Starlight fell softly. The manor was tranquil. A wisp of clear energy drifted past without raising so much as a ripple.
On the surface, the courtyard appeared perfectly still — yet the clear energy that Ye Fan had dissolved into felt that something was subtly off, even without making any concrete discovery. It was simply a cultivator’s instinctive sense.
He settled near the courtyard wall, sank into the earth, and used his earth-reading source technique to observe carefully.
Moments later, a pair of eyes formed from condensed mist, gazing upward from beneath the ground. Ye Fan’s killing intent surged within him, his gaze turning glacial.
In the manor, beyond the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders, there were also several seeded-level powerhouses — along with two soldiers from the city, all waiting for him to walk into the trap.
These individuals were hidden within the array formation, laughing and drinking as though without a care, completely cut off from the outside world. Were it not for his source technique reaching a level that could tap into the earth dragon’s breath and detect movements above, he would never have perceived them.
This was a trap — waiting for him to leap in. There was no need to kill him on the spot; they only needed him to appear. With these witnesses present, the moment he showed up, he would be framed as the Killing Saint, with all the blame pinned on him.
When that moment came, who would stop to hear his explanation? His rivals would use it as justification to eliminate him, and the many cultivators of the First City of the Human Race would come after him in a mob — all of them turning against him at once.
This was a vicious trap. The second-ranked figure of the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders had never intended to truly assassinate him. Instead, they had flipped the scheme — luring him into their web. Cunning and ruthless.
Before coming here, Ye Fan had already sensed that tonight would likely be no simple assassination attempt but rather a targeted effort to trip him up. And now it was confirmed.
Shk!
Within the array formation, the leader of the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders — Gu Ling — suddenly raised a purple war spear and drove it straight into the ground. His eyes erupted with a fearsome brilliance.
This sudden development startled many of those present, and the lower-ranked riders at the back were particularly shaken — they held him in utter terror.
“Brother Gu, what is happening?” a seeded-level powerhouse asked.
The leader of the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders, Gu Ling, let savage light pour from his eyes. His bare upper body and powerfully built bronze-skinned frame radiated immense pressure as he said, “Someone was watching us from beneath the earth.”
The wisp of clear energy dispersed underground, leaving nothing behind. The purple spear’s light could kill a saint — but it could not strike clear energy.
Ye Fan’s heart tightened. This was undeniably a formidable adversary — far more terrifying than an ordinary seeded powerhouse by several magnitudes. No wonder he had drawn the Crossing Guide’s attention when they first arrived.
“I sensed it too — yet he vanished in an instant,” the second-ranked figure said, his cyan-gold armor covering him completely, his eyes blazing with blue light — like an ancient demon-god, unfathomably deep.
“Confirmed: someone was watching. And then they were gone in an instant,” a soldier spoke up — sending a ripple of shock through those present. This soldier had once failed on the Ancient Path of Stars — and yet he was this powerful. With his cultivation, he would never have retreated to the First City of the Human Race unless he had encountered someone absolutely invincible.
It was clear enough without thinking: on the road ahead, he had met an undefeatable genius. Otherwise, with his cultivation, why would he have retreated to the First City of the Human Race?
“Could it be him? Truly cause for unease,” the fifth-ranked figure of the Thirteen Riders said in a cold, low voice — one of the few who rarely spoke.
“This person is a threat. We’ve been waiting for him to come and kill, and yet he never made a move — it seems ending his life will not be easy,” another said.
The stronger and more cautious Ye Fan was, the greater the threat he posed. If they waited to act during later trials, it would be difficult to resolve things without paying a heavy price.
“He cannot be allowed to live. We must eliminate him!” The second-ranked figure’s blue eyes were chilling — like a demon-god risen from the underworld, his words cold and sharp as a viper’s tongue.
Then he smiled with cruel ruthlessness. “Do the opposite instead.”
