The stench of blood and rot was suffocating—a thick, cloying miasma that clung to the boy's lungs.
Yun Jin crouched low, his small body trembling as he pressed himself deeper into the pile of corpses. His arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his breath muffled against his sleeve.
All around him, chaos raged. Shouts, screams, and the sickening clang of steel on steel filled the air.
The once-green fields of Yunhe Valley had been turned into a sea of red, the ground slick with blood and littered with the fallen. Soldiers, villagers, and the twisted forms of demonic cultists lay where they had fallen, their faces frozen in terror and agony.
This valley had been meant to herald a new future.
Yun Jin and his parents had been traveling to a secret assembly—the founding of a new Warrior Federation that would unite the martial world and bring an end to the chaos of the Blood Age.
But they had been ambushed by the entirety of the demonic cult.
"It's the demonic cult! Alert the Sword Saint!"
The desperate cry had rung out moments before the battle began, but now even the memory of that voice had been drowned beneath the ceaseless clash of steel and the anguished wails of the dying.
"Hide here, and don't make a sound," his mother had whispered, pressing him into the pile of bodies.
"Mother, please!"
Yun Jin stared up at her, his wide eyes brimming with tears.
"I love you, Yun Jin," she kissed his forehead.
Then she was gone, vanishing into the fray alongside his father.
He hadn't understood it then—not fully—but he had known enough to realize they had no chance.
They weren't fighting to win. They were buying time. Even a single second longer to ensure their son's survival.
His life.
Yun Jin peeked through the tangled limbs of the dead, his small eyes trembling as he searched for them.
He saw flashes of steel, sprays of blood, and then—finally—a burst of crimson light against the pale sky.
His father's sword met the blade of a towering figure cloaked in black.
The man's face was sharp and striking, unnervingly clean amidst the carnage, but his eyes burned with malice.
His wild hair framed his expression like a storm, and his presence radiated an oppressive aura.
Choenma, the Heavenly Demon.
His father fought with everything he had, each movement a testament to decades of training in the Wudang Sect.
But it wasn't enough.
Against the Heavenly Demon, one of the three absolute powers of the martial world, it was like hurling pebbles into the ocean.
Choenma's blade swung with the weight of a mountain. With a single, devastating strike, his father's sword shattered into glittering shards. Blood sprayed into the air as the blade continued its deadly arc, slicing him in half like a slab of soft meat.
"Is this all the so-called Warrior Federation has to offer?" Choenma said, his voice smooth and mocking.
Yun Jin's mother, desperate to avenge her husband, charged forward with a dagger clutched tightly in her hands.
She didn't make it far.
"Foolishness."
Without sparing her a glance, Choenma flicked his wrist. His qi rippled through the air in an invisible wave, a force so overwhelming that it hurled her like a rag doll into the dirt. She hit the ground with a sickening crack, her body crumpling unnaturally, her limbs twisted from the sheer destructive power.
Both his parents were warriors of renown. His father, an elder of the Wudang Sect, and his mother, a descendant of a prestigious martial family.
Yet, before Choenma, they were nothing.
Yun Jin bit down on his sleeve to stop himself from screaming, every fiber of his being torn between fleeing and leaping out to help, knowing both would be futile.
The Heavenly Demon stood as the pinnacle of unorthodox martial power, his name whispered in fear even among the demonic sects he ruled.
Together with the Demon King of the Evil Sect and the Sword Saint of the Righteous, he was one of the three absolutes of the martial world.
The Demon King was already dead—slain by his hand.
And now, Choenma sought to destroy the last bastion of hope—the Sword Saint himself.
"Choenma!"
The voice rang out, cutting through the chaos like a blade slicing sky.
The battlefield stilled. Even the demonic cultists paused.
A gust of wind swept across the valley, scattering the smoke and ash. Amid the haze, a lone figure emerged.
His white robes were unblemished, glowing faintly in the light.
At his side, a simple looking green sword hung loosely, its edge gleaming like a sliver of stardust.
Baek Tianjun, the Sword Saint.
Choenma's lips curled into a grin, his teeth gleaming like fangs. "Finally," he said, spreading his arms wide in mock welcome. "The so-called savior of the martial world graces us with his presence."
Baek Tianjun's gaze swept across the battlefield. His eyes burned with fury, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
He had arrived minutes too late, and now the bodies of the innocent lay scattered before him.
Baek Tianjun was no hypocrite, no self-serving fraud cloaked in righteousness.
He truly walked the path of virtue—and that was why the anger swelling within him now was so consuming.
He stepped forward. "Your reign of blood ends today!"
Choenma laughed, the sound low and guttural. "Bold words, Baek Tianjun," he sneered. Crimson light flared around his blade as he raised it. "Come, then. Let us see whose sword holds the truth of this world."
Baek Tianjun stepped forward, his hand rested on the hilt of the Heaven Ruling Blade, bestowed upon him by the emperor himself.
