Where did all this Luck come from?
It wasn't hard to guess.
Yun Jin wavered slightly, a flicker of clarity sweeping through her mind.
This power… came from the people of the capital.
Most of them were just ordinary mortals. But in this world, weren't the vast majority of living beings mortals?
They couldn't soar through the skies or tear open the earth. They held no power to destroy worlds.
But in this moment—
They had gathered all their strength and given it to her.
This strength… was called Luck.
In the old world, those who walked the righteous path were supported by many, while those who strayed stood alone. To obtain the intangible power of Luck, cultivators often acted as defenders against evil, guardians of the common folk.
The Holy Lands, however, had used immortal artifacts to forcibly draw in Luck, binding it to those artifacts. And just like that, "those who follow the Dao are aided by many" had become a joke. Mortals had even lost the ability to direct their own faith.
But now—
They had offered Yun Jin the last sliver of Luck they could still control. Yun Jin felt it instinctively. At this moment, the Luck surrounding her might already rival that of Qin Ping.
Qin Ping had spent a thousand years earning the people's respect.
She, on the other hand, had awakened their deepest will to survive in the face of annihilation. So they bet everything on her, hoping she could be the one to save them.
This faith might not be pure.
But then again, why should faith ever need to be pure in the first place?
Yun Jin had once visited a world with an unusual system.
In that world, even deities had assigned duties. If they abandoned their responsibilities, they would be punished. In severe cases, they could even be stripped of their divine status.
The people there jokingly called it "Schrödinger's faith."
But Yun Jin had thought—
That was the healthiest kind of relationship.
Faith should only be called faith if it received something in return.
Right now—
They had blessed her with Luck because they wanted to survive. She was no deity. But since she had accepted this power, she would give everything she had to protect these people.
The Law of Fire .
The Law of Fire …
Comprehending this Dao was now her only chance at life.
"Sect Master, that Blood Cloud Vortex is your signature technique. That Yun Jin must have already been swallowed into a pile of bones," one Blood Dao Cultivator said with a sneer.
"Even if she's not dead yet, she's only waiting to die," another added with a chuckle.
No one believed Yun Jin could survive a full-force strike from someone at the Mahayana stage.
She was as good as dead. It was only a matter of time.
"This Blood Cloud Vortex has a flaw," Xue Daoren said lazily. "It won't dissipate until it devours all flesh and blood within it. Even I can't control it until then. But for someone at Unity stage, it shouldn't take long."
"Sect Master, since Yun Jin's already a corpse…" One of the Blood Dao cultivators grinned, his expression twisted with anticipation. "About that promise—using the entire city to refine our arts?"
The Blood Dao Sect was infamous for its depraved secret techniques, all of them rooted in blood. Not just spiritual blood, but mortal blood, human blood, even beast blood—life taken in its rawest form.
To them, this city was no different from a cauldron. A living crucible of flesh.
Though the people were only mortals, once the Grand Blood Sacrificial Array was fully activated, their sheer numbers would be enough. With ten million lives fueling the spell, even the most ordinary demonic techniques could be elevated to something monstrous.
The formation was already complete.
From the beginning, the plan had been wholesale slaughter.
Yun Jin's arrival had merely triggered an early start.
High above the city, Xue Daoren stood on a floating platform of blood-forged jade. He looked down lazily at the packed crowds below—tens of thousands huddled in every street and alley, shoulder to shoulder, their faces pale with terror.
"Go ahead," he said, his tone bored. "Just remember to purify the blood through the array before absorbing it. It's more efficient that way. As for the spoils, I won't compete with you. Take as much as you want."
That talk about sparing the people if Yun Jin showed up—
Had always been a lie.
Yun Jin, he was determined to kill.
But the rest? The blood of millions wouldn't help his own cultivation much, but for his disciples, it was another story. Even those at the Tribulation stage could gain something from it.
"Thank you, Sect Master!" several cultivators exclaimed, their eyes gleaming with greed.
And then they moved.
They didn't charge with swords drawn. That would've been merciful.
Instead, they tossed out crimson nets, thick with runes and soaked in demonic intent. The sky turned red as the nets unfurled like twisted banners, casting a bloody pall over the capital. In an instant, thousands were ensnared.
The nets didn't kill right away.
They wrapped around limbs, torsos, necks, tightening slowly like serpents. The flesh split open where the threads touched. Blood bubbled up, then vanished—absorbed into the fibers of the net. The color of each net deepened as it fed, going from dull red to a vibrant, wet crimson.
Screams echoed through the capital like an ocean tide. People stumbled over one another, trampling children, shrieking prayers to gods long deaf. Families clutched each other, searching for a way out—but there was none. The entire city had become a trap.
And still, the cultivators smiled.
"Not bad at all," one laughed, watching a woman collapse inside her net, her eyes still wide even as her blood drained away. "With the locals and the refugees, we've got ten million at least. Three days and nights—we'll be full for a decade."
"Three days?" another scoffed. "I could do this for a year!"
"Enjoy it while it lasts. You think we'll get another chance like this?"
No one stopped them. No one could.
This was the territory of mortals, and under normal circumstances, such wanton slaughter would have drawn the wrath of righteous sects. But now? With the world in chaos, war on every border, and Yun Jin dead—there was no one left to stop them.
In the crowd below, a little girl clutched her mother's hand tightly. She couldn't have been more than five or six.
One of the nets had fallen over them.
Her mother held her close, voice trembling. "Don't be scared. Don't be scared…"
"I'm not scared," the girl said, lips pressed together. Her voice was thin but steady. "That big sister is still fighting. So I'll fight too. You said… we shouldn't give in to bad people."
The mother couldn't answer. Her throat tightened around a sob. She just hugged her daughter tighter, tears pouring silently down her cheeks.
She thought about how soft her daughter's hair always felt when she brushed it. How excited she'd been to see fireflies for the first time last summer. How she still mispronounced 'porridge.'
Would it hurt?
She knew her child feared pain. Hated needles. Even a scraped knee could make her cry for hours.
The mother wept harder.
The girl blinked. She looked up, puzzled.
"Was Mother… crying?"
She didn't have time to think further. In the next moment, searing pain shot through her. The blood web had touched her skin and begun to draw out her blood. It had countless tendrils that sensed life, wrapping around it, sucking blood endlessly until the body was drained dry.
It hurt.
She wanted to cry.
She'd always been scared of pain…
But—
The little girl looked up at the sky, lips tightly pressed together.
She couldn't cry.
If she cried, the bad people would be happy.
And she couldn't distract the big sister in the sky.
That sister was surely in danger too. She had to stay quiet. Be good. She mustn't make a sound.
Above the city, the Blood Dao cultivators carried on as if it were a celebration. They chatted while refining the blood nets, drawing on the power to fuel their arts, to break bottlenecks, to ascend.
They basked in the massacre.
In the distance, a lone figure stood amid the chaos. Gao Jingxuan gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His jaw clenched.
His eyes burned.
He didn't know why they hadn't attacked him yet. Maybe they were saving him for last. Maybe they didn't see him as a threat.
It didn't matter.
He couldn't just stand here.
Not while people died screaming.
With a roar, he surged forward, sword raised high.
He would not let this hell persist without a fight.