The scent of blood choked the air.
Tall pines snapped like brittle arrows underfoot as six figures flickered across the forest floor, their robes soaked in sweat and ash. Blades clashed, fists roared, and the ground trembled beneath each explosive step.
They moved like streaks of shadow and fire—six Martial Grandmasters—each one a living tempest of steel and Qi.
And still, they were losing.
"Formation Five—again!" shouted a burly man whose beard was drenched in blood. His name was Gong Heshan, the oldest of the six, his muscles rippling beneath his torn tunic. With a roar, he slammed both palms into the earth, sending a shockwave that cracked the ground and lifted boulders.
Two others soared through the air behind him, weapons glowing with internal light. One wielded a twin-saber art that danced like wildfire; the other, a chain-blade that screamed through the trees like a serpent.
Their target stood at the center of it all—silent, motionless.
A thing not born of this era.
Massive and hulking, the beast loomed like a collapsed mountain, with blackened scales carved in twisted patterns, as if someone had etched ancient runes across its body in molten silver. Its eyes were like sunken pits, devoid of whites, only endless grey. Four legs like pillars of obsidian, and its maw—a horrifying chasm of teeth, layered in rings like a spiraled gate to hell.
But what terrified them most wasn't its appearance.
It was that it never made a sound.
It did not roar. It did not snarl. It only stared.
And then it devoured.
"GO!"
The six masters struck in unison. Qi surged into the earth. One of them, a woman in silver robes, summoned wind blades sharp enough to slice steel, filling the forest with howling gales.
Another channeled crimson flames into his fists, smashing down from above like a meteor.
The beast moved at the last moment—impossibly fast for its size—its tail whipping with a thunderclap. One grandmaster was struck mid-air, his chest imploding with a sickening crunch before his body hit the trees like a ragdoll.
"Chen Yu!" someone shouted.
Too late. The man was already limp.
The flames struck the beast's back but barely scorched its hide—smoke rose from the scales, but the creature didn't even flinch.
Its head swiveled, and without warning, it opened its mouth wide.
It didn't roar. It inhaled.
A vortex of Qi and wind sucked toward it—the very air twisted—trees uprooted, dust spiraling like a miniature typhoon.
One of the Grandmasters screamed as his legs left the ground, drawn toward the gaping maw. He tried to anchor himself with a spear thrust into the dirt, but it bent like twigs.
And then he was gone.
Swallowed whole.
No crunch. No sound. Just gone.
"What is this thing!?" Gong Heshan bellowed. "Its Qi... it's not beast-like! It's wrong!"
"We shouldn't have come," gasped another, eyes wide with terror.
The forest around them was in ruins—broken branches, shattered stones, blood sprayed across bark like murals of suffering. What had once been a verdant stretch of quiet woods now looked like a battlefield scarred by forgotten gods.
But still—someone watched from behind the chaos. On a small, golden-lacquered palanquin carried by trembling servants, Su Zheyan sat, shaded under a parasol of green silk.
His robes were spotless, and in his hand was a carved fan he hadn't stopped flicking open and shut.
"Tch," he sneered. "Six grandmasters and this is what I get?"
He kicked one of the servant-bearers in the back of the head.
"Tell me, are these the famed Martial Guardians of Longyao, or drunk old men pretending to be legends?"
The servant whimpered but did not reply.
Another thunderous sound erupted ahead—a Grandmaster hurled a boulder the size of a house, only for the beast to bite it mid-air, its jaws grinding stone to powder.
The palanquin shuddered.
Su Zheyan clicked his tongue and stood. "This forest was said to hold immortal ruins, and all I find is some oversized mutt with a skin disease."
"Y-Young Master, please... that creature... we should retreat," whispered one of the guards nearby, barely standing.
Su Zheyan turned. His eyes, golden and narrow, were filled with disdain.
"Retreat? And what, let that thing mock me? Me? Su Zheyan, heir of the Su Family?"
He gestured toward the beast. "Kill it. If you die, die with purpose."
Another Grandmaster screamed.
A pillar of blood shot into the sky.
Only three remained now, wounded and panting. Their aura was frayed—Qi unstable.
The strongest among them, a man with a long black spear and weathered face—Protector Zhou, Su Zheyan's personal guardian—stepped forward.
Veins bulged across his arms. His muscles strained with every breath. His aura—thick, oppressive, like storm clouds before lightning.
He leapt.
Boom!
The earth split as he met the beast head-on. His spear drove into its shoulder, causing the creature to stagger for the first time.
But then—
A claw like a crescent moon sliced across Protector Zhou's torso, tearing flesh, breaking bones.
Blood splattered across the trees.
"...Zhou?" Su Zheyan's fan slipped from his fingers.
The beast did not pursue.
It turned, slowly, eyes sweeping the remaining three Grandmasters, who now stood protectively in front of the wounded Zhou.
Their expressions were pale.
They didn't hesitate.
"Retreat!" Gong Heshan roared. "Retreat now!"
And so they did.
With shattered pride and wounded bodies, they fled.
But not before the creature looked toward Su Zheyan—just for a moment.
Its eyes met his.
In that silence, the Young Master felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time.
FEAR!!
...
Even as they fled through the ravaged forest, Su Zheyan couldn't shake the chill from his spine.
The image of that creature—its eerie silence, its impossible strength—still clung to the edges of his thoughts like cobwebs.
But what truly haunted him...
...was that look.
For a fleeting breath, its eyes had locked onto his. No growl, no aggression, just—a gaze.
Not of a beast.
Not of prey.
Not even of interest.
It was worse.
It looked at him the way a god might glance at a worm.
And in that moment... Su Zheyan had felt fear.
He clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palm.
"Disgusting," he muttered. "It's already dead. I just haven't killed it yet."
He spat into the dirt.
Behind him, the group of battered survivors trudged forward, dragging their injured through the underbrush. The palanquin was long abandoned, and Su Zheyan walked now with muddied boots and torn robes—his fury rising with every step.
Three days passed.
They moved in circles. Paths disappeared behind them. Even seasoned guards swore that the forest was playing tricks.
Their food supplies ran low. The wounded moaned through the night. Protector Zhou had yet to regain consciousness.
Just when desperation began to creep in—they saw it.
A wisp of smoke.
Then rooftops.
And finally—a small village nestled at the edge of the woods, modest and peaceful, with worn fences and clay-tiled houses lining a muddy road.
As the group entered the village, people stopped in their tracks. Farmers dropped buckets. Children hid behind doors.
A single old man emerged slowly, leaning on a cane—his robes simple, his beard white and long.
The village chief.
"I am Zhang Wei," he bowed deeply. "May I ask who—"
Su Zheyan waved his hand with irritation. "Enough talking. Bring me your finest food, your most skilled physician, and a few young women to serve us tonight."
Zhang Wei's face stiffened. He opened his mouth—but stopped as one of Su Zheyan's guards stepped forward and whispered, "Longyao. Noble blood."
The old man's face went pale.
"I-I... of course, Young Lord. At once. Forgive my slowness, we are but a humble village."
Su Zheyan sneered. "You commoners take too long to understand your place."
The villagers scattered, rushing to prepare what little they had. Within the hour, the nobles sat beneath the largest hut, eating roasted meat, drinking sour wine, and being fanned by frightened girls barely old enough to serve.
The village physician—a man whose hands shook as he applied ointments—was summoned to tend to Protector Zhou. The old man trembled more in fear than age, barely daring to speak as he worked.
Zheyan, meanwhile, leaned back and stretched his legs, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.
...
By morning, the devil showed his face again.
"You," he pointed to the village chief, "this area—have there been any rumors of immortal ruins or strange phenomena nearby?"
Zhang Wei hesitated. "N-no... we are just farmers..."
"I didn't ask what you are," Su Zheyan snapped. "I asked if you've heard anything strange."
The old man lowered his eyes. "Only... tales. Old stories passed down—nothing certain, Young Lord."
Su Zheyan snorted. "Then I'll make it simple. Choose a dozen of your strongest youths. Have them search the surrounding forests. If they find nothing strange, they better find a place to die in."
The chief's lips tightened. He looked as if he might speak—but then saw the noble's guards watching him.
He bowed. "As you command."
By sunset, three villagers were dead.
The remaining searchers returned bloodied and shaken, having encountered another wild beast in the deeper woods. One had lost an arm. Two others could barely walk.
Zhang Wei stood silent as the bodies were returned to the village square.
His hands shook.
But still, he bowed.
"I do not know what cursed air has blown your lordships into our home," he said quietly. "But... there is one place."
Su Zheyan looked up from his meal.
"Go on."
"There is... a mountain, about one hundred and twenty kilometers east. The locals call it the Sky Fall Mountain Range. In its highest peak lies a martial shrine. They say... a healer lives there. One who uses... strange arts."
The young noble's eyes narrowed.
"Immortal arts?"
"No one knows," the chief replied. "But... some say he brings back the dying."
A slow, hungry smile stretched across Su Zheyan's face.
"So this is where the treasures hid themselves... not beneath stone, but in flesh."
He definitely need to go there, what the village chief spoke could be the legendary immortal healing technique lost through time!! and the person who owned this thing must found it the immortal ruins and definitely knows where the immortal ruines are located.
He stood up excitedly.
"Pack our things. We leave at dawn."