Mainland Martial Arts

Chapter 317: The Fall of Xihai City

Most of the houses had collapsed, with wisps of smoke rising from the ruins. Some were still burning, the raging fire engulfing everything. Thick smoke billowed, obscuring the sky and shrouding the entire city in a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere. The air was filled with the pungent smell of blood and burning, a nauseating mixture.

However, the old man seemed oblivious to all this. He continued to walk with steady steps, his black robe rustling in the wind as he advanced deeper into the city. His gaze remained fixed firmly forward, as if, amidst this chaos, the goal he had set in mind was the only thing that mattered most.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, the old man finally arrived at the center of Xixuan City. This was a vast square, normally the bustling gathering place of the city, where people traded, held celebrations, and entertained, overflowing with laughter and joy. But now, it had become a living hell.

Tens of thousands of people squatted on the ground, their heads in their hands. The dense mass created a dark mass, a sea of ​​black, emanating endless fear and despair. Their bodies trembled, some sobbed softly, while others stared blankly ahead, as if stunned by the sudden disaster. Around these tens of thousands of people, a figure in a black robe stood in each spot. Each of these figures stood tall and straight, like a grim statue of the Grim Reaper, silently gazing down upon these pitiful people. In their hands, they clutched a variety of weapons: swords, scimitars, spears, and so on. Their weapons gleamed coldly in the faint sunlight, ready to brutally suppress any sign of unrest.

In the center of the square stood four men in black robes. Their robes were more exquisite and ornate than those of the others, embroidered with mysterious and intricate patterns, and exuded a faintly powerful aura. Before them, several men knelt. Several of them were the former subordinates of the West Sea City Lord, all of whom were formidable figures.

The strongest, Liu Meng, had already reached the realm of a Half-Step Grandmaster. His face was resolute, his brow furrowed. Though a hint of fear lingered in his eyes, they were filled with unyielding determination. Even when forced to kneel on the ground, his spine remained erect, like a spear thrust into the earth, refusing to yield. The weakest of the others possessed the strength of a Sixth-Rank Grandmaster. They bore wounds to varying degrees, their clothing stained with blood, but their eyes still shone with a stubborn fighting spirit.

Besides them, members of the other two major families also knelt there. These two families had once held considerable influence in Xixuan City, but now they had fallen to such a state. Their faces were filled with fear and anxiety, their eyes filled with the desire to survive. They occasionally stole glances at the black-robed men around them, and their bodies trembled slightly involuntarily.

The old man, leaning on his cane, stepped forward, step by step, to the four black-robed men. His movements were slow and heavy, each step seeming to tread upon the hearts of the crowd, causing the air around them to freeze. As he approached, he slowly turned, his gaze sweeping across the kneeling figures like lightning. His eyes were deep and cold, as if they could see through the soul, sending a chill down one's spine. After a moment's silence, he spoke in a deep, hoarse voice, "Those who follow me will prosper; those who defy me will perish." His voice was not loud, but it resounded like thunder in the silent square, echoing in everyone's ears and shaking their hearts.

Upon hearing this, the members of the two clans were stunned for a moment, then looked up, a flicker of hesitation in their eyes, quickly replaced by a desperate desire to survive. The patriarch of one clan, a slightly portly middle-aged man, spoke in a trembling voice, "We are willing to serve you, and we only ask that you spare our lives. We...we are forced into this situation, and we hope you will be magnanimous." He kowtowed repeatedly, his forehead thumping against the ground, leaving bloody marks. The other clan members followed suit, their eyes filled with flattery and ingratiation, their lips muttering pleas for mercy.

However, the West Sea City Lord's men remained unwavering. Liu Meng suddenly raised his head and stared directly into the old man's eyes, his glare burning with anger. He roared, "We will not side with you, a bunch of evildoers. Your actions are beyond the reach of justice! Even if it means death, we will not bow to you!" His voice was loud and resolute, standing out against the oppressive atmosphere, yet it also flowed like a stream of fresh air, stirring a wave of admiration in the hearts of the trembling people around him. The others echoed his words, their eyes filled with determination. They clenched their fists tightly, leaning forward slightly, ready to rise in resistance at any moment.

The old man frowned slightly, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. He simply glanced at them indifferently, as if looking at a group of ignorant ants. Then he said to the four black-robed men, "Their cultivation is in your hands." His tone was calm, yet it carried an undeniable coldness, as if sentencing these men to death.

Upon hearing the order, the four black-robed men exchanged smiles filled with cruelty and excitement. One of them stepped forward. He was tall, his face thick with flesh, and in his hand, he held a scimitar emitting a black glow. He looked at the city lord's men and said sarcastically, "Hmph, since you want to die, we will grant your wish. Your persistence is nothing but a foolish joke in our eyes. You think you can fight us with just a few of you? You're really overestimating yourself!" He then swung his scimitar, which traced a black trail through the air, making a whirring sound, as if to demonstrate the power of his weapon to everyone.

Like messengers of death, a group of black-robed men quickly and methodically surrounded the former West Sea City Lord's men. Their movements were perfectly coordinated, their wide robes rustling in the wind, a rustling sound like a prelude to darkness. Their faces were hidden beneath the shadows of their robes, revealing only pairs of eyes radiating a cold light, like the eyes of a wolf flickering in the night sky, revealing endless greed and cruelty.

The black-robed figure slowly extended his palm, a hand like a dry branch, yet imbued with terrifying true energy. He pointed his palm at the surrounded figures, muttering a low, obscure incantation like a summons from hell. Instantly, black true energy surged from their palm like black smoke, rapidly intertwining and swirling like a tangled web of black pythons.