The rogue cultivators, their eyes widening in panicked disbelief, stumbled as the coordinated defense of the Skyward Lotus Sect slammed into their ragged ranks. Their stances faltered, weapons trembling in sweaty grips.
The bravado that had fueled their initial assault evaporated, replaced by the cold realization that they were outmatched, their disorganized aggression no match for the disciplined whirlwind of counter-attack. Fear twisted their features, once hardened by battle lust, now contorted into masks of desperation and dawning terror.
Wei Lo, his golden aura flaring into incandescent bursts, unleashed a roar that echoed across the deck. His Qi surged, coalescing into a focused point of destructive energy as he unleashed a devastating palm strike.
The force of the blow landed squarely on the chest of a rogue cultivator, whose ribcage shattered like brittle glass beneath the impact. Bone shards, propelled by the force of the attack, tore through flesh and sinew, spraying crimson droplets across the deck. The force sent shockwaves rippling outwards, making the deck of the ship tremble.
The rogue cultivator's body jerked violently, his eyes bulging, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as his chest caved inwards, a gruesome testament to Wei Lo's power. Life drained from the rogue's eyes, his body crumpling to the deck in a broken, lifeless heap.
"One less to worry about," Wei Lo thought grimly, his gaze sweeping across the deck, searching for his next target. The heat of battle, the raw thrill of unleashed power, pulsed through his veins. "These fools underestimated us."
Not far from him, Yu Xian, a whirlwind of controlled fury, danced through the fray, her movements a blur of motion as her blade carved arcs of azure light across the battlefield.
With a swift, almost effortless strike, she bisected a rogue cultivator, cleaving him from shoulder to hip. Blood erupted in a crimson splatter across the deck. Her opponent's eyes widened in horrified disbelief, a silent scream frozen on his lips as his body flopped into two halves. The stench of blood and viscera filled the air, a gruesome reminder of the cost of their defiance.
Yu Xian didn't flinch, her face impassive, her gaze already fixed on her next target. "Disgusting," she thought, wiping a stray fleck of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. "These rogues are nothing but scavengers, unworthy of a cultivator's steel."
The rogue leader, a grizzled man with a jagged scar bisecting his left eye, bellowed commands, his voice raspy with desperation as he watched his forces crumble. "Hold the line, you fools! They are weak! Push forward!"
His words, however, were lost in the din of battle, drowned out by the screams of his dying comrades, the clang of steel, and the relentless pounding of the Skyward Lotus disciples' counter-attack. Fear twisted his gut as he realized they were losing, the tide of battle turning against them. His earlier confidence now a hollow echo, replaced by the cold grip of panic.
Amidst the chaos, Tian Hao caught sight of Liang Chen.
His movements a symphony of lethal grace, fought with an almost detached efficiency, his sword a blur of silver as he weaved through the fray.
Two rogue cultivators, their desperation evident in their wild swings, attacked him simultaneously, but Liang Chen didn't even flinch. He parried a blow with effortless ease, his blade flashing out, a silver streak that found its mark with chilling precision. The first rogue cultivator screamed as Liang Chen's sword pierced his thigh, severing muscle and tendon. He crumpled to the deck, clutching his leg, blood rushing between his fingers.
The second rogue, seeing his companion fall, hesitated for a moment, his fear giving Liang Chen the opening he needed. Liang Chen spun, his sword arcing upwards, the blade slicing through the rogue's throat in a swift, brutal motion. Blood erupted, painting the deck in a crimson parody of a blooming lotus. The rogue cultivator's eyes bulged, his hands clutching at his throat, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as he collapsed to the deck.
Liang Chen, his expression impassive, withdrew his sword.
"Waste of time," he said, wiping the blade clean on the robes of one of the dead, his gaze scanning the battlefield for a more worthy opponent, his heart cold, untouched by the surrounding carnage.
Tian Hao watched, transfixed, his stomach churning with awe, terror, and revulsion. He'd never seen anything like it, the raw brutality of cultivator combat stripped bare of any pretense of honor or glory. The screams, the blood, the stench of death—it was overwhelming. "This is… intense," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din, his body trembling slightly as he fought to keep his composure.
He'd faced spirit beasts, endured the twisted rabbit of Jiuwei's hidden prison, but this… this was different. It was human against human, a savagery that seemed to strip away any semblance of civilization, leaving only the primal instinct to survive.
Could he handle this? The screams, the blood, the way life was extinguished so easily—did he really have what it took to survive in this world? The doubt gnawed at him, a deep unease settling in his gut as he fought to keep his expression steady.
The harsh reminder of the chasm that separated their cultivation levels was undeniable, but even more than that, it was the ease with which Liang Chen had dispatched his opponents that shook him. It wasn't just a difference in power; it was a difference in their acceptance of violence, in the way they embraced the harsh reality of this world.
He glanced at Jiuwei. The little fox, perched on the banister nearby, watching with a detached amusement, her golden eyes glinting as though relishing the chaos—as if this mortal farce of clashing wills and breaking bodies held more entertainment value for her than any millennia-old celestial tale.
"Perhaps a few more flasks of fine wine would enhance their performance," she quipped, her tiny voice sarcastic. "It certainly livened up your attempts at survival."
Tian Hao, despite his apprehension, couldn't help but smile wryly at her comment. "Easy for you to say, Your Majesty. You're not the one dodging rogue swords and exploding cauldrons."
Above the din of battle, Sect Leader Tian Shou's voice boomed across the deck, infused with power and authority. "Skyward Lotus Sect, end this!" He raised his hands, the air around him shimmering with a golden aura. The very ship beneath their feet vibrated, resonating with the immense power he was channeling. The golden light intensified, coalescing into a sphere of pure energy that pulsed with barely contained destructive potential. With a roar, Tian Shou unleashed his attack, a devastating wave of spiritual force that swept across the deck.
