The battlefield stank of blood.
The hunters of the Martial Alliance tightened their encirclement, stepping over the corpses of their own fallen brothers. Their eyes gleamed with greed and fear—greed for the bounty on Shen Zong's head, fear of the monster that refused to die.
"Kill him now!" a clan elder roared. "He's too dangerous to let live another breath!"
Dozens of blades descended.
---
But Shen Zong's eyes opened.
They were no longer the dull, bloodshot eyes of a fugitive. Instead, they burned with a depth as vast as the abyss, calm yet unfathomable. The cursed brand on his chest writhed, but instead of dragging him down, it pulsed in harmony with his breath.
As the swords pierced down, his lips curved into the faintest smile.
Clang!
Every blade froze an inch away from his body. A suffocating pressure erupted outward. The rain itself seemed to halt midair, each droplet suspended like shards of glass.
"What—what is this?!" a hunter gasped, his blade trembling in his hand.
Shen Zong slowly rose to his feet, pulling the sword from his abdomen as though it were nothing more than a splinter. The wound closed instantly, leaving behind only a faint scar.
---
He looked at the crowd and spoke, voice steady, cold, yet carrying across the storm:
"You chase me like dogs. You curse me as a demon. Yet none of you understand… demons do not fear death."
His aura exploded.
The crimson vortex spiraled around him, forming the shape of a colossal phantom—half-man, half-demon, its eyes glowing with immortal light. The hunters stumbled back, faces pale, knees buckling under the sheer force of it.
Shen Zong lifted his hand.
Boom!
Dozens of men were crushed into pulp as if heaven's palm itself had descended.
---
Panic erupted.
"Impossible! He was dying just moments ago!"
"This… this aura… it's not human!"
"Retreat! RETREAT!"
But retreat was impossible. Shen Zong stepped forward, each movement sending shockwaves through the earth. Blades shattered before touching him, qi dissolved into nothingness.
His enemies fell like wheat before the scythe. Blood splattered across the stones, mixing with the rain until the entire ravine became a river of crimson.
---
When silence finally fell, hundreds of corpses littered the ground. Not a single hunter remained alive.
Shen Zong stood amidst the carnage, his calm gaze scanning the horizon.
Somewhere far away, hidden eyes observed him—messengers of great sects, spies of noble clans, shadow guards of the Martial Alliance.
Their hearts trembled.
"The Cursed Orphan…" one whispered.
"He has touched upon… the Undying Dao."
Word spread like wildfire. By dawn, every corner of the Jianghu would know:
A demon who defied fate itself had risen.
And he would not be ignored.