“The echoes of this round shall be the sum of each Demon General’s strikes, amplified by their chosen Aid!”

The proclamation hung in the air. Before the assembled throng could stir with renewed debate, the golden-armored man pointed a gauntleted finger towards one amongst the ranks of Demon Generals. “Yu Sen, General of the Nightwood! Step forth!”

From the legion of armored warriors emerged one whose gaze was as cold as winter steel. The plates of his armor sang a crisp song as he moved, each footfall deliberate as he approached the monstrous Demon Drum.

He beheld the drum, and a fierce light ignited in his eyes, a burning ember of battle-lust kindled anew!

He did not strike at once, but stood silent before the behemoth, his demonic power swirling within, seeking a perfect harmony. For Yu Sen, this drum was no mere instrument, but a sacred relic, and he approached it with trepidation, unsure of his own strength.

The golden-armored man cast a fleeting glance upon Yu Sen. *Four strikes,* he mused, *Yu Sen possesses the power for four. A fifth would surely shatter his very essence!* With this assessment, he closed his eyes, withdrawing from the unfolding spectacle.

All eyes, at that moment, were riveted upon Yu Sen. He, however, remained unfazed, still attuning his inner energies. To ward off the whispers of the crowd, he closed his eyes, shutting out all distraction from the mortal realm.

A miasma of demonic energy began to emanate from him, swirling upwards in roiling tendrils that kissed the sky. Within the vaporous haze, grotesque forms flickered and writhed.

From the tiered balconies, a murmur rippled through the assembled ranks.

“The Path of Slaughter is a treacherous one to tread! Yu Sen has spent years honing his blade upon it. Today, as first to test the drum, he may well astound us all!”

“Nay! The Demon Drum is wrought from the hide of an ancient horror. Even if he strikes true, the backlash will surely cripple him.”

Upon the highest tiers, the eight Demon Marshals watched Yu Sen, their eyes glinting with a predatory interest. Unlike the commoners, they spoke not, for a single shared glance conveyed more than words ever could.

The six Vice-Marshals, though lacking the Marshals’ keen insight, possessed power enough to grasp the unfolding events. Only Xuan, the Shadow Vice-Marshal, diverted his gaze, not towards Yu Sen, but rather towards one amongst the ranks of Demon Generals: Wang Lin.

*Wang Lin,* he pondered, *I wonder how many strikes you might muster?*

His reverie was shattered by Huang, the Yellow Marshal, who chuckled beside him. “Xuan, my friend, I fear our wager is already decided. Your chosen champion is forced to fight alone, ensuring his defeat!”

Xuan, the Shadow Vice-Marshal, snorted. “Mark my words. This one is not as simple as you perceive!”

Even as their words clashed, Yu Sen’s eyes snapped open, blazing with an inner fire. In that instant, he seemed possessed by the spirit of a war god, his gaze as brilliant as twin moons!

A guttural roar, a sound akin to the merging of dragon and tiger, erupted from Yu Sen’s throat. He slammed his feet upon the ground, launching himself forward like a blade unsheathed, tracing a fleeting arc of power towards the Demon Drum.

Mid-air, he formed his right hand into a sword with two fingers, concentrating his essence and spirit, unleashing it from between his fingers, and striking the Demon Drum with an uncanny thrust.

The drum’s ebony face yielded slightly, the depression minuscule, before rebounding with impossible speed.

*Dong!* The deep, resonant tone echoed through the heavens, filling the plaza, washing over the Imperial City, and touching even the edges of the vast Demon Citadel.

At the instant the sound reverberated, Yu Sen felt an unimaginable force surge forth from the drum, crashing against his being.

His face paling, Yu Sen bared his teeth in a snarl. He retreated not, but took another step, his two fingers meeting the drum a second time!

*Dong!*

Thunder roared.

Yu Sen snarled and his demonic energy burst into a myriad of tormented faces. The faces dissolved after a brief flicker, only to be reborn again, with a similar expression of agony.

“First Strike of Soul Rend!” The words, dripping with the chill of the underworld, escaped his lips. As he spoke, the faces in his demon vortex appeared to find an outlet, funneling towards Yu Sen’s right hand.

His right hand burst into a blue light!

Yu Sen bellowed, unleashing a palm strike towards the drum.

Even before his hand touched the drum, the force of his palm strike impacted it.

*Dong!* The third ring was sent flying. Those around them were moved, for though there was a trick to use the force of a palm strike, that made the strength of the Soul Rend all the more pronounced!

His palm flew and struck the drum.

*Dong!* The fourth boom came right after, and they were almost one, booming and roaring together.

Yu Sen yanked his right hand back and leapt back one hundred feet before stopping. He took a deep breath, his face a demonically red shade, a mouthful of blood forcefully forced down.

His right hand trembled and had already lost its feeling as 80% of his demonic energy was placed into the Soul Rend’s first strike.

“Four. Demon General Yu Sen’s Aid, step forth!” The golden-armored man spoke plainly.

“I have none!” Yu Sen breathed.

The golden-armored man looked him over and looked at the Demon Generals, before settling his eyes on Wang Lin with a cold smile. However, he didn’t select Wang Lin, but instead pointed to Mo Fei in the crowd. “Demon General Mo Fei, step forward!”

When he said this, the murmurs around him stopped immediately, and everyone put their eyes on the same place.

They saw a figure in full armor with a wicked mask and a crown of hair rippling in the wind. He walked towards the front, slowly, but to the eyes of the others, his pace was like the beat of a heart, causing a strange feeling in the atmosphere.

“Demon General Mo Fei. Three hundred years ago, he was the number one Demon General!”

“He’s been manning the borders for years! The Fire Demon County wants his head more than anything else!”
The arcane arts practiced by Mo Fei remained shrouded in mystery, for he had thus far only unveiled the single technique of **Transference**. Yet, I am certain he could rouse the Demon Drums with at least five strikes!”

“Mo Fei!” The Earth Marshal scrutinized the warrior, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “Should this youth endure another trial within the Dragon’s Maw, he would surely rank amongst the foremost lieutenants!”

Beside him sat a man of noble bearing, garbed in regal purple robes. “Does the Earth Marshal find himself captivated by this talent?” he chuckled.

The Earth Marshal let out a hearty laugh, nodding his head. “Should this warrior awaken the drums with six strikes, I would champion his cause even if he failed to ascend to the rank of Marshal!”

With measured steps, Mo Fei approached the Demon Drums, the gaze of the assembled multitude following his every move.

Pausing ten paces from the drums, Mo Fei fixed his gaze upon the instrument, his eyes betraying nothing. Without wasting a moment to gather his inner strength, he unleashed a fist into the empty air! “Huzzah, for the valiant simpleton!”

*Dong!* The sound echoed, a deep, muffled thunderclap.

Instantly, Mo Fei’s armor seemed buffeted by a tempest, emitting a cacophony of clicks and groans. His hair whipped wildly about his head, yet Mo Fei himself remained as steadfast as a mountain, his countenance betraying not a hint of strain.

“Truly,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice, “not so arduous as one might believe.” He took a single stride forward, extending his right hand in a sweeping gesture.

*Dong!*

Without pause, Mo Fei advanced another pace, clenching his right fist and striking the air once more.

*Dong!*

The successive drumbeats, like the roars of ancient titans, reverberated across the entirety of Tianyao City, the echoing sound waves so potent that some weaker spectators suffered internal injuries.

After the third resonation, Mo Fei faltered, sensing a wave of raw energy surge forth from within the drums, directed squarely at him. Planting his feet firmly, he stood like a steadfast rock against the onrushing tide.

His armor rattled violently, yet under the expanse of his demonic power, the armor was unyielding!

Beneath his mask, Mo Fei’s eyes flashed with renewed focus. “Interesting,” he murmured to himself. He took another stride forward, his right fist following suit.

*Dong!*

Without hesitation, he struck again.

*Dong!*

Mo Fei strode forward with purpose, rapidly closing the distance to the drums, a fist following each step.

*Dong!* As the sixth drumbeat resonated, a thunderous cheer erupted from the assembled crowd. Even the Marshals, save for the aloof Sky Marshal, regarded him with open admiration.

“Mo Fei!”

“Mo Fei!”

“Mo Fei!” The cheers echoed from the stands, for he who could summon six strikes was undoubtedly a prodigy!

And, indeed, the fact that he remained unscathed, having evoked the echoes of the drums with such apparent ease, far exceeded the accomplishments of any demon general!

Even the golden-armored warrior nodded in approval, his eyes filled with profound respect.

“‘Tis but six echoes, and I am to be stopped?” Mo Fei’s eyes glittered with determination. Leaping into the air, he delivered a final, decisive blow.

*Dong!* The seventh echo resonated.

This seventh strike differed starkly from the previous six, carrying with it a palpable aura of iron and slaughter. Mo Fei’s usually unflappable demeanor vanished, replaced by a grim resolve as he recoiled without hesitation.

As he retreated, his armor shattered into countless fragments, dissolving into dust. Mo Fei’s face paled, but he forced himself to halt, emitting a guttural roar as he charged once more. This time, he performed a series of intricate hand seals, conjuring shimmering white crystals that swirled about him like protective mirrors.

With a flick of his finger, he struck the drums once more, eliciting yet another *Dong!* – the eighth.

An even more ferocious surge of rebounding energy erupted, annihilating the crystals in an instant. Yet, the barrier had blunted the impact. The force caused him to stagger and hurtle backwards a hundred paces, before he righted himself.

The mask that concealed his face shattered entirely, revealing his handsomely carved features.

Wang Lin’s gaze sharpened, his eyes fixated upon Mo Fei’s face, a peculiar light gleaming in them.

“His countenance…”

Wang Lin immediately recognized the likeness; the youth’s features were identical to those of the black-haired man locked deep within the dungeons of Hong!

At that moment, Mo Fei swayed, suppressing the blood that rose in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he turned and strode toward the ranks of demon generals.

In that instant, the entire square erupted in jubilation, the deafening roar threatening to overwhelm all other sounds.

“Mo Fei, the foremost among the demon generals!”

“He has awakened the drums with eight strikes! Within the Tianyao Prefecture, save for those who hold the rank of Marshal, Mo Fei is without equal!”

“Mo Fei is assuredly destined to become a Lieutenant! His valor is undisputed; as a Lieutenant, he shall surely bring countless victories to the Tianyao Prefecture!”

Upon the dais, seven of the eight demon marshals beamed with approval –all, that is, save for the Sky Marshal, who remained placid and untouched by the spectacle.

“This youth has awakened the drums eight times! He is a prodigy among prodigies! Excellent!”

“Indeed! And, as I observed him, he did not appear to be giving his all! Had he done so, perhaps he could have evoked the ninth strike!”

“To possess such profound reserves of power and not flaunt them is a rare and valuable quality!”

The Lieutenants also traded words amongst themselves. Amongst them the Yellow Lieutenant gave a hearty laugh, directing his words towards the Dark Lieutenant. “Dark Brother, will you concede defeat this time?”

The Dark Lieutenant scoffed, his voice resolute. “Mo Fei is strong, undeniably so. In my youth, I could not have matched him! Indeed, should he endure the trials of the Dragon’s Maw, his power shall only grow!

But, alas, when compared to the one I have chosen, Mo Fei still falls short!”
Lord Huang, the Deputy Marshal, had initially dismissed the wager. Yet, the ceaseless praise sung by his peer, Deputy Marshal Xuan, for this unknown warrior stirred within him a disquieting unease. It was more than mere commendation; a subtle tremor of **fear** resonated in Xuan’s voice, a fact that stunned the battle-hardened Marshal Huang.

“Very well,” Huang chuckled, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Let us see how many times this ‘champion’ can strike the drums!”

Xuan’s gaze, troubled and complex, lingered on Wang Lin amidst the throng of demon generals. _”Mo Fei is merely strong,”_ he mused, _”but Wang Lin… he is **terrifying**. Can strength truly compare to terror?”_

A golden-armored figure, his eyes radiating approval, watched Mo Fei return to the ranks of the demon generals. For the first time, a smile graced his lips. “The champion Mo Fei’s assistant, step forward!” he boomed.

From the crowd emerged a lithe warrior clad in azure robes, a greatsword strapped to his back. He stood with the unwavering resolve of a blade. With a fleeting motion, he transformed into a wisp of azure smoke, hurtling towards the demon drums.

As he neared, the warrior chanted arcane words and thrust a finger towards the drum’s surface. As the initial vibrations echoed, he clenched his hand into a palm and, with a guttural utterance, struck the ancient instrument. A deafening boom reverberated.

The warrior’s face paled under the onslaught of the sound. He drew his greatsword and, with a mighty downward slash, cleaved through the resonating echoes, forcing the blade upon the drum’s surface.

Another resounding boom echoed, but with each strike, the feedback intensified. By the third impact, his face was ashen. Waves of force crashed back upon him from the drum. With a bitter smile, he retreated.

“Three strikes are within my grasp,” the warrior mused, “four if I were to strain myself. But a fifth would leave me grievously wounded. Mo Fei’s victory is assured. It would be folly to risk such injury for his sake.” With a moment of contemplation, he retreated back into the ranks.

Eleven strikes!

The combined efforts of Mo Fei and his assistant had yielded eleven strikes upon the demon drums, a feat that cast a pall of gloom upon many of the demon generals. To surpass Mo Fei, a general and their assistant must each achieve six strikes, a nigh-impossible task, for few possessed the sheer power of Mo Fei.

Even Mo Li Hai appeared shaken, a weary resignation etching his face as he glanced at the grim-faced Wang Lin beside him. He sighed, murmuring, “Brother Wang, it is over. We have lost this round.”

Among the generals, Shi Xiao, his expression thunderous, fixed his gaze upon the demon drums. He turned to his companion, Chen Tao, and rasped, “How many times can you strike?”

Chen Tao pondered the question. “In my prime, perhaps ten strikes or more. I cannot say for certain. But now, even with elixirs, I could manage no more than seven, certainly not surpassing Mo Fei. That demon is indeed strong… Were he amongst the cultivators, he would be hailed as the greatest beneath the Heavens. I suspect that even those ascending to the Ascendant realm would struggle against him.”

Shi Xiao’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the meditating Mo Fei. He turned away with a scornful snort.

Many others among the demon generals pondered their chances, calculating their potential to crack the top ten.

The golden-armored figure surveyed the assembly, a hint of contempt flashing in his eyes. He pointed a gauntleted finger towards Wang Lin. “You, step forward!”

Wang Lin strode into the arena, his eyes burning with an inner fire. He fixed the golden-armored figure with a steady gaze. “I am not ‘You’. My name is Wang Lin.”

The figure’s eyes burned with unconcealed malice. “Wang Lin, do you dare to wager with me?”

“Speak!” Wang Lin commanded.

“I wager that you cannot strike the drum five times!” the figure roared. “Should you win, I shall personally petition the Demon Emperor on your behalf, ensuring your elevation to demon general. But if you lose, you shall answer for your assault upon the demon general! Refuse this wager, and you shall crawl back from whence you came! This city does not welcome you!”

Whispers erupted amongst the spectators.

*”Four strikes? This outsider felled Ao Di easily, but the drums demand more than brute strength. Three strikes would be an impressive feat! Ao Di would have struggled to manage even one.”*

*”Ao Di was but a middling general. Shi Xiao, Mo Fei, Yu Sen, or Xie Lian would have crushed him. Wang Lin’s victory means little.”*

*”The Master of the Guard is playing games with this interloper. This is quite amusing!”*

From the stands, Marshal Huang laughed. “Marshal Xuan, your protégé finds himself in a most precarious situation.”

Xuan’s eyes remained fixed on Wang Lin. “The Master of the Guard is in for a rude awakening,” he murmured.

Wang Lin’s lips curled into a smile, and Xuan felt a chill creep into his heart.

_“He smiles like that when he is about to destroy you,”_ Xuan thought with a shiver.

“I have no need of your petition to the Demon Emperor,” Wang Lin said softly.

The golden-armored figure sneered. “You shrink from the wager!”

“I want one of your hands,” Wang Lin whispered, his voice like a winter wind.

A collective gasp echoed across the plaza. Wang Lin took a step towards the demon drums!

The Master of the Guard’s eyes flashed with fury. “You wish for my hand? Strike the drum more than five times, and it is yours. Should you manage ten, I shall surrender both!”

*”Wang Lin is mad with arrogance! To underestimate the drums is utter folly!”*

*”Once he feels the drum’s reverberations, he will understand the magnitude of his error.”*

*”Alas, poor Mo Li Hai. Three centuries of humiliation await him because of this fool.”*
Wang Lin betrayed no hint of unease, his countenance serene as he approached the monstrous drum. His steps were measured, each footfall a testament to his unwavering resolve. In mere moments, he stood before the looming instrument, eschewing the common practice of distant strikes to mitigate the drum’s forceful backlash.

Instead, he defied gravity, his feet leaving the earth as he floated before the ebony behemoth. So close was he that the faint, coppery tang of ancient blood filled his nostrils. The drum’s surface was not smooth, but marred with a labyrinth of minute pits and sinuous veins, like the hide of some primeval beast.

“The skin of an ancient demon…” Wang Lin murmured, extending his right hand to touch the grotesque drum. The instant his flesh met its surface, a jolt of raw power surged through his arm, seeking to shatter his very being.

His eyes narrowed. In that fleeting moment, the countless Marks of Life emblazoned upon his soul flared into incandescent brilliance. Three thousand strong, they formed an indomitable shield, enveloping him in a radiant cocoon of vital energy.

“They wager I cannot strike it five times,” he declared, his left hand snapping a wineskin from his storage pouch. He upended it, a generous draught flowing down his throat. With a mirthless smile, he addressed the golden-armored warrior: “Golden one, bear witness!”

In a swift, fluid motion, Wang Lin’s right fist clenched and hurtled toward the demon drum, unleashing a single, devastating blow.

*DOOM!* The sound reverberated through the plaza, a thunderclap that tore across the heavens.

Wang Lin remained unmoving, his fist hovering inches from the drum’s surface. Then, with a speed that defied perception, his fist crashed down again and again – two, three, four times!

*DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!*

The four successive booms seemed to erupt simultaneously, chasing and merging with the first. The cacophony coalesced into a raging storm of sound, emanating from the demon drum and rippling outwards with cataclysmic force.

The plaza floor shattered and buckled as if writhing under the convulsions of some colossal, earthen serpent. In the sky above, the soundless thunder grew more intense. Spectators lining the surrounding tiers coughed up crimson, their bodies ravaged by internal trauma from the concordant booms. Some even succumbed to a deathlike stupor, their life force momentarily extinguished.

The eight Demon Generals, save for the Sky General, shot to their feet, their faces etched with disbelief. Even the golden-armored warrior in the plaza showed visible signs of shock.

Five thunderous strikes alone would not have elicited such a reaction. What truly shook them to their core was the fact that Wang Lin, in delivering these successive blows, had remained utterly steadfast.

“This…this is impossible!” the Yellow General exclaimed, his voice trembling beside the Xuan General.