A stunned hush fell over the square.
The battle was over in mere heartbeats, but its aftermath hung thick in the air like smoke after a wildfire. The onlookers—all residents of Nuoding City—stood frozen, their expressions stricken with disbelief. Some dropped their weapons, others simply stared.
Xiao Zhantian, their city lord, their strongest warrior, their pillar of power and pride—was dead.
And the one who ended him wasn't a general, nor a rival from a powerful sect.
It was a boy. A boy barely older than six.
Qian Yu—stood calmly among the bodies. His gaze was quiet, unreadable, as though slaughter was no more disruptive than brushing dust off his robes. The blood on the ground reflected in his dark eyes, but no tremor of regret crossed his face.
He turned.
A few paces away, Xiao Wu stood motionless, her violet eyes trembling with concern. Qian Yu walked to her, brushing aside a stray lock of her hair as he spoke gently.
"Xiao Wu, wait for me at the academy. I won't be long."
Her lips parted, a question caught in her throat. "…Brother Qian Yu, you're going to—"
He didn't let her finish.
"To the City Lord's Mansion."
His voice, cold as frost on steel, cut through the murmurs around them. And with that, he turned and walked away, vanishing into the shifting haze of dusk and disbelief.
Qian Yu moved like a shadow through the streets, his pace steady, his intent unmistakable. The City Lord's Mansion rose ahead—an ornate sprawl of towers and courtyards, the largest structure in Nuoding by far. Grand gates loomed before him, guarded by a pair of sentries who, upon noticing his approach, stiffened.
"Hey! This is the City Lord's domain—what business does a brat have here—?"
They never finished their sentence.
Two blades of wind shimmered into existence, slicing clean and swift. Red lines bloomed across their necks, and they collapsed without a sound.
Qian Yu didn't break stride.
With a push of his palm, the massive doors creaked open.
He walked through them like a god of death returning to his throne.
"Intruder!" a soldier barked from within. "You've got no right—!"
The ground surged beneath him.
A tidal wave of earth erupted and engulfed him in a whirlwind of stone and mud. A muffled scream. Then—
BOOM.
He was gone, reduced to a cloud of blood mist.
More defenders rushed to confront him, their formation swift but disorganized. They underestimated him. Everyone did—until it was far too late.
Qian Yu took another step forward.
With a low hum, frost spread outward from his feet, crawling like a living thing. Ice webbed across the marble floors, climbing up legs, freezing weapons in place, biting through armor and skin alike.
In seconds, the hall was a sculpture garden of the dead.
Another step. A crack spided across the ice.
CRACK.
CRACK.
BOOM.
Bodies shattered like glass under a hammer. Shards scattered across the floor, glittering like cursed snow.
No one could stop him.
If gods stood in his path, he would slay gods. If Buddhas barred his way, he would burn the heavens.
Qian Yu had no pity in his heart. In a world ruled by strength, mercy was a weakness he couldn't afford. But those he loved? He would guard them with his life.
His enemies? He would send them to the abyss without hesitation.
Deeper inside the mansion, the last of the guards fell silent. Qian Yu stepped over their corpses and entered the private chamber of the ruling family.
Xiao Chenyu, son of the fallen lord, stood trembling by a pillar, his face pale as moonlight.
"You… it's you?" he gasped. "Where is my father?!"
Qian Yu's answer came like a guillotine.
"He's dead. You're next."
Soul power erupted from him like a tempest. Two blades of wind sliced through the air—one upward, one downward.
A breath later, Xiao Chenyu's body fell apart in four gory fragments, scattered like discarded meat on the cold tile.
Another life ended in silence.
Qian Yu walked further in, and found Xiao Huo still in bed. The man barely stirred before a surge of flame swallowed him whole. In moments, there was nothing left but ash.
The slaughter was complete.
Qian Yu stood in the heart of the once-mighty mansion, now a mausoleum of fire and ruin. Blood soaked the floors. The air was thick with the scent of death and smoke. His expression remained unreadable as his spiritual sense scanned the grounds.
There were no survivors.
And so, he summoned his martial soul—the Fire Spirit—and released it with quiet finality.
Flames erupted from him like a volcano. Within seconds, the mansion was ablaze, roaring skyward in an inferno that painted the heavens red.
He watched it burn, his eyes catching the flickering reflection of the flames, like memories dancing in water.
"Xuan Yi," he called softly. "Come out."
From the shadows, an elder emerged, dressed in flowing robes, his eyes sharp and reverent. He dropped to one knee before Qian Yu.
"Xuan Yi greets the Ancestor."
Qian Yu gave him a calm nod. "You know what to do."
"Of course," the elder replied solemnly. "Even if the entire city had to be silenced, the Spirit Hall would handle it."
"Good." Qian Yu turned and left without another word.
Xuan Yi watched him go, awe flickering in his gaze. "So the stories were true," he whispered. "He really did massacre an entire city once…"
Qian Yu returned to Nuoding Academy as if nothing had happened.
The city lord's death was quietly buried beneath layers of Spirit Hall's influence. To the outside world, no rumors spread, no panic rose. Only the highest authorities knew the truth—and they knew better than to speak it aloud.
Qian Yu resumed his daily life of cultivation and peace, often spending long, quiet afternoons with Xiao Wu, their laughter a soft contrast to the shadows behind his eyes.
A month passed.
A new city lord arrived—appointed by the Spirit Hall—and treated Qian Yu with reverent respect, never questioning the boy's authority or history. Whispers of what had happened drifted through the alleys and taverns like smoke, always half-believed.
After all, who could imagine a six-year-old leveling an entire city lord's mansion?
Yet in Nuoding City, no one dared provoke Qian Yu. Not the merchants. Not the guards. Not even the academy's teachers, who now bowed when they passed him.
He trained. He laughed. He repeated his days. The stillness of his routine was the calm before a storm.
Time flowed like water.
Qian Yu's strength grew steadily. He ventured again into the Star Dou Great Forest and hunted a 70,000-year soul beast to claim his third soul ring.
With it came a new ability: The Severing Blade of Samsara—a technique capable of cutting through any defense, any shield, even the cycle of reincarnation itself.
With that power, he ascended to the rank of Soul Elder.
Six years passed.
At twelve, Qian Yu's soul power had reached Level 39—just shy of the next great breakthrough. But he was in no rush. Cultivation, he believed, should be as natural as the changing seasons.
He and Xiao Wu graduated from Nuoding Academy quietly. Without ceremony, he began preparations to leave the city.
Nuoding was only his beginning.
He set his sights on Soto City—larger, fiercer, a place where his legend could rise anew.
Where Nuoding was a whisper, Soto would be thunder.
And Qian Yu would be ready.