Haotian's Severed Arm, Tang San's Rout

Tang San rushed seven steps to reach Tang Hao.

Tang Hao's body tilted to the left, and halfway down, Tang San caught him.

The weight of the man pressed into his arms, terrifyingly heavy.

Both sleeves hung empty.

The left arm, severed years ago, the old scar long since turned white.

The right arm—fresh, the stump just three inches below the shoulder, blood gushing from the cross-section in rhythmic spurts, staining the front of Tang San's robes a vast, dark red.

The warm liquid trickled down the fabric, dripping onto the rubble with a rapid, staccato tap-tap-tap.

Both of Tang San's hands were trembling.

One hand supported Tang Hao's back, the other pressed against the stump; the moment his fingers touched the wound, scalding blood squeezed out from between them.

He couldn't stop it.

"Dad! Dad, look at me!"

Tang Hao's lips moved twice.

No sound came out. Between the blood loss and the backlash from detonating five spirit rings, his aura was plummeting, and his consciousness was already beginning to scatter.

Tang San's fingers grew slick with blood, pressing against the stump again and again, only to slide off each time.

Seven steps away.

Dai Mubai stood where he was, not moving an inch.

He had witnessed the entire strike.

The Severing Thought Sword had slipped from Hu Liena's hand, vanished into thin air, and reappeared three feet from Tang Hao—all in less than a single breath.

Clear Sky Douluo, Sect Master of the Clear Sky Sect.

Once the number one person in the world.

Severed of an arm by a sword that had only acknowledged its master for less than ten seconds.

Dai Mubai swallowed hard and turned his head.

Ma Hongjun's phoenix fire had gone out.

Not extinguished by choice—it had died on its own.

His martial soul had sensed the pressure of that sword and instinctively retreated.

Ma Hongjun's face was deathly pale, his mouth hanging open, unable to close.

The bravado of "I've wanted to do this for a long time" was gone, not a trace left.

Looking further back—

Oscar and Ning Rongrong stood together.

Ning Rongrong's fingers were dug into Oscar's forearm, her nails drawing blood, but Oscar didn't react, for he was trembling just as violently.

Zhu Zhuqing took half a step back, her spine pressed against a shattered wall.

The thirty-two elites of the Tang Sect, those hidden weapon masters who had followed them all the way from the dense forest, were now silent, not making a sound.

Some had knees so weak they had to lean on their companions to keep from collapsing on the spot.

Morale was gone.

Bibi Dong descended from mid-air.

The Rakshasa Demon Scythe rested at her side, dark purple spirit power shrouding her in a cold, eerie halo.

Nine spirit rings rotated slowly, the outermost blood-red light making the bloodstains on the rubble look particularly blinding.

She swept a glance at the kneeling Tang Hao, then at Tang San, who was trembling as he held his father.

"Tang San."

The two words were neither loud nor soft, yet they struck the plaza, sending a chill down everyone's spine.

"Today is the day all of you die."

The Rakshasa Demon Scythe rose, the blade pointing at Tang San.

A death sentence.

Chrysanthemum Douluo and Ghost Douluo closed in from both flanks.

The outer circle of Martial Soul Hall spirit masters recovered from the chaos, reforming their ranks and sealing the plaza tight.

The path of retreat was cut off.

Tang San held Tang Hao, his body covered in blood, unable to tell whose was whose.

The trident was still embedded in the rubble ten steps away, but even if he retrieved it, what then?

The crack on its shaft remained.

A damaged divine artifact, facing a Bibi Dong in her prime, two Title Douluos, and thousands of Martial Soul Hall spirit masters.

And Hu Liena.

Tang San's peripheral vision swept across the other side of the plaza—Six Fox Tails stood straight as needles, and a translucent longsword hovered above her right shoulder, looking impossibly docile, not even stained by a single drop of blood.

His molars ground together with a clicking sound.

He couldn't win.

