The blood on the courtyard stones was already beginning to congeal, turning from a vibrant crimson into a thick, dark syrup.
***Li Wei*** didn't look back at the fifty broken bodies. To him, they were just spent fuel—biological waste left over from a necessary experiment.
He began the ascent toward the **Hall of Eternal Roars**, the secondary pavilion where the Inner Disciples practiced their "Tiger-Skin" hardening techniques.
The stairs were steep, carved directly into the mountain's granite spine. Every few steps, he encountered another sentry. These weren't the low-level fodder from the gate; these were Stage 3 and Stage 4 cultivators with denser muscle fibers and reinforced bone structures.
---
"Halt!"
Two guards stepped out from the mountain mist, holding heavy poleaxes. Their breathing was rhythmic—a sign of advanced **Diaphragmatic Control**.
They didn't realize that by controlling their breath so precisely, they were giving Li Wei a perfect map of their internal organs.
"The **Diaphragm** is a fascinating muscle," Li Wei said, his voice cutting through the fog like a cold scalpel. "It separates the thoracic cavity from the abdominal cavity. When you breathe like that, you expose the **Inferior Vena Cava** to a very specific type of pressure."
The guards didn't wait for a lecture. They swung their poleaxes in a synchronized "X" strike.
Li Wei didn't draw a weapon. He simply stepped forward, moving into the "blind spot" created by the swing's momentum. He tapped each guard once, right under the ribcage, precisely where the diaphragm attaches to the spine.
It wasn't a punch. It was a high-frequency Qi-injection.
---
The guards froze. Their diaphragms went into a violent, permanent spasm.
They couldn't inhale. They couldn't exhale. Their lungs were full of air, but their muscles refused to move to cycle the oxygen.
They collapsed, clutching their chests, their faces turning a dark, bruised purple as their **Cerebral Cortex** began to starve of oxygen.
Li Wei didn't even watch them die. He was already at the doors of the pavilion, his mind already calculating the next set of extractions.
---
The Hall of Eternal Roars was filled with the smell of sweat and iron-sand. Twenty Inner Disciples were there, led by a man named **De-Kuan**.
He was a Stage 4 peak master, his skin almost bronze from the sheer density of the metal-element Qi he had absorbed.
"I heard the gates fall," De-Kuan said, picking up a massive, two-handed greatsword. "You're the ghost from the North. The one they call the Butcher."
Li Wei walked into the center of the hall. He was surrounded. "I prefer 'Architect'. 'Butcher' implies a lack of precision. I am never imprecise."
De-Kuan laughed—a deep, resonant sound that vibrated the air. "Precision won't save you from my 'Iron-Cloth' technique. My skin is harder than your threads. You can't cut what you can't penetrate."
---
Li Wei tilted his head, his obsidian eyes scanning De-Kuan's massive frame.
"You think strength is about hardness. That is your first mistake. Strength is about **Homeostasis**. If I disrupt the internal balance, your 'hard' skin becomes your tomb."
De-Kuan lunged. The greatsword came down with enough force to split a boulder.
Li Wei didn't block it. He used a single **Celestial Silk** thread to catch the flat of the blade, redirecting the momentum just enough to let it bury itself in the floorboards.
While De-Kuan was overextended, Li Wei moved. He didn't strike the skin; he touched the **Brachial Artery** in De-Kuan's arm through a tiny gap in his armor.
"Phase 1: Thermal Destabilization," Li Wei whispered.
---
He injected a pulse of Void-Qi that wasn't sharp, but *cold*. Absolute zero.
The blood in De-Kuan's right arm didn't just stop; it underwent a phase change. The water in the plasma turned into microscopic ice crystals.
De-Kuan roared in pain, but his arm wouldn't move. The "hard" skin was useless because the blood underneath it was frozen solid.
The ice crystals acted like millions of tiny razors, shredding the **Vascular Endothelium** from the inside out.
The other disciples charged. Li Wei spun, his white robes flaring out like the wings of a predatory bird. He unleashed thirty threads at once.
He wasn't aiming for their chests. He was aiming for their **Joint Capsules**.
---
*Snap. Pop. Crack.*
In the span of ten seconds, the pavilion was filled with the sound of breaking machinery.
The silk threads entered the spaces between the **Femur** and the **Tibia**, snapping the **Anterior Cruciate Ligaments (ACL)** like dry twigs.
Disciples fell in heaps, their legs folding in directions they were never meant to go. They weren't dead, but they were no longer "Tigers." They were just meat waiting for disposal.
---
De-Kuan was back on his feet, his left hand gripping his dead, frozen right arm. He was foaming at the mouth. "I'll kill you! I'll burn your soul!"
He ignited his Dantian, preparing for a suicidal "Qi-Burst."
Li Wei appeared in front of him, faster than the human eye could track. He didn't use a thread this time. He used his bare hand.
He pressed his palm against De-Kuan's forehead, his fingers splayed across the **Temporal Bones**.
"Phase 2: Synaptic Overload," Li Wei said.
---
He didn't hit him with force. He sent a rhythmic vibration directly into the **Thalamus**—the brain's relay station. He mimicked the frequency of a grand mal seizure.
De-Kuan's entire body went into a violent, uncontrolled convulsion.
His "Iron-Cloth" technique failed as his brain lost the ability to coordinate the Qi-flow. His own reinforced muscles began to contract with so much force that they tore away from the **Tendinous Insertions**.
The "hardest" man in the sect was being ripped apart by his own strength.
Li Wei watched until the convulsions stopped. De-Kuan lay on the floor, his eyes rolled back, his body a twisted wreck of ruptured fibers and shattered joints.
---
Li Wei pulled out his charcoal stick. He looked at the twenty disciples on the floor and the two guards outside.
**"Target Count: 2,927,"** he muttered.
The tally was moving faster now. He could hear the heavy drums from the Main Temple. The Sect Master was finally getting nervous.
Good. Fear increased the heart rate, which dilated the **Peripheral Vessels**, making them much easier to cut.
Li Wei stepped out of the pavilion and continued his climb. The Butcher was hungry, and the feast was just beginning.