"Die!!"
"Open!"
"Bang!!"
"Run!"
"The immortals of the Eastern Cult are killing people!"
"His Majesty has fallen!!"
"..."
Chaos.
Utter chaos.
The sight of tens of thousands fleeing for their lives.
Commoners, martial wanderers, aristocratic clans, men, women, children...
In this great turmoil, there was nowhere to run.
Trampling, crushing crowds, curses, pleas for mercy...
Night of the Blood Moon.
The Jiang Kingdom's ancestral worship ceremony should have been a scene of joyous celebration, yet it had not unfolded as expected.
Instead, there was slaughter, panic, and flight.
Government troops and the Rebel Army fought in a tangled melee.
Eastern Cult disciples and Martial Artists faced each other in a mad confrontation.
Atop the towering crimson altar.
The wrinkles on Dongfang Cang's face had gradually faded.
Though he was still old, the heavy air of twilight and decay had vanished.
His clouded eyes had become clear and bright.
Yet that bright gaze was hollow at this moment.
Blood had already stained the altar.
Before Old Ancestor Dongfang, a figure stood with an exceedingly pale face.
Sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes.
Ling Xuzi held both arms aloft, the spiritual power within him still pouring ceaselessly into the light in the sky.
He, too, could not move.
The Martial Artists surrounding the altar had red eyes. Raising their weapons, they tried desperately to charge into the altar and break this sacrifice.
But...
"Hmph!"
The Eastern Cult disciples looked utterly calm.
The multicolored treasures in their hands were raised above their heads.
Like a heavy, massive wall, they firmly blocked those martial artist soldiers outside.
"Daoist friend, why are you already exhausted?"
A chubby little child stood beside Ling Xuzi, his face filled with mockery.
He held a talisman in his left hand and looked up at Ling Xuzi with