CHAPTER 41: SONG PO SHOCK

Just then—time resumed.

Three seconds passed, and the frozen world snapped back into motion with brutal suddenness, as if an unseen hand had flipped a cosmic switch.

Boom!

An earth-shattering detonation split the air.

The silence of stillness was instantly devoured by chaos. A blinding surge of sword qi erupted outward like a tidal wave of divine fury, shredding the world around it. Buildings within hundreds of meters of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo disintegrated into dust, their remains scattering like ash on the wind.

The shockwave roared through the alleys, bending metal, shattering glass, and shaking the air itself.

Bu Fang—once standing tall with that smug, cruel smile—didn’t even have the time to scream. His pupils contracted to pinpoints as his world filled with purple.

The sword was upon him.

A blade of lightning, magnificent and merciless, descended from above like a verdict written by the heavens in Wang Chen from. Its brilliance reflected in his widening eyes—the eyes of a man who finally understood death.

Cold and totally absolute without any ability to resist at all.

For the briefest heartbeat, Bu Fang could feel it—his body, his core, his soul—all dissolving into nothing. The world itself seemed to reject his existence. Despair flooded in, swallowing every ounce of pride and hatred he’d ever known.

Then the blade met flesh.

BOOM!

A second explosion followed—a deafening, cataclysmic roar that tore through the Imperial City’s skyline. From the impact point, waves of razor-sharp sword qi rippled outward in a violet tempest, cutting through stone and steel alike. Everything in its path—rooftops, pillars, the very ground—was erased.

When the light finally dimmed and the storm of qi settled, Bu Fang was gone.

No bones. No ashes. No trace.

He had been wiped clean from existence by a single stroke.

Silence descended.

A crushing, breathless silence. The surviving members of the Blood Fang Gang stood petrified, their minds blank, their bodies trembling. No one dared to even inhale too loudly, as if the faintest sound might draw that same wrath upon them.

And amid the devastation stood Wang Chen.

His posture was straight, his robe fluttering gently in the hot wind. The purple lightning sword still hummed faintly in his hand, casting flickers of dying light across his indifferent face. His eyes were calm, utterly emotionless—like those of an immortal overlooking the fate of mortals.

To the onlookers, he appeared untouchable—an unfathomable being who had just erased a Golden Core powerhouse with a single swing.

But beneath that calm mask...

Wang Chen’s heart was pounding. His qi channels felt hollow, his limbs heavy as iron. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, and the very marrow of his bones ached as if being scorched from within. He could barely stand.

That single strike had consumed everything—his qi, his stamina, even the spark of vitality in his core. His meridians were empty, his body on the verge of collapse.

He forced his breathing steady, unwilling to let the weakness show.

That was the cost of the Three-Turn Sword Style.

Magnificent—but monstrously draining. He din’t like using it for this very reason.

If I could help it, he thought bitterly, I’d rather take a few Tower techniques and let them do the work.

But against an cultivator of Bu Fang caliber he had no choice.

Still, his expression never wavered. His blade dissolved back into crackling wisps of lightning, fading into nothing as he let out a long, deliberate sigh—the sigh of a man burdened by righteousness.

To those watching, it sounded like the weary exhale of a saint who had no choice but to kill.

It carried unspoken words: I tried to make him change his ways... but he wouldn’t listen.

And now, there he stood amidst the ruins—A lone man in a field of dust and silence.

Once his expression returned to perfect composure, Wang Chen steadied his breath. His body once again screamed in protest, every bone feeling as if it might crack apart, yet his gaze remained cold and unflinching.

There was no time to linger.

He summoned the last vestige of his strength, forcing his battered meridians to obey. A faint glimmer of light gathered beneath his feet—thin, fragile, and yet boundless in potential.

"One Thought Across the World."

The words left his lips like a whisper carried by the wind.

The next instant, Wang Chen vanished.

No flash lightning, or thunderclap—just absence.

