Zong Shou gathered all his remaining strength just to pry his eyes open. Sensation was beginning to return to his limbs, yet he still couldn't move them.

A faint, cooling sensation seeped into his core from his abdomen. It must be the power of the medicinal elixir that had pulled him back from unconsciousness and quelled the tumultuous churning of the meridians within him.

Glancing around, he saw he was still inside the carriage. However, the Fanyun carriage below had stopped, and the inner walls of the compartment were now crisscrossed with dark, esoteric Lu inscriptions.

In the very center of the carriage floated a palm-sized, vibrant purple jade sphere, rotating slowly in mid-air and radiating an overflow of spiritual light.

"Is this a Lu Array? A spirit artifact?"

Zong Shou paused, then remembered that Chu Xue practiced both Spiritual Arts and Martial Cultivation. With sufficient psychic energy, she could activate this Wind Barrier Lu Array.

It was likely that this carriage, along with the extraordinary jade sphere hanging in the air, represented the measures prepared by his father—the man who, Chu Xue had claimed a few days ago, would one day shake the Cloud Realm.

Protected within this formation, even if a Xiantian realm martial artist appeared, his life would be safe, at least for a short while.

The Raging Blood Demon Saint, the Nine-Tailed Fox King. At the height of their spiritual energy eruption, they were among the only few Celestial level powerhouses among the Demon Race on the Eastern Lin Cloud Continent. They had once blazed like a scorching sun, only to fall like shooting stars. Countless generations afterward would sigh and lament their passing.

For some unknown reason, this name, which should only elicit a sigh of distant admiration, felt inexplicably intimate as he recalled it now.

Zong Shou didn't know if this resonance stemmed from the similarity between his current state of semi-consciousness and the moments just before the real Zong Shou had 'vanished,' or if it was for some other reason. Regardless, the entirety of that man's thirteen years of memories were now imprinted within his own mind.

A proud son of heaven, fallen from grace. All those close to him drifted away. He struggled in fierce cultivation, achieving nothing. He traveled far, switching to the path of a Spirit Master, only to be deemed useless three years later, mocked and scorned by even more people.

In the near future, he was destined to become a puppet in another's hands, endure unimaginable torment, and die miserably upon Mount Qiantian.

The head around his neck would then be hung atop the mountain by the next Demon King of Qiantian, left suspended as a warning for three full months!

His awareness remained hazy, and in that instant, his chest and abdomen swelled with intense unwillingness and indignant fury—

He could endure any pain. He could persist through any hardship in practice! But why could he not open his Wheel Meridians?

Was he truly useless? Was his entire life destined to be spent hiding beneath his father's shadow, relying on his protection?

He would never accept it!

A torrent of confused thoughts flooded his mind. Zong Shou violently shook his head and forced himself into a sitting position. As the scene outside the window once again struck his eyes, every muscle in his body instantly tensed. His ears, momentarily deafened, abruptly reconnected to the surrounding sounds.

A silent smile touched his lips. Zong Shou cautiously moved his limbs, warming them slightly. Then, suddenly gripping his sword, he rose and stood before the jade sphere.

This Lu Array sealed the carriage, preventing anyone from entering and him from exiting.

Fortunately, in his previous life, he had dabbled in the methods of Spirit Masters, and he could claim proficiency in talismans and Lu formations.

Gathering energy at his fingertips, he hovered his hand just outside the sphere's aura, subtly touching it, and completely severed the streams of flowing spiritual energy.

The jade sphere before him immediately began to spin wildly, drifting erratically. The purple inscriptions on the carriage walls abruptly faded.

Zong Shou paid them no further mind. Gripping the Songwen Wind Sword, he lunged forward like an arrow, passing straight through the carriage door. He landed steadily outside the carriage, looking out over the landscape through the still-swirling wind barrier.

The once verdant wilderness was now stained with splashes of crimson. Five or six corpses lay scattered upon the ground.

The setting sun bled like blood, and vultures shrieked overhead, circling ceaselessly.

Most of the bodies lay near the carriage, all with their throats brutally torn open by claws.

Seven hundred paces away, sand roared and grass scattered in the gale. Another figure lay nearby—gaunt, with hands like bird claws, though his build was subtly different from the Uwi he had encountered before. He lay face down, utterly devoid of life.

And just beyond him, sword light erupted like a waterfall, and blade shadows churned like a tide. Dust and sand obscured the view, making the figures within almost indistinguishable.

Straining his sight to the utmost, Zong Shou could only make out that Yin Yang’s chest had been pierced. Half of a broken blade remained embedded in the wound, desperately holding on against the fierce torrent of sword energy.

What a fierce sword user!

His gaze sharpened. Zong Shou then turned his attention to the scarred cat-eared girl not far away.

Her snow-white skirt had become a garment of blood, revealing snow-white skin covered in outwards-turned knife wounds.

"Xue'er—"

A fragment of memory from those thirteen years flashed before his eyes: childhood sweethearts, innocent companionship.

Everyone treated him as trash, a mixed-blood disgrace to Mount Qiantian. Only Xue'er never left his side.

