The Weight of Vengeance

The battlefield reeked of iron and ash.

Yun Leng's knees sank into the bloodied earth as he crawled backward, his voice trembling like a frayed rope. "Xiao Yan, I was wrong! Mo Cheng was a bastard—he deserved to die! Spare me, and I'll be your loyal dog—!"

His words dissolved into a whimper, his once-proud Yunlan robes now stained with dirt and fear. Around them, disciples and elders stared in horrified silence, their hatred for Xiao Yan burning like coals in their eyes. To them, he was no hero—just a storm wearing a man's skin.

Nalan Yanran stepped forward, her face pale as moonlight. "Xiao Yan, this is between us!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Let him go! I'll… I'll annul the engagement publicly. Just stop!"

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Xiao Yan's grip tightened on the Xuan Heavy Ruler. Memories flashed—his father's laughter, the Soul Palace's chains, Yao Lao's voice: "Mercy is a luxury, boy. Not all deserve it."

"Yun Leng dies today," Xiao Yan said, his voice colder than winter stone. "This is between us."

The ruler descended.

It wasn't a strike—it was judgment.

A pulse of Dou Qi erupted, and Yun Leng's head snapped back, his body crumpling like a puppet with severed strings. Blood pooled, dark and thick, as screams tore through the crowd.

"MONSTER!" An elder roared, tears streaking his weathered face. "The Yunlan Sect will hunt you to the ends of the earth!"

Nalan Yanran staggered, her knees buckling. The man she'd once scorned as "crippled" now stood drenched in the blood of her mentors. This was the price of her pride.

In the distance, Hai Bodong grimaced. "It's done," he muttered. "The Yunlan Sect's bones are broken."

Jia Xingtian nodded, his earlier awe now shadowed with dread. Power like Xiao Yan's was a blade without a hilt—it cut everyone who grasped it.

Queen Medusa watched, her lips curling in faint approval. Weakness dies. The strong endure. Yet her eyes lingered on Xiao Yan's rigid back, as if searching for cracks in his armor.

Xiao Yan turned toward Ge Ye, his stride relentless. Another life, another debt. The elder barely raised his hands before his head toppled, a grotesque trophy at Xiao Yan's feet.

But as Xiao Yan raised his ruler anew, a gust of wind screamed across the sky—familiar, frantic.

Yun Yun.

She descended in a swirl of cyan silk, her beauty sharpened by fury. The battlefield stilled, as if even the air feared her grief.

"Teacher…" Nalan Yanran choked out, collapsing into Yun Yun's arms. "He killed them—the Old Sect Leader, Yun Leng—everyone—!"

Yun Yun's hands trembled as she stroked her disciple's hair. Her gaze swept the carnage—shattered pillars, blood-soaked earth, Xiao Yan standing amid the wreckage like a god of war.

"Xiao Yan… destroyed the Sect Protection Formation?" she whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. "Alone?"

"Lies!" An elder spat. "He butchered them like animals! No mercy, no honor—!"

Yun Yun's breath hitched. Her mentor's face flashed in her mind—Yun Shan's stern smile, his hands guiding hers through her first seal. Gone.

Her Dou Qi flared, a tempress of azure light. "Xiao Yan!" she snarled, tears glinting like daggers. "You dare—!"

But her words died as Xiao Yan turned, his eyes meeting hers—not with defiance, but weary resolve.

And then she saw it.

The faint glow at his chest. The shadow clinging to his shoulders. A presence she'd felt once, long ago, in a cave of whispers and flame.

"Yao…?" Her voice broke. "Yan?"

The name hung between them—a key, a curse.

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