Choenma grinned, unfazed, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the Divine Blood Sword. The blade pulsed with a sinister red glow, each heartbeat sending ripples of dark energy through the air.
The two masters surged forward, their swords colliding in a dazzling flash of light and fury.
The battle raged on, relentless and unforgiving, for three consecutive days.
By the end of the third day, both warriors had pushed themselves to their absolute limits. Their strikes slowed, their steps grew heavier, yet neither wavered, neither surrendered.
Everything around them lay in ruin—grass and trees reduced to splinters, human bodies scattered like broken dolls, even the once-proud mountains bore deep scars from their unyielding clash.
Baek Tianjun swung the Heaven Ruling Blade in a sweeping arc, its radiant light cutting through Choenma's defenses and grazing his shoulder. Blood sprayed into the air like crimson mist.
Choenma retaliated immediately, driving the Divine Blood Sword into Baek Tianjun's side. The blade tore through flesh, its dark energy rippling outward with a sinister hum.
Both men stumbled back, their breathing heavy and ragged. Yet, despite their battered bodies, the fire in their eyes refused to dim.
Baek Tianjun's blade darted forward like lightning, aiming for Choenma's chest, but the Heavenly Demon deflected it with a twist of his wrist, countering with a horizontal slash that sent sparks flying.
Baek Tianjun's legs gave way, and he stumbled, falling forward onto his hands. For a brief moment, his vision darkened, the edges of his world fading to black.
Seeing his enemy falter, Choenma's hoarse laughter broke the heavy silence, tinged with bitter triumph. He wiped the blood from his lips, his crimson aura flickering faintly.
"You're old, Baek Tianjun, or should I say, Master," Choenma said, his voice rasping but steady. "Ten years younger, and perhaps..." He paused, his grin fading as he straightened. For a moment, his expression flickered with grudging acknowledgment. "Perhaps you could have killed me."
Baek Tianjun tightened his grip on the Heaven Ruling Blade. His body screamed with exhaustion, but his resolve remained unshaken. "You talk too much," he said.
Choenma smirked. "Take solace in this, Master: Your greatest failure has become the pinnacle of the martial world. The world doesn't need your dreams—it needs men like me."
Baek Tianjun's reply came cold and firm. "The world needs neither of us. My dream was to make you kind, Choenma. But you turned into a nightmare."
Choenma sneered.
"Your dream? A world where the weak smile while the strong stand idle? A world without evil and demonic way? It's a fantasy! Power is the only law of this world. You taught me that better than anyone!!"
"No," Baek Tianjun said, his voice steady. "I failed to teach you what true strength is."
"You... after all these years, you became soft, master. Now. Get out of my sight!"
The Divine Blood Sword pulsed with malevolent energy as Choenma raised it high, the crimson blade crackling with destructive qi. The air around it twisted and screamed, resonating with the finality of the killing blow about to be delivered.
But before he could strike, a small shadow darted from behind.
Yun Jin, face streaked with dirt and blood, rose from the corpses like a ghost.
From behind, the boy leapt and drove the dagger into Choenma's back, straight into his dantian.
The blade sank deep, piercing the core of the Heavenly Demon's power. Choenma staggered, his qi flaring wildly as a guttural roar escaped his throat. He twisted around, his face contorted with shock and fury.
"You little insect!" Choenma bellowed. His hand shot out, crackling with crimson energy, ready to swat the boy into oblivion.
Baek Tianjun's eyes widened as the moment he'd been waiting for arrived. With a burst of speed that defied his battered body, the Sword Saint surged forward. The Heaven Ruling Blade ignited with a blinding light as it cleaved through the air.
In one smooth, decisive motion, Baek Tianjun's blade severed Choenma's head, cutting through flesh and bone as though the heavens themselves had guided his strike. The red aura surrounding the Heavenly Demon flickered, then vanished entirely as his head hit the ground with a dull thud.
Yun Jin collapsed onto the ground, his small hands trembling as the dagger slipped from his grasp.
For days, he had hidden among the corpses, crawling through the sea of blood. Every step, every breath, had been agony. Yet he endured, driven by one singular purpose: to avenge his family.
Now that it was over, his soul felt at peace. And with it, so did his life.
"No," Baek Tianjun murmured, his voice hoarse but firm. "Not yet."
He knelt down, placing a steady hand on Yun Jin's head.
The boy's body was cold, his breathing faint, but his eyes fluttered open as the warmth of Baek Tianjun's qi began to flow into him. The Sword Saint's energy enveloped the boy's fragile frame, stabilizing his flickering life force.
Rising slowly, Baek Tianjun sheathed the Heaven Ruling Blade and gripped it tightly, using it as a cane to steady himself. With his free arm, he lifted Yun Jin, cradling the boy's fragile body against his chest.
And then, he walked.
Above, the faint light of dawn began to break through the smoke-filled sky, casting pale rays over the ruined valley.
Choenma was dead. His reign of terror had ended.
And with it, the Blood Age.