The battlefield was drenched in crimson. Smoke curled from burning huts, the air heavy with the stench of blood and steel. Corpses of bandits and disciples alike lay scattered across the ground, yet the fight was far from over. At the center of the ruined square, the towering figure of Iron Wolf Bao stood like an unshakable mountain, his saber gleaming in the dim light, his demonic aura rolling outward in waves of suffocating darkness.
Opposite him, Pan Qiang's chest heaved with ragged breaths. His fists glowed faintly with the remnants of his awakened meridians, golden light flickering with each heartbeat. He had never felt such power before, never thought himself capable of standing against such a monstrous foe. Yet now, against Bao, he was fighting on equal ground.
Their clash was thunderous.
"Come!" Iron Wolf Bao roared, his saber swinging in a vicious arc. The blade cut through the air, its force splitting the earth in a jagged line. Pan Qiang met it head-on, his fists crashing forward, qi surging. The impact rattled the heavens, shockwaves tearing through the ruins. Iron Wolf Bao grunted as his saber was forced aside, but in the next instant, he twisted his wrist and slashed again, his movement faster, sharper, more precise.
Pan Qiang struggled. His fists met the saber again and again, his body shaking under the sheer weight of Iron Wolf Bao's strikes. His awakened meridians gave him strength, but Iron Wolf Bao's experience was unmatched. Every swing carried lethal intent, every step crushed the ground beneath him.
Zhang Wei darted at the edges of the battle, his sword flashing whenever an opening appeared. Each strike aimed for Iron Wolf Bao's ribs, his legs, his throat—but the wolf's instincts were too sharp. A twist, a block, a counter, and Zhang Wei would be forced back. Still, his presence bought Pan Qiang precious moments, his sword keeping Iron Wolf Bao from fully unleashing his crushing power on his friend.
At the edge of the battlefield, Yan Mo and Han Yu struggled to rise. Their robes were torn, their bodies bruised and bloodied, qi circulation sluggish from their injuries. Both had pills clenched between their teeth, spiritual medicine dissolving into their veins.
Han Yu's gaze was sharp despite the blood running down his cheek. He watched Pan Qiang and Zhang Wei with clenched fists. Then, turning his head slightly, he shouted across the battlefield, "Zhang Wei! Treat Qingyue!"
Zhang Wei faltered for a heartbeat. His sword froze mid-swing as he looked toward Liu Qingyue, who lay against a shattered wall, clutching her stomach wound, pale and trembling. His healer's instincts screamed at him to go, yet leaving Pan Qiang meant facing Iron Wolf Bao alone.
"Go!" Han Yu's voice was like steel. His eyes locked with Zhang Wei's, calm but unyielding, carrying a message unspoken. Trust him. Trust Pan Qiang.
Zhang Wei's throat tightened. He bit down on his hesitation, then gave a sharp nod. With a final deflecting strike to block Iron Wolf Bao's saber, he spun and rushed toward Qingyue, jade pendant pulsing at his chest as healing qi surged to his fingertips.
Pan Qiang's fists became his only shield. He roared as Iron Wolf Bao's saber crashed down like thunder, forcing him to his knees, dust and rubble exploding around them. His golden aura flickered, dimmer now, every strike slower than before. His strength was faltering.
"Hahaha!" Iron Wolf Bao's laughter shook the square. "What happened to that golden light, boy? Already fading? You thought awakening your little meridians could make you my equal? Pathetic!"
Still, Pan Qiang stood. His arms trembled, blood ran from his lips, but his fists did not falter. Each blow he threw carried his soul, his resolve to protect his brothers, his village, everything behind him.
Han Yu and Yan Mo finally stirred. Their qi, though unstable, had recovered enough for them to stand. Han Yu's blade gleamed faintly as he joined Pan Qiang once more, his strikes sharp and merciless. Yan Mo followed, sword buzzing with energy, his aura no longer wavering.
Together, the three pressed Iron Wolf Bao, Pan Qiang at the front, enduring the brunt of his wrath, while Han Yu and Yan Mo searched for openings. Steel rang, qi clashed, sparks flew with every collision.
Iron Wolf Bao grunted as a shallow wound appeared on his arm from Han Yu's thrust. His sneer faltered as Yan Mo's sword sliced across his shoulder. He retaliated with brutal ferocity, his saber hacking like a storm, but Pan Qiang was always there—fists meeting steel, body taking cuts and blows that should have killed him. His skin split, blood poured, yet his feet did not retreat.
From afar, Wu Sheng's face was pale, his breath weak, blood dripping from his seven orifices. Still, even with death clawing at him, his eyes burned. He forced his trembling hands together, fire gathering between his palms.
Yan Mo's gaze flickered toward him, and in that moment, Wu Sheng gave a weak but defiant grin. "Don't waste it… brat. Make it count…"
Then he roared, voice tearing through his lungs:
"Burning Heaven Flame!"
A fireball, the size of a boulder, tore through the night and streaked across the battlefield. The flames illuminated everything in crimson light, roaring like a furious dragon.
Iron Wolf Bao's expression darkened for the first time. With a guttural growl, he twisted his massive body to block, raising his clawed arm. The fireball crashed into him, exploding into a storm of fire that engulfed his figure. Iron Wolf Bao snarled in fury as the flames scorched his skin, his demonic qi lashing wildly to resist.
