Chapter 1: A Solitary Farewell

The sun gradually set in the west, the evening wind grew hazy, and half the sky was tinged with blood-red clouds layered like fish scales, casting an unspeakable gloom.

A mountain path, winding like a serpent, twisted its way upward among the encircling peaks. At the end of this thousand-step path stood a massive mