Chapter 105 – A Cultivator Like You

The Imperial Capital. Ten-mile-long street.

Under the setting sun, the street gleamed like blood—its glow steeped in a solemn, chilling aura. Today, without question, would be a day of carnage. The people of the capital had long since barricaded themselves indoors.

From the towering aristocratic clans, once lofty and untouchable like prowling tigers, came a chorus of wretched howls. Blood flowed in thick, nauseating streams. The common folk, though reveling in the spectacle, were gripped by an unshakable dread.

Thus, the grand avenue stood deserted.

Blood still clung to Luo Cheng's armor. In his hand, he dragged He Shou, whose face was steeped in despair.

At the far end of the street, an imposing army marched forth—clad in gleaming armor and bearing heavy shields. It was a regular army, one of formality and order, and Luo Cheng found it hard to believe that such a force existed within the imperial capital at all.

On the carriage, Nie Changqing sat in silence, gazing calmly upon the approaching troops.

The curtain lifted. Ning Zhao and Yi Yue stepped out.

The heavy shields crashed against the ground. One by one, the soldiers braced their longswords between the gaps of their shields, forming a wall of steel—advancing slowly like a blade-bearing tide.

From behind the wall, a cold, authoritative voice rang out.

"You slaughtered seventeen of the capital's noble families, executed twenty-one ministers, and undermined the foundation of the Great Zhou. You are the root of chaos—guilty beyond redemption!"

"This is the seat of the Son of Heaven. Do you think lawless butchers such as you can act with impunity?"

"By the Chancellor's decree, we are to arrest these traitors! All who resist—kill without mercy!"

A scholar in azure robes, astride a crimson steed, tugged his reins and cried aloud, "Kill!"

The army erupted as one, a thunderous roar shaking the very air.

This was no ordinary force. These were elite troops, personally trained by Chancellor Zhao Kuo—more than eight thousand strong, filling the street in an impenetrable tide.

Five hundred against eight thousand. The disparity mirrored the legendary battle at Wolong Ridge, where the Overlord earned his name.

Beside the robed scholar, a youth in flowing white robes and a crane-feathered cloak sat upon a sedan chair lifted by six servants.

"Master Du," the scholar bowed respectfully.

This man—Du Tao—had once been a first-rate martial artist of the jianghu. Though capable, he was unremarkable in the vast Great Zhou. But during the Wolong Ridge campaign, he had chanced upon a miraculous encounter in a hidden realm and absorbed spiritual essence.

From that day forward, his power surged beyond compare. Ordinary grandmasters paled beside him. With that thread of spiritual essence, he became invincible across the imperial capital's martial world.

Chancellor Zhao Kuo himself had welcomed him into the Prime Minister's estate as a guest of honor.

Once inside, Du Tao's pride swelled. Revered by tens of thousands, even the Chancellor had to receive him with the courtesy due a master cultivator.

So inflated had Du Tao's ego become that he began to emulate the unparalleled cultivator, Young Lord Lu of Beiluo—refusing to walk when he could sit, demanding six servants carry his chair.

Today, the Chancellor had personally summoned him to assist the eight thousand elite soldiers in encircling and annihilating the five hundred Iron Cavalry of Beiluo—as well as the young lord's maid and carriage driver.

At first, Du Tao hesitated. He knew his limits. Against ordinary warriors, he might prevail—but against true cultivators, especially those under Young Lord Lu, it could very well mean death.

Yet the Chancellor's repeated invitations wore him down. With eight thousand armored elites, several grandmaster warriors, and himself—a cultivator—perhaps they truly could slay the young lord's retinue.

Great wealth lies in great risk. If he succeeded, Du Tao might obtain cultivation methods or secrets from the maid and the driver, allowing his own path to ascend even further.

Thus, he was here.

On the carriage, Ning Zhao flicked her wrist. A cicada-winged sword slipped from her sleeve.

"There's spiritual energy... There's a cultivator among them," she murmured, red lips parting gently. "But so weak… I could barely sense them."

Nie Changqing gripped his pig-slaying blade and stood up.

"Must be one of the lucky fools who stumbled upon a trace of fortune in the immortal palace at Wolong Ridge."

Ning Zhao suddenly laughed.

"This man… What's he trying to do?"

Nie Changqing rolled his neck.

"Use a human wave of eight thousand elite troops to surround and kill us—to steal our cultivation methods."

"The first time I've seen a cultivator dare provoke disciples of Baiyujing…"

"Interesting."

"If our young lord were here, how would he deal with such insolent fools?"

Yi Yue twirled her long whip and sneered.

"He'd beat them to death, of course."

While Ning Zhao and Nie Changqing bantered with calm amusement, Luo Cheng stood rigid with fear. His knuckles blanched where they gripped his sword.

He was no cultivator. Five hundred against eight thousand? To him, it was certain death. Even seven or eight grandmasters wouldn't survive such odds—let alone him, a mere first-rate warrior.

Clang—Nie Changqing leapt down beside Luo Cheng.

Luo Cheng let go. The dark pig-slaying blade pressed against He Shou's neck.

"Aren't you skilled in writing proclamations?"

"Then curse Zhao Kuo for me—loudly—right in front of the army."

Nie Changqing's words made He Shou's body tremble.

Shoved forward, step by step, he walked out, legs quivering. Eight thousand soldiers ahead—but a cold blade at his throat behind.

So, he began to curse.

The moment he opened his mouth, a sharp arrow shot through the air—piercing his right chest.

Eyes wide in disbelief, He Shou looked up.

The scholar in azure robes sat astride his horse, bowstring still vibrating.

"You…" Blood spilled from He Shou's lips. His face contorted with rage and pain.

The scholar sneered and loosed another arrow, which skewered He Shou's shoulder.

Nie Changqing released the blade.

Maddened, He Shou staggered forward, screaming hoarsely—unwilling to fall.

Before his eyes, memories unfurled:

In the Prime Minister's estate, he had once stood proud—penning proclamations that drew thunderous applause, his eloquence dazzling the court, even earning praise from the Chancellor himself.

Now, he understood—behind Zhao Kuo's warm smile lay the heart of a viper.

Arrow after arrow struck, turning He Shou into a human pincushion.

The cunning hare dies, and the hound is cooked.

He Shou's life had ended.

The arrows continued—soaring past his corpse, aimed at Nie Changqing and the others.

Ning Zhao moved. She raised her hand and unleashed spiritual pressure.

At the peak of the Qi Core Realm, her aura was suffocating.

Arrows fell like rain, thudding harmlessly to the ground.

Du Tao, seated high in his sedan chair, narrowed his eyes. His heart trembled.

"So strong…"

"No arrows. Surround and overwhelm them by force!" he ordered.

He knew well a cultivator's weakness—spiritual energy was limited. Once depleted, even they were little better than ordinary martial artists.

The scholar nodded and waved for the charge.

Just as the Chancellor had said: only a cultivator truly understands how to slay another cultivator.

The archers ceased fire.

Swords were raised. Shields pushed forward.

The eight-thousand-strong army surged down the long street—like a flood of steel.

…

Beiluo. Island at the heart of the lake.

The breeze stirred gently across the water, tousling strands of Lu Fan's hair.

The towers of Baiyujing stood silent, the only sound the fluttering wings of startled birds.

Xiang Shaoyun had finished speaking. His eyes burned with fervor as he looked upon Lu Fan.

Lu Dongxuan felt as though he had just heard something he was not meant to hear.

Leaning back in his wheelchair, Lu Fan glanced at Xiang Shaoyun. He raised his bronze wine cup and called to Ni Yu:

"Xiao Ni, pour me another drink."

"Yes, Young Master," she answered, quickly ladling wine into the cup.

Lu Fan took a sip. His expression unreadable.

"You disappoint me," he said at last.

Xiang Shaoyun froze. His face stiffened, brows knitting tightly.

"Young Lord Lu… why do you say that?"

Lu Fan slowly…