And in that moment of distraction—Han Yu and Yan Mo struck.
Han Yu's sword shone brilliantly, light exploding down the shaft as his qi surged like a torrent. His roar shook the night:
"Celestial Dragon Sword Thrust!"
His figure blurred as the spear shot forward like a dragon piercing the heavens, aiming for Iron Wolf Bao's chest.
At the same time, Yan Mo drew on every last drop of his qi, his blade trembling with a deadly light. His aura flared, slicing through the darkness like dawn. His voice was hoarse but filled with unshakable will:
"Heaven-Splitting Sword!"
The blade fell like a judgment from the heavens, promising to cleave through anything in its path.
But Iron Wolf Bao was no ordinary foe. Snarling, he batted Han Yu's sword aside with brute strength, his claws raking across Han Yu's chest and sending him reeling back with blood spraying. Then he turned to Yan Mo, his speed exploding as his demonic qi surged.
"You think such tricks can kill me?!" Iron Wolf Bao roared, twisting to evade the fatal strike.
At that critical instant, a shadow wrapped around his legs.
Pan Qiang.
His arms clung tightly around Iron Wolf Bao's monstrous calves, veins bulging on his neck, teeth grit until they bled. His body trembled as Bao's demonic qi seared his skin, but he refused to let go. His roar split the night.
"Not this time! You're not escaping! Even if it kills me!"
Iron Wolf Bao staggered, his speed cut down. His eyes widened in fury. "You worm! Let go or you'll die with me!"
Pan Qiang's laugh was hoarse, broken, but filled with defiance. "Then I'll drag you to hell with me!"
Yan Mo's blade descended. For a heartbeat, hesitation flickered in his eyes—if he struck now, he might cut down Pan Qiang as well. But then he met Pan Qiang's bloodied, fearless gaze and heard his roar:
"Do it! Don't hesitate! End this!"
Yan Mo's jaw clenched. His hesitation burned away. "You earned my admiration… I will not waste your sacrifice!"
With a roar, his Heaven-Splitting Sword cleaved downward. Iron Wolf Bao twisted, trying desperately to intercept, but his wounded body and Pan Qiang's grip left him too slow. The sword carved through flesh and bone, slashing a brutal line across Iron Wolf Bao's chest.
Iron Wolf Bao's howl shook the heavens, blood spraying like rain. His demonic qi flared, but his massive form faltered. Yan Mo twisted at the last instant, sparing Pan Qiang's body by a hair's breadth.
The Iron Wolf staggered, disbelief frozen on his monstrous face. "No… I cannot… die to the likes of—"
Before he could finish, Han Yu, bloodied but unyielding, thrust his spear forward one last time.
"Celestial Dragon… Final Thrust!"
The blade pierced Iron Wolf Bao's throat clean through.
Iron Wolf Bao froze, eyes wide, a guttural rasp escaping his lips. Blood poured down his chin as his demonic aura collapsed into smoke. His massive body toppled backward with a thunderous crash.
The wolf was dead.
Pan Qiang sagged to the ground, his arms finally releasing Iron Wolf Bao's legs. His eyes fluttered shut, his body limp.
"PAN QIANG!" Zhang Wei's scream split the silence as he rushed forward, nearly tripping over the rubble. He dropped beside his friend, trembling hands scanning for wounds. His heart froze, but relief washed over him when he found no fatal cut.
"He's alive… just unconscious," Zhang Wei whispered, tears threatening to fall. His hands glowed as he poured qi into Pan Qiang, stabilizing his exhausted meridians, halting the bleeding from his battered body.
Yan Mo's sword clattered to the ground, his chest heaving as he staggered back. Han Yu fell to one knee, his face pale, but his lips curved into a faint smile. The village square was silent, save for the crackle of flames and the ragged breaths of the survivors.
They had won.
A week passed in uneasy peace. The poisoned villagers, with Zhang Wei's relentless care and the disciples' assistance, slowly regained their strength. Pan Qiang awoke two days later, his body aching, but his first words were a weak laugh: "Did we win?"
The others nearly collapsed in relief.
For days, the group recuperated. Zhang Wei tended to wounds, Han Yu trained silently, Yan Mo sharpened his sword in thought, and Qingyue—grateful for her life—sat by Pan Qiang often, speaking little but watching closely.
At the end of the week, the disciples gathered at the village gate. Their mission was over; the bandits were no more, but the truth they uncovered weighed heavily—the collusion of men with demons was no small matter. It had to be reported.
Yan Mo stood at the front, his token gleaming faintly as he handed it to Zhang Wei. "If you ever have time, visit my sect. You'll always have a place among us."
Liu Qingyue and Wu Sheng, still pale from their injuries, offered their tokens as well. Wu Sheng's voice was hoarse but sincere. "You three… you may call yourselves wandering cultivators, but I would recruit you in an instant."
Pan Qiang chuckled weakly, shaking his head. "We're not sect material. Right, Zhang Wei?"
Zhang Wei smiled faintly, tucking the tokens into his sleeve. "We love our freedom too much. But… if fate wills it, we'll meet again."
With that, the trio turned away, the rising sun casting their shadows long across the road as they left the village behind. Their steps were heavy, their bodies scarred, but their spirits burned brighter than ever.