Chapter 127: The Thousand-Scar Tree and the Devil's Bargain
The courtyard had fallen silent.
The golden haze of noon hung heavy in the air, but the wind did not stir—as if the world itself held its breath. The stone tiles beneath Su Tianhao's feet still shimmered faintly with residual heat, fine cracks spiderwebbing across the ground like scars left by a vanished storm.
Not far off, the massive oak stood eerily still—its canopy thinned, several branches stripped bare. Leaves bisected with surgical precision lay scattered across the ground, untouched by breeze.
At the center of it all, Su Tianhao stood unmoving. His sword rested quietly in its sheath. His eyes were calm.
But the aura lingering in the courtyard told a different story—sharp, charged, and steeped in killing intent so refined that even silence felt dangerous.
"This is my sword style," he murmured, eyes tracing the faint shimmer still visible in the air. "It suits me perfectly."
His expression shifted. Calm fell away, replaced by sharp focus.
"Time to test my understanding of Ninefold Deathflash."
As the thought formed, his body responded—breathing slowed, posture sharpened.
'A sword strike that transcends timing. The blade moves in perfect harmony with the user's killing intent, delivering nine slashes in a single instant—so swift and seamless they appear as a single flash. Each strike carries the essence of death, guided not by thought, but by instinct refined through countless battles.'
His grip tightened on Shadowfang's hilt. His golden eyes gleamed.
"Shadow-Splitting Flash—Third Form."
His voice was low, yet it resonated across the quiet courtyard.
"Ninefold Deathflash!"
BOOM!
A thunderous pulse exploded outward. Crimson-golden aura surged around him—thick with killing intent, dense and suffocating.
Shing!
Shadowfang rang as it left the scabbard, the blade vanishing into a blur too fast to follow.
Whoosh!
Su Tianhao moved—one step, one breath—his form a streak of light, golden eyes locked on a thick branch of the ancient oak.
SLASH!!!
Click.
Shadowfang returned to its sheath.
Then—
Split. Split. Split.
Three fine lines appeared across the branch. The next moment it fell in perfect thirds—each segment carved cleanly, precisely. No splinters. No delay. Just silence, and the faint tendrils of steam rising from the severed edges. Not from heat. From pressure. The aftershock of condensed, refined killing intent.
Had anyone witnessed it, they would have sworn it was a single stroke.
They couldn't be more wrong.
Three slashes—so fast, so fluid, they appeared as one. A feat few Martial Adept Realm cultivators could even dream of.
But Su Tianhao was not satisfied.
"The technique calls for nine slashes," he muttered, jaw tight. "I barely reached three."
His fist clenched at his side. "Not good enough."
He turned from the severed branch to his sheathed sword.
"I can't continue here. I need a proper training site."
His figure blurred through Fei Wu Quarter in a streak of crimson-gold. Now that he had broken through to the Martial Adept Realm, his speed had received a significant boost alongside his strength—the entire quarter passed beneath his feet in moments.
He found what he was looking for within minutes.
A small, old courtyard—run-down, covered in vines, overgrown with wild grass and withered flowers. The building inside had long since been abandoned. But it was the tree that commanded his attention.
Ancient. Thick. Massive. Its canopy stretched high enough to block out the sun entirely, casting the courtyard in deep, cool shadow. The roots coiled along the ground like petrified rivers—hardened by centuries of weather. In sheer size, it would not have looked out of place even among the ancient trees of Dragonspire Forest's inner region.
Su Tianhao studied it with calm interest.
Then he moved—Shadowfang flying from its sheath, engulfed in crimson-golden aura.
CLANG!
An ear-piercing sound rang out as the blade struck the trunk. The impact echoed like steel against bedrock—harsh, unyielding. Apart from a narrow cut etched into the bark, there was barely any visible damage.
Su Tianhao nodded slowly, satisfaction clear in his eyes.
His full strength was equivalent to a 3rd level Martial Adept—combined with his refined killing intent, a single slash was enough to kill even a 4th level Martial Adept. Yet this tree had absorbed the strike without real injury.
"Not much weaker than a Martial Core-level training dummy in terms of durability," he said quietly.
He reached out and ran his fingers along the shallow cut, a faint smirk forming.
"You've hidden quite well, haven't you." He stepped back, eyes traveling up the trunk. "From now on, I'll call you the Thousand-Scar Tree—because by the time I'm done, you'll carry every scar of my path forward."
"Let's begin."
His voice fell like a quiet bell before a tempest. His posture dropped into stance—utterly still.
"Shadow-Splitting Flash—Third Form."
Shing!
The dark blade cried from its sheath in one blinding arc.
"Ninefold Deathflash!"
BOOM!
A thunderclap of pressure erupted as Su Tianhao vanished into motion—his figure blinking through space, blade slashing out in what appeared to be a single stroke. But within that one stroke, three distinct death arcs rippled outward in rapid succession, each cut so precise it left no room for air between them.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
The courtyard trembled.