Like a candle snuffed out by an unseen hand.

Only the aftermath remained.

The world, stripped of its cause, began to crumble around the effect. Stones cracked and rolled. The wood of nearby buildings smoldered, blackening before collapsing under their own heat. Popping sounds echoed intermittently as charred beams split apart.

Smoke—thick and black as ink—rose into the night sky, twisting into a colossal dragon that seemed to howl in mourning. The sky above was devoured by the haze, turning the city’s heart into a field of ruin.

And yet, amidst this devastation... not a single Blood Fang Gang member moved.

They stood frozen, blank-eyed, as if still trapped in that frozen world Wang Chen had left behind.

One of them finally swallowed hard and whispered, voice trembling, "The master... he didn’t attack us?"

His words rippled through the silence.

"Could it be... we were spared?" another muttered, disbelief mixing with relief.

The thought took root, fragile and foolish, yet intoxicating. Faces turned pale to flushed, hearts beating faster, a strange hope dawning where only terror had been moments ago.

Meanwhile—

Dozens of kilometers away, the ripples of that battle were still spreading.

Song Po, master of the Imperial City, stood before a large golden mirror that shimmered faintly with residual qi. His reflection was pale, drenched in sweat, eyes wide with disbelief. The faint hum of shattered spiritual energy filled the chamber.

"What... a terrifying attack," he muttered, his voice dry. "At least the peak of the Golden Core Realm..."

He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. The image of that purple lightning sword, cleaving through heaven and earth, burned itself into his mind. He had replayed it again and again in his thoughts, yet each time it struck him harder—an impossible act, performed by a man the city believed was a mere Qi Refining cultivator.

From the start, Song Po had been watching Bu Fang’s movements. After all, it was his operation—his plan. He had wanted to make sure the Blood Fang Gang’s trouble would end quietly.

But what he had witnessed instead... was divine retribution.

At first, he’d laughed when he saw Wang Chen appear on the mirror. That’s him? The so-called master of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo? A man barely past the Qi Refining stage? Ridiculous.

Then everything changed.

There was no time for buildup, neither any fancy movements. No visible qi surge.

Wang Chen had simply appeared beside Bu Fang—and the next instant, reality itself split apart.

The resulting explosion had been so massive that even from kilometers away, Song Po’s spiritual sense trembled violently. For the first time in centuries, he’d felt something close to fear.

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "This man... is too dangerous," he muttered.

Each word felt heavier than the last. His mind churned, full of dark possibilities.

Someone capable of erasing a Golden Core Realm expert in an instant... living quietly within his city, completely unnoticed.

If word of this got out, the noble families would erupt into chaos. The balance of power, the quiet order of the Imperial City—it would all crumble overnight.

Song Po’s face flushed red with suppressed rage and embarrassment. "Damn it... I, the city lord, didn’t even know a monster like that lived under my own roof!"

His voice cracked with equal parts fear and fury.

Then, as his breath steadied, he suddenly froze. He felt it—a faint pressure. A gaze.

Someone was watching him.

His pupils shrank, and he turned sharply toward the window, scanning the distance beyond his spiritual barriers.

"Damn that old fox Fang..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "He must have known! That sly bastard knew something about this expert and stayed silent on purpose!"

Across the city, atop a towering wooden building draped in serene light, an old man stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His gray robe fluttered lightly in the breeze, and his eyes reflected the distant ruin of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo.

Old Fox Fang—the calculating patriarch of the Fang noble family—watched in utter silence.

Contrary to what Song Po believed, he was no wiser than the city lord. Even his far-reaching intelligence network had failed to pick up anything about this mysterious "master."

But what he had seen tonight... had changed everything.

After a long moment, his calm lips parted, his tone quiet yet edged with command.

"Gather as much information as possible about this man," he murmured. "No matter the cost."

The air around him shimmered faintly—like ripples spreading across a still lake—and then stilled once more.