The air around the two elders, Elder Lu and Elder Bu, began to crackle with their unleashed aura, a palpable force that threatened to crush Feng Zhiming under its weight. The elders’ eyes gleamed with malicious intent as they directed their power toward him, testing whether this young envoy could withstand their combined might.
But before their aura could even reach Feng Zhiming, a powerful surge of sword intent burst forth from behind him, cutting through the oppressive energy like a hot knife through butter. The air itself seemed to hum as the sword intent enveloped the elders, forcing them to their knees with an invisible weight that bore down on them mercilessly.
Anissa had stepped forward, her arms crossed, her blue eyes narrowing as she stared down the elders. Her sword intent was sharp, precise, and overwhelming, making the two seasoned cultivators feel as a blade was poised at their throats.
"Who is this freak?" the thought echoed in the minds of the two elders as they struggled to breathe under the pressure. It was clear that this woman, who appeared to be at the same stage as them, possessed a terrifying level of skill and power that far surpassed their own.
Just as they began to fear for their lives, Feng Zhiming casually waved a hand, signaling Anissa to withdraw. Reluctantly, she complied, and the suffocating pressure on the elders lifted, allowing them to gasp for breath.
Tian Yu, the sect leader, tried to maintain his composure despite the shame of seeing his elders humiliated so easily. "Can you please explain who this person is, respected envoy?" he asked, ignoring the glaring fact that his sect had just lost face.
Feng Zhiming’s expression remained impassive as he replied, "Putting aside the fact that I do not owe you any explanations, I will explain regardless. She is a personal subordinate of mine, not affiliated with the sect."
Tian Yu inhaled sharply, disbelief flickering in his eyes. How could such a talented swordswoman possibly be subordinated to a mere Ethereal Core cultivator, let alone a young one? The very idea seemed absurd.
But before Tian Yu could voice his doubts, Feng Zhiming continued, his tone as cold as steel. "As I said, I need you to destroy the Flowing River Sect."
Tian Yu was momentarily stunned. Destroy a sect? Just like that? This wasn’t a simple assassination or a skirmish—this was a call to raze an entire sect, wiping out thousands of lives. The implications were staggering, and Tian Yu knew that if he agreed, the Hiding Demon Sect would face severe repercussions.
"It’s not that simple, respected envoy," Tian Yu finally managed to say, choosing his words carefully.
Feng Zhiming arched an eyebrow, his gaze growing colder. "Go on, explain. Is it something so complicated that I cannot comprehend?" His patience was wearing thin, and his tolerance for excuses was nonexistent.
Tian Yu hesitated, but he knew he had to speak. "It is something that would greatly impact our sect. We cannot provoke the Flowing River Sect right now."
Feng Zhiming’s eyes darkened with annoyance as he slowly walked toward Tian Yu, stopping just inches from his face. The two stood eye to eye, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.
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"If I owned a dog and I asked it to bark, would the dog dare to tell me it cannot bark?" Feng Zhiming’s voice was low, dripping with contempt.
Tian Yu’s fists clenched, his teeth grinding together. This junior—a mere Ethereal Core cultivator—was actually referring to him, a sect leader, as a dog. The insult was almost unbearable.
"I am no dog, junior," Tian Yu spat out, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage.
Feng Zhiming’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You’re so furious you want to kill me, aren’t you?" he taunted, leaning in just a little closer.
Tian Yu remained silent, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
"I’ll give you one chance," Feng Zhiming said, his tone final as he turned and walked out of the hall, Anissa following closely behind him. "I’m bored. Gather all your Ethereal Core disciples and have them meet me at the training grounds."
Tian Yu understood the unspoken message. This wasn’t just about forcing the Hiding Demon Sect to do his bidding; Feng Zhiming intended to break them, to make it clear that he owned them.
...
A group of thirteen disciples stood before Feng Zhiming in the training arena, their expressions a mix of determination and anxiety. Each was at various stages within the Ethereal Core realm, but one among them had reached the peak, a fact that should have given the group confidence. Yet, facing Feng Zhiming, their confidence wavered.
Many might have underestimated Feng Zhiming, mistaking his reliance on subtle techniques like his demonic phenomena and the art of demonic suppression for a lack of combat prowess. But such an assumption would be deadly.
As he stepped into the arena, Feng Zhiming began to warm up, a sense of anticipation bubbling within him. It had been too long since he’d truly exercised his strength. The upcoming fight wasn’t just about teaching the disciples a lesson—it was about reacquainting himself with the raw power that he possessed.
Feng Zhiming had mastered a total of six proper techniques, yet he had only revealed three since arriving on Etheria. The time had come to unleash the others.
"Come, attack me all at once," he taunted, his voice echoing through the arena.
The disciples hesitated, uncertain if they should really strike together, but Feng Zhiming’s next words spurred them into action. "Whoever manages to damage me the most will receive entry into the Heavenly Divine Demon Sect."
Greed and ambition flared in their eyes. The Heavenly Divine Demon Sect was a place of immense power, a dream for any ambitious cultivator. They would not hold back.
The fight began with a coordinated assault. The disciples spread out, encircling Feng Zhiming. One of them, eager to prove himself, lunged first, aiming his sword at Feng Zhiming’s heart.
Feng Zhiming sidestepped with ease, letting the man’s momentum carry him past. In one fluid motion, Feng Zhiming brought his hand down on the back of the man’s neck.
The disciple collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.
It wasn’t raw physical strength that had felled him but the art of demonic release, Feng Zhiming’s fourth technique. By infusing an immense amount of Qi into the surface of his hand, Feng Zhiming created a concentrated burst of energy upon contact. The hyper-condensed Qi, when absorbed by the opponent, caused an internal explosion at the point of contact. In this case, it was enough to knock the disciple out cold without causing permanent damage.
The remaining twelve disciples were shocked but not deterred. Three of them charged at once, attacking from the front and both sides.
Feng Zhiming moved like a shadow. He extended his arms to either side, using his telekinetic ability to slow down the attackers flanking him. The disciple charging from the front received a swift kick to the chest, sending her flying into the arena wall.
As she crumpled to the ground, Feng Zhiming grabbed the heads of the two disciples on either side of him and slammed them into the ground with a sickening thud.
It wasn’t just speed that gave Feng Zhiming the upper hand—it was his accelerated thinking, a result of the art of demonic cognizance. This technique allowed him to process information and calculate his opponents’ movements at an astonishing rate, giving him a near-supernatural edge in battle.
“The greatest disciples of the Hiding Demon Sect can’t land a single hit on me?” Feng Zhiming’s voice dripped with arrogance as he stood in the center of the arena, completely unscathed. His challenge hung in the air, a testament to his dominance.