Before the Elder’s warning could even fade, the Martial Arena had dissolved into a chorus of ghostly wails and wolf-like howls.

  The first to suffer were the Outer disciples crowded at the periphery. Low in cultivation and lacking even a decent defensive artifact, they were defenseless. The black cloud pressed down, its buzzing so intense it threatened to rupture eardrums.

  "Ah! My eyes!" A disciple screamed, clutching his face. Between his fingers, fresh blood mixed with the crushed black husks of insects flowed in a grisly stream.

  Before his second cry could leave his throat, his entire body burst like a punctured waterskin. He slumped to the ground, his flesh shriveling with terrifying speed. In a heartbeat, nothing remained but a skeleton riddled with a thousand holes, covered in writhing maggots.

  Panic spread like a plague. The crowd exploded. Everyone fought like madmen to squeeze into the golden light of the protection shroud cast by the Elder.

  They trampled, they shoved, they cursed. Brothers-in-arms from yesterday drew their blades against one another today just to secure a spot within the shield. Spells flew wildly; flesh was torn apart. Many, before they could even reach the light, were swallowed by the black cloud of Corpse-Feeding Flies, vanishing into the swarm's nutrients without even time to scream.

  Chen Gensheng stood upon the cliff, looking down at this terrestrial purgatory with cold, detached eyes. The thick scent of blood, mixed with the sweet aroma of dissipating spiritual energy, drifted into his nostrils on the wind.

  This scent made every drop of blood in his body roar with excitement.

  "Do you see it, disciple?" Jiang Guixian’s voice rose behind him, as calm as if he were admiring a firework display. "This is the true face of the living. They preach benevolence and morality daily, yet the moment life and death are on the line, they are uglier than anything else."

  With his hands behind his back, he paced leisurely. His image as a refined scholar stood in jarring, grotesque contrast to the bloody carnage below.

  "Relax and enjoy the show," Jiang patted Gensheng’s shoulder with a hint of pride. "The Myriad Ghoul Casket has long since veiled my presence from the Heavens. Their crude spiritual senses can see the insects, but not the man. They’ll die thinking this is just a masterless swarm. Fools, every last one—dying without ever knowing who killed them."

  Gensheng said nothing. His gaze was locked onto the highest point of the viewing gallery.

  The white figure. Lu Zhaozhao.

  She stood up. Her white robes seemed even more untainted by the world against the backdrop of crimson slaughter. Then, she acted.

  She raised a slender hand, pressing her fingers together like a blade, and made a sweeping motion toward the insect cloud in the sky. A wisp of sword-intent—pure to the absolute limit—erupted from her fingertips.

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  Initially only an inch long, the intent exploded the moment it left her hand. In a flash, a massive white sword-scar spanned the horizon, looking as if it would cleave the sky in two. Wherever the scar passed, the ink-thick cloud was forcibly torn open. Tens of thousands of Corpse-Feeding Flies were turned into fine powder the instant they touched the intent, leaving not even a husk behind.

  Sunlight spilled through the rift once more. The chaos in the arena stuttered. Everyone stared up, mouths agape, at the lingering white scar in the sky and the Saintess who stood aloof from the world.

  Jiang Guixian’s eyes narrowed, but the smirk on his face only deepened.

  "Good. Excellent. The more talented the prey, the more delicious the flesh. It’s perfect—let’s see how my 'babies' fare against a Golden Core cultivator."

  The moment he spoke, the bronze casket hummed again. This time, what poured out was not black, but a deluge of crimson.

  Countless blood-colored ants, each the size of a fingernail and translucent like polished red jade. The Blood-Jade Marching Ants swept down the mountainside like a dam-break of gore. Where they passed, stone and vegetation were devoured instantly, leaving behind nothing but scorched, barren earth.

  "These are far more formidable than the flies," Jiang said with cruel delight. "Their mandibles can easily bite through the defense of a Low-grade artifact. More importantly, they carry a trace of fire-poison. Once they enter the body, they burn the organs, meridians, and Dantian into ash from the inside out. Even a Golden Core’s protective light won’t hold for long."

  He looked at Gensheng, as if teaching a lesson. "Disciple, watch closely. This is true combat for an Insect Master. To overwhelm the few with the many; to win through sheer quantity. No matter how divine your techniques or profound your magic, before an endless tide of insects, there is only the path to the grave."

  Gensheng nodded. He was indeed learning.

  Yet, a strange feeling of unease lingered in his heart. It was too smooth. Everything was going too perfectly to be real.

  Just as Jiang Guixian prepared to savor the next feast of slaughter, a voice—without warning—echoed through the entirety of Maple Red Valley. The voice wasn't loud, yet it vibrated clearly in everyone's ears.

  "Jiang Guixian."

  "Have you finally decided to crawl out of your sewer, you fish that escaped the net?"

  The voice didn't come from the arena. Nor the viewing gallery. It came from all directions, from the very air and earth. It was as if the entire Valley itself was speaking the name.

  The smile on Jiang Guixian’s face froze. He whipped his head around, staring toward the Main Peak. His refined mask of a face twisted into an inhuman contortion of shock and fury.

  Impossible! How could he have found me?!

  "Enjoy the show?" A flat, calm voice rang out inside Jiang’s mind. "Junior Brother Jiang, it is more fitting that I, your Senior Brother, direct this play."

  In the next instant, a terrifying pressure that defied description descended from the heavens. It wasn't sharp like Lu Zhaozhao’s sword-intent, nor violent like the insect swarm. It was vast as an abyss, boundless as the sea. It felt as if the sky itself had collapsed.

  Gensheng felt his bones groaning under the weight. His legs buckled, and he nearly fell to his knees. The spiritual energy in his body was like a candle flame in a hurricane—it couldn't even flicker before being suppressed deep into his Dantian, unable to move.

  Jiang Guixian’s state was even worse. His cyan robes whipped violently despite the lack of wind. He looked as though he were being crushed by a giant, invisible hand. His face turned from white to blue, then to a sickly purple.

  Spurt!

  He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Nascent... Nascent Soul!"

  "Chen Qingyun... you actually stepped into the Nascent Soul realm!"