Utter Chaos, that was the only way the scene could be described.

The moment Arius fell to the ground Futian had rushed towards Liza and swiped at her with his fan.

She barely blocked the sharp edge with the bangles that hung on her wrists, skillfully deflecting them.

“This was bound to happen I assume.” She spoke in a sour tone, looking Futian up and down trying to find an opening.

Her nails extended, seeming more akin to claws.

“You filthy sl*t, you speak as if your worthless life compares to mine.” He glared at her in rage.

As the two of them faced off the rest of the disciples in their group engaged in battle with each other.

The unorthodox cultivators had caught a few of them by surprise.

Instantly killing five disciples without any losses. But that did not mean the orthodox faction was losing.

four of the twelve unorthodox disciples stood before Orion, barely managing to avoid death.

Orion was a body cultivator, the drop in cultivation realms didn’t affect him as heavily as those who used Qi manipulation to battle.

Every surface he struck shattered on impact.

This left eight unorthodox disciples fighting against fourteen orthodox disciples.

If time was the deciding factor, then the battle would definitely be in the righteous faction's favor.

*CLANG*

Krimin felt a sharp object strike his saber and fall to the ground.

The target of the object had been Daiyu but he had blocked it just in time to stop it from puncturing her brain.

His eyes traced the projectile to its source and a familiar ocean blue hair color caught his attention as it disappeared into the forest.

He turned towards Daiyu, intending to inform her, he found her on the ground, clutching her head, her eyes filled with blood. The visions were getting more intense.

She was in no condition to fight.

His hand wrapped around Daiyu’s waist and picked her up before bolting in the direction of the attacker.

“It’s the swordswoman!” he told her as she looked at him with confusion.

If he found the swordswoman it meant that Feng Zhiming was close, not to mention staying here where a large battle was occurring was not good for either of them.

But beyond all that and everything else aside, he wanted to face that swordswoman from the time she got away from him.

Unfinished battles were something he was not familiar with, if he drew his saber in a fight the one facing him had never evaded him yet.

Until now.

…

A sharp pain ran through Liza’s body as a fan grazed the side of her face.

She turned to face her attacker, Futian, who was already covered in numerous gashes left by long, clawed marks.

They had fought and fought, ending up pushing each other away from the main battle, isolating themselves from observers.

“You're lucky I'm not at my full strength.” She grumbled. “Otherwise, you'd be begging for mercy at my feet.”

Her knees shook as exhaustion began to take a hold of her.

At this point in a battle of endurance Liza had lost far too much blood.

“Don’t cover up your weakness, you speak as if I didn’t lose anything from dropping in cultivation.” Futian scoffed at her shameless remark.

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She chuckled, this was a relief compared to all the fear she felt earlier. Something she hadn’t expected.

“You seem a bit too relaxed.” he spoke as he saw her approaching the proverbial grave.

“Death has been long promised to us all, people like us. We’re nothing, not destined for greatness. Delusional fools who grasp at an unreachable dream.”

Her knees buckled and she fell, the expression on her face reflecting a deep burden lifting from her shoulders.

“Bold words for one who trembled at the prospect of perishing not too long ago.” He approached her slowly. “Aren’t you speaking too lightly of my fate, who says I cannot become an immortal?”

She shrugged, slowly slumping over, barely managing to kneel.

“Yet you are not a sage, nor an immortal, and I am not a true Demon. Our words hold no power. After all, even Dao Lords die.”

Futian began to become irritated at her crude remarks.

“Beg at my feet and I may grant you mercy yet.” He spoke full well knowing that he had no intention of fulfilling this offer.

It rubbed him the wrong way that she was so nonchalant about dying, he would show her just how much power he held.

“Have you ever seen an immortal?” Liza spoke as a cold and bloodied fan pressed against her neck.

“No one has.” He replied.

she smirked in defiance.

“I have.” Her gaze was looking past Futian, to someone behind him.

Someone returned from death, someone bearing that appearance of a true immortal.

Futian flinched as he felt a chilling presence.

He slowly turned his head.

A familiar yet alien sight greeted him.

“Arius ... no someone else, it was you all along, cowardly duplicitous bastard.” He whispered as he fell over. “I will not die here!” Futian tried to crawl away, yet his hands only grasped loose dirt, unable to push him forwards, “NO I cannot, I am not destined to die here.” He looked like a corpse trying to crawl its way out from the ground.

“Separate your head from your body.” The figure spoke calmly.

Futian felt something wrest control of his body away from him, his hand that held the fan began to gradually move towards his neck.

“NO! I, WHAT IS THIS?!”

He yelled as long as he could before the very fan he wielded sliced his neck in half.

Liza gazed at the figure, her eyes barely managing to stay open.

It without a doubt looked like Arius.

The wound that punctured his chest had long healed and an uncharacteristically wide smirk was plastered on his face.

“Just who are you?” She asked.

Arius’s hand reached up to his face before tearing off a superficial layer of skin.

Along with the mask that came off his face a layer of skin that covered his left arm disappeared as well.

A man with one glowing red eye and one eye that held a swirling abyss looked down at her.

His left arm was covered in a dark taint that ran across his veins.

An image that reflected something truly not human, something beyond the both of them.

“Many thanks for not spoiling the surprise.” Feng Zhiming said as he saw the woman kneeling before him, she had seen him slowly approach Futian, but had not said anything.

“To hell with your thanks, I just wanted to drag that bastard down with me.” she whispered in a vengeful tone as blood poured from her wounds.

"Is that all?" Feng Zhiming replied.

After a moment of contemplation she spoke.

“I do have a last question... just why, why did you do all this?”

Feng Zhiming looked down at her with a surprised expression. She truly wasn’t going to beg for her life? Earlier it seemed like she had been acting but it seemed like it really wasn't the case.

Facing death she had learned to accept it.

Even he had a semblance of respect for such a person.

“Why does anyone do anything?” He chuckled. “ We all have goals after all, does it really matter why I did it?"

With the last traces of life she possessed, her face contorted into an expression that questioned his sanity. But still, her expression softened, struggling to speak. “I suppose I can die at peace, knowing.” She coughed up some blood trying to get the words out of her mouth. “Knowing, I at least helped someone achieve their goal.”

She fell to the ground. “In this hell of a world, at least one of us should actually…. achieve something.”

She had not died for nothing.

Feng Zhiming gazed at the two corpses before him, poetically situated in opposition.

“Peace even in death, more than what most receive.”

Normally, he would have looted their corpses, searching for any valuables they might have possessed. But today, he was strangely moved, and he felt a pang of melancholy at the woman's words.

He turned away from the sight and spoke softly, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“It's a strange thing, isn't it?” He said. 'The living envying the dead. How ironic.”

He began to walk away, at this point both the camps had perished completely. He had not included Orion, Daiyu, Krimin within the orthodoxy.

As for Anissa, Lyra and Ellia, they had all left the unorthodox group.

To any hypothetical observer who witnessed the scene, it was absolutely clear that Feng Zhiming truly lived up to his reputation as an irrefutable omen of death.

His mastery over the art of manipulating others, combined with the deaths of the forty-five cultivators, demonstrated his exceptional skills at orchestrating the gruesome spectacle.

There was no denying that Feng Zhiming's presence was synonymous with calamity and despair, and no one was safe in his shadow.

“The hunt concludes.” he said simply, his voice carrying a sense of finality.