Villain System in a Cultivation World-Chapter 17: Kneel or Rise

Merchants paused mid-haggle, their eyes darting nervously toward the escalating commotion, while frightened children clung tightly to their mothers' gowns, peering cautiously through the dense, chaotic throng of onlookers.

The tension in the air was palpable, a turbulent storm brewing just beneath the surface of this bustling trade hub, precariously nestled at the rugged edge of the Eastern Wilderness's untamed expanse.

Song Tong stood boldly at the forefront of his Yuanshi Gate Sect disciples, his broad shoulders squared confidently and his lips twisted into a sneer that dripped with unrestrained contempt.

His gray robes rippled faintly in the breeze, intricately embroidered with shimmering golden threads that glinted menacingly, like the honed edge of a deadly blade, a faint crimson glow flickering beneath as if fire pulsed within.

"I've waited years for this moment," he spat venomously, his voice a sharp, poisonous lash cutting through the incessant din. "Today, I'll carve your vaunted Xuantian pride straight from your bones and grind it into fine, worthless dust!"

With a swift, sharp flick of his wrist, he signaled his loyal followers—a dozen disciplined disciples clad in matching gray robes, their eager faces alight with cruel, sadistic anticipation. They erupted into a raucous chorus of jeers, a deafening cacophony of mockery that rolled across the square. Then, as one unified force, they surged forward aggressively, a relentless tide of black and silver crashing violently toward their unsuspecting prey.

The air itself shuddered as powerful waves of spiritual essence unfurled, thick and overwhelmingly potent, swirling with lethal, murderous intent. It was a ferocious storm conjured from the profound depths of their cultivation, aimed directly at Xu Hao and the small handful of Xuantian Sect disciples standing resolutely at his side.

The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet, the ancient cobblestones groaning audibly under the immense weight of unleashed, destructive power.

None of them were ordinary, common cultivators. Both factions hailed from the Eastern Wilderness's twin pillars of legendary might—the revered Yuanshi Gate Sect and the storied Xuantian Sect—sacred holy lands venerated for countless millennia, their rich histories deeply etched in rivers of blood and hard-won glory.

Song Tong's audacity was strikingly brazen, a bold public declaration of supremacy deliberately staged in the beating heart of neutral territory, under the watchful, apprehensive eyes of Backridge City's diverse denizens.

The startled onlookers gasped in unison, stumbling backward in a frantic, desperate scramble to avoid the deadly crossfire. A vendor's rickety cart toppled noisily in the chaos, spilling glittering jade trinkets across the worn stones, yet no one dared pause even momentarily to retrieve the scattered treasures.

The clash erupted instantaneously, a reckless, explosive collision of sacred, awe-inspiring might. Fists slammed against shimmering shields of radiant energy, blades of incandescent light sliced through the charged air, and the square transformed into a raging tempest of frenetic motion and deafening sound.

On paper, the two opposing sides appeared evenly matched—elite disciples meticulously honed to near-identical peaks of cultivation, their robust spiritual foundations forged in the same unforgiving crucibles of divine arts.

For a fleeting, breathless moment, the fierce battle teetered precariously on the edge of a shadowy, uncertain stalemate, neither faction yielding even an inch of ground.

But the Xuantian Sect had been cruelly caught unaware. Xu Hao's mind raced furiously as he parried a crackling, volatile bolt of essence, his dark, sweat-soaked hair plastered tightly to his glistening brow.

'They meticulously planned this,' he thought bitterly, frustration gnawing at him. 'A coward's dishonorable strike, cleverly masked as boldness.' The Yuanshi Gate disciples pressed their advantage ruthlessly, their movements perfectly synchronized, their assault unrelenting.

Xu Hao's beleaguered companions faltered under the ferocious onslaught—Mei Lin's stance wavered dangerously as a whip of searing golden light grazed her shoulder, and young Chen Yu grunted in pain as a fist wreathed in crackling thunder sent him skidding backward across the stones. It was a meticulously calculated ambush, and for one perilous heartbeat, it seemed the Xuantian Sect might utterly crumble.

Song Tong's wild laughter rang out triumphantly, unrestrained and exultant, as he towered menacingly over the chaotic fray—yet in the depths of his fervor, a shadow of something greater loomed, a presence even he could not rival. His iron fists glowed ominously with raw, thunderous force, each devastating blow a detonation that shook the very air.

