106: Chapter 106 Following a Useless Master

The Sword Intent condensed into a tangible form, as if a baleful sword that had slumbered for eons had suddenly awakened from endless ages.

Wherever it passed, space twisted and rippled like water, emitting a harsh "creak, creak" sound—a sound that did not resemble the groaning of heaven and earth, but rather as if this world were enduring some unspeakable torture, with even the Void Realm begging for mercy, as if it would be torn asunder and completely severed the very next second!

This time, the sword point was aimed not at ethereal Spells, but directly at the Zhenlei Princes Mansion Heir—Heir, whose face was as pale as paper!

The bone-chilling killing intent, like an invisible shackle, instantly nailed him firmly to the spot.

He felt as if he had been thrown into an abyss of eternal black ice—his limbs were frozen stiff, his blood nearly congealed, and that coldness, deep in his marrow, was gnawing at his Soul inch by inch, causing his Divine Soul to tremble violently!

He wanted to scream, wanted to raise his hand to manifest the life-saving spiritual pendant he had nurtured in his bosom for many years.

Yet under the crushing pressure of that absolute power, his body felt as if it were filled with ten thousand jun of molten lead; never mind moving, even twitching an eyelash had become a delusional fantasy.

He could only watch helplessly as that life-reaping grayish-white sword radiance, carrying the shadow of death, rapidly enlarged within his rapidly contracting pupils.

Every inch of its approach carried a terrifying pressure that crushed the breath from his lungs!

"Heir! Quickly, dodge!"

"Protect the Heir!"

The followers of the Zhenlei Princes Mansion finally awoke from their shock, each with eyes splitting from rage, drawing their long sabers from their waists with a clang, ready to charge forward and risk their lives.

Yet the terrifying Sword Intent that permeated the area acted like a wall of cast bronze and iron, trapping them firmly three steps away.

No matter how they roared or charged—veins bulging on their foreheads like earthworms, feet grinding deep indentations into the bluestone slabs, long sabers hacking futilely at the air—they could only struggle like trapped beasts in place, watching with eyes splitting from rage as that sword radiance drew closer and closer to their Heir's throat!

In Heir's eyes, boundless fear and regret were finally completely devoured.

He bit down hard on his lower lip, the fishy, metallic taste of blood spreading in his mouth—it was only because he disliked the other party's carriage blocking the road when he went out, and habitually wanted to throw his weight around as the Heir, waving his hand to smash the carriage and drive the people away... how could he have imagined that it would invite this catastrophic disaster?

This was hardly kicking an iron plate.

It was clearly running into a god of slaughter who had walked out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood!

At the critical moment—

"Clang——!!!"

A deafening sound like a great bell exploded violently across the long street!

The sound wave, like tangible thunder rolling across the sky, shook the entire street until it trembled, causing the accumulated dust in the cracks of the bluestone slabs to rise, while several roof tiles on the distant eaves slid off with a "clatter" and shattered into pieces.

Everyone looked on in horror, only to see an earthy-yellow wall of light, heavy as a mountain, materialize out of thin air before Heir.

The wall was densely covered with profound and ancient runes, circulating with an indestructible defensive Dao charm, each line radiating a primitive and majestic power—the expert Guard hidden in the shadows of the Princes Mansion had finally risked his life to intervene!

"Boom——!!!"

The grayish-white sword blade, carrying the resolute intent to sever all things, slashed fiercely onto the wall of light.

The deafening explosion tore through the sky, and the violent energy shockwave surged and swept outwards like a raging sea!

The stalls on both sides of the street were instantly torn apart and sent flying—the sounds of breaking wooden frames, shattering porcelain, and rolling fruits and vegetables mixed into a harsh roar.

Cultivators who were close by were swept by the aftermath, their faces immediately flushing red as blood, and they spat out a mouthful of scalding blood mist, stumbling backward a dozen steps before slamming into the wall behind them, barely stopping, clutching their chests and coughing violently, their eyes filled with uncontrollable horror.

Looking at the earthy-yellow wall of light again, it trembled violently under the slash of the sword blade, the runes on its surface flickering madly, uncertain, as if it would extinguish at any moment.

The smooth wall surface indented deeply inward, and spiderweb-like cracks spread madly at a speed visible to the naked eye, dense and shocking—as if it would completely shatter the very next instant!

"Pfft——!"

A suppressed grunt came from the roof beside the street, and several black tiles slid off in response, "clattering" as they shattered into pieces.

Clearly, the Guard who had acted from the shadows had already suffered heavy injuries.

After a few breaths, the grayish-white sword radiance gradually dimmed, finally exhausting its killing Qi, and dissipated into the air like scattered fireflies.

And that earthy-yellow wall of light, which was on the verge of its limit, also emitted an unbearable "crack" sound—cracks covered its entire body, and it suddenly shattered into scattered points of light filling the sky, passing away with the wind.

Once the wall of light was shattered, the residual impact still sent Heir flying fiercely like a torn sack.

He traced an extremely wretched arc in the air, landed heavily on the ground with a "thud," and rolled five or six times before finally coming to a stop.

