"To be buried with the little one, you are the first!" A thin line of blood immediately seeped from the icy-cold furrow of Yin Han’s brow, his eyes filled with sheer panic and astonishment. The portion of the Immortal-Slaying Blade Array driven into the Mother-Son Falling Leaf Blade had, in that briefest instant, entirely extinguished all life force in Yin Han! Then, Yin Han’s entire head exploded like a melon, shattering into pieces. Countless red and white fragments blasted outward. They spattered both Saint-level Venerables accompanying him, coating them in shredded flesh and blood. This gore then slid down their protective auras and pooled onto the ground below. Even Elder Yun was momentarily stunned. In that fleeting moment—when the blade light struck—they hadn't even managed to form the thought of intervention. The onlookers were similarly gripped by disbelief. The Crown Prince of the Great Shang, the hope of the orthodox Confucian school, lauded and supported by countless court officials—Prince Yin Han—was dead? So simply, felled by a single strike? They still couldn't grasp precisely what had transpired.

They looked again at Zong Shou, still standing quietly, his body riddled with holes. His garments were tattered, revealing stark white bone through dozens of wounds. His complexion was ashen, his vital energy weak, seeming as though a slight breeze might bring him down. It appeared the exertion of that last strike had aggravated his injuries; he was now holding a hand to his lip, coughing lightly, threads of blood escaping between his fingers. His aura was gloomy and inscrutable, as if he had just returned from the abyss of the netherworld, his eyes like ice that never thaws, making it impossible for anyone to look directly at him.

Zong Shou was indeed suffering immensely. Though his meridians flowed freely, his injuries remained severe. The sharp metallic qi that he had failed to expel was like countless steel needles piercing and churning within him. By now, the second Mother-Son Falling Leaf Blade was already sliding to his cuff. The Six Gods Imperial Blade Art had been fully executed in that instant. Yet the physical pain was far less than the hatred and regret churning in his heart. Only when that blade shot out and cut down Yin Han did he feel a slight easing. Within his Primordial Spirit, the radiant wings that extended behind his True Manifestation Form had quietly unfurled, appearing even more brilliant and magnificent.

"Hmm? Do you also wish to vent?"

Zong Shou and the artifact spirit of the Xuan-Holding Dharma Wings hadn't exchanged much dialogue. Since their minds had resonated, awakening the spirit of this artifact, he could wield it at will. But now, he could clearly sense the will of the Xuan-Holding Dharma Wings: surging malice, endless unwillingness, and sorrow for its deceased master, all lacking an outlet. This was why it had slept for these thousands of years, only now awakened by shock, yet still filled with indignation, anger, and grief over the scene from millennia past. The resonance of their moods made the user and the artifact nearly one, without barrier. So today, they might as well slaughter until the river runs red!

Zong Shou let out a cold, humorless laugh. The Mother-Son Falling Leaf Blade continued its descent, reaching his fingertip, where instantly another pair of transparent, pure white wing phantoms materialized on the blade. Previously, the entire underground corridor had fallen into a dead silence, stunned by his single strike. But the silence lasted only a moment before everyone recovered.

Among them, Elder Yun trembled with rage, his robes fluttering without wind. "Do you know what you have done? To dare strike at the Crown Prince, damnable, damnable—" Speaking without restraint, millions of blade lights instantly sprang forth from empty air, swirling like clouds, surging forth like a tide.

The Confucian Venerable in the distance roared with fury, "Truly a tyrannical ruler! He deserves execution!"

Chi Hongyi said nothing more, flashing behind Zong Shou and pointing a finger toward his spine. The spiraling force capable of stirring storms across a million li was condensed to a single point on his fingertip. His qi leakage was nonexistent, yet it emitted a piercing, shrill whistle that assaulted the eardrums.

Yin Han’s sudden death by the blade had not intimidated any of those present; rather, it ignited the killing intent of everyone here. Their will to fight increased, and not a single person retreated. Even Han Qing had now acted. Fearlessly, he struck before anyone else, swinging his sword toward Zong Shou’s head. Numerous restraint spiritual arts were simultaneously activated—strands of black shadow, clusters of crimson vines—all twisting toward Zong Shou.

Mo Lian watched from a distance, the corners of her lips curling slightly. That single strike was indeed terrifying. But precisely because of that, they had to spare no cost in killing Zong Shou here! Should they wait until he escaped, only to have him return later to settle scores with everyone participating today? Furthermore, how long could this heavily wounded man hold on? How many of those flying blades could he still launch? Even the most cowardly among them should know how to choose now. Their own lives and futures must be secured.

In her view, since enmity was declared and faces torn away, they must strike ruthlessly to annihilate their opponent completely, ensuring he could never rise again!

A burst of explosive gang energy erupted—twenty-three different martial intent perceptions detonated simultaneously around Zong Shou, crisscrossing wildly. Overwhelming immortal power suddenly exploded in the confined space. Zong Shou remained standing, seemingly unable to move. His heavily wounded body appeared utterly helpless and frail against the torrential waves of gang energy surrounding him.