He zeroed in on Xu Hao, the Xuantian vanguard, and unleashed a furious barrage of strikes that fell like a relentless monsoon—merciless and overwhelming.

"Haha! Is this truly the best the Xuantian Sect can muster?" he roared gleefully, his voice thick with unrestrained joy. "Your so-called reputation's nothing but a frail, hollow shell! The Eastern Wilderness bows to us now—the Yuanshi Gate Sect claims its rightful, uncontested throne!"

Xu Hao's jaw tightened resolutely, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as a fierce fury ignited deep within him. He hadn't anticipated this—not here, not now, in a city where the fragile, unspoken truce between their sects should have held firm.

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The Yuanshi Gate's arrogance had festered far too long, swelling unchecked into this reckless, audacious gambit. To strike so openly, to trample the Xuantian Sect's sacred honor in full view of the gaping masses—it was a blatant provocation that demanded swift, decisive retribution.

'They think us weak,' he seethed inwardly, rage boiling in his chest. 'They'll learn the steep cost of that grievous mistake.'

"Insolent dog!" Xu Hao bellowed furiously, his voice slicing through the chaos like a sharpened blade. He drew a deep, steadying breath, channeling the full, unbridled might of his divine arts.

The air around him warped visibly as a radiant, awe-inspiring aura erupted forth, a cascading torrent of silver-blue light that shimmered with the immense weight of towering mountains. He thrust his palms forward decisively, unleashing a roaring counterstrike—a surging torrent of energy that met Song Tong's thunderous fists head-on with ferocious intensity.

The impact reverberated through the square, a powerful shockwave rippling outward that sent clouds of dust and debris spiraling chaotically into the air. Song Tong grinned wickedly, utterly unfazed, and summoned his own intricate array of divine arts—a blazing lattice of crimson flames that clashed spectacularly with Xu Hao's assault in a blinding explosion of vivid color and deafening sound.

The two opposing forces grappled fiercely, locked in a raw contest of unyielding wills, neither side willing to yield even a fraction.

But then, something shifted subtly. The Xuantian disciples began to find their rhythm, their movements growing sharper, more precise, and increasingly confident.

Lessons from their recent, grueling sojourn at the Auric Celestial Skyspire—countless hours spent dissecting their techniques under Zhou Pingyue's relentless, exacting scrutiny—now bore precious fruit. Flaws once hidden in shadow had been laid bare and painstakingly forged anew.

Mei Lin's footwork steadied noticeably, her blade surging with newfound, lethal accuracy, while Chen Yu's defensive stance solidified remarkably, deflecting blows that would have felled him mere moments before. The tide was turning, subtle yet undeniable, tilting slowly in their favor.

Song Tong's grin faltered visibly, his brow creasing with a flicker of confusion creeping into his narrowing gaze. "How... how is this even possible?" he muttered hoarsely, his voice trembling with disbelief and rising panic. He had counted heavily on their parity, on the critical element of surprise to crush the Xuantian Sect before they could rally their defenses.

A swift, decisive victory here, in the shadow of Backridge's ancient, weathered watchtowers, would have reverberated powerfully across the Eastern Wilderness—a bold testament to Yuanshi Gate's long-sought ascendancy, a grievous wound to their rival's prestige that would fester for generations.

Now, that ambitious dream was slipping through his grasp like sand. If they faltered after striking first, the bitter shame would be theirs alone to bear—a humiliating stain no amount of bravado could ever erase.

The Yuanshi disciples began to buckle visibly, their once-tight formation fraying under the Xuantian Sect's relentless, unyielding counteroffensive. One disciple fell back, clutching a bloodied arm in agony; another staggered as Mei Lin's sword seared a shallow gash across his chest.

Song Tong's fists slowed noticeably, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps as Xu Hao pressed forward relentlessly, his smirk cold, sharp, and unyielding.

"You mocked our reputation as hollow and meaningless," Xu Hao said, his voice low and cutting like a blade through silk, "yet here you stand, crumbling helplessly before us. The Yuanshi Gate Sect—ten millennia young, a mere flickering candle daring to challenge the Xuantian legacy's eternal, unquenchable flame. Who's the hollow one now, Song Tong?"

Song Tong's pride withered under the biting words, his face twisting with a volatile mix of deep shame and seething rage. Moments ago, he'd crowed triumphantly like a conqueror; now, the bitter sting of reversal silenced him completely.

