Upon the second floor of an alehouse, nestled beside the Outer River Province, leagues beyond the very gates of Guilin, two shadowed figures kept watch. From their windowed perch, their gazes, sharp and keen, were fixed upon Wang Lin in the distance.

Both men were clad in garments of midnight hue, one weathered by the passage of years, the other bearing the bloom of youth.

“Powerful,” the elder rasped, his voice a low rumble.

“His cultivation… it must be the Infant Soul stage,” the younger observed, his eyes gleaming with a calculating light.

“Regardless of his prowess, the Ancestor desires his capture. He will not escape,” the elder declared, raising a cup of wine to his lips. “Send forth our brethren. Let not the Ancestor’s patience be tested.”

A smile flickered across the younger’s face. He tapped upon the table, a silent command. Within the alehouse’s lower depths, one of several men garbed in similar black arose. Middle-aged he appeared, with brows like crossed swords above eyes that glimmered like distant stars. He strode from the inn and, in a heartbeat, transformed into a streak of crimson, a living blade hurtling toward Wang Lin.

Wang Lin sat by the riverbank, his brush halfway across the canvas. A melody drifted upon the air, mournful and sweet, weaving itself into the very fibers of his being. Lost within its spell, a serenity settled upon his features.

Yet from afar, the crimson blade, thick with murderous intent, sliced through the air. Within a league, not a soul stirred; the land lay eerily vacant. Even Wang Lin’s canvas seemed to quicken its pace, sensing the impending doom.

Swift as a falling star, the blade drew near. The reeds surrounding Wang Lin bowed as if assaulted by a tempest, a mere thousand paces melting away in an instant.

The wind shrieked, a discordant note amidst the sorrowful song.

Wang Lin, unheeding, did not turn, did not even glance. With a mere press of his thumb, he unleashed the Finger of Extinction toward the approaching doom.

A shard of darkest night surged forth, following the same path as before, meeting the crimson blade in mid-air. The clash was immediate, decisive.

From within the shattered blade came a strangled gasp. The crimson light fractured, revealing the face of the swordsman, pale as death. He spat forth a gout of blood and retreated in desperate haste, moving with a fluid grace born of long practice.

But the Finger of Extinction was relentless. It snared him, planting itself upon his chest.

The swordsman roared, a blast of raw demonic energy erupting from his very core. He was forced to the ground, stumbling backward. His power faltered, fractured. With a final, shuddering spasm, he coughed forth a final stream of blood and collapsed.

A wisp of ash rose from his fallen form, drifting towards Wang Lin, yet Wang Lin remained entranced by the melody, oblivious to the dying swordsman’s end.

Within the distant alehouse, the younger man leaped to his feet, his eyes burning into Wang Lin’s form. After a long silence, he inhaled deeply and sank back into his chair.

The elder, however, remained unchanged, his face an unreadable mask.

“He hides his true power,” the younger murmured.

“His cultivation… it must be the middle stage of Infant Soul. Only then could he have defeated Number Four, who was at the peak of the early stage. Send in Number Three,” the elder commanded, his gaze never leaving Wang Lin.

A flicker of something akin to anticipation crossed the younger man’s face, but he shook his head. “No need for Number Three. I will go.”

He stood once more, his gaze upon Wang Lin.

“You?” The elder’s brow furrowed.

“Remember,” the younger man said, stepping towards the stairs, “I am Number Two.”

* * *

“Number Two… His cultivation is at the late stage of Infant Soul, a mere breath away from mastery. There is no doubt of the outcome,” the elder mused, swirling the wine in his cup.

The younger man emerged from the alehouse, his cloak billowing in the river breeze. With steady steps, he advanced towards Wang Lin, the leagues dissolving beneath his feet.

Each step was a forging blow, hammering his aura into an ever-greater weapon. He halted, thirty paces from Wang Lin. Demonic energy writhed about him, strangely laced with a glimmer of celestial power.

The fusion of demon and celestial energy created a vortex of raw power, placing him, or so it seemed, at the very heart of reality. One flick of the wrist and he could change heaven and earth.

Wang Lin did not look at him. The painting on his canvas moved. The river current drew it onward. The haunting tune played on, resonating within his soul.

For the figure that stood before him, Wang Lin once more flicked a finger. The Finger of Extinction materialized once again, darting toward the approaching figure.

The figure laughed, stepping forward. His fingers flashed into a gesture, gathering the celestial and demonic powers. It condensed into a ball of light.

As the dart neared, it was as if the dart was consumed by the light. It disappeared into the swirling mass.

“You are foolish.” But as he spoke, his face contorted.

The orb, once radiant, seemed to be plagued with a black vapor. Lines began to appear on the orbs surface. It shattered, unleashing the dark dart,

The figure began to retreat. Faster and faster orbs of light began to manifest. A hundred orbs, then several hundred.

As the orbs were destroyed one by one, the dark dart began to lose its strength. Eight more orbs were all that was needed for the dark dart to finally dissipate.
Sweat beaded upon the young warrior’s brow as he exhaled a deep breath. His gaze, unwavering, remained fixed upon Wang Lin, who had yet to acknowledge his presence. “That dark energy art,” he declared, his voice resonating across the tranquil riverbank, “must be your most potent. I concede, its power is undeniable. No wonder Numbers Four and Five met their end! However, now that I have shattered your ultimate weapon, I am curious to witness what other tricks you hold!”

The haunting melody of the harp faded into the distance, and the phantom images it conjured vanished from sight. Wang Lin arose, turning towards the young warrior, his eyes snapping open. Within their depths, a faint crimson glow ignited, and a palpable aura of slaughter surged forth, a predatory intent released like a honed blade from its sheath.

A deafening roar echoed through the air, as if a thousand thunderbolts had erupted within the warrior’s skull. The serene skies above the river seemed to crackle with unseen lightning. The overwhelming malice, borne upon Wang Lin’s gaze, cleaved through the warrior’s defenses, searing itself into his very soul. His body stiffened, as if struck by divine lightning, his limbs trembling uncontrollably.

“This…this is…” The warrior’s mind recoiled in terror, his scalp prickling with dread. A searing pain pierced his brow, as if a spectral blade had been plunged between his eyes, threatening to burst forth from his crown.

Thump, thump, thump… The warrior felt his heart hammering against his ribs, threatening to shatter from within. A sense of utter disintegration washed over him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable, stripped bare before an unimaginable foe.

The aura of invincibility, cultivated through his measured advance, was shattered in an instant, undone by a single glance.

Within the first level of the tavern, the dark-clad figures, who had been observing the confrontation, recoiled in shock. Though separated by considerable distance, they felt as if they stood upon the precipice of doom. A cold sweat instantly drenched their garments.

Their limited understanding could not fathom the source of their terror. How could a mere gaze, cast from a thousand paces, conjure the sensation of being surrounded by blades, a premonition of imminent death? It was as if the figure across the way had transformed into a god of slaughter, incarnate.

On the second floor, the elder’s eyes blazed with newfound intensity. He surged to his feet, his momentum shattering the table before him into splinters.

The composed mask he usually wore shattered, replaced by an expression of profound alarm. The power within him surged like a wild dragon, coursing uncontrollably through his veins.

His actions were instinctual, driven by an overwhelming sense of self-preservation. Wang Lin’s gaze had instilled in him a certainty that inaction would result in grievous injury, or even death. His eyes, filled with doubt and fear, betrayed the turmoil within. The palpable intent to kill within that single glance was undeniably real!

“The Path of Slaughter! It is the Path of Slaughter! How many souls has this man taken, to possess such palpable malice? He is…powerful… truly powerful!”

His gaze towards Wang Lin, who stood in the distance, hardened with a degree of respect only reserved for facing the Celestial Guards.

“Terrifying! My cultivation is comparable, but I am no match for him. We must flee!”

Without hesitation, the elder attempted to teleport away, but was forcefully expelled from the ethereal realm, returned to the solid world with a jolt.

His face twisted with desperation. Abandoning his attempt to teleport, he instead launched himself skyward. In that instant, the unleashed power shattered the second floor of the tavern, sending debris raining down as he burst through the cloud of dust, desperate to escape.

But his flight was abruptly halted. He froze in mid-air, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. Standing a mere arm’s length before him was Wang Lin, his gaze fixed upon him.

“Disturb my meditation, and then seek to flee?”

A bitter smile twisted the elder’s lips, and a flicker of madness ignited in his eyes. Without hesitation, he triggered a seal buried deep within his being, a last resort he had sworn to never employ. In that instant, the power within him erupted in a catastrophic explosion!

A wave of destruction engulfed the shattered tavern, unleashing a cataclysmic roar.

When the echoes subsided, a desolate silence descended upon the area within a hundred paces.

Wang Lin emerged from the devastation, unharmed but with a shadow of displeasure darkening his eyes. He brushed the dust from his garments and turned to depart.

Upon the riverbank, the young warrior slumped to the ground. Wisps of gray energy seeped from his body, drawn towards Wang Lin’s retreating form.