29. The Dance of Blades and Blood
Lin Feng's lips curled into a feral grin as Lin Mai's essence surged through his veins, the stolen power crackling like lightning in his marrow. His mutated mantis arms—serrated, glistening, and dripping with ichor—screeched against stone as he lunged, carving trenches into the earth.
"Hahaha! Marvelous!" His voice rang with unhinged delight, his form vanishing in a blur of emerald-green afterimages. The killing intent radiating from him thickened the air—suffocating, oppressive.
He reappeared above Lin Bai, blades poised to cleave his skull—but a fist clad in stone gauntlets erupted from nowhere. The impact shattered the air, hurling Lin Feng through marble pillars. Debris rained down as he skidded into a crouch, his eyes locking onto the cloaked elder.
"Too excited? Let's remedy that," Lin Feng hissed, launching forward. His mantis arms became a storm of death, the metallic shrieks of his blades tearing through the air.
"Way of the Mantis King!" He vaulted, aiming to impale the elder's spine—but the cloaked figure moved like tectonic fury. A warhammer materialized in his grasp, runes glowing along its surface, and swung in a deafening arc. Lin Feng twisted midair, barely dodging as the hammer's shockwave ripped a crater into the ground.
The elder advanced, each step quaking the earth. "Cease this madness, Disgraced Child. The Lin Clan still offers mercy… even honor."
"Mercy?" Lin Feng spat, blood and venom mingling on his tongue. "You reek of lies."
He cartwheeled over another hammer strike, but pain exploded in his ribs—Lin Bai had struck, teleporting via viper-energy, his dagger biting deep.
"How dare you forget me?!" Lin Bai roared.
Lin Feng's neck snapped backward, his eyes rolling white—then his body contorted, spinning like a broken marionette. His bladed arms carved a crimson crescent across Lin Bai's chest.
"You think age dictates power?" he sneered, watching Lin Bai crumple. "Your ignorance is delicious."
A hammer-blast hurled Lin Feng sideways. The elder tore off his cloak, revealing a face etched with grief—Lin Zhan. His father.
"Father?!"
Rage ignited Lin Feng's veins. He attacked in a frenzy, but Lin Zhan moved like flowing water, sidestepping every strike. A palm-strike shattered ribs. A hammer-fist to the temple blurred his vision.
"You think I abandoned you?" Lin Zhan's voice trembled. "For five years, I burned my life-force to suppress your curse. Your mother withered to ash grieving for you—ask her ghost if I lied!"
He uppercut Lin Feng into the air, then slammed him earthward. The ground ruptured beneath the impact.
The Heart of the Curse
Lin Zhan pinned his son down, tears cutting through dust.
"You devoured assassins. You became a monster. And still…" His hand plunged into Lin Feng's chest. Flesh parted silently—no blood, only black tendrils writhing like living shadows.
"Look. No heart. Yet you live."
Lin Feng writhed, his mantis arms retracting into dismembered hands. His breath came ragged, laughter dissolving into sobs, raw and childlike.
"You never asked what I wanted!" he screamed, voice cracking. "Every day, the curse gnaws at my sanity. I've drowned, burned, ripped out my throat—twenty-nine times—yet death mocks me!"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I just… want it to stop."
Lin Zhan collapsed beside him, cradling his son. The battlefield fell silent, save for Lin Feng's ragged breaths.
"I'll fix this," Lin Zhan whispered, though the promise tasted hollow.
Above them, storm clouds churned—a god's laughter, or a curse tightening its coil.
Lin Feng exhaled, the scent of blood thick in the air. His breath curled in the cold night as he surveyed the chaos—the broken pillars, the shattered stone, the lifeless bodies. A few servants had perished in the battle's wake, but to the Lin Family, their lives were insignificant.
What mattered was the fear he had carved into Lin Mai and Lin Bai.
This night would haunt them forever.
His gaze shifted to the towering statue of his ancestor—a warlord who had once bathed kingdoms in blood. He bowed in solemn respect.
Is this what you wanted? A legacy of fear?
The thought flickered, then died.
No. There was no doubt in his mind anymore. This was his path. His war.
Then, his gaze darkened.
There was still one last grudge to settle.
Lin Dang.
---
The Butchered Manor
As Lin Feng neared Lin Dang's estate, something felt wrong.
The air reeked of death—thick, suffocating. Even before stepping through the grand gate, he saw the carnage—bodies littering the courtyard, limbs twisted unnaturally. Blood pooled between the stone tiles, forming grotesque rivers.
His instincts roared.
Someone had beaten him here.
His mantis blades flicked out, gleaming under the moonlight as he dashed inside. But the moment he stepped through the doorway, a chill crawled up his spine.
He couldn't sense a single living presence.
Not even the faint flicker of a dying breath.
"What's going on?" he muttered. "They're all dead."
Then, from the corridor's shadows, his father stepped forward.
Lin Zhan.
His sleeves were torn, his gauntlets cracked, and his right fist dripped with fresh blood. But his expression remained unreadable, his gaze locked onto Lin Feng with something between exhaustion and steel resolve.
"I couldn't sit back," Lin Zhan said, his voice rough yet unwavering. "That bastard planned to drain you of your bloodline. He was never going to stop."
Lin Feng's breath hitched as he darted past his father into the main chamber.
What he saw made even his battle-hardened stomach churn.
Lin Dang's body—if it could still be called that—was an unrecognizable mess of torn flesh and shattered bone. The once-mighty master of the manor lay in ruin, his chest cavity ripped open, his heart nowhere to be found.
Beside him, a woman Lin Feng didn't recognize was sprawled across the ground, her face frozen in horror, her body shredded like paper.
His fingers twitched.
Lin Dang had been a King's Realm cultivator—feared across the continent.
And yet, he had been slaughtered like an insect.
His father had done this.
Lin Feng turned back to the courtyard, where Lin Zhan now sat atop a boulder, gazing at the moon as if nothing had happened.
Lin Feng stepped forward, his voice low but sharp.
"I didn't ask for this. It was my revenge to take."
Lin Zhan exhaled, then gave a small, almost mocking smile.
"Consider it a gift. An apology from a father who failed his son."
Before Lin Feng could respond, his father vanished. No trace. No flicker of presence.
Just sheer speed beyond comprehension.
Lin Feng clenched his fists, the night wind brushing against his bloodstained face.
His pulse pounded as he whispered to himself, barely audible—
"Now this... this is strength."