In the starlight, wisps of clear energy gathered together and descended into Ye Fan’s courtyard, filtering into the top of his head. This energy could disperse or reform at will — it was not strictly necessary for it to return to his true body. But if there was no pressing reason to dissolve it, he preferred not to; it was part of his divine spirit, and its presence would strengthen him.
Ye Fan rose to his feet. “Since it has come to this, I may as well kill people openly and directly, right in front of all of you.”
With that, he smiled — and then sat back down in meditation, falling into a deep, restful sleep, paying absolutely no mind to anything outside.
That night, the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders kept a futile vigil for half the night. They had invited seeded-level powerhouses and two soldiers as witnesses, and accomplished nothing.
Come morning, the streets were busy and bright again — sunlight brilliant, people flowing in every direction. But for some cultivators, the shadow over their hearts was heavier than ever. Three more people had died in the night.
The bloody terror continued, and no one knew when it would end. Clearly, beyond the Killing Saint, certain powerful figures had also made their moves under the cover of the chaos. Everyone was living in fear.
How many more days before they could leave and head to the next ancient stronghold of the human race? That was on everyone’s mind — they all desperately wanted to be gone.
The Crossing Guide was not intervening. As the situation grew worse, some even suspected him of involvement. An ominous feeling crept into people’s hearts.
Tension permeated the air. At this critical moment, Ye Fan seemed to become entirely carefree — strolling leisurely around the city. As he passed the city gates, he felt a gaze settle on him — cold and cutting.
He turned instinctively. It was the soldier he had clashed with upon first entering the city — a powerful squad leader. The man was dressed in black iron armor, bronze spear in hand, standing by the gate, watching Ye Fan with cold detachment, a cruel smile barely suppressed at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s him…”
Ye Fan was certain: this was one of the two soldiers who had been guests at the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders’ residence the night before, sitting there drinking and waiting through half the night.
“They really went to some lengths, digging out a squad leader with existing hostility toward me.”
After midday, Ye Fan had wandered the full length of the city and entered a tavern, sat down to drink alone. He was waiting for the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders — and when the moment was right, he intended to kill them openly, in front of everyone.
The small tavern faced the street. Several tables and chairs had been set outside as well, doing business in the open air. The clientele was sparse.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, the sound of thundering hooves rolled in from down the street. A group of armored riders charged through, causing the ancient avenue to shudder, sending many people scrambling out of the way.
The Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders had arrived. They were heading into a wine hall — this had been their habit in recent days, appearing at this same time.
“You won’t live long!” one of the riders across the way said in a low voice that most people wouldn’t catch.
Ye Fan had been watching them the whole time. With his hearing, he caught every word clearly.
Many among them wore cold smiles, their killing intent undisguised. The twelfth and thirteenth riders were particularly provocative — they drew a finger across their throats in his direction.
This was, to put it plainly, a humiliation. On the Ancient Trial Path, such a gesture was a grave insult and an open challenge.
This area held several large wine halls, naturally drawing many cultivators. These days, everyone was afraid — they all hoped to make connections and find allies in such settings.
Many witnessed this exchange, sensing that a major conflict was about to erupt. The enmity between these two parties ran deep, and it would break open sooner or later.
“Some of you won’t survive today,” Ye Fan said quietly, setting down his cup.
“What did you say? Provoking us — looking to die?” the thirteenth rider bellowed.
“You’re actively stirring trouble with us. Apologize, or we’ll kill you where you stand!” The twelfth rider was nakedly aggressive — no pretense left now.
“Speak clearly, or don’t blame us for being merciless,” the ninth-ranked figure among the riders said, turning around with cold menace.
They selectively ignored the provocation they had made moments earlier — and instead latched onto Ye Fan’s single sentence, hoping to escalate things. They needed a suitable justification to strike him down, and they had been waiting for him to make the first move — then they could act alongside the soldiers and cut him down with full justification.
The tenth and eleventh riders moved directly to close in, their killing intent fully visible — unafraid of what might happen, frustrated for long having lacked an excuse.
“You’re asking for death!”
“Let’s see how you survive this — you started it!”
The most aggressive of the pair — the twelfth and thirteenth riders — smiled with merciless cruelty and pressed forward as well. Even the second-ranked figure felt a stir of anticipation: perhaps Ye Fan could no longer hold himself back, and this was a perfect opportunity to have the soldiers join in and execute him together.
No matter how strong he was, could he be stronger than the city soldiers acting within the full authority of their post? Obviously not.
Watching these figures close in, Ye Fan remained perfectly calm, sitting there and pouring his own drink. Yet the air tensed to an absolute extreme. Every window in every nearby restaurant flew open. The street fell deathly silent. All eyes were watching.
“Even if you apologize now it won’t matter. Even if you kneel and beg, we’ll still kill you without mercy!” the twelfth rider crowed, trying to force Ye Fan into acting first.
This was going too far — an outright humiliation, in front of everyone. Most people could not have borne it. It was direct and savage.
Ye Fan did not move. He drank his wine in peace. But from inside the small tavern, a figure stepped out — tall and powerfully built, dressed in purple robes, hair black as a waterfall, bearing the look of a gallant warrior. Looked at more closely, though, his features were strangely indistinct. He dragged an iron sword behind him, striking sparks from the stone ground with every step.
He walked out into the street and moved directly toward the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders, looking each one of them over.
“Who are you? Get out of the way. Today we only want to kill the one surnamed Ye,” the thirteenth rider declared with outrageous arrogance — all pretense abandoned now.
Splat!
Blood light burst forth. No one had seen it coming. The moment the thirteenth rider finished speaking, the purple-robed figure erupted into action.
He swung the iron sword — faster than lightning — and split the thirteenth rider straight down the middle. Blood sprayed everywhere, spattering in all directions. Even the mount was cleaved into two pieces.
In that instant, everyone’s scalp went numb. This was all too sudden. Who would dare to kill someone openly in the city streets?
This violated the city’s laws — and would be repaid with one’s life.
This person acted with absolute, reckless disregard. His decisiveness was stunning — and that single sword stroke was of a world-toppling sharpness that even a saint would struggle to evade.
“Murder!” someone cried out. The street erupted into complete chaos.
Every cultivator’s blood surged with excitement. They had known today would bring something momentous — someone had dared to kill one of the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders in open daylight. This had to be someone of extraordinary background. It would be a massive upheaval.
“Aah…”
The Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders exploded into chaos. Some shouted, others roared — the shock was total. This had happened too fast, and this person’s arrogance was unthinkable. He had struck openly, in front of everyone, and nobody had seen it coming.
“Thirteenth!”
Some riders cried out in anguish. Rage reached its peak. Lights of every color erupted as several riders struck forward together.
The purple-robed figure was, of course, Ye Fan — using the One Breath Transforms into Three Pure Ones technique to manifest a Dao-body, which he then sent into the street to kill his enemies. He meant to do it this way: openly, in front of everyone, cutting down these enemies and shattering both their pride and their dignity — a thorough, decisive strike.
Shk!
Ye Fan was fully prepared. The instant his first stroke landed, the second was already descending — faster than any of them could react. As the Heaven’s Desolation Thirteen Riders raged and swarmed in, the dripping iron sword was already within less than half a foot of the twelfth rider’s skull.
A seamless, continuous flow — everything transpiring in the span of a lightning flash and a striking flint. After cutting down the thirteenth, Ye Fan paused not at all.
“Ahh…”
The twelfth rider cried out. His face went white. Boundless radiance erupted from his body, and countless weapons manifested to obstruct the blow — but it was still too late.
Splat!
The iron sword swept horizontally across his skull, slicing away more than half of his face. Blood sprayed six or seven feet into the air!
With one sweep of the iron sword, Ye Fan sent the twelfth rider’s upper skull flying. The crown of his head was cleaved in two, and he died on the spot — blood pooling crimson across the ground.