The four remaining wolves lunged forward, fangs gleaming, eyes blazing with bloodlust. They rushed at the young woman like shadows ignited by fire.
"Be careful!" Langtian shouted, his heart lurching in his chest.
But his warning was unnecessary.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t retreat.
Instead, she sank into a low stance, red aura pouring off her body like rising smoke. Her legs were rooted firmly to the ground, twin sabers clenched tight in her hands. Behind her, her dark cloak billowed like wings caught in a violent wind.
In a voice calm, cold, and sharp as tempered steel, she whispered:
"Heavenly Wing Slash."
In the blink of an eye, she moved.
Both sabers swung outward in a sweeping arc, unleashing two waves of crimson Qi and cutting wind—shaped like the wings of a divine eagle slicing through the heavens.
A storm of blades tore through the wolves.
They never even had a chance to react.
In an instant, all four were cleaved clean in half, their mutilated bodies crashing to the ground with wet, meaty thuds. Blood sprayed across the stone floor in vicious arcs.
Langtian stared, frozen, breath caught in his throat. His eyes trembled with disbelief.
That strike... that speed... that overwhelming power...
It was one of the deadliest techniques from the Eighteen Sky-Hunting Eagle Strikes—Heavenly Wing Slash.
Langtian’s thoughts raced.
There was only one person who could use that technique with such mastery—the person who had created the entire style.
And now, here she stood before him, in the heart of this cursed, forsaken valley...
Everything began to click into place.
Ten years ago, she had vanished—right after forming her Golden Core.
Just like him, she must have been betrayed. She had fallen into this hell the same way he did.
So all this time... she had survived.
Becoming stronger than ever.
"Senior Sister... Shangguan...?" Langtian whispered, his voice hoarse and faint, like the last flicker of a dying ember.
The name barely passed his lips before his head dropped, vision swimming in a haze of blood and exhaustion.
The woman turned. Her crimson eyes widened in shock.
"What did you just say?"
But Langtian couldn’t answer.
His body slumped forward.
His mind slipped away, and the darkness took him.
As Langtian slowly opened his eyes, he was no longer lying on cold, bloodstained stone—no longer surrounded by snarling wolves and the stench of death.
Instead, he found himself inside a shelter: a makeshift wooden house, dimly lit and quiet. He lay on a pile of thick beast pelts, roughly stitched together and spread across a simple bed made of wood.
He blinked, vision still hazy. His limbs ached, his breath came shallow. Groggy and confused, he turned his head to take in his surroundings.
The walls were made of aged, uneven planks—some warped, others cracked. The ceiling above was a rough weave of leaves, fur, and tattered cloth, with a hole in the center where smoke drifted upward from a small fire crackling softly in a stone-lined pit near the middle of the room.
There was very little furniture: just a low table and a couple of stools carved from stone. Along the walls were shelves fashioned from branches, stacked with jars of dried herbs, bundles of animal sinew, sharpened bones, and tools crafted from claw and fang.
The place smelled of smoke, blood, and old wood... with a faint, earthy trace of medicinal herbs lingering in the air.
It felt wild. Raw. Built not for comfort, but for survival.
Langtian let out a slow breath.
’I see... so this is where she’s been all this time.’
His gaze lingered on the details—the careful stitching in the furs, the hand-carved tools, the scars etched into the wood, likely from countless battles fought to stay alive.
’She built all of this... every piece of it.’
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head.
’Senior Sister Shangguan... you’re amazing.’
But then, something else occurred to him.
"...Wait. I’m naked?! Did Senior Sister do this?!"
Langtian’s eyes flew wide as he scrambled beneath the fur blanket, patting himself down in a frantic panic.
His gaze darted around the room, searching for his clothes—nothing.
"Ah. Right! I did tear it off myself. Haha..."
He chuckled awkwardly, recalling that desperate, frenzied moment.
Not that it mattered. Even if he hadn’t, the robe would’ve been beyond saving—soaked with blood, beast saliva, and all kinds of filth.
The sharp metallic tang of dried blood clung stubbornly to his skin. Sweat, beast drool, and the bitter scent of crushed herbs clung to him in a foul cocktail that made his nose wrinkle in disgust.
Langtian groaned and slowly peeled back the blanket, bracing himself as he took stock of his condition.
Bruises covered him from shoulder to foot—a mess of swollen reds, deep blues, and ugly blacks. Cuts lined his arms and torso, some clean, others jagged, but all had been treated. Thick layers of herbal paste coated the worst of them, still glistening beneath rough bandages made of torn linen and beast hide.
Then his right leg throbbed as he tried to move it, and Langtian winced.
Right... it was fractured.
And he was certain other bones were broken too.
He drew in a breath—and instantly regretted it.
"Fuck! Of course," he grunted.
His ribs ached like hell, a sharp, pulsing pain stabbing with every inhale.
But strangely... it wasn’t as bad as he expected.
In fact, his ribs were already healing. Slowly, yes—but definitely healing.
And then he noticed something else. A hot, tingling sensation surged in his core. Violent energy burned inside him, swirling like a storm sealed within a jar.
"Wait!" he muttered. "This... this is the effect of a healing pill!"
Looked like Senior Sister had given him one while he was unconscious.
’I need to use this. I can’t waste it!’
Langtian forced himself upright, sitting cross-legged and slipping into a meditation stance.
He closed his eyes and focused inward.