The wind howled through the jagged peaks surrounding the Ruins of the Fallen Saints, carrying with it a faint hum of cultivation energy—a signal that someone powerful had arrived.
Shen Zong sensed it instantly. His eyes, calm yet sharp, scanned the horizon. The phantom lotus behind him stirred, petals trembling with anticipation.
Qi of a seasoned cultivator… approaching rapidly…
From the cliffs above, a figure descended with the grace of the wind itself. Clad in jade robes, his hair tied neatly, the young man carried an aura of mastery that could rival the hunters Shen Zong had already slain. Every movement radiated confidence and precision.
"I am Xian Mo," the newcomer called out, voice carrying across the ruins. "I represent the Verdant Peak Sect. You, boy, have disturbed sacred relics that do not belong to you. Step aside, and I may spare your life."
Shen Zong's lips curved faintly.
"Sacred relics? They do not belong to the dead… or the living. Only the strong can claim them."
Xian Mo's eyes narrowed. He formed a hand seal, summoning a sword of jade light that hummed with ancient energy. The air around him twisted under the pressure of his qi, sharp and precise like the edge of a mountain.
"You leave me no choice," he said, voice calm but lethal. "I will take your head—and the relics—with my own hands."
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The two circled each other, the ruins beneath them trembling with the latent power of both cultivators.
Shen Zong's phantom lotus bloomed silently behind him, petals stretching like shadows reaching into the world. Every tendril seemed to whisper with lethal intent, ready to consume, restrain, and destroy.
Xian Mo struck first, a flash of jade light splitting the air like lightning. Shen Zong deflected with a flick of the obsidian blade, the clash sending ripples through the ruins. Sparks flew as light and shadow collided, each strike pushing the other to the edge of endurance.
"You are strong," Xian Mo admitted after several strikes, eyes narrowing in genuine curiosity. "Stronger than any mere boy should be."
Shen Zong's calm eyes met his.
"Strength is earned… not inherited. But you… you rely on lineage, sect power, and arrogance. That will be your downfall."
With a subtle motion, Shen Zong's lotus tendrils shot forward, striking Xian Mo's sword and forcing him back. The force of the cursed qi burned through his qi defenses, an unnatural pressure that made even a seasoned cultivator's blood chill.
Xian Mo gritted his teeth. So this is the Cursed Lotus Scripture…
Their battle escalated, the ruins themselves groaning under the strain. Shadows and light danced violently across jagged stone, each strike leaving the air thick with qi. Shen Zong's calm ruthlessness clashed against Xian Mo's disciplined technique, the boy's demonic cunning countering every disciplined move of his opponent.
The duel reached a standstill. Xian Mo's breath came fast, yet his eyes burned with unyielding resolve.
"Impressive… but can you survive this?" He raised his blade, summoning a massive surge of jade qi that spiraled like a cyclone.
Shen Zong's hand shot up. The lotus responded. Shadows twisted violently, petals snapping outward, consuming the incoming cyclone, twisting its energy into black tendrils that struck Xian Mo's defenses.
The young man staggered, shock and respect mingling in his eyes. He took a step back, nodding faintly.
"You are… unlike any cultivator I've ever faced. But this is only the beginning."
Shen Zong's smile was faint, calm, yet dark.
"Let it be. Every test… every opponent… every soul I claim… only makes me stronger."
The ruins fell silent again, the echoes of their battle fading, but both cultivators knew: this encounter had only scratched the surface of what was to come.
Far away, both sects and dark cults would soon learn that a storm was rising. And in the eye of that storm stood Shen Zong, the cursed lotus blooming, patient, and unstoppable.