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The Blood Sect is a first-class force in the Black‐Corner Region, led by Sect Master Fan Lao, ranked fifth on the continent's blacklist. Their citadel is pitch black, exuding a nauseating stench of blood, and rivals the Jiama Imperial Palace in size.
Every disciple dons a blood-red robe and bears a deathly pale complexion, as if their very blood has been siphoned away. Their bodies radiate a chilling, oppressive aura.
Tonight, their once-flourishing stronghold suffered an unprecedented carnage: eight hundred ice-blue flying swords, crackling with frigid chill, descended from the sky and pierced the halls. Everywhere a sword struck, a disciple collapsed in a pool of crimson.
Among those blades was one blood-red longsword—Qian Renhan's Shura Sword.
Deep within the citadel, a lavishly appointed chamber rang with a raucous male laugh and a woman's agonized screams.
"Ling'er, let's see who lasts longer—father or son!" Fan Lao bellowed. He was a hulking middle-aged man with blood-red eyes and a corpse-white face. Beneath him writhed a pale, beautiful woman, her body marked by fang-like bite wounds.
"Father, your cultivation may surpass mine, but in endurance, I won't lose!" his son, Fan Ling—handsome but deathly white—grinned madly as he tormented another woman, his methods more brutal even than his father's. Her screams echoed pitifully.
Neither realized the sect had become a river of blood. Who screams so loudly while committing such deeds? Qian Renhan's thousand-ice swords struck silently, shattering flesh but not stone.
Suddenly, the chamber door exploded inward. Fan Lao's eyes snapped open. He unleashed a rush of Dou Qi, violently crushing the woman beneath him, then draped himself in a blood-red robe.
"Who dares attack the Blood Sect? You seek death!" he roared.
"Your blood is potent," came a cold voice. "This blood ocean contains at least a hundred thousand life-forces."
Before Fan Lao could react, the Shura Sword burst through his chest, pinning him to the wall. He barely registered the pain before the vast reservoir of life-blood he had so cruelly amassed was snatched away in an instant. His massive frame wilted before mortal eyes.
At the sword's hilt, the crimson "eye" gleamed with delight. As Qian Renhan stood by, the fissures left by his earlier battle against the Gu Clan's Dou Zun miraculously healed. The restored Shura Sword flew back into his hand.
Fan Lao slid silently down the wall, lifeless.
"Father!" Fan Ling howled—but instead of seeking vengeance, he bolted for the door without even fastening his robe.
"Even the tiniest mosquito is meat. Let's finish this," Qian Renhan murmured. With a gesture, he unleashed a blast of dark Dou Qi that punched a blood-spray hole through Fan Ling's forehead. The young man collapsed without a sound.
With the Blood Sect obliterated, Qian Renhan strode toward the dungeons where they kept their blood slaves and sex slaves. He paid no heed to the two other naked women with perfect figures—they were beneath his notice.
Suddenly, a weak hand grabbed his ankle. The pale woman beneath Fan Ling crawled forward, tears in her eyes. "Please… save me. I'll do anything: fetch your tea, warm your bed… anything."
Qian Renhan frowned. "Let go. I'm not some self-righteous hero come to rescue damsels."
"Please!" she sobbed. Terror and desperation contorted her face. As a low-level captive forced into the Blood Sect's depraved brothels, her fate lay in one of two ends: being broken on the bed or—if she survived—the ritual slaughter when her body aged. The corpse by the wall was a chilling warning.
"You're too weak to be of use. Don't hinder me." With a tremor of Dou Qi, Qian Renhan extracted Fan Lao's and Fan Ling's rings and turned away.
Below him, the dungeon stank of blood and rot. Iron cages lined the walls: most contained huddled men, packed so tight they could barely move. Two held women in ragged scraps of cloth, trembling in the darkness.
Inside the iron cages, the men were little more than skin and bone. Their tattered rags barely covered them; their faces were deathly pale, emaciated from severe malnutrition. Their wrists bore fresh welts where their captors had bled them dry.
These were the Blood Sect's so-called "blood slaves," kept like livestock for regular blood extractions to fuel the disciples' cultivation. Their fate mirrored that of the Fallen in the Outer City of the Slaughter Capital in the Douluo World.
The women were the Sect's "tools"—sex slaves chosen for their beauty or figure. Those deemed undesirable were never brought back. Their end was the same as the woman Fan Ling had violated: some were beaten to death; a few were mutilated, limbs hacked off to become living curiosities for the disciples' pleasures.
Qian Renhan's hand blurred into a sword, severing several cage bars with invisible sword qi. "The Blood Sect is no more. Gather the bodies of its disciples in one place; you are all free. Their rings belong to whoever claims them."
With that, he walked toward the Blood Sect's treasure vault. There were too many disciple rings to inspect; he took only the sect master's and the young master's.
Blood Sect Treasury
Inside lay a hoard of pills, a handful of formulas, rare materials, and a few Dou Skills:
Blood-Devouring Technique (Earth-rank, Low): An attribute-neutral cultivation method that absorbs fresh blood—one's own or others'—to generate "blood Dou Qi."
Blood Demon Hand (Xuan-rank, Mid): Transforms blood Qi into a gigantic hand; the stronger the blood Qi, the more devastating the strike.
Blood Demon Seal, Blood Swallowing Heaven, Blood-Ghost Claw…
Qian Renhan tossed these macabre techniques aside as if they were trash. None served him. He wasn't some protagonist blessed by fortune—no cliff falls or missteps here would yield treasure.
Fortunately, the hundreds of disciples slain tonight were nourishment enough. Outside, under the torch-lit sky of the Blood Sect's plaza, their corpses lay heaped in crimson heaps.
Qian Renhan stepped onto the square, dark soul power surging through him. As the corpses fell into his grasp, he began to consume…
(End of chapter)