Protection

By the official road, the stench of blood mingled with the earthy smell of soil, spreading through the night wind.

The remnants of the Cheng Family's marriage proposal procession lay scattered across the ground.

Torn cloth, shattered gift boxes, and corpses strewn in every direction silently accused the slaughter that had just taken place.

Those who had acted included people from the Li Family, the Lu Family, and even the Mo Family.

Only the Ning Family was absent.

The Mo Family was truly ruthless.

Even when slaughtering the bloodline of their own collateral branch, they acted so cleanly and decisively, without the slightest hesitation.

At the rear of the procession stood an elderly man, likewise dressed in black and masked, his figure slightly stooped. He was Mo Qiusheng, patriarch of the Mo Family.

As he looked over the devastation covering the ground, a trace of pain flashed through his clouded eyes, so faint it was nearly impossible to detect. It was swiftly replaced by an even deeper resolve.

"Proceed according to the plan."

Mo Qiusheng's voice was hoarse, carrying an icy severity that brooked no objection.

Before his words had even faded, he tapped off with the tip of his foot and shot forward like a ghost, racing toward the Yun Clan estate in Evergreen Valley.

The other black-clad figures followed close behind, swift in their movements and brimming with killing intent.

This movement was like a massive boulder dropped into a tranquil lake, sending up wave after wave.

Outside Evergreen Valley, countless presences that had lain hidden in the darkness were instantly stirred into action.

"Move!"

"We can't let them get there first!"

The woods swayed, and the rocks trembled.

Figures burst forth from hidden places all around. Like starving wolves that had caught the scent of blood, they surged madly toward the Yun Clan estate.

Most of them wore dark, tight-fitting outfits suited for moving through the night, black cloths covering their faces and leaving only pairs of eyes glittering with greed and murderous intent exposed.

Only the last group to appear seemed utterly out of place.

They wore matching garments of white with blue patterns. The sleeves on their right arms had long since been torn open, revealing a clear character for "Ning" embroidered beneath in blue thread.

They were martial artists of the Ning Family.

Strangely, not one of them had taken part in the bloody encirclement of the Cheng Family's marriage proposal procession earlier.

Yet now, they joined this tide rushing toward the Yun Clan without hesitation.

The night wind howled, sweeping up the dead leaves on the ground—and the thick killing intent as well.

Before the gates of the Yun Clan estate.

The courtyard was brightly lit, illuminating three tall, upright figures.

Yun Hu sat cross-legged at the very front, his eyes slightly closed.

An ancient longsword rested across his lap. Its scabbard was dark and dull, with faint blood-red patterns flowing over it.

It was the treasured sword gifted by the Ning Family: Blood Dripping.

Li Pinghu stood at Yun Hu's left, one hand resting on the hilt of his saber, as immovable as a mountain.

Shi Tie stood to his right, a massive hammer slung over his shoulder, his expression grave.

Every rustle of wind and cry of bird seemed like a warning; countless sharp presences were rapidly closing in from all directions.

Yun Hu slowly opened his eyes, and not the slightest ripple stirred within those starry pupils.

He stretched out a hand, his fingertips gently brushing Blood Dripping's cold blade as he felt the faint tremor it conveyed.

His gaze passed through the constantly swaying shadows of the trees and settled upon the figures swarming toward them.

His eyes were cold and profound.

As though he were looking at a pack of dead things whose endings had already been decided.

Li Pinghu and Shi Tie remained where they were, their breaths steady, like two guardian deities at the gate.

Yun Hu rose to his feet. Blood Dripping left its sheath with him, and a chilling flash of light streaked through the night.

He walked forward one step at a time, each step landing upon the drumbeat of everyone's hearts.

Yet he suddenly stopped.

The dozens of Mo Family martial artists charging at the very front, when they were less than ten zhang from the Yun Clan's gates, abruptly turned around as one. The fierce momentum with which they had been charging toward the Yun Clan was forcibly redirected toward the dense black mass of people behind them!

Mo Qiusheng's aged figure stood out sharply amidst the crowd. He shouted hoarsely, "I, Mo Qiusheng, seek not life today, only death! For the family!"

The Mo Family martial artists behind him seemed to have been infused with their final madness. They roared in unison, "For the family!"

Their voices echoed through the valley, carrying the tragic grandeur of jade and stone shattering together.

Then, like a pack of maddened tigers, those several dozen people charged fearlessly toward the several hundred martial artists of the various families behind them!

Saber light and sword shadows intertwined in an instant. Screams, clashing weapons, and the crack of breaking bones blended into one.

Yun Hu did not continue forward. He merely stood there, silently watching the bizarre scene unfold before him.

These people had actually started fighting among themselves?

