Decaying World

The headquarters of the Flying Stone Sect was located in Shiyu Town, two townships distant from Fu'an Town.

Shiyu was distinct from its neighbors; it was a vast, commercially developed hub. Caravans from other districts, and even other races, frequently stopped here to trade. In particular, many who were unqualified to enter the Inner City—or who had failed the Inner City's screening—traveled here to offload valuable goods in their possession.

As a cultivator of the Circulation Realm, Li Chi required an immense volume of resources. Occupying an ordinary town would have been far from sufficient to sustain his cultivation; thus, choosing Shiyu Town was the only logical move for establishing a foothold in the Outer City.

The Flying Stone Sect sat on the edge of town, surrounded by treacherous terrain and dense forests. From a distance, it resembled a patch of white tiles set against a green-and-white slope.

Falling snow drifted through the air. The roofs of the sect’s dozens of buildings were blanketed in a thick layer of white.

On the third floor of one of the wooden structures, Li Chi sat cross-legged on a rush cushion. He faced the railing, his expression tranquil as he watched the transparent curtains flutter in the wind.

He was ninety-two years old. With a full head of white hair, long brows and beard, a white robe draped over his shoulders, and black jade hanging at his waist, a cursory glance gave him the air of an ethereal, virtuous sage.

Martial arts at the Internal Force stage all carried side effects. Upon reaching the Circulation Realm, these side effects became extreme, undergoing a qualitative shift.

This was the drawback of Extreme Martial Arts. Yet, this drawback was the price paid for incomparably powerful strength.

"Is there still no word from Bai Feihan in Fu'an Town?" he asked in a cold, clear voice after a long silence. "No, Grandmaster," a girl with twin braids standing behind him answered respectfully.

"It seems an accident has occurred. The Golden Goose Gate of the New Martial Alliance must have acted..." Li Chi sighed. "It seems I have no choice but to be the knife..."

The Carefree Pavilion had invited him here for no other reason than to use him to probe the depths of the Golden Goose Gate. Although the Golden Goose Gate had turned the tide after the Alliance's previous disastrous defeat, how much strength did they actually have left? Specifically, what was the condition of the Circulation Realm martial artists in their inner sect? These were things that could only be judged through actual combat.

But probing could lead to death. And Li Chi, a latecomer from Xingdao, had become their weapon for this task.

Since it was a probe, he had to secure enough benefits; this was the fundamental reason for his frantic expansion in all directions. For this reason, the New Martial Alliance turned a blind eye, effectively indulging him. And without the restriction of the New Martial Alliance, the original resistance forces in the surrounding area simply lacked the power to oppose him.

As these thoughts flashed through Li Chi's mind, bringing with them a trace of helplessness, he suddenly sensed something. He slowly raised his chin, looking past the railing and curtains toward the foot of the mountain in the distance.

At the entrance of the Flying Stone Sect's memorial archway down the mountain, a white-clothed man holding a sword had appeared.

The man's face was obscured by the wind and snow, somewhat blurry, but the straight, unwavering way he held his sword spoke of immense confidence.

"Is this the Golden Goose Gate's answer?" Li Chi murmured.

"Report!" A shout suddenly came from a disciple behind him. "Bai Feihan, Li Zheng, Chan Master Yanmu, and Yao Huan have died in battle at Fu'an Town! The rest have been routed. The Clear Wind Temple's counterattack has already reached Shiyu Town!"

"He is already here. Do I still need you to report it?" Li Chi said softly.

Died in battle? Has the Golden Goose Gate finally torn off its mask?

"It's a pity... Bai Feihan was useful..."

He slowly stood up, his gaze falling through the air onto the sword-wielding figure.

Lin Hui stood at the entrance of the memorial archway, looking up through the wind and snow toward the old man on the balcony of the white wooden building halfway up the mountain.

He turned his gaze to the three large characters carved on the archway. Flying Stone Sect.

"Who goes there?!"

Inside the archway, several yellow-clad martial artists rushed out. Each clutched a weapon—some sabers, some swords, and other messy implements like hooks and chains. Apart from the uniform cross-shaped scars on their bodies, this group was a motley crew.

"Your eyes are full of fear. What use is there in accepting people like this?" Lin Hui sighed.

He lifted his sword and stepped forward. Behind him, Wang Hongshi spoke up, his voice tinged with a mix of incomprehension, worry, and fear of the terrible outcome that might ensue.

"Temple Master, do you plan to just kill your way up like this?"

"Have you forgotten what I said before we set out? To cut the weeds without digging up the roots is to invite disaster," Lin Hui answered. "What do we swing our swords countless times and practice countless times for?"

As his voice fell, he took a step forward.

In an instant, his figure blurred into a series of afterimages, flashing past the nervous group of martial artists.

Blood sprayed, scattering onto the snow like blossoming red plum.

Swish!

Lin Hui did not stop at all, charging straight ahead. Every hand he passed along the way was split in two the instant he swept by.

Extreme speed of the sword, extreme speed of movement technique—what this brought was extreme impact force and cutting power.

For martial artists below the Internal Force Realm, this was a death sentence. In a single encounter, no matter what martial art one cultivated, in the face of such speed, life and death were decided in an instant.

A magpie flying past the Flying Stone Sect looked down and clearly saw a line of blood extending rapidly from the archway toward the sect's headquarters—the wooden building halfway up the mountain.

At the end of that line of blood, Li Chi leaped lightly from the third floor, dropping to stand on the pure white snow, awaiting his guest. His expression was calm, as if those being slaughtered weren't his own people, but merely strangers.

A dozen seconds later.

Shua.

A figure in the wind and snow came to an abrupt halt, landing seven or eight meters away.

It was Lin Hui who had carved a bloody path up the mountain.

He shook off the accumulating blood on his sword, glanced at the increasingly worn and chipped edge, and frowned slightly. The blood had seeped into the cracks and was hard to shake clean.

"This sword was a gift from my Master. I quite liked it... but at this point, it's time to put it down and let it rest..." He looked up at Li Chi. "People are like swords. You are already at such an advanced age—why go to the trouble of fighting to the death?"

"Just Internal Force Realm?" Li Chi did not reply to the question. Instead, he looked around somewhat strangely, seemingly searching for anyone hiding in ambush.

"Sorry, it's just me. No one else." Lin Hui understood his meaning.