Three narrow scars bloomed across the ancient bark in an instant, each one etched with killing intent that refused to fade. Crimson-gold light seeped from the wounds—silent and glowing.
Su Tianhao landed softly. Shadowfang slid back into its sheath with a crisp click.
He didn't look back. He didn't need to.
"Still not enough."
The glowing scars behind him said everything about what he was reaching for.
This was only the beginning.
---
Meanwhile, as Su Tianhao pushed his limits in quiet seclusion, a storm had already begun to gather outside the Su family—one that would soon rattle the very foundations of Oakwood City's economy.
A reckoning long in the making.
---
Inside a towering grand hall, opulence reigned in every corner. Ceilings hung high above, painted with murals of dragons and phoenixes—symbols of power and legacy. Polished jade pillars lined the space like quiet sentinels, each marked with flowing calligraphy that caught the warm light. A deep red carpet embroidered with golden lotus patterns stretched from the entrance to a raised platform of black marble. At the center stood a long, ornate table, flanked by golden lanterns that cast a warm, authoritative glow across everything.
Five figures sat in formal discussion—each cloaked in silence and status, their gazes sharp, their words sharper.
Three of them were familiar faces any informed person in Oakwood City would recognize immediately—Ye Zhenwu, Ye Xunhai, and Ye Chongtai. The Patriarch, Second Elder, and Fourth Elder of the Ye family.
Facing them were two men of striking contrast.
The first was a towering figure in luxurious silk robes lined with golden patterns. Burly frame. Long blonde hair framing a handsome, commanding face with a well-trimmed beard and fine mustache. His presence radiated natural authority and the barely-contained pressure of a Peak-stage Martial Master.
He Zonghan—Patriarch of the He family.
Seated at his right was a lean figure with a shaved head and sharp, penetrating eyes behind a monocle. His expression was one of practiced severity, the look of a man who treated every situation as a calculation to be solved.
He Weiguang—He Zonghan's right hand and the architect of the He family's commercial empire.
"We received your message and sent our reply," He Zonghan said, his voice deep and unhurried. "For you to personally come visit our He family, I assume you've agreed to our terms and conditions."
Ye Zhenwu's frown was slight but unmistakable. "We came to negotiate."
"Negotiate?"
He Zonghan's voice rose like a lion's roar in an empty canyon—primal, echoing, full of authority. The atmosphere in the room grew immediately heavier.
He Weiguang stepped into the silence smoothly. "If I may, Patriarch Ye—the He family simply doesn't care about your rivalry with the Su family. We only care about the benefits this arrangement produces."
"You must reconsider," Ye Zhenwu said, turning to face him. "Your demands are simply too—"
"Enough." He Zonghan's voice cut through the room with cold finality. "The He family has given you its terms. Our business is not a pawn for your conspiracies. If you want our assistance, you sponsor all our business costs for the duration of the arrangement. That is our position."
"Absurd!" Ye Chongtai's weathered face twisted. "You ask us to sponsor your operation yet keep all the profits yourself? Where in the world is that fair?"
"At minimum, a percentage of the profit should come to us if we're investing our resources," Ye Xunhai added, his tone considerably calmer—a deliberate counterweight to Ye Chongtai's outburst.
Hmph.
"Your only reward will be the downfall of the Su family's finances," He Zonghan said flatly.
He Weiguang's gaze moved to Ye Zhenwu with quiet precision. "It's either you agree to our terms and fulfill your own aims—or you back out." He paused just long enough for the weight to land. "Either way, the He family loses nothing."
Ye Zhenwu's jaw tightened. Veins rose faintly across his forehead.
He had come here imagining the He family's profit motive as leverage—a tool to be exploited. Give them benefits; use their alchemist as a weapon against the Su family. Simple. Clean.
Instead, the He family had reversed the dynamic entirely. They were exploiting the Ye family's desperation—and doing it openly, without apology.
The terms were stark. The Ye family would provide all resources required for pill production in the duration of their agreement. All profit would go to the He family. In return, the He family would do everything within its power to drive the Su family out of business.
"Do we have a deal, Patriarch Ye?" He Zonghan said, impatience threading through his otherwise measured tone.
Ye Zhenwu knew the window was narrowing. Push further and the collaboration would collapse before it began.
Ye Xunhai and Ye Chongtai sat in silence beside him, expressions grim. They had stepped back. The decision was his alone now.
He clenched his jaw—and then the image of the Su family surfaced. Rising in strength. Expanding in influence. Steadily outpacing the Ye family on every front. In that moment, he chose desperation over reason.
"Deal," Ye Zhenwu said firmly, extending his hand.
He Zonghan's eyes gleamed with quiet triumph—and the faintest trace of disdain.
"Deal," he replied, gripping the offered hand with a powerful, deliberate clasp.
As Su Tianhao carved scar after scar into the Thousand-Scar Tree, a dangerous pact was being sealed behind closed doors—one that could either bury the Su family or reshape the very hierarchy of Oakwood City.