At this moment, even Chi Hongyi, the most cautious, showed a flicker of relaxation in his eyes. He thought to himself: He’s dead. This Blood Sword Demon Lord has finally fallen. No matter how one looks at it, he has no chance of resisting or escaping today! Since he was motivated by orders, he held no deep personal grudge against Zong Shou, which now brought forth a faint sense of pity. Regardless, after this battle, he could certainly give a satisfactory account to the Supreme Primordial Demon.

And Han Qing could no longer suppress himself, roaring with maniacal laughter. His sword momentum accelerated; he intended to be the first to cleave Zong Shou’s head. Cheng Xin let out a gentle breath, silently murmuring the name Rong Bi. Under Zong Shou’s sword, countless millions of Dao Sect disciples had died, but the death of this one Daoist friend caused him the deepest resentment and pain. He had endured for two years, believing he might never get another chance. Unexpectedly, today he could witness Zong Shou’s demise with his own eyes.

However, in her peripheral vision, Mo Lian noticed that Su Chuxue, instead of exerting herself to aid Zong Shou, was rapidly retreating toward a corner, her blade movements quickly enveloping the Azure Fire Mystic Turtle carrying Su Xiaoxiao’s body. Her expression was incredibly strange—devoid of any apparent worry or grief.

Mo Lian paused, startled. She knew this girl was fiercely loyal to Zong Shou, even harboring affection for him. Not long ago, when Zong Shou was in dire straits, this woman had desperately blocked their path without fear for her life. Their relationship was clear from that. Had she realized Zong Shou had no hope of survival, thus ceasing her efforts and fleeing? But why was her expression so odd?

As she pondered, Zong Shou also made a move. He brought his fingers together as a sword and casually slashed the empty space beneath him. The trajectory of his finger-sword was incomparably beautiful, causing a layer of black light and shadow to spread within ten zhang of Zong Shou.

"Within ten zhang, this is My Unbreakable Sword Domain!"

Chi Hongyi’s fingertip vortex struck Zong Shou's back first. That ten-zhang distance was like a clay ox entering the sea, swallowing all sound. Moreover, Chi Hongyi felt a massive repulsive force ahead, preventing him from advancing further. It wasn't impossible to break through, but Chi Hongyi vaguely felt that if he forced his way through, something incredibly terrifying would occur today.

Then came the sword energy sweeps and whisk attacks from the four Daoist Saint-level experts, striking almost simultaneously. Yet, each met only a muffled 'peng' sound, blocked precisely at the ten-zhang boundary. Even power capable of destroying several minor thousand-worlds vanished without a ripple.

Han Qing's sword also arrived at this moment. The blade light passed through as if slicing through empty air, achieving extreme smoothness. However, Han Qing’s face was now ashen. The demonic sword energy he unleashed had completely vanished. Even stranger, half of his sword blade had also disappeared.

Zong Shou’s coughing ceased. His eyes were filled with biting mockery. "All mere rats! With just you lot, today you aren't even qualified to make this Emperor draw his sword!"

Chi Hongyi was shocked, raising an eyebrow to look closely. Not qualified to make this Emperor draw his sword? What did this Zong Shou mean? Did he mean that the fifteen Saint-level Venerables present today lacked the qualification to force Zong Shou to use a blade?

"Arrogant!"

The Venerable surnamed Yun roared with fury once more, "Playing tricks! Even your Boundless Beginning and End divine art is not unbreakable! If I don't execute you here today, I fail the Crown Prince! Break—" Ten million blade lights instantly converged, fusing into a single massive sword in the void, which descended with magnificent momentum. It stopped again at ten zhang, but this time, it wasn't immediately swallowed; instead, a stalemate was formed. The sword light twisted, showing signs of splitting. The ten-zhang black curtain also seemed to have a few gaps torn open. The eyes of the surrounding onlookers lit up. Given this precedent, it seemed the ten-zhang black curtain was not truly unbreakable. If the Ten Thousand Blade Rolling Cloud Art could do it, so could they.

The Venerable surnamed Yun also sneered, "Fellow Daoists, lend me your strength! It's only a Twelfth-Grade World-Ending Divine Art; united, we can surely—" His words abruptly ceased. A flash of black light appeared. That gigantic blade-sword seemed to be torn apart by countless immense forces, shattering into thousands of pieces.

As Elder Yun stood there, stunned, he saw another flash of cold light appear at Zong Shou’s fingertip.

"You are too garrulous!"

That blade shadow rushed forward, utterly disregarding the laws of time, as if it were predestined that this man must die beneath this flying blade! In short, when this 'Elder Yun' regained clarity, agonizing pain erupted in his brow. Thin streams of blood trickled down, washing over his eyes. His consciousness faded as his Primordial Spirit was forcibly 'slain' by the power of the flying blade! Until his death, he could not comprehend how he had been struck? Why, even after seeing the blade light, could he not move? How could the blade speed be so fast? Were the Saint-level peers around him all dead men?

This time, Mo Lian saw faint silvery-white wings on the flying blade. Her heart jolted violently, contracting sharply, and her face turned pale as paper. "That's the second one!"

Zong Shou’s gaze then drifted faintly toward Mo Lian, "Perhaps you have already guessed?"