The rogue leader, his scarred face contorted in a final snarl of defiance, tried to raise a defensive barrier, his hands glowing with a dim, flickering light. It was a futile gesture. The force of Tian Shou's attack slammed into him, overwhelming his defenses. The rogue's body didn't just break; it disintegrated, vaporized in an instant, reduced to a cloud of ash that scattered in the wind.
The rest of the rogue attackers close to Tian Shou were either obliterated or thrown from the ship by the shockwave, their bodies tumbling through the sky like broken dolls.
The remaining rogue cultivators, their faces masks of terror, scrambled to retreat, their battered artifacts struggling to carry them away from the carnage.
As the last of the attackers disappeared into the distance, the deck of the Lotus Wind fell silent, the air thick with the lingering stench of blood and burnt flesh.
The Skyward Lotus disciples stood amidst the wreckage. Some stood with exhilaration in their eyes, their weapons still drawn, while others visibly shook, the adrenaline slowly draining from their bodies.
Tian Hao, his hands still trembling slightly, looked around at the carnage, the reality of what he'd witnessed sinking in—the weight of his father's power, the brutality of cultivator battles, the cost of challenging someone far beyond your own abilities. The casual, carefree facade he usually projected cracked, revealing the vulnerability beneath.
He was starting to realize he'd never really been in a real fight before this journey. Not in any real way. All his past conflicts, his duels, had been skirmishes, games played to earn recognition or placate the elders' disapproval of his behavior. Even his desperate struggle with the rabbit beast in Jiuwei's hidden realm had an element of play—a warped sense of amusement—as if the universe itself was gently encouraging him while simultaneously laughing at his folly.
The fight on the Lotus Wind had been far, far from a game. It was a visceral demonstration of how sharp the edge of cultivation truly was, what the price could truly be. It left him shaking and unsteady—as if the very fabric of his bravado was tearing apart as his illusions about what true power was, what that demanded of him, dissolved into the echoes of screaming men and the awful smell of blood and burnt meat.
"So," he muttered under his breath to Lin Mei, who was calmly cleaning her glaive with a small cloth. "Does this count as… etiquette practice?"
Lin Mei looked at him, her expression almost unreadable. Her usual playful glint was gone now, replaced by relief and pity, and something cold, almost unfeeling. She paused, studying him for a moment as though seeing him clearly for the first time. His carefree demeanor, so recently and so suddenly put to the test, made him seem both familiar and foreign somehow—like a younger brother who didn't yet quite know just what battles he had signed up for.
"If your idea of etiquette is trying not to get us all killed," she replied, her voice quiet but firm.
A small smile broke through her steely mask. "Honestly, Tian Hao," she said, exasperation giving way to relief. Fatty Wu chuckled, his wok still held tightly in his hands.
Tian Shou approached the group, his gaze appraising. He nodded approvingly, his stern features softening just slightly. "You did well today, Tian Hao," he said, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. "You've improved more than I expected. Elder Han's teachings must be bearing fruit."
Tian Hao allowed a small, knowing smile, letting his father attribute his progress to Elder Han without correcting him. It was easier that way.
As Tian Shou moved on, Fatty Wu, still holding his makeshift shield, patted Tian Hao on the shoulder. "Young Master, I think this calls for a feast. We need to celebrate our survival," he said.
Jiuwei, who had remained perched on the railing, finally let out a dramatic sigh, her tail curling around her. "A feast? I suppose that's the least we deserve after this nonsense," she muttered, her tone dripping with annoyance.
The Lotus Wind, though slightly battered, resumed its path through the sky. The spiritual energy that powered the ship hummed steadily, the vessel gliding smoothly over the vast landscape below. The sect members began to move about, tending to the wounded and securing the deck, the sense of urgency fading as the immediate threat passed.
Tian Hao stood at the bow, a determined expression on his face. His hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, and his chest felt tight as he tried to steady his breathing. He couldn't help but think back to what he had just witnessed—the ruthlessness, the efficiency with which Liang Chen had dispatched his opponents. Could he ever be that ruthless? That capable? The doubts gnawed at him, lingering at the edges of his mind, even as he tried to project confidence.
The battle replayed in his mind, the screams and the sight of bodies falling. Each memory a visceral reminder of how fragile life could be. He clenched his fists, willing himself to stay composed, masking the lingering shock beneath a mask of determination. He had seen the true power of the higher-level cultivators today, the sheer difference between them and himself.
Lin Mei joined him, her eyes also fixed on the distant horizon. There was a mixture of worry and determination in her gaze, her thoughts lingering on the dangers that lay ahead, on the secrets she carried. Jiuwei stretched lazily nearby, one eye half-open, her golden gaze watching the sky as if waiting for whatever challenge would come next.
Lin Mei glanced at Tian Hao, her brow furrowed as she leaned in slightly, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the ship. "Tian Hao, doesn't it strike you as strange? Why would rogue cultivators attack us so soon after we left the sect? It just…doesn't make sense."
Tian Hao nodded, the same question had been gnawing at him. "I thought about that too. They seemed almost desperate, like they were after something specific. But what could it be?"
Lin Mei's eyes narrowed, her gaze lost in the distance. "Or maybe someone knew we were leaving, knew our route. It's too coincidental. We need to be careful."
Tian Hao frowned, the unease settling in his chest like a heavy stone. "You think there's… a traitor?"
Lin Mei didn't answer immediately. She looked at him, then back at the horizon, her eyes shadowed with doubt. "I don't know. But we can't ignore the possibility. Something's not right, and until we find out what, we have to stay on guard."