His chest heaved heavily, his fists trembling impotently at his sides. The crowd murmured restlessly, their whispers growing into a swelling tide—some awed by the spectacle, others openly mocking the Yuanshi's fall. The Yuanshi Gate's reckless gambit was unraveling spectacularly, and all of Backridge City stood as witness to their undoing.

"What is this?" A voice sliced through the tumult, calm yet resonant, like the deep tolling of a distant, ancient bell. The air seemed to still momentarily as a lone figure stepped confidently onto the broad avenue, his presence a quiet, commanding storm that seized attention effortlessly.

He was young—barely past his twenties—his robes a deep, lustrous gray that shimmered faintly with delicate threads of gold. His dark hair was bound loosely, strands swaying gently in the breeze, and his eyes held an icy, unshakable serenity that belied the surrounding chaos. "Are my fellow Yuanshi Gate disciples truly so unworthy of our name?"

Song Tong and his battered cohort erupted in frantic elation, dropping to their knees in fervent, reverent bows. "Greetings, Senior Brother Yan!" they cried out, their voices a desperate chorus of relief and renewed hope.

Xu Hao's blood ran cold in his veins. Yan Han—a True Disciple of the Yuanshi Gate Sect, a prodigy at just twenty-nine, his cultivation at the Divine Spirit Realm a whispered legend echoing across the breadth of the Eastern Wilderness.

His storied rivalry with the sect's Holy Son was the stuff of tavern tales, their clashes rumored to shake the very heavens themselves. To stand as that titan's equal spoke volumes of Yan Han's terrifying power.

Song Tong was a foe Xu Hao could match blow for blow, but Yan Han? The name alone drained the fire from his veins, leaving only dread.

Yan Han's gaze swept over the Xuantian disciples, cool and piercing like a winter wind. "Did I hear you claim the Yuanshi Gate Sect's name is hollow?" His voice was soft, almost conversational, yet it carried a weight that pressed heavily against Xu Hao's chest.

He clenched his jaw tightly, forcing defiance past the dread coiling in his gut. "That's right," he snapped back fiercely. "Your Song Tong struck first, unprovoked, like a coward. Your sect attacked us, yet you faltered miserably. Strength rules all—why shouldn't I call your reputation a sham?"

Yan Han's lips curled into a faint, spectral smile, a flicker of amusement that seemed to frost the air around him. "Fair enough," he murmured, his voice smooth as polished jade, yet laced with a deceptive calm that belied the storm beneath. "Strength rules all—there's no dishonor in falling to a fair and honest blow. But to tarnish the sanctity of the Yuanshi Gate Sect's honor? That, I will not tolerate."

"Kneel and apologize!" His command erupted like a sonic boom that reverberated through the square, shaking the ancient cobblestones underfoot and sending faint cracks spider-webbing across their surface.

An invisible force crashed down in its wake—a suffocating, titanic pressure that bore down with merciless intent. Xu Hao's knees buckled as though struck by a hammer, his cultivation stuttering, the shimmering threads of his divine arts slipping through his fingers like spilled water.

Mei Lin's breath hitched in a sharp gasp, her sword wrenching free from her grip to clatter uselessly against the stone. Beside her, Chen Yu groaned under the strain, his arms quaking as he clawed at the air, fighting a losing battle to remain upright.

The weight grew heavier still, an unrelenting tide pressing them inexorably toward the earth.The onlookers froze, their collective breath held captive, eyes wide with a potent blend of reverence and visceral dread.

Yet, in that suffocating moment, a voice sliced through the tension from the far horizon—deep, resonant, and forged with an unyielding authority that permitted no defiance. "Who do you presume to be, mongrel, to so brazenly demand penance from the disciples of Xuantian?"

The words, simple yet seismic, struck like a hammer against glass, shattering Yan Han's oppressive aura into a thousand fleeting shards. The crushing weight evaporated in an instant, and a wave of relief surged through Xu Hao and his companions.

Their spirits flared back to life, invigorated, as though the sun had pierced a storm-wracked sky.

Xu Hao rose slowly, his chest heaving, heart hammering against his ribs. A single, incandescent thought blazed through his mind: He's here.

The air itself seemed to hum, charged with a palpable expectancy. Because... that figure... had finally arrived.