More than two hundred Xiantian martial artists surged toward the Yun Clan like an out-of-control flood. Against such an overwhelming disparity in numbers, the Mo Family's mere fifty-odd men seemed utterly insignificant. What they were doing was no different from using eggs to smash against a rock—courting death.

Yet it was precisely this group of "suicidal" Mo Family members who temporarily held back the first wave of the assault.

Immediately afterward, conflict erupted among the crowd at the rear as well.

The Ning Family martial artists clad in white robes patterned with blue designs had also made their move.

Their targets were clear. So long as someone was not from the Ning Family, they swung their weapons without mercy.

For a time, the scene grew ever more chaotic.

The Ning Family was determined to cooperate with the Yun Clan to the bitter end.

That old fox Ning Yongrui clearly did not want to rashly make an enemy of Yun Long, his eldest brother and a Martial Arts Grandmaster.

Now was the moment for the Ning Family to display their "sincerity."

Even so, only Yun Hu, Li Pinghu, and Shi Tie stood guard before the Yun Clan gates.

In the eyes of many, this was undoubtedly the weakest link.

Amid the chaos, more than a dozen figures still broke through the interference of the Mo Family and Ning Family. Roaring, drenched in bloodlust, they pounced on Yun Hu like starving wolves.

Their eyes were crimson, and they looked like madmen. Clearly, they had already cast life and death aside.

Yun Hu lowered his gaze, Blood Dripping Sword slanting toward the ground, its tip swallowing and spitting a dim, icy gleam beneath the lantern light.

At his feet lay the mottled bloodstains left behind by the Mo Family martial artists' suicidal charge moments earlier. The rusty tang in the air grew ever thicker.

He did not hesitate in the slightest.

The instant the first enemy swung his steel saber down at him with a shriek of wind, Yun Hu moved.

He did not retreat. He met the attack head-on.

With one step, his body swayed like a willow in the wind. He seemed slow, yet he evaded the blade's edge at precisely the right moment.

With a flick of his wrist, Blood Dripping Sword gave a soft cry, like a dragon's roar.

Sshk!

An exceedingly fine line of blood quietly blossomed across the man's throat.

The ferocity on that martial artist's face froze in an instant, leaving behind only utter disbelief in his eyes.

He had not even seen how Yun Hu had drawn his sword.

His heavy body crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Yun Hu did not stop moving. His figure had already cut into the enemies rushing at him from behind.

To his left, a man thrust a long spear at his ribs like a venomous snake darting from its hole.

Yun Hu formed a sword-finger with his left hand and lightly tapped the icy shaft of the spear.

Clang!

The crisp, piercing ring of metal striking metal rang out.

The spearman felt a strange vibrating force travel up from the shaft. His arm went numb and weak, and the spear nearly slipped from his grasp.

In that instant of delay, a frigid sword light swept past the corner of his eye.

He saw it. The sword light drifted unpredictably like flowing moonlight, so beautiful it made one's heart tremble.

Then his world fell into eternal darkness.

Yun Hu's sword was too fast—and too strange.

Over these past days, he had already dismantled and absorbed the dozen or so sword manuals acquired from the Ning Family, blending them into the spirit of Qingcheng Swordplay.

At times, it opened and closed in great sweeping arcs, its force like racing thunder and imbued with the fierce might of Pure Yang True Qi.

At other times, it was light and ethereal, like an antelope hanging its horns, like an antelope hanging its horns—leaving no trace to follow.

Blood Dripping Sword seemed to possess a life of its own in his hand.

Every flourish took away another living life.

Blood sprayed without pause, dotting his moon-white robes with bewitching plum blossoms.

Yet he seemed wholly unaware, his mind completely immersed in this exhilarating slaughter.

In his mind, the teachings of that Qingcheng ancestor from the dream continued to echo.

"First learn ten thousand different mundane sword arts."

Every move and every stance confirmed what he had learned.

Those crucial points within sword techniques that had usually been obscure and difficult to grasp suddenly became crystal clear under the extreme pressure of this life-and-death battle, like enlightenment after a cleansing draught.

Pfft!

Another enemy clutched his chest, staring at Yun Hu in disbelief as blood gushed through his fingers.

In his eyes, Yun Hu's figure was like a ghost, while that sword had become a death-summoning talisman. Every flash meant death.

Miserable screams rose and fell without end.

Any enemy who came within three feet of Yun Hu was defeated in a single exchange.

His swordsmanship was no longer bound by any fixed forms. Every move he made at will was a killing stroke.

Occasionally, someone with swift reflexes barely evaded a fatal blow and tried to break away and flee.

Yet Yun Hu's gaze remained icy, without the slightest ripple.

The Blood Dripping Sword followed like a shadow, its tip chasing souls and claiming spirits.

Since these people had come, they would leave their lives behind.