Inside the prison carriage, the soft clinking of metal bowls and spoons echoes dully.

Merin’s father, mother, brother, and sister sit close together, quietly sharing the bland food handed to them by their captors.

No one speaks.

They chew in silence, ears straining for any sound beyond the tarp-covered carriage.

Outside, torches flicker in the night, casting long shadows across the campsite.

Sky Sword Sect disciples patrol in loose formation.

A few deacons chat idly around a fire, while an elder sits alone, eyes closed, calmly refining his spiritual energy.

Sota squats near the camp’s edge, steam rising from a bowl of stew in his hands.

He shifts occasionally, his sharp gaze sweeping the tree line under the open stars.

The night is cold and still.

Only the wind, crackling flames, and a distant birdcall disturb the quiet.

Then—

Thwip.

The unmistakable snap of a bowstring.

Thud.

A figure collapses at the edge of the patrol ring, an arrow embedded in his throat.

Sota drops his bowl and draws his sword. “Attack!” he shouts.

Chaos erupts.

Disciples scramble into defensive formations.

Some raise energy shields, others rush toward the prison carriage.

A second arrow whistles through the dark and slams into a deacon’s shoulder.

The man screams and tumbles behind a rock.

From the trees, shadows descend—masked and robed, swift as wolves falling on wounded prey.

“Enemy cultivators!” someone yells.

The elder opens his eyes, exhales a long breath, and rises.

“Kill them all,” he says.

The night ignites.

Steel meets claw.

Fire crashes into ice.

A Sky Sword disciple is launched backwards, his ribs shattered by a conjured boulder.

In retaliation, a blazing sabre slices an enemy clean in two.

Inside the carriage, Merin’s family hears everything.

They freeze.

“Stay down,” his mother hisses, pressing his head to her chest.

Outside, Sota leaps into battle.

His blade flashes silver with wind energy.

He parries a flame-tipped spear and counters with an upward slash, severing the attacker’s arm.

Something in the way his opponent moves feels familiar.

He pushes harder, pressing the attack.

The masked enemy spins, spear shimmering, and unleashes a signature move—Eight-Piercing Strike.

Sota’s eyes narrow.

That technique…

Sota recognises him.

Gato Yumora—the City Lord of Ryoukozen.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Yumora?” he roars.

His opponent halts.

The mask shifts slightly, revealing a flash of sharp eyes.

Yumora says calmly, “I’m well aware of what I’m doing, Sota. Because of our friendship this past year, I’ll give you a chance—leave them and walk away.”

Sota doesn’t stop. Wind and fire crash between them as he attacks again.

“Yumora, why do you need them? Is this the Fourth Prince’s order?”

Yumora doesn’t answer immediately. As their weapons clash, his thoughts race—So Sota still doesn’t know about Kanoru.

He suspects Sota believes Merin’s family is just collateral, not the core of something bigger.

Yumora’s goal is to prevent the alliance between the First Prince and the Sky Sword Sect’s new elders, and Kanoru’s family is key to that.

He subtly leads Sota away from the prison carriage.

Sota, unaware of their true importance, starts to feel that if he can’t rescue them, no one should have them.

He’ll kill them.

Yumora didn’t expect Sota to go that far—but now he’s sure he will.

Not one to take unnecessary risks, Yumora intensifies his attacks, green fire spiralling around his spear as he lashes forward.

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Their fight grows fiercer, and as their blood boils with battle fury, something stirs.

Behind Sota, a massive virtual image of an eagle forms, wings spread wide, wind swirling violently around it.

Behind Yumora, an ape’s image rises, roaring into the sky as green flames erupt above.

They step forward in unison—

—and collide.

The impact devastates the surroundings.

Energy ripples explode outward, uprooting trees and throwing debris into the air.

Sky Sword disciples and intruders alike stumble back, forced to retreat from the clash of two Great Samurai of the Second Turn, both unleashing their blood power.

The wind howls like a dying beast as Sota dashes forward, his blade coated in a cyclone of silver light. Every step carves trenches in the earth, his power rising with each breath.

Opposite him, Yumora’s spear burns with green fire, the flame trailing behind like a comet’s tail. The air shimmers around him as his blood aura thickens—raw, primal, and suffocating.

Their weapons meet with a thunderous boom.

Sparks explode. Shockwaves tear through the forest, splintering trees like dry twigs. The ground beneath them cracks, and stone bursts upward from the sheer force of their clash.

Sota pivots, wind curling around him, sharpening into dozens of cutting edges. He slashes in an arc, each strike blurring into the next.

Yumora spins his spear, flames widening into a circular shield, each block sending tremors through his arms. He counters—Dragon Fang Sweep—his spear sweeping low and then thrusting upward in a spiralling jet of fire.

Sota leaps, somersaults in midair, and crashes down with Eagle Descent, his sword a lance of roaring wind.

Boom.

The collision hurls both men apart. They skid across the battlefield, dragging deep lines into the earth.

Breathing heavily, they rise again.

Yumora’s eyes burn emerald, his skin faintly glowing as the ape spirit behind him beats its chest.

Sota wipes blood from his mouth, his eagle avatar screeching as it spreads its wings, hurricane winds gathering.

“Your blood power’s grown,” Sota says, voice calm, yet sharp.

“So has yours,” Yumora answers. “But this ends now.”

They charge again.

Wind and fire, beast and blade, collide with apocalyptic force.

The entire hilltop quakes beneath their duel—an echo of gods clashing in mortal skin.

Inside the prison carriage, Merin’s family huddles together, fear etched on every face. This is the first time they’ve heard such overwhelming sounds of battle, and the uncertainty of what’s happening outside only deepens their dread.

They don’t know if someone has come to rescue them—or if they’ve simply been caught in a raid.

Merin’s father clenches his fists. If he could turn back time, he would have cultivated. Maybe then, he’d have had a chance to protect his family.

He sighs. His eldest son, Merin, must have already seen through the false peace of the world—he’s likely grown far stronger than before. He suspects the Sky Sword Sect is using them as leverage against Merin.

“Father… do you think brother has come to rescue us?” his younger son whispers.

“Maybe,” the father answers quietly.

His wife grips his arm. “But… what if they threaten Kanoru using us? What should we do?”

He hesitates, struggling with the thought. If they truly become hostages to break Merin’s will, then death might be the only way to keep him free. He doesn’t believe the Sky Sword Sect would release them safely, even if Merin surrenders.

The rational choice would be suicide. That way, Merin could not be used, and perhaps one day, he would avenge them.

Even if he’s not strong enough now, with his talent as a healer—and his ability to refine poisons—Merin could always find a way.

His youngest son clenches his jaw and says with grim resolve, “Father, Mother, we should kill ourselves. That way, they can’t use us against Brother.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” his father replies. “We’ll decide what to do after we see Kanoru.”

Suddenly, the carriage shakes violently.

Outside, the Sky Sword Sect disciples are being pushed back. The intruders press hard, overwhelming their formation.

From a distance, Sota sees it unfold and shouts, “Mino, Carzo—stop holding back! End this!”

Two disciples roar in reply. Bones crack, fur bursts from their skin, and in moments, they transform into towering blue werewolves. Their auras surge like tidal waves.

They tear into the intruders with terrifying speed, and within moments, the tide of battle begins to shift.

Konasi watches from a distance, standing with Misai and a group of Ryoukozen guards. Her expression is calm, but her eyes are sharp.

She didn’t come to support Sota—in fact, quite the opposite.

Konasi understands clearly: challenging someone at the Dharma Realm with petty schemes is pure madness, and threatening their family is a guaranteed path to the underworld. She has no intention of dying for someone else’s delusion.

Whatever possessed Riku and Kruren, she refuses to be part of it.

She’s only thirty, with at least a century left to live.

