The curved blade that had so effortlessly pierced Wu Yan's mana shield was, at the very least, a top-quality eighth-grade artifact.
The aura channeled through the blade was pure, yet it belonged only to the White Fang rank, nothing extraordinary in itself.
But even such a pairing was enough to snap Wu Yan's heart meridians and steal his life away.
This cultivator, who had only just condensed an Azure Wing Life Essence and stepped into the potential of the Dragon-Elephant Realm, plummeted from midair onto the deck.
Blood spurted from his wound, pooling into a widening crimson lake.
Yet not a single soul paid attention.
For all four of the great ships had already begun their slow descent, and everyone was desperately scrambling to save them.
Beneath the sea, however, lurked a demon of terrifying intellect. With a speed unmatched in water, it darted back and forth between the vessels.
At each strike, in the span of a breath, it would tear open another hole in the hull, each one taller than a man.
Within the time it takes an incense stick to burn, every ship had suffered four or five such wounds.
Seawater surged in torrents through the breaches, dragging the entire ships down.
The sailors tried to repair the holes, to hold back the sea demon's destruction, but to no avail.
The creature moved like a ghost, slipping into invisibility within the waters themselves, vanishing without a trace only to reappear elsewhere. No one could even lay a finger on it.
These men were descendants of seasoned naval soldiers, many of whom had once joined hunts for White Fang demons.
But none had ever encountered anything so cunning and sinister.
Some reckless sailors even dove into the water with nets, hoping to capture it, but couldn't so much as touch a scale.
Instead, when the demon's spectral light brushed them, their flesh tore apart and their entrails spilled into the sea.
The struggle dragged on for a full hour. In the end, all four ships sank into the abyssal depths.
Here, in the center of the vast ocean, the waters plunged more than five thousand meters deep. These grand vessels, once worth a fortune, would never see the surface again.
The sailors abandoned hope. They broke away from their sinking ships and drifted scattered across the waves.
From the original forty-two men aboard, only seventeen remained alive.
The rest had been slaughtered by the unseen fiend.
Without ships, without fresh water or food, their chances of crossing the endless sea and returning to Hunzhou Island were close to none.
All eyes turned to the single battered skiff still afloat.
It was their only chance at survival.
Yet, while they had fought to save their ships, the little skiff had somehow slipped free of its steel bindings and was now drifting with the current into the distance.
Driven by the instinct to live, none dared hesitate; they swam frantically after it.
But five hundred meters beneath them, a small figure floated on his back, gazing upward.
He lifted his hand and released a thread of silk.
The sailor furthest behind suddenly felt his ankle tighten. In the blink of an eye, he was dragged downward into the deep, without time for even a scream.
The silk pulled him into the abyss. Another thread looped around his neck, and his head was sliced clean off.
A small hand rummaged through his clothes, finding nothing but a few knife-coins.
The figure pocketed them without complaint and kicked the corpse aside.
Once men left their ships, drifting alone on the sea without the proper Life Pattern to anchor them, they became nothing more than prey to the ocean's denizens.
One by one, the remaining sixteen sailors were seized by silken threads, dragged into the depths, bled dry, and vanished forever.
The entire process was eerily calm, scarcely disturbing the water's surface.
Among the dead were three ninth-grade Fatebinding cultivators. The rest had all reached the Great Completion of Life-Nourishing, each possessing their Life Essences.
On land, these people might have posed some trouble.
But here, in the depths of the sea, Jing Qian killed them as easily as slaughtering chickens.
After a full month of hunting White Fang sea demons, his skill in naval combat and his killing intent had both reached a new level.
Once he had finished dealing with the enemies, he swam toward the little skiff. With a roll of his Tidal Life Pattern, his body glided like a nimble fish and landed softly upon the boat.
Only two survivors remained aboard the tall woman, and the short, fat man named A'Bao.
The child in the woman's arms, gravely wounded from the start, had already breathed his last.
Jing Qian concealed his true appearance, wearing instead a mask crafted from polished white fish scales.
Leaning casually against the gunwale, he spoke:
"Friend, does the blood contract you mentioned still hold?"
The female cultivator's face was ashen, death already clinging to her. She had little time left.
Yet, having witnessed Jing Qian butcher her enemies, her vengeance fulfilled, her expression bore a rare relief.
To his question, she answered:
"Thank you, Daoist friend, for avenging me."
"The Jing family has always honored its word; we deceive neither child nor elder."
With that, she sat upright and, from some hidden place, drew forth a great ledger bound in gold paper. Biting her tongue, she wrote upon it in blood:
"He who holds this book may claim the compensation of Jing Chuan, master of the Hunling vessel."
"Jing Ran, sworn!"
She handed the blood contract to Jing Qian and said:
"Daoist friend, you may present this contract at the Maritime Office on Hunzhou Island to claim my ancestor's compensation."
"I see your strength is unmatched, able to roam freely through these seas. Surely you do not covet such a paltry sum. Then why would you aid the Jing clan? I beg you, enlighten me."
Jing Qian looked at the dying Jing Ran. He drew out the tortoiseshell etched with the Tidal Life Pattern and displayed it before her.
"Is this what you were seeking?"
Her eyes fixed upon the tortoiseshell, her expression confirming her suspicions.
"So it truly is the Tidal Shell Divination of my Jing clan. Seeing you fight so fiercely in the sea, I had already guessed as much."
"Alas, we descendants were fated never to behold our clan's true inheritance."
"By the way, in my household remains only a blind nursemaid who has served me and my nephew since childhood. If it is convenient, please… lend her your aid."
"Beyond that, I have no ties left."
"Alas, the Jing family incense line… ends in my hands after all."
With those last words, Jing Ran embraced her nephew's corpse and leapt into the sea, sinking into the depths.
Jing Qian did not stop her. He had received no small favor from the Jing clan, and it was only fitting to grant her this final dignity.
Then he stepped forward, unsealing the fat cultivator whose mouth had been bound with silk, and asked:
"Fatty, what was Jing Ran's nephew's name?"
The man, though lucky to survive, had seen Jing Qian's slaughter with his own eyes. Terrified beyond resistance, he stammered eagerly:
"Reporting to you, sir, the boy of the Jing clan was named Jing Qian, the clan's only true-blooded heir."
"Now that he's dead, the Jing family's line is truly severed!"
Jing Qian chuckled softly.
"Reasonable… clever."
"Who says the Jing clan's line is severed?"
"From this day forth, I am Jing Qian. And I will never allow the Jing family to fall into ruin."
For Jing Qian, there could be no better guise than that of Jing Qian, the perfect substitute identity to step into the world of Hunzhou Island.
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