The five remaining tribe members raise their weapons in unison.

Their faces are no longer fearful.

They are resolute.

Behind them, the shaman suddenly releases his staff. It drops heavily to the ground as he throws his head back and roars toward the sky.

Black mist erupts from his body.

Not outward this time, but upward.

It surges like smoke drawn into a vortex, spiralling toward the heavens.

Merin watches calmly.

Behind him, the horses panic.

They rear and cry out, nostrils flaring, hooves striking the dirt as if sensing a predator descending upon them.

Merin’s own horse twists violently, trying to bolt.

Ziqi reacts instantly.

He drives his mount forward, grabs Merin’s reins just as the animal turns, and wrestles it under control.

At that same moment,

The five tribe members move.

But not toward Merin.

They turn their weapons inward.

Axes flash.

Blades sweep across their own throats.

Spears drive forward, piercing their own chests.

Blood sprays.

They collapse almost simultaneously.

Merin’s eyes narrow.

Sacrifice.

The black mist that spirals above intensifies.

The shaman lowers his head.

And in a blur, he vanishes.

A streak of darkness crosses the distance.

Merin barely shifts as the shaman appears before him, arm already transformed.

Fingers elongate.

Nails curve into talons.

A raven’s claw slashes toward his throat.

Merin raises his hand casually.

Their limbs collide.

The impact rings sharply.

The shaman’s strength is significant. Inner Qi Refining Realm, only one level below Merin’s current realm.

But it is not enough.

Merin deflects the strike with ease.

He steps forward.

His palm thrusts toward the shaman’s chest.

Blood qi erupts from his hand like a condensed flame, targeting the heart directly.

The black mist inside the shaman surges violently.

It collides with Merin’s blood qi mid-air.

The two forces explode on contact.

Shockwaves ripple outward, tearing dust from the ground.

Merin remains unmoved.

The shaman slides backwards several meters, boots carving trenches in the soil.

Raven feathers begin to sprout from his arms and shoulders.

His eyes burn with fury.

He lunges again.

Claws slash.

Merin parries and counters, his movements minimal and precise.

Yet each time he strikes, the black mist coils around the shaman’s body, intercepting the blow like a living shield.

Their exchanges grow faster.

Claw and fist.

Mist and blood qi.

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The shaman roars again.

His body convulses.

Feathers erupt across his torso.

His face elongates slightly.

His nose sharpens into a beak-like ridge.

His eyes turn pitch black, pupils vanishing.

A pair of massive wings burst from his back, shredding cloth.

He lifts from the ground.

Half raven.

Half human.

His aura surges.

It crosses the threshold.

Outer Qi Realm.

The battlefield trembles.

From the rear, Fu Zeye watches in awe and dread.

His hands tremble slightly on his reins.

If Merin wins,

The town will fall fully under his control.

Fu Zeye will lose leverage.

If the shaman wins,

Merin dies.

And the Raven Tribe may slaughter them all.

Fu Zeye swallows.

His life matters more than politics.

He edges closer to Ziqi and whispers urgently, “Let’s support Governor Duan.”

Ziqi glances at him coldly.

Before either moves,

From the sky, black energy feathers descend.

Each feather sharp as an arrow.

They rain toward Merin.

Merin shifts fluidly, dodging between the falling projectiles.

Feathers embed into the earth, hissing.

Golden light flares behind him.

A pair of blood qi wings manifests from his back, brilliant and radiant.

He launches upward.

The air cracks from the force.

In a blink, he closes the distance.

Golden blood qi wraps tightly around his fists.

He strikes.

One blow.

Then another.

Then ten in a heartbeat.

Each punch lands with thunderous force.

The black mist shield shatters under the barrage.

The shaman shrieks as bones snap beneath Merin’s fists.

Ribs collapse.

Wings fracture.

Claws twist unnaturally.

Merin does not pause.

His strikes are merciless.

A minute later,

The shaman plummets from the sky.

He crashes into the dirt like a broken bird.

His body lies twisted, bones shattered, wings crumpled.

Silence follows.

Fu Zeye exhales shakily.

“Or not,” he mutters.

His expression shifts, from fear to calculation.

Then to admiration.

He understands now.

In this town,

There will only be one voice.

He spurs his horse forward.

Dismounts swiftly.

Approaches the shattered shaman.

“Governor,” he says loudly, “if you return with the shaman’s head, the entire town will stand in awe.”

Merin’s eyes flicker toward him.

Fu Zeye draws his blade.

With one decisive motion, he severs the shaman’s head.

Blood sprays.

Fu Zeye lifts the head high.

“Cheer for the Governor!” he shouts.

The militia erupts.

Merin’s guards follow.

Han Futong watches quietly.

His eyes narrow thoughtfully.

Then slowly,

He smiles.

The cheers grow louder.

And then,

Something changes.

The markings carved into the shaman’s corpse glow crimson.

Blood from the fallen tribe members begins to flow unnaturally across the ground.

It gathers.

Streams.

Enters the headless body.

Merin watches without moving.

The corpse twitches.

Muscles convulse.

From the severed neck,

Flesh sprouts.

Bone extends.

Feathers burst outward.

A new head grows,

Not human.

A raven’s head.

Black beak gleaming.

Eyes burning with unnatural crimson light.

The resurrected creature snaps its claw forward.

Fu Zeye hears a shout behind him.

“Commander! Behind you!”

He turns.

Too slow.

The claw descends.

And cleaves through his right leg.

Bone and flesh split apart in a spray of blood.

Fu Zeye screams.

The sound is raw and piercing as he collapses onto the dirt, his severed leg twitching several feet away. Blood pours from the stump in heavy pulses.

The resurrected shaman rises fully upright.

Its new raven head tilts slightly, black eyes burning with unnatural crimson light. Feathers bristle along its body as it steps forward toward the fallen militia commander.

Fu Zeye is a peak Blood Seal Realm warrior.

Even through the agony, instinct takes over.

He seals several major acupoints along his thigh with trembling fingers, suppressing the blood flow just enough to avoid instant death. His face is pale, veins bulging from the strain.

He drags himself backwards with both arms, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him.

“Help!” he roars hoarsely. “Help me!”

The shaman lifts one clawed foot—

But does not take the step.

A sharp whistling fills the air.

Blood qi arrows streak across the battlefield, each one condensed from Merin’s aura. They fly like crimson lightning toward the shaman’s back.

The shaman reacts instantly.

Its wings snap open wide, forming a shield of layered black feathers.

The arrows strike.

Explosions of red and black energy burst outward.

Dust and feathers scatter.

The shaman lowers its wings slowly and turns its raven head toward Merin.

Their gazes meet.

Merin hovers several meters above the ground, golden blood qi wings spread wide behind him.

He raises one hand.

With a subtle curling motion of his fingers, he signals upward.

Come.

The raven’s face shows no visible reaction.

In the next instant, the shaman launches skyward.

The ground cracks beneath its leap.

It shoots toward Merin like a black comet.

Their collision resounds across the field.

Claw meets fist.

Golden blood qi clashes against swirling black mist.

Shockwaves ripple through the air.

The shaman slashes downward with both claws, movements wild yet terrifyingly fast. Merin blocks with open palms, deflecting each strike with controlled precision.

Talons rake across golden qi barriers, sending sparks into the sky.

Merin counters.

His fist arcs forward and strikes the shaman’s ribs.

Feathers burst.

The creature shrieks, but does not falter.

It spins mid-air, wings beating powerfully, and drives both claws toward Merin’s chest.

Merin twists, letting one claw graze past his shoulder while he traps the other wrist and drives a knee upward into the shaman’s abdomen.

The impact sends the creature tumbling backwards.

Black mist trails behind it like smoke from a burning corpse.

The shaman recovers mid-air and dives again.

Their battle becomes a blur.

Claw against hand.

Feather against blood qi.

Each strike sends ripples across the sky.

Below, the militia watches in stunned silence.

Han Futong grips the reins of his horse tightly, eyes reflecting the golden flashes above.

Ziqi remains motionless, though his gaze follows every movement.

Merin begins to gain an advantage.

His strikes grow heavier.

More precise.

He avoids unnecessary exchanges, conserving energy, targeting weak points between the feather armour and mist shield.

A punch cracks into the shaman’s jaw.

Another slams into its sternum.

Golden qi bursts through the black mist momentarily.

The shaman reels backwards.

Merin follows relentlessly.

He closes the distance with a single flap of his wings and unleashes a rapid succession of blows—fists, elbows, knees—each one landing with bone-crushing force.

The black mist flickers.

The shaman is pushed back through the sky, losing altitude gradually under the barrage.

Its wings flap erratically.

Feathers scatter like torn leaves.

Merin drives one final heavy strike into its chest.

The impact echoes like thunder.

The shaman is blasted backwards several meters, barely stabilising itself mid-air.

Merin hovers steadily, golden wings radiant against the sky.

He prepares to advance again—

Then stops.

His eyes narrow.

Far to the north, dark shapes appear against the horizon.

At first, they seem like distant clouds.

But they move.

And they grow.

A vast cloud of ravens sweeps across the sky, thousands of black wings blotting out patches of sunlight as they surge toward the battlefield.

Merin watches in silence.

The wind changes.

And the sky darkens further.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep