possessed, brandishing their weapons and charging down the mountain in a chaotic torrent.

…

At the foot of the mountain, Chu Jianlai and Xu Qing were locked in a desperate duel.

Chu Jianlai’s weapon was no match for Xu Qing’s, forcing him to fight defensively, relying on skill alone to evade the relentless slashes.

“Hmph, is dodging all you can do?” Xu Qing sneered, mocking him as he pressed the attack. “You’re not so impressive after all, you coward! I heard your whole family was slaughtered—how about I send you to join them?”

As expected, the taunt struck a raw nerve. Chu Jianlai’s body stiffened, freezing in place.

—A perfect opening!

Xu Qing grunted, swinging his greatsword at full force down upon his opponent.

“Boom—!”

The instant the sword struck Chu Jianlai, a violent explosion erupted from the blade, blasting him away.

Flicking the bloody fragments from his sword, Xu Qing braced himself to pursue and confirm the kill.

“Brother Xu Qing!” At that moment, Yuqian Qiu Xue arrived, riding her flying sword.

“Qiu Xue, what are you doing here?” Xu Qing’s expression darkened, brows furrowing.

“I was worried about you, so I came…” Qiu Xue replied.

“You’re no match for him—stay and you’ll die.” Xu Qing inhaled deeply, trying to dissuade her.

But Qiu Xue simply smiled with confidence, drawing a stack of mechanical talismans from her pack. “I’ve been the sect’s top prodigy since childhood. I’ll be fine!”

“Then… just be careful.” Xu Qing, unwilling to argue further, tossed her a perfunctory warning and ran toward the spot where Chu Jianlai had landed.

Qiu Xue followed, finding Chu Jianlai sprawled weakly before a shattered boulder.

The blast had wreaked havoc on his body—half his bones were broken, his flesh charred and reeking of burned meat.

No one had ever survived Xu Qing’s full-powered explosive slash; even the man himself wouldn’t dare use it without custom armor.

“You really are a monster, but this is the end!” Xu Qing laughed coldly, sword raised as he advanced. “Before you die, tell me—who are your accomplices?”

…

At the foot of Immortal Peak, Chen Shang was teaching Chiyo to play cards, while Black Calis lay twitching against his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t we go help him?” Chiyo asked, clearly uneasy.

Chen Shang pondered, then replied, “There’s no need to worry.”

“Why not?” Chiyo pressed.

“Do you know what the Heart of the Earth’s greatest function is?” Chen Shang grinned.

“What is it?”

“It can make anything requiring energy submit to its will—though it puts a heavy load on the engine and risks a crash.” Chen Shang explained, “With his abilities, in a fit of rage, he could probably control five hundred flying swords at once.”

…

Xu Qing had barely taken a step when his greatsword suddenly felt as heavy as a mountain, dropping to the ground beyond his control. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t lift it.

“What’s going on?” He stared at his sword, bewildered.

Almost simultaneously, exclamations of shock rose from the other disciples arriving on the scene—their weapons, too, slipped from their grasp, immovable no matter how they strained.

Xu Qing looked back at Chu Jianlai, and saw a triangular engine-like device embedded in the man’s exposed chest. At its heart was a fiercely glowing light, and the mechanical whirring of an engine filled the air.

“This is your doing?!” Xu Qing glared at the engine in Chu Jianlai’s chest.

Chu Jianlai coughed softly, a faint laugh escaping his lips.

“I’m talking to you! Is this your doing?” Xu Qing shouted, raising a fist to strike him.

At that moment, a metallic cacophony rose all around them. Within a hundred yards, black shadows shot skyward, slicing through the night and converging above Chu Jianlai’s head.

They were the disciples’ fallen weapons, Xu Qing’s nuclear-powered greatsword among them.

As the swarm of blades gathered overhead, Xu Qing’s expression turned from confusion to a rare, dawning terror.

The engine in Chu Jianlai’s chest spun faster, its roar mounting, as if threatening to overload and explode at any moment.

“A pity—you never should have mocked my family,” Chu Jianlai spat.

He raised a single finger and brought it down in a gentle sweep.

Realizing what was about to happen, Xu Qing shouted reflexively, “Run!”

Led by Xu Qing’s greatsword, the massed blades hovering above plummeted like a torrential downpour, raining death upon the disciples below.

…

After the chorus of screams faded, the ground was littered with bodies. A handful of survivors crawled from beneath their comrades, gasping as they fled down the mountain.

Xu Qing stared wide-eyed, agony searing his thigh—a sword had pierced his armor, transfixing his leg.

In his arms lay Yuqian Qiu Xue, now riddled with blades like a human pincushion.

He remembered, in that brief, deadly moment, how Qiu Xue had thrown herself over him, shielding him from the deadly rain.

“Damn you…” Xu Qing snarled at Chu Jianlai, clenching his fists in rage and despair.

Chu Jianlai stepped forward, crouched, and seized Qiu Xue’s dying body.

With a sickening squelch, he drove his hand into her dantian, extracting a small mechanical vial glowing with red light.

“So this is… an artificial spirit root…” Chu Jianlai tossed Qiu Xue aside and cradled the device in his hands.

Tears of filthy, blackened blood streaked slowly down his cheeks.

“This… this is my brother’s scent.”