Five hundred li outside Apocalypse City lay Black Wind Stronghold.
The stronghold gate, piled high with jagged rocks, hung crookedly beneath half a black banner. The words "Black Wind" on it had been soaked black with bloodstains.
More than a dozen people lay sprawled across the ground, each bare-chested and tattooed with savage ghost sigils. Some had lost an arm; others had their dantians shattered by the force of laws, coughing up black blood as they clung to life.
The air reeked of cheap liquor, blood, and the muddled spiritual energy dispersed by fallen cultivators, thick and clammy enough to make one sick.
Looted storage pouches were piled in the corner. Scattered spiritual materials lay mixed with cultivator skeletons, making it clear that this gang had committed countless evils along the trade routes and never left survivors behind.
Qin He stood in the open space within the stronghold with his hands behind his back. The sole of his boot crushed a bloodstained wolf fang as Gold-Black Law flickered faintly around his fingertips.
"Spare us, Lord Immortal! We had eyes but failed to recognize Mount Tai and did not know an exalted immortal had arrived. Please leave us a path to live!"
Several bandits who could still move scrambled and crawled over to kneel, smashing their foreheads against the gravel until blood immediately seeped out.
The burly man at their head had lost his left leg. Cold sweat and blood streamed over his face, and he did not even dare lift his head to look at Qin He.
Qin He said nothing. He merely raised a fingertip.
Two threads of golden-black fire shot forth, piercing precisely through the brows of the two nearest bandits.
Before the pair could even scream, their bodies melted away within the fiery threads. Only wisps of