Chapter 71: With Your Blood, I Offer Sacrifice to the Fallen Souls

The wind howled fiercely, as if mourning for the cultivators who perished so suddenly, or perhaps singing a hymn of praise for the one who overturned their fate with a mere gesture. The old man in the violet robe remained utterly calm, as though killing were simply the natural order of things. Su Fan thought so too: if you don’t kill him, he will eventually seek revenge. Perhaps you do not fear him, but your family and friends will inevitably be drawn into the conflict.

Such decisiveness and ruthlessness—this was the first time Su Fan had encountered someone like the violet-robed elder. At first, the old man had impressed Su Fan as shrewd and calculating. Later, Su Fan learned more of his deeds, and could not help but regard him in a new light. Moreover, the elder had done countless unbelievable things for Su Fan, for which Su Fan was sincerely grateful.

Yet, to the very end, Su Fan never fully trusted that the elder would act in such a way, and so there always remained a barrier between them. Seeing the old man’s ruthless decisiveness today, Su Fan felt an intense admiration, and in that instant, the barrier within his heart disappeared.

Su Fan glanced at the violet-robed elder, and his heart trembled violently; his blood surged, and he nearly knelt to beg for mercy. That gaze, suffused with murderous intent; those eyes, proud and unyielding; those brows, exuding overwhelming dominance. Even Su Fan, whose resolve was firm, who had faced life and death, and who had witnessed the most ferocious celestial and demonic beings in the world, could not help but be shaken by such a look from the elder. Its power was beyond imagining.

The violet-robed elder lightly waved his sleeve and said, “Let’s go.”

Su Fan did not speak; his mind was occupied with thoughts. There was something vaguely familiar about the aura of the violet-robed elder, yet Su Fan could not pinpoint where he had encountered it before.

Before Su Fan could unravel the mystery, the elder swept him up and flew into the distance. Along the way, formations that appeared ingenious and terrifying to Su Fan crumbled one after another as the elder forced his way through. Everywhere they passed was left in chaos—rivers of blood flowed, every formation shattered at the elder’s touch, every cultivator slain with a mere flick of his sleeve.

In a matter of moments, the two arrived at the heart of the Three Sovereigns’ Stronghold. Su Fan had barely registered the journey before they reached their destination.

At once, Su Fan spotted Suo Rongcheng, huddled at the center of a group of cultivators, his eyes full of terror at the sudden appearance of these two harbingers of doom. He recognized Su Fan, understood Su Fan’s purpose, but as the master of the stronghold, he could not afford to lose his dignity.

He forced his trembling, plump face into composure and shouted, voice quavering, “Su Fan, why have you come to my Three Sovereigns’ Stronghold? The grudge between us has long been settled.”

“Settled?” Su Fan stepped forward, shouting, “How is it settled? Your disciple tried to ambush me and died by my hand—that was his fate. But you, a cultivator, murdered my mother, a mere mortal, and later schemed against me. How can that be settled?”

Suo Rongcheng replied weakly, “Schemed against you? If I had killed that woman for you, she would not have tried to assassinate you.”

Su Fan’s face went pale, almost deathly so. Fan Ruoyu was a knot in his heart that could never be untied; no matter what, Su Fan did not wish to recall that experience, nor dared to speak of it.

He murmured, “She was my wife. She did not try to kill me.”

“Wife”—that was Su Fan’s dream. He had planned to leave the world of cultivation and live with Fan Ruoyu in a secluded place, away from the world. Yet fate is ever capricious.

The world seemed like a vast roulette of destiny; you never know what the next turn will bring, but in the unseen currents, there is an ordained path. Yet fate knows nothing of human affairs—perhaps it is like a mischievous child; when you cry, it laughs.

Suo Rongcheng apparently did not notice Su Fan’s change, and continued, heedless, “Wife? She acted for herself and tried to kill you…”

He never finished the sentence, for Su Fan had already formed a seal and struck. When he moved, the world trembled. The carefully selected guards at Suo Rongcheng’s side were reduced to nothing but bones.

Su Fan, like the violet-robed elder, did not use any spells or artifacts—though not as exaggerated as the elder’s ability to annihilate everything with a wave, Su Fan’s power was enough to terrify Suo Rongcheng, and enough to impress the elder.

The guards Suo Rongcheng had chosen were not like ordinary cultivators found in other strongholds; they were elite, geniuses of their kind.