Even knowing these were the memories of the man who had already died, and that he had known this cat-eared girl for less than half a month, the corner of Zong Shou's lips still curved upward involuntarily.

Carefree, often a little muddled, but seeing this girl always brought a sense of warmth.

However, this faint smile vanished as quickly as it formed, replaced by icy malevolence.

This was no longer a fight; it was torture. Relying on her grievously wounded body, she fought six people alone. Her steps were chaotic, staggering, on the verge of collapse. The sword claws she wore on her hands left countless openings even for defense.

The others mostly stood aside, their eyes full of derision. Only Zong Yu circled around Su Chuxue within a three-foot radius, treating her like a cat toying with a mouse. Then, every so often, he would graze her with a sword stroke, or draw a fresh bloom of blood. A smile played on his lips, as if taking immense pleasure in it.

And the cat-eared girl seemed utterly oblivious to her plight. Though standing was already an immense struggle, she still futilely chased after Zong Yu’s movements.

Only when the violent winds around the carriage dispersed and the blade shadows vanished did her body freeze, her eyes filling with despair.

Zong Yu also started, suddenly stepping back several paces, retreating to a distance, and looking towards Zong Shou with a flicker of confusion, which quickly morphed into a smug smile.

"It's Brother Shou, I see. It seems Xue'er's Psychic Arts are still lacking skill. Heh! I was just wondering how to break through this Wind Barrier Lu Array. I won't kill you today. Why not return to Mount Qiantian with me? With Brother Yu looking out for you, no one would dare seize your throne. But Xue'er is quite spirited; you should yield her to me—"

Zong Shou ignored him, his gaze intensely focused on Su Chuxue, examining her up and down as if trying to deeply etch every wound and sword mark upon her body into his heart.

While channeling wisps of true energy from his Wheel Meridians into the Songwen Maple Sword, his thoughts drifted, wondering how the sensation of hacking a corpse to pieces in reality compared to the purely virtual environment of the illusion.

In the games of his past life, there was a notorious figure nicknamed the 'Corpse Dismemberer.' After killing someone, he always liked to mutilate the body in a way that was horrifying to witness.

Back then, Zong Shou couldn't understand it; he found it utterly bizarre. But today, he found a similar urge for brutal violence rising involuntarily in his chest.

The Sword Emperor Tan Qiu, ten thousand years in the future, found that his first battle in this era was against these very dregs!

Zong Yu waited for a long time without a response, assuming Zong Shou was paralyzed by fear, and let out another light sneer: "I thought you had made some progress over the years, but you're still utterly inadequate!"

Just as he was about to gesture for his men to seize him, Zong Shou suddenly spoke, asking, "Xue'er, do those wounds hurt?"

Chu Xue was already mentally sluggish. Hearing the question, she was momentarily bewildered, but immediately shook her head. "It doesn't hurt, but Xue'er regrets not protecting the Young Master well! It's all Xue'er's fault—"

Zong Shou felt a slight pang in his heart, but forced a smile onto his face. "If it doesn't hurt, then watch closely as your Young Master pays them back! I can take off their heads and let you use them as balls to kick, how about that?"

At this, not only Chu Xue was astonished—a ball? Was it a xiu qiu (embroidered ball)? Were those for kicking?—but even the surrounding figures were taken aback. Zong Yu was both angry and amused, mocking, "Pay them back? You're just a useless person who can barely protect yourself. Who are you to pay back? Brother Shou, are you mad, or just foolish?"

Waving his hand dismissively, the three blue-clad swordsmen beside him sprang forth, thundering across the ground like arrows, charging straight ahead.

Zong Shou's eyebrows arched slightly. Then, with a composed, deep breath, he adjusted his body to its optimal state. He pointed the Songwen Wind Sword forward and angled it obliquely, gripping the hilt tightly with both hands. The latent power within him exploded outward. He stomped his right foot violently on the ground and surged forward nearly half a zhang!

In the future game, he had slain countless people. But in reality, this was his very first time fighting or killing.

Surprisingly, he adapted instantly, feeling no awkwardness. Within his chest, a flame seemed to be burning fiercely.

With only a few rapid strides, he could clearly see the faces of the men approaching. Clad in blue, stout in build, they rushed toward him. The eyes of the three were filled with the cool indifference characteristic of the lower-ranking Wolf Tribe, their pupils the signature green. In their minds, they clearly never considered him an opponent—just a clown who didn't know his place and was putting up a brave front.

A self-mocking smile crossed his face. The wondrous spiritual aperture on his right chest, known as the Spirit Pool, burst open violently, scattering the true energy within and directing it towards his feet.

"Step Wind!"

Moving with uncanny steps, Zong Shou's figure flickered, leaving behind a distinct afterimage. His speed abruptly increased by nearly double, without any warning! He appeared directly in front of the first attacker, close enough to stare face-to-face into the man's eyes as shock and terror surfaced.

"Rush Sword!"

Without a fraction of hesitation, the sword light pierced forward like lightning.

A line of blood immediately sprayed forth violently from the torn throat and neck, trailing countless fragments of bone and flesh!