As soon as the words left his lips, Ethan exploded into motion—his leap cracked the earth, sending waves of powdered dust and icy loam billowing behind him. His momentum was that of a force of nature unleashed, more beast than man.
Every muscle surged, each stride crunching gravestones and shattered roots; his coat snapped like a storm flag in his wake.
The corpses met him head-on, jaws agape and fingers hooked like claws, their empty eye sockets burning with eerie, blue-green flames. In life, these were cultivators of power and reputation, but time and death had rendered all their legacies moot.
Now, whatever majesty or horror they carried had rotted away; whatever Dao they’d grasped, now nothing but death qi and hunger.
But their ignoble second life meant little to Ethan.
He did not hesitate—each fist shattering dead bone and power as he swung.
The first punch caved in a mummified chest.
The next obliterated four heads in a single crash.
A casual elbow reduced arms to splinters
A kick sent a cluster of corpses cartwheeling through tombstones. Bone shards and black ichor sprayed in every direction.
Ethan didn’t even draw deep upon his true strength—the techniques of the Celestial Jade Physique, he didn’t use them, didn’t need them.
Even holding back, every punch was more than enough to crush a Nascent Soul Realm outright. The force behind his blows thundered through the tomb, sending shockwaves that toppled stone slabs and made fresher corpses twitch in their graves.
Anyone watching, anyone with the barest bit of knowledge, would feel a chill at the spectacle.
If this was Ethan merely playing, what would happen if he truly meant to kill?
He advanced, relentless, through the corpse tide. Their numbers meant nothing. Wherever he moved, bodies shattered, skulls caved, and whatever malign will animated them began to falter at the revelation of real, overwhelming force.
To Ethan, these things were less than insects—he trampled them without hesitation, moving through the fog like a wolf through lambs.
Far off, hidden behind protective sigils and a thick veil of spiritual stealth, a thin young man sat cross-legged, hands flickering desperately in complicated seals. His pupils contracted in horror as he watched Ethan rampage through the undead.
"How—? How is this happening?" the young man whispered, voice trembling.
"My art of corpse control isn’t perfected, but with these hundreds raised all at once, even a powerful Soul Formation expert should at least be wounded or forced to retreat. But Ethan—he’s just slaughtering them! It doesn’t even slow him down!"
His confidence wavered, panic taking root.
Was all the intelligence on Ethan wrong?
Everyone said the exile was a mere physical cultivator—a brute, not a monster. Then why, why didn’t his corpses even buy him a moment’s safety?
"Did Senior Brother Sam feed me lies?" No—it couldn’t be! The suffering he witnessed now couldn’t be explained away by mere rumor.
Suddenly, the young man stiffened as Ethan’s battered a path straight toward his hidden perch.
"No, wait—What—why is he heading straight for me? I’m concealed! He shouldn’t be able to see—no, he shouldn’t even guess!" His mind spun with terror.
Ethan’s Heaven-Piercing Mind Eye had locked onto him, scrap of concealment technique or not.
The young man’s thoughts reeled.
I need to retreat. This isn’t worth it. My formation’s not only failed, it’s been annihilated!
His memory flashed—years ago, when he’d just entered the Nascent Soul realm, he’d used this same corpse tide to slay a peerless expert on the verge of Soul Formation.
That day, the undead had feasted on the living.
But today, against Ethan, all his work was for naught. Failure dug its claws through his guts. Shame burned. The pride of Voidshade Peak—reduced to nothing.
While his panic spiked, Ethan, in a blur, closed the distance—smashing two more walking corpses with a single punch, his voice ringing out with cold amusement.
"Oh, why are you running? Weren’t you so eager to play just now?"
A dozen zombies lunged to intercept him.
Ethan’s hands shot out, gripping two by the shoulders and tearing them in half as easily as splitting firewood. He vaulted over a sea of grasping arms, boots finding a slab of ancient bluestone as a springboard.
With a single mighty push, he soared ten feet straight up, bursting past low pine branches.
From the apex of his leap, Ethan’s Heaven-Piercing Mind Eye zeroed in on the thinnest flicker of life in the retreating shadows.
His target—a young, robed man skittering away, spiritual energy wild and uncontrolled. Locked on. Ethan dropped from the sky, silent as a swooping hawk, and landed with a bone-crunching crash.
A curtain of dust erupted, blinding the man for an instant. Adrenaline spiked, he turned—but too late! Ethan’s hand snapped out, palm engulfing the youth’s entire face, and he drove him ruthlessly into the trunk of an ancient pine. The wood shrieked and splintered from the force, bark raining down like snow. The man’s body was left half-embedded in the trunk, legs kicking feebly.
Ethan’s voice was glacial, a death sentence in the winter’s hush.
"Who ordered you to kill me?"
His tone carried all the patience of an executioner—a razor waiting to drop.
"Ten breaths. That’s all you get."
The pinned youth coughed, blood and splintered teeth spilling from his lips. But even now, pride and sect loyalty clung to him. He forced a broken smile, voice thick with pain.
"Heh... I’m just an ordinary inner sect disciple, Alex. No one sent me. I just hated you. Came to settle things myself!" Every word stung him. A mouthful of blood sprayed down his front.
Ethan’s eyes didn’t flicker. "Good answer."
With a sudden, terrible force, he squeezed.
The skull caved under his palm—blood, bone, and brain matter painting the snow and bark in crimson horror. The body spasmed once, then hung silver and limp.
Ethan let go, wiped the mess from his palm upon the corpse’s ruined robes, and rifled the pockets with methodical coldness.
His fingers closed around a void-black token, engraved with the insignia of Voidshade Peak.
"So—Voidshade Peak’s disciples are still such loyal dogs," Ethan murmured,
"They’d rather die than even whisper who is truly behind the blade." He slid the token into his robes with a sigh.
But the confusion lingered, burrowing into his thoughts. Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on NoveI-Fire.ɴet
When did I cross Voidshade Peak? Was it just ambition and scorn—or had some plot swept his name into another’s grudge? The answer would have to wait.
He glanced at the carnage left in his wake—the decimated corpse army, the destruction, the ruined pine. His heart was calm, his purpose set, but his eyes narrowed with thought.
So it begins again. Sooner or later, the truth about who wants me gone will show itself. But for now...
He ghosted back into the mist, moving with a cold surety.
Ethan was left wondering in silence, Had he ever even offended anyone from Voidshade Peak?