With all the guards dead and their master fleeing, Suo Rongcheng could not escape Su Fan’s blow. Su Fan had pondered this strike for a long time; after all, the Three Sovereigns’ Stronghold was no small sect that could be wiped out in an instant.

This blow was enough to shake everyone’s heart, to crush any remaining will to fight. At least now, Suo Rongcheng stood trembling beside Three Sovereigns’ Grandmaster, his whole body shaking.

The Grandmaster did not even glance at Su Fan, but smiled at the violet-robed elder. With a smile, he said, “Fellow Daoist Violet Robe, this is all just a conflict among the juniors. Let us leave it at that—our cooperation between the Three Sovereigns’ Stronghold and Tianyuan Sect need not be affected.”

His words were skillfully chosen, neither offending the elder nor pressing the matter, subtly reminding him of the interests between the two sects to urge him to let the matter drop. If the elder insisted otherwise, it would be a slight against Tianyuan Sect. These old monsters, after centuries of cultivation, were all cunning as foxes.

The violet-robed elder’s gaze remained fixed on Su Fan throughout. Even as he replied to the Grandmaster, he kept his eyes on Su Fan, and said with a smile, “Let’s see what the junior decides. We should not interfere.”

The Grandmaster’s expression did not change as he turned his gaze to Su Fan—this unremarkable youth, who had thrown his stronghold into chaos, who survived his attack, who fell into the icy lake only to be reborn. No matter how much he had previously scorned Su Fan, now he realized his earlier judgment was mere folly.

Such resolve and insight, so decisive and ruthless, yet clever to the extreme—his luck was extraordinary. The Grandmaster unconsciously exerted his pressure upon Su Fan, hoping to intimidate him.

He sneered, “Su Fan, let’s let this matter rest. Tianyuan Sect and my stronghold have been allies for years; don’t let such a small issue affect the bigger picture. I will punish my unworthy disciple severely, and visit you to apologize another day.”

Su Fan snorted coldly, glanced at the Grandmaster, and said, “Impossible.”

Even the Grandmaster, with his exceptional composure and cunning, could not tolerate such a response. For a junior to speak to him thus—where was his dignity?

Even the violet-robed elder was astonished; he had not expected Su Fan to respond this way. Yet he quickly laughed—a genuine laugh, with a hint of admiration for Su Fan, as if he too would have answered thus.

The Grandmaster suppressed his anger and said in a deep voice, “Then what do you want?”

Su Fan’s gaze locked onto the Grandmaster, and he advanced step by step, pronouncing each word: “I want the blood of the one who killed my mother to honor her memory.”

The Grandmaster’s expression grew complicated; the murderous intent in Su Fan’s eyes even made him feel a trace of fear. He involuntarily retreated two steps, but his terror needed an outlet, and he roared, “Su Fan, you—”

Su Fan ignored the Grandmaster’s outburst, continuing to approach him, saying, “I want everyone in the Three Sovereigns’ Stronghold dead. I want rivers of blood to flow.”

The Grandmaster began to form seals, yearning to strike Su Fan dead with a single blow. Yet he did not, out of fear—not knowing whether he feared the junior cultivator whose power was far beneath his, or the man standing behind him.

In any case, the Grandmaster endured, but Su Fan pressed on, speaking, “I want you dead. Anyone who wishes me dead, must die.”

The Grandmaster raised a finger to point at Su Fan’s brow, but Su Fan did not evade, instead staring directly into his eyes. The Grandmaster felt as if a spark from an ancient sea of fire pierced his mind, staining the heavens and earth.

At that moment, Su Fan dodged his attack and, reversing his stance, punched the Grandmaster’s arm, sending him flying. Though the punch had little effect, if word spread, Su Fan would become a legend—he had not only dodged a blow from a Nascent Soul elder, but had struck him in return.

Such a feat was rarely seen in the cultivation world over countless ages, especially since the Grandmaster was no weakling, but a seasoned and sly veteran.

The Grandmaster was utterly enraged by Su Fan; it was a humiliation of the highest order, a joke too great to bear. The stronghold could not tolerate it, nor could the Grandmaster himself.

He began forming seals for a fatal strike, the true might of a Nascent Soul cultivator. Yet the violet-robed elder, unwilling to let his disciple who had brought him so many surprises be bullied, let violet light gather around him.

A true battle between Nascent Soul cultivators was about to begin.