These three words welled up, bitter enough to choke him.

If the fighting continued, they would be wiped out.

Tang San handed Tang Hao over to the patriarch of the Strength Clan who had rushed to his side.

"Protect my father."

The four words were spoken with extreme brevity, so short they lacked any warmth.

Yet, as he handed him over, his hand trembled.

He turned around.

He yanked the Sea God Trident from the rubble.

The golden light was faint, and the cracks were glaringly obvious under the reflection of the torches.

He raised the Sea God Trident toward the sky.

Golden light exploded from the shaft—not an attack, but a signal.

The Sea God's Light shot into the sky, tearing a golden rift in the night air and illuminating the entire Martial Soul City.

"Retreat—!"

"Everyone, retreat immediately—!"

His throat was shredded. Every word carried the taste of blood.

This wasn't a command; it was a scream. It was the compression of all his unwillingness, humiliation, and fear into a single action—

Retreat.

The patriarch of the Strength Clan hoisted Tang Hao onto his back and was the first to charge.

The Speed Clan followed closely behind. Dai Mubai grabbed Ma Hongjun by the back of his collar and dragged him toward the East Gate—Ma Hongjun's legs were no longer obeying him.

Zhu Zhuqing was the fastest, tearing a hole in the encirclement first. Oscar pulled Ning Rongrong and dove into the gap.

The hidden weapons of the Tang Sect elites provided maximum value during the retreat; a round of flying needles swept out, forcing the pursuers to block and breaking their rhythm for a split second.

The plaza fell silent.

Bibi Dong stood at the highest step of the Pope Palace, the Rakshasa Demon Scythe retracted into her martial soul space.

She glanced at the figures disappearing toward the East Gate, but did not pursue; there was no need to.

Clear Sky Douluo Tang Hao had both arms severed. Tang San's Sea God Trident had cracked. The sneak attack by Shrek and the Tang Sect had completely failed.

That was enough.

Bibi Dong turned her head.

Hu Liena was still standing in the center of the plaza.

She hadn't pursued, nor had she moved.

The Six Fox Tails lowered one by one, hanging behind her.

Blood seeped from the wound on her left shoulder, and the scratch on her cheek remained untreated; she looked utterly disheveled.

But she held a sword in her hand.

The Severing Thought Sword rested quietly in her palm, the blade clear and spotless.

Hu Liena lowered her head, looking at the surface of the blade.

It reflected herself—bloodstains, dust, disheveled hair, and gravel powder clinging to her fox ears.

Her left shoulder hurt, and her cheek stung.

But compared to what had just happened, this pain was nothing.

Just moments ago—the Sea God Trident had been raised to its peak, the golden light swallowing Tang San whole, the blade tilting toward her forehead.

In that moment, she had seen her own death.

Then, the sky had split.

It was the third time.

The Primordial Spirit Bead, the Fate-Suppressing Cauldron, the Severing Thought Sword.

Three times, each at the most precise moment—not a second too early, not a second too late, not a bit too much, not a bit too little.

Hu Liena's lips moved.

"It's you again..."

It was very soft. So soft that only she could hear it.

"Shen Yichen, you saved me again."

She paused for a beat.

"And you saved Martial Soul Hall, too."

Fox ears poked out from her hair, the tips flushed a faint pink.

The Severing Thought Sword vibrated slightly in her palm.

It was not a response, but a resonance—the Dao rhythm within the blade had captured its master's emotions, gently returning a trace of warmth.

Hu Liena's fingertips unconsciously traced the two characters "Severing Thought" on the sword's guard.

She slowly raised her head.

The night sky had returned to pitch black. The rift that had torn through the firmament moments ago had long since closed, and the stars hung quietly, each one more distant than the last.

She looked up at the sky.

She was not looking at the stars.

She was looking for a person.

The person who, no matter how far apart they were, and no matter what she encountered, could always deliver what she needed at the most critical moment.