The man who had been launched was still groaning in the dirt, his legs tangled in a broken barrel. He tried to stand but slipped, landing headfirst in a bucket left beside the road. The wet clunk of wood over his skull drew a few stifled gasps from the villagers.
No one laughed. Not yet.
Shen Hao looked at him, blinked once, then spoke as if making a simple observation.
"By the way… I think your spine's in there with you. You might want to check."
A ripple of unease passed through the Black Valley crew. Some squinted, trying to measure him. Others tightened their grips on their weapons, instincts already sharpening.
One of the elders barked, his voice harsh and clipped:
"WHO ARE YOU?!"
Shen Hao tilted his head, looking left, then right, as though the answer might be written on the walls. Finally, he shrugged.
"Right, introductions. Shen Hao. Cultivator. Visitor. Sometimes-" his mouth curled faintly, "-comedian."
The villagers stared in disbelief. They had never seen a man speak like this in front of the Black Valley.
The first elder sneered, his patience ending in an instant.
"Get him!"
The command fell heavy.
Like a single drumbeat, sixty men surged forward at once, blades flashing, boots pounding, Qi beginning to stir in the night air.
But Shen Hao did not draw a weapon.
He did not even raise his hands.
He sighed, stepped one pace to the left, and let the first glaive whistle past him.
The first glaive missed him by the width of a sleeve. Shen Hao leaned aside, barely shifting his shoulders, and the iron tip cut through empty air.
Another came with a staff, swinging in from the right. Shen Hao ducked casually, as if bowing to no one in particular, and the wooden shaft swished uselessly over his head.
The attackers tried to tighten their circle. Boots stamped, blades rose, shouts echoed. But Shen Hao's body moved like it had no weight of its own.
He stepped once onto a crate, light as if testing its strength. From there, a soft push sent him onto a roof tile. His robe swayed, his feet barely making a sound. By the time they turned, he had already dropped behind them.
Hands still clasped behind his back.
A lazy yawn escaped him.
"You people stretch before these little shows, or just pray your backs don't give out halfway?"
One swung wide and missed completely, stumbling into a water trough. Another lunged forward, blade high, only to crash shoulder-first into the side of a well as Shen Hao pivoted around it without hurry.
The clang of steel against stone rang louder than their curses.
The villagers, though silent, could not hide the widening of their eyes. They had seen many men resist the Black Valley. None had ever done it laughing.
Above, a braver soul leapt from a rooftop, dropping with both legs extended, aiming to crush Shen Hao beneath him.
Shen Hao looked up, unimpressed.
"Oh no. The sky has feet."
He shifted one step.
The man disappeared into a haystack with a muffled whump.
Another cultivator raised his palm, a faint edge of wind glowing at his fingertips. He slashed it down, sending a thin blade of Qi cutting the air.
Shen Hao turned his head slightly, spotted a nearby door, and opened it.
He stepped inside.
The blade tore past the doorway, carving splinters from the frame.
The house shook, a villager gasped, and then the door creaked open again. Shen Hao stepped back out, brushing dust from his shoulder.
"Oh no. Property damage. I hope you keep a repair budget."
By now, more than half the crew was on the ground, clutching knees, nursing foreheads, groaning in shame. The rest hovered uncertainly, blades trembling, courage leaking out with every failed strike.
And still, Shen Hao had yet to lift his hands.
The village square had never been so loud. Yet the noise did not come from the villagers.
It was the Black Valley men who filled the night with clanging metal, ragged breathing, and the dull thuds of bodies hitting dirt. The villagers remained quiet, rows of watchful eyes in the shadow of their homes. Mothers held their children tighter, fathers clenched jaws, elders leaned on staffs without blinking.
For generations, they had stood like this. Silent when outsiders demanded silence. Silent when oppressors marched through. Silent even when neighbors were dragged away.
But this silence felt different.
It wasn't surrender.
It was wonder.
Every time Shen Hao slipped aside, every time another mercenary missed his strike and crumpled in humiliation, the villagers' silence deepened, as though they feared their own voices would break the spell of what they were witnessing.
One boy, no older than ten, whispered from behind his mother's sleeve:
"…He hasn't even hit them."
His mother hushed him quickly. But she could not stop her own eyes from widening as another man swung wildly, missed, and toppled over his own comrade.
The elders of the Black Valley noticed too. Their lips curled, their brows darkened, their pride soured. These were not soldiers meant to be mocked before peasants. They were supposed to be fear itself, walking on two legs.
Yet here they were, tripping, flailing, humiliated, before a single man who hadn't drawn a weapon.
Lingfeng's voice echoed in Shen Hao's mind, half amusement, half disbelief:
"They've forgotten what it means to meet someone who doesn't play by their rules."
Mo Han, steady and low:
"They will break soon. The ones who command them will not allow this to continue."