After returning from the meeting, she secretly penned a letter and, with Misai’s help, sent it to Misai’s father. They exchanged messages and devised a plan to ambush Sota and rescue Kanoru’s family.

Now, seeing two Sky Sword Sect disciples transform, Konasi frowns.

Beside her, Misai mutters, “Master… what are they? Human or half-Yao?”

“They’re human,” Konasi replies.

Misai blinks. “Then how can they take on a half-Yao form?”

“They’ve undergone the sect’s secret transformation method,” Konasi says quietly.

Less than two per cent of humans are born with beast blood, and even fewer with wind-attributed beast blood near their region. To overcome this, the sect began a project centuries ago to artificially create humans with beast traits. One experiment partially succeeded—infusing wind wolf blood into human cultivators.

But the two bloodlines never fully harmonised.

Unlike those born with beast blood, these disciples can’t access true fusion. They can only temporarily transform into half-Yao, pushing their strength to its limit.

Konasi watches as the transformed disciples overwhelm the enemy.

In any other situation, she would’ve been pleased.

But not today.

“Sect Master,” Misai says, tense. “What now?”

Konasi narrows her eyes. “Take your father’s men and reinforce our side. I’ll handle the carriage.”

Misai nods and charges forward with the guards.

As the battle thickens, the Sky Sword Sect disciples become fully engaged, leaving the prison carriage momentarily unguarded.

Konasi moves. Silent as a shadow.

It’s time to rescue Kanoru’s family.

Konasi moves—swift and silent—and in seconds emerges from the treeline, eyes locked on the carriage.

Sato notices her and feels a brief surge of relief, assuming the sect has sent reinforcements. Questions flicker through his mind—Why is Konasi here? Did the elders send her?—but the urgency of battle pushes all doubt aside.

“Konasi, come help me!” he shouts.

But she doesn’t even glance at him.

She walks straight to the prison carriage and, with a swift strike, shatters one side of it.

Sato’s eyes widen in shock as, in the very next moment, Kanoru’s family steps out and escapes with her.

The realization hits—Konasi has betrayed us.

His fury surges, and he redoubles his attacks against Yumora, trying to break away and give chase, but Yumora doesn’t let him go.

Meanwhile, Merin’s father carries his youngest daughter while his wife and son follow behind the strange woman who just saved them.

Breathing heavily, he asks, “Who are you? Why are you rescuing us?”

“Konasi,” she replies. “And we’re rescuing you because of your son.”

Merin’s mother clutches her son’s hand. “Then… can you tell me how Kanoru is?”

Konasi shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Merin’s father frowns. “Wait… weren’t you working with him to save us?”

“I’ve never met Kanoru.”

He looks even more confused. “Then why go this far?”

Konasi’s voice is calm. “So he doesn’t kill me.”

The family exchanges puzzled glances, but before they can ask more, Konasi stops.

At the base of the hill, under moonlight, lies the wreckage of a camp—splintered carriages, shattered wheels, no sign of horses.

It had been set up earlier by her people to store supplies.

Now it’s destroyed.

She lifts her gaze to the west, toward the dark silhouette of another hill—and there, emerging through the trees, is a massive wind wolf.

Its fur ripples with energy, and its eyes gleam cold and intelligent.

Why is it here? Konasi wonders. Did the sect learn of my betrayal?

The wind wolf charges.

Konasi darts forward, ready to meet the assault head-on.

Merin’s family watches in a mix of horror and awe as the battle unfolds.

Konasi and the wind wolf vanish and reappear in rapid bursts, their movements too fast for the eye to follow—each clash tearing the wind apart and shredding everything in the vicinity.

A spectral image of a three-tailed wind spirit fox manifests behind Konasi, its form flickering with ethereal power.

The wind wolf responds with a thunderous howl, and the air around them surges violently.

Wind currents twist and roar as the beast begins to wrest control of the surrounding air, directly challenging Konasi’s dominion.

A storm brews in their clash, born from two wills vying for the same element.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep