Beginning the Slaughter

"Who goes there, you madman?"

"What happened to the boy from the Hua Family?"

"Protect me!"

The whole venue was shocked. Uproar broke out on all sides, and the sounds of sabers and swords leaving their sheaths rang on without end.

It was not only the eight armored soldiers beside Guo Zhen, the left commandant of the Jintang Battalion, who drew their steel sabers.

In the four surrounding pavilions, inside dozens of private rooms, the guards beside the many nobles also moved as one. Blades came free, killing intent cold and sharp.

Third Master Jin, who had just won a great round in the outer court, had only just stepped into this inner courtyard when he saw the scene. His expression changed, and his short, stout body sprang up like a fat rabbit, shoving the guards and attendants at his side in front of him.

The dozen or so martial artists who had leapt onto the arena glanced at the veiled woman who had died so miserably. Some had grave expressions, wariness surfacing on their faces.

A few others were eager to try, battle intent surging.

Some even felt this was an excellent chance to show their faces before the nobles. If they took down this madman, they could exchange it for a step up into wealth, honor, and glory.

Only Hua Feiyun, whose entire head was sunk into the wooden floorboards, let out a heart-rending scream, along with Wei Zhenzhu's shrill roar at Xiao Chan's death.

"Save Young Master Hua!"

Several martial artists on the arena were the first to act. Some were bare-handed, some held all manner of weapons. With shouts, they sprang up and charged straight toward the balcony where Hong Yuan stood.

Only then did He Xiaofeng, whose throat had been cut open, topple stiffly backward. The light in his eyes had not yet completely gone out, but they were already filled with despair and terror.

The curved saber in his palm fell. Before it hit the ground, a slender, powerful hand seized it.

Whoosh!

With the curved saber in hand, Hong Yuan flicked his wrist and hurled it. The blade turned into a rapidly spinning wheel of light, force coiling out as a sharp whistle suddenly tore through the air.

The martial artist lunging at the very front instantly felt a chill pressing against his face, lifting his hair. He opened his eyes to look, only to find his pupils filled entirely with a dazzling mass of cold light, as if it would stab him blind.

The martial artist's face changed in horror, but his body was already hurtling forward, still in midair, with nowhere to dodge. He hurriedly thrust out the Judge's Pen in his hand!

Pfft!

Cold light flashed. The martial artist holding the Judge's Pen felt a sharp agony in his throat. As blood sprayed everywhere, only one thought remained in his mind.

How could it be so fast?

All strength drained from his body. As he fell from midair, the cold gleam wrapped around the curved saber had not lost momentum. It was even faster than before. It turned in the air, actually changing into a half-arc, and shot through the air straight toward the left.

From Wei Zhenzhu's furious roar, Hong Yuan had judged where she was. She was in the left-side pavilion, in a private room somewhere in the middle of the first floor.

Thus, when he hurled the curved saber with his power, the blade had already been imbued with a spinning force.

Though it was only a preliminary use of the embryonic form of Spiral Force, it was already beyond what ordinary martial artists could match.

In this inner courtyard, enclosed on all four sides by pavilions, the space was extremely large. The curved saber went "hula" through the air, sweeping more than ten zhang before violently tearing apart the door of a private room.

Inside, Wei Zhenzhu's eyes were bloodshot. Because of Xiao Chan's death, she kept roaring again and again. Perhaps there truly had been some unusual relationship between her and Xiao Chan.

Unfortunately, no one here wanted to know.

Crash!

The wooden door of the private room exploded into hundreds and thousands of fragments. Amid the scattering splinters, cold light darted like a venomous dragon plunging into one of Wei Zhenzhu's shoulder blades.

The force carried by the curved saber seemed to possess the weight of a thousand jun. Even with Wei Zhenzhu's obese bulk, it still dragged her several-hundred-jin mass backward.

When her body smashed heavily into the rear wall, there came only a hiss. That curved saber had not only pierced through Wei Zhenzhu's fat, it had also bored through her shoulder blade, nailing half her body to the back wall.

Beside her, Wang Ai collapsed to the floor, frightened limp.

A miserable, pig-slaughtering howl rang through the entire inner courtyard.

With one strike landed, Hong Yuan ignored Wei Zhenzhu for the moment.

Things were no longer what they had been.

This place was not her demon's den. There was no other tunnel for her to crawl into. Even if there were, with Hong Yuan's keen ears and eyes, he would detect the slightest movement.

A distance of a dozen zhang or so—at the speed of his movement technique, he could pounce there in less than a breath.