As if on cue, the first of the elders stepped forward. His stride heavy, his palm gathering light. The crowd of lesser men parted for him instinctively, like dogs making way for a wolf.
He pointed at Shen Hao, his voice sharp and furious:
"Enough games. Take him down."
The air shifted.
Weapons tightened in hands. Broken men groaned on the ground. And the villagers held their breath, knowing the night was only beginning.
The elder's hand burned with light. A condensed sphere of Qi pulsed in his palm, each heartbeat feeding it until it swelled like a miniature sun.
The villagers drew back instinctively. Mothers shielded their children. Old men leaned harder on their canes. They had seen this kind of attack before, it was the kind that tore through wood, shattered stone, and left nothing alive if caught in its path.
The elder's voice carried across the square, thick with authority:
"You think you can mock us? You think you can humiliate the Valley before these peasants?!"
His teeth ground together. The sphere in his hand reached its peak. The light painted his face in harsh shadows.
Then he hurled it.
The attack cut the air with a shrill hum, a streak of raw power aimed straight for Shen Hao's chest.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold still. Even the torches along the square leaned away from its force.
But Shen Hao didn't flinch.
He didn't even move his feet.
His hand rose lazily, as though he were swatting away an insect. Fingers closed around the sphere, and the light vanished into his grip.
No explosion.
No damage.
No sound but the quiet crackle as his aura smothered the energy like water poured over fire.
Gasps rippled through the villagers. The elder's eyes widened, his lips trembling with disbelief.
Shen Hao flicked his wrist, and the energy shot back the way it came, not wild, not out of control, but precise, sharp, and merciless.
The elder didn't even have time to scream. The blast caught him in the chest, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing through the wooden fence at the edge of the square.
Silence.
The villagers froze.
The Valley men froze.
And in the center of it all, Shen Hao lowered his hand again, expression unchanged, as though nothing had happened at all.
Lingfeng's voice in his mind, almost laughing:
"…Master, you didn't even warm up."
Mo Han, calm and steady:
"One down. More to follow."
The remaining three elders stepped forward at once, fury burning in their eyes.
The night had only just begun.
The dust had not even settled from the first elder's crash when another stepped forward. His beard was gray, his eyes sharp with years of cruelty, and the veins in his neck swelled as he shouted:
"You dare?! You think one trick makes you untouchable?!"
He spread his arms, and the ground itself seemed to tremble beneath him. His Qi surged outward in a wide arc, gathering into both palms. Unlike the first, his energy was not a single burst but a storm, swirling and pulling the air into a vortex around him.
Villagers shielded their faces from the whipping wind. Children clung tighter to their mothers. The lanterns overhead rattled violently, some blowing out altogether.
The elder slammed his hands together, and from the collision shot a jagged spear of pure Qi, sharp, spinning, screeching through the night sky like a drill of light.
It aimed straight for Shen Hao's throat.
But Shen Hao… simply tilted his head.
The spear missed by a hair, streaking past him, tearing into the wall of a nearby storehouse. Wood splintered, dust rising.
Shen Hao sighed.
"Careful. You'll ruin someone's pantry."
The elder snarled, sending another spear, then another, each faster, sharper, the sound of the air itself splitting as they fired.
Shen Hao moved only enough to avoid them. A step back. A slight lean. A turn of his shoulder. Not a single wasted motion.
Each missed.
Each buried itself into walls, barrels, or the earth.
The villagers stared wide-eyed. To them, the spears looked unstoppable. Yet to Shen Hao, they were no more threatening than tossed pebbles.
Finally, the elder grew desperate. He poured every drop of his strength into one final, massive spear, wider than a man, glowing white-hot, vibrating with force enough to split the square in two.
He bellowed and hurled it with both hands.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. His arms trembled. His face went red with strain.
The spear screamed across the square.
Shen Hao lifted one hand.
No buildup. No chant. Just one hand, open and steady.
The spear struck.
And stopped.
Like an arrow hitting a stone wall, the glowing weapon simply froze in place, its tip pressing against Shen Hao's palm but going no further. The ground beneath them shook from the impact, but Shen Hao's body didn't budge an inch.
The elder's eyes bulged. "Impossible...!"
Shen Hao closed his fingers.
The spear shattered into harmless fragments of light that scattered into the night.
Then Shen Hao exhaled softly, almost as though in boredom. His other hand rose, flicking outward.
A ripple of force struck the elder square in the chest.
It wasn't violent. It wasn't even loud.
But it carried weight.
The elder flew back, crashing onto the ground, his body skidding several meters before coming to a halt. He groaned once, clutching his ribs, then went still.
Two elders defeated.
Without Shen Hao even breaking a sweat.
The remaining two exchanged glances. Their confidence had begun to waver.
Shen Hao straightened his robe, then spoke softly:
"Next?"