His hair crown fell off, his long hair was disheveled like tangled grass, and that luxurious brocade robe was already worn to rags, covered in dust and stains—where was there any remaining dignity of the Heir?

Heir lay limp on the ground, his chest heaving violently, gasping for air like a fish out of water, the color completely drained from his face, pale as a sheet of rice paper.

His lips trembled, but he could not utter a single complete syllable.

In his eyes, only the extreme fear of having survived a disaster remained—and the dark patch of water rapidly spreading at his crotch, along with the pungent stench of urine, mercilessly exposed his current wretchedness and humiliation before everyone's eyes.

Dead silence.

On the long street, the drop of a needle could be heard.

Only the heavy, suppressed gasping and the faint sounds of scattered broken porcelain in the distance echoed in the air.

Everyone was shocked to the core of their Divine Soul by this lightning-fast clash and its outcome.

Pairs of eyes stared fixedly at that carriage, which had remained motionless from beginning to end, filled with unbelievable horror and deep fear.

The mysterious person inside the carriage, with a casual strike—

Not only broke the Heir's lightning Spell, but also forced the Princes Mansion's hidden expert Guard to risk his life to protect him.

The result was that the Guard suffered heavy injuries from the backlash, and the protective wall of light was completely shattered.

If the Guard had been a fraction of a second slower, the Heir would already have been decapitated by now!

What kind of terrifying existence was this?!

Inside the carriage, Xuanyuan Zhanxian raised his eyebrows slightly, almost imperceptibly, a faint trace of surprise flashing across the depths of his pitch-black eyes—it seemed he had not expected that in this Zhenlei Princes Mansion, there was actually someone who could take one of his sword strikes.

But this trace of surprise was immediately extinguished, replaced by a deeper coldness and indifference.

He made no further movements, only extending a slender finger to lift a corner of the carriage curtain, his indifferent gaze dropping to sweep over Heir, who lay limp like mud on the ground, revealing his ugly state.

"The Guards of the Zhenlei Princes Mansion are not entirely useless, after all."

"It is a pity, they are blind, following a useless master."

His voice was not loud, but like a thin blade quenched in ice, it clearly sliced through the stagnant air, drilling into everyone's ears without missing a word.

This undisguised contempt, like an invisible slap, struck fiercely against the faces of Heir and all the Princes Mansion followers—a stinging pain burned from their cheeks all the way to their hearts.

Upon hearing this, a fishy, metallic taste surged into Heir's throat, shame and fear intertwined, and he trembled violently with rage, his fingernails digging deep into his palms, piercing them until they bled.

Yet, as soon as he touched that gaze from behind the carriage curtain, which was indifferent as if looking at a dead object—

All the curses and harsh words on his lips instantly froze, leaving only bone-chilling coldness, causing even the courage to look up and meet his gaze to completely collapse.

Xuanyuan Zhanxian had already withdrawn his gaze, as if he had just casually brushed away an annoying fly.

He said calmly to Old Fu, who had been standing by his side, bowing in service:

"Old Fu, let's go."

"Yes, little master," Old Fu replied respectfully, his posture becoming even more humble and serene.

The lightning clash on the street just now and the humiliation of the Heir were, to him, no more than a cool breeze brushing against the hem of his robe, never having stirred even the slightest ripple in his heart.

He turned his wrist slightly and flicked the reins; the steed pulling the carriage understood immediately, its pace remaining calm and steady, the sound of hooves striking the bluestone echoing evenly as it moved unhurriedly toward the depths of the long street.

Meanwhile.

In the shadows of the roof, Heir's Late Soul Transformation Stage Guardian was just about to circulate his spiritual power, his majestic momentum surging like a tide—

A cold sword blade had already silently and precisely pressed against his Dantian vital point.

The sword did not advance further, but that pure, extreme aura of death, like maggots on a bone, instantly permeated his limbs and skeleton, freezing his Primordial Spirit until it trembled violently.

"If you want to die, you may feel free to act."

A voice, icy and devoid of any emotion, rang out right beside his ear.

Every word was clear, yet more bone-chilling than the black ice chiseled from the Nine Nether Cold Abyss—each syllable was like an ice needle quenched in deadly poison, sliding down his ear canal and driving straight into the depths of his Soul.

The Guardian's body suddenly stiffened, and the vigorous spiritual power he had just gathered at his fingertips, like a bubble gently pricked by a needle, dissipated without a trace with a "pop."

Cold sweat seeped out frantically from his temples and sideburns, gathering into turbid streams that wound down his deep wrinkles and hit his lapel heavily, soaking a large area in an instant.

He had lived for nearly five hundred years—

Struggling all the way from a Foundation Establishment ant to the Late Soul Transformation Stage, having experienced countless killing tribulations and stepped over mountains of corpses and seas of blood—

Yet never had there been a moment, like now, so clearly, so closely... smelling the scent of death itself.

He did not even know when the person behind him had crossed the roof, how they had avoided the spiritual sense he had spread out with all his might, or how... like a ghost, they had stood behind him without a sound.

His spiritual sense, in the other party's eyes, was no different from nothingness.