Chapter 14: Fox Shadows on the Lake

Amidst the autumn rain, countless crimson sparrow feathers were drenched, drifting down in fragments. Even after striking the ground, the blood feathers retained vitality, sizzling as rain vaporized into mist. Gradually, they lost all warmth beneath the relentless downpour.

Spiritual energy trembled between heaven and earth. Under the clash of sword energy and demonic aura, the city’s rain shattered into mist, swirling into a sky-filling fog.

Amidst the haze came cries of birds, the clang of blades, and metallic clashes of combat.

The Bloodfeather Lord was driven by fierce sword energy from the skies above the imperial city down toward Phoenix Lake.

Above the lake, countless slender sword energies sliced through mist like white rainbows suspended in the sky. They twisted and intertwined into a snow-white lotus. From its center, a cold light flared. The woman in snow robes transformed into a streak of sword light, piercing through the air. The lotus shattered, scattering into starlight that converged around her, clinging like motes of fire.

The scene resembled countless streams merging into one unstoppable torrent.

The Bloodfeather Lord wailed in agony. Though it had shattered the Sword Lock with the Blood Sea Technique, the blazing lotus-sword bore down mercilessly.

It flapped its wings, stirring waves to conceal its form, fleeing across the lake as the Dao Sword pursued. Where its wings churned the water, crimson sword shadows rose like swarms of moths, plunging into the torrent to block it—yet they shattered instantly.

The sword’s light pursued relentlessly, peeling its steel-hard feathers.

“Damn it! When did that wench from the Sword Heaven Sect grow so strong…”

Desperate, it slammed its wings against the lake, raising a towering curtain of water. As the sword pierced through, it spun and lashed out, claws trailing crimson sparks that hooked the blade. For the first time, the sword faltered.

The waters erupted with thunderous roars. Beneath them, the lake’s surface caved into a deep pit, flooding from all sides but never filling.

The sword’s point pressed mere inches from the beast’s chest, held back only by its hooked claws. Still, the momentum drove the Bloodfeather Lord backward, its wings thrashing violently to resist.

At last, its retreat slowed. Breath ragged, it opened its beak and drew in the air, sending vibrations across the lake. Both combatants hung suspended in eerie balance, reflected clearly on the water’s surface.

Exhausted, the Bloodfeather Lord stared at the sword tip halted at its chest, a strained smile flickering in its eyes. The white-clad woman finally stood revealed: robes like snow, black sash at her waist with silver ring and jade pendant, crimson tassels fluttering in the wind. Her mask concealed her face, leaving only eyes like cold autumn water, radiating killing intent.

“Half-Step Purple Court?”

Shock struck the beast. Such a level was enough to found a sect in the Southern Provinces. Why would one so lofty come for him? Perhaps to use him as a stepping stone into Purple Court proper.

She spoke, voice like a jade blade:

“Name the one who sent you, and I’ll spare your life.”

The Bloodfeather Lord forced a chuckle.

“This lord acts for himself. Who in these petty provinces could command me? Don’t think a few tricks make you worthy to trample my dignity!”

Her gaze was calm.

“A restriction binds you. Otherwise, my blade would not have wounded you so deeply. Who placed it? Whose pawn are you?”

“Hmph! You should thank whoever placed it. Without it, you’d already be running, hunted by me. You dare speak to me so?”

“You won’t tell me?”

“Abandon your sword, kneel, kowtow three times, beg me—I might consider sharing!”

With that roar, it unleashed crimson feathers in a tidal wave, claws wrenching at her sword.

She abandoned the blade and retreated.

The beast laughed wildly.

“Obedient little Yujian Sect girl, surrendering your sword at my command! When will you kowtow? This Heavenly Lord will kneel with you—”

His words froze.

She formed a seal. His crimson feathers dissolved into white mist, coalescing into a tidal sword wave that reversed and surged back at him.

“Sword Spirit Union? Impossible!”

Panic struck. He abandoned the blade and fled.

He had no time to waste—his appointment with the Prince drew near. If he poured all his effort into flight, even she could not catch him.

But before escape, a staff descended from the heavens, barring his path like a pillar.

An ancient man with withered white hair stood upon the lake, one hand clutching a scroll, the other a staff. His eyes, murky as dead fish, glared with decades of fury.

Decades ago, this beast had ruined his Dao, forcing him to protect the city at the cost of his foundation. Now old, with death looming, rage still consumed him.

“Wretched beast!”

The Witchmaster swung his staff at the Bloodfeather Lord’s head.

The sword woman halted, eyes narrowing at the scroll in his hand.

The beast bared its fangs, eyes blazing.

In its youth, even the Witchmaster at his peak had needed trickery to wound it. Now, though weakened, it would not cower.

Flames and bloodlight lit the rain. The beast shrieked and charged.

The Witchmaster stood firm, an embodiment of the ancient fortress. Their collision shook the city, collapsing unstable buildings.

The beast snarled:

“You’ve grown weaker. Without that scroll, your ribs would be dust.”

The Witchmaster’s gaze turned to the masked woman.

“What are you waiting for?”

“This scroll commands me to return to my mountain. I shall slay it for you first.”

His expression darkened.

“So even the Immortal Sects stoop to schemes?”

“The scroll is Zhao’s true destiny vessel. Our sect will protect it well, ensuring peace.”

“Zhao’s fate lies only in my hands.”

He sneered, clutching the scroll, and chanted an incantation. Thunder roared. The lake sank, pressing the beast downward with the weight of the city itself.

The woman sighed softly. Her sword traced a ripple across the lake, carrying killing intent as heavy as mountains.

The Bloodfeather Lord shuddered. With the city’s weight upon it, how could it evade?

Then the bell tolled.

The noon bell—the time promised with His Highness. Relief surged. Yet no signal came from the city.

“That damned girl… she meant to sacrifice me?”

Despair struck. As the sword fell, it thought only of Zhao Xiang’er—

The blade pierced its back, blood spraying. Yet the strike was strangely light.

It turned, stunned. The masked woman was already leaving. The Witchmaster, too, ignored him.

On the lake’s surface, flames condensed into a figure. Twisted lightning, or perhaps a ghostly eye.

Terror, unlike any sword strike, welled within him, born of his very bloodline.

Without hesitation, he dove into the lake depths.

Once a contender for Demon King of the Southern Provinces, now gravely wounded, he fled pitifully into the dark waters.