The demonic sect members, realizing the barrier was down, rushed toward Richard. Exhausted and with his mana nearly depleted, Richard launched two fireballs, hoping to keep them at bay. But his efforts were in vain; the relentless attackers closed in. OneJust as the blade was about to strike, a gust of wind and the scent of cherry blossoms filled the air. In an instant, a figure appeared between Richard and his assailant.

“You Demonic Sect scum dare harm my grandson!” the figure declared with fierce authority.

The figure was Elder Yang Feng Ling, The Blossom Blade Elder of Mount Hua. His presence was formidable, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Elder Yang’s eyes swept the battlefield, and his gaze settled on Lu Shun, his grandson, lying on the ground with blood gushing from his stab wound.

Rage surged through Elder Yang. “Not a single one of you will leave here alive tonight,” his voice a cold promise of retribution.

As his aura of a master-grade martial artist enveloped the field, the demonic sect attackers felt the crushing weight of his power. Terror gripped their hearts as the pressure bore down on them, making even movement a challenge.

Chen Feng Ling, Elder Yang’s wife, arrived at the scene with another gust of cherry blossom wind. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of her grandson’s lifeless form. Without a moment's hesitation, she rushed to Lu Shun’s side, scooping him up gently. She also gathered the other participants who were still breathing, her movements swift and graceful as she used the Plum Blossom Footsteps technique to whisk them away from danger.

Elder Yang, now free to unleash his full fury, launched himself at the demonic sect invaders. The battle began in earnest.

The first attacker lunged at him with a wickedly curved blade, aiming for his throat. Elder Yang parried the strike effortlessly, his sword moving like a blur. With a swift counterattack, he severed the man’s arm, sending him screaming to the ground.

Another assailant tried to flank him, but Elder Yang was prepared. He spun on his heel, the motion fluid and deadly, and slashed his blade in a wide arc. The demonic warrior’s head rolled from his shoulders before he even realized what had happened.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Elder Yang’s movements were a dance of death, each step precise, each strike lethal. He flowed from one enemy to the next, his blade cutting through flesh and bone with ease. The demonic sect members fought back with all their might, but they were no match for his skill and power.

One particularly bold attacker, a grade 4 martial artist, charged at Elder Yang, dark qi swirling around him. He unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one aimed to kill. Elder Yang met each blow with his own, their swords clashing with a sound like thunder. The demonic warrior pushed harder, but Elder Yang’s experience and mastery shone through. With a deft twist, he disarmed his opponent and drove his sword through the man’s chest.

Meanwhile, Richard, exhausted and drained, sighed and sat down, his back against a wall. He watched as more members of Mount Hua and participants of the tournament arrived to help. Reinforcements streamed in, their faces set with determination. The tide of battle was turning.

Elder Yang’s onslaught continued. He faced a trio of attackers, their movements synchronized as they tried to overwhelm him. But Elder Yang was a whirlwind of steel and fury. He blocked one blade, dodged another, and struck the third attacker with a force that shattered bones. He followed up with a spinning slash that took down the remaining two in a spray of blood.

Across the battlefield, the demonic sect members began to falter. Fear crept into their ranks as they realized they were fighting a losing battle. They tried to regroup, to form a defensive line, but Elder Yang was relentless. He pressed the attack, giving them no quarter, no chance to recover.

One of the demonic leaders, a tall figure cloaked in darkness, stepped forward. His aura was oppressive, and his eyes burned with malevolence. “You think you can defeat us all, old man?” he sneered, raising his hands to summon a wave of dark energy.

Elder Yang didn’t hesitate. He charged at the leader, his sword glowing with a brilliant light. The dark energy crashed against his blade, but he pushed through, his will unwavering. With a mighty roar, he broke through the barrier and struck the leader down with a single, decisive blow.

The leader’s fall broke the spirit of the remaining attackers. They scattered, fleeing into the night, their morale shattered. Elder Yang watched them go, his chest heaving with exertion.

The terrace was littered with bodies, both friend and foe. The air was thick with the scent of blood and the cries of the wounded. Richard, still seated against the wall, looked around at the aftermath of the battle. He saw the members of Mount Hua and the tournament participants tending to the injured, their faces grim but resolute.

Elder Yang approached Richard, his expression softening. “You did well, protecting my grandson and his friends,” he said, placing a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I am indebted to you”

Richard nodded, still catching his breath. “Thank you, Elder Yang. I didn’t think I’d be able to hold them off much longer.”

“Rest now,” Elder Yang said. “You’ve done more than enough. Leave the rest to us.”

As Richard leaned back and closed his eyes, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. The battle had been fierce, and they had suffered losses, but they had also won a hard-fought victory. With Elder Yang and the reinforcements here, the threat had been neutralized, and they could begin to heal.

As he was resting an odd question formed in his head: why did the detection spell that he finished casting around the whole upper sect didn’t respond? He suddenly had a strange idea for what might be the cause and he didn’t like it.