Amid the clatter of armor, two armored soldiers smashed through the wooden door. Their long sabers carried the wind as they chopped toward this vicious man who had suddenly appeared.

With a wave of Hong Yuan's hand, a long strip of cloth flew out. Before it even reached midair, it had already shredded into hundreds and thousands of cloth scraps, revealing two streaks of silver-white flowing light inside.

With a clang, the two streaks of cold light struck each other, then split and attacked separately.

The short spear pierced through one armored soldier's chest like a sharp arrow. The armor he wore shattered inch by inch, failing to protect him in the slightest, and he flew up like a cloth sack, crashing into the private room.

The short staff smashed onto the helmet of the other armored soldier. Amid the sound of his skull splitting, the soldier toppled backward.

Whoosh!

Silver light flashed. The staff's shadow rebounded and fell into Hong Yuan's palm.

The private room descended into chaos. The armored soldier who had been sent flying by the short spear nearly crashed into Guo Zhen, but fortunately, another armored soldier intercepted him.

But by now, Guo Zhen no longer had the earlier lazy ease about him. He was both shocked and furious.

"Vile thief, cease your arrogance!"

The sound of sleeves cutting through the wind rang out one after another as several martial artists leapt onto the terrace. The first three—one tall, one short, one thin—joined hands and came killing in, blades and swords flashing together.

Whoosh, whoosh!

Immediately after, several more circled around behind Hong Yuan and launched a surprise attack.

The short cudgel spun swiftly, seeming to become an extension of Hong Yuan's arm in his palm—chopping or tapping, parrying or thrusting. It held saber techniques, sword techniques, and also spear arts, lance arts... As all manner of methods were brought into play, silver light flickered, as if forming a ring of radiance that not even water could splash through or needles pierce.

Even while facing the siege of six or seven people at once, he remained easy and composed, still with leisure to look toward that Commandant Guo. He suddenly spoke up, "Commandant Guo, do you clearly recognize Qingxu's Huang Guiling?"

Inside the side room, Guo Zhen's expression was dark. How could he possibly answer?

He only barked, "Fall back! Retreat!"

But Hong Yuan had already seen the clue in the subtle changes of his expression and knew he had found the true culprit. At this moment, the martial artists surrounding him had all turned pale with horror.

These six or seven people were almost all martial men who had entered Force. Though they had not reached the level of "sending and withdrawing at will," they were no beginners in True Force either, not so weak that after erupting with True Force once they would have no fighting strength left.

Among them were no few martial artists at the Three-Fold Wave or even Nine Heavens level, capable of erupting three times, or even nine.

Generally speaking, when martial artists who had not reached the level of sending and withdrawing at will exchanged blows with others, they would not casually erupt with True Force unless it was a critical moment.

At the levels of Three-Fold Wave, Nine Heavens, Twelve-Story Tower... they would not be drained from a single eruption, but erupting once still consumed a great deal. If a strike missed, it would be very dangerous in a fight.

But right now, many were besieging one, so such concerns were much smaller. And under Hong Yuan's pressure, these martial artists erupted one after another, some through fists and feet, others by empowering their weapons.

But it was useless. The other party did not even meet them with True Force; relying only on his own formidable physical strength and rapid reactions, he calmly took every attack.

Six or seven of them launched a fierce assault, more than a dozen hands striking at once, yet that short cudgel was like a wall of bronze and iron, blocking every raging wave and towering billow.

A fierce wind blew against his face. Yang Erhu, leaning against the railing, had already stared himself stupid.

He knew this disciple of his was very strong. When Hong Yuan had taken leave of the martial hall half a month earlier, his martial skill had already surpassed his own. But wasn't this speed of progress far too astonishing?

His physical strength gradually recovered. Back then, when he had split the jujube-wood post with one palm, he had needed two or three breaths before he could move. This time's eruption was even stronger than that, and after several arena bouts, his mental strength and energy had been greatly depleted, so his recovery time was a little longer as well.

Amid the trembling of the pavilion, silver light spread before the eyes of the martial men. Immediately after, blades and weapons snapped, and as fragments sprayed out, the fine-steel short cudgel in Hong Yuan's hand danced and struck out again and again!

Hissing sounds of wind being torn apart split the air. Then the martial artists all felt a vast, mighty force they could hardly withstand, as if they were lone boats in the boundless ocean, and every one of them was overturned and flung away.

As the sounds of bodies smashing to the floor rang out, screams followed one after another.

Three of them had caved-in chests, shattered by the short cudgel, the force driving straight in to jolt their viscera. The others had their faces pierced through by the weapon fragments that had shot out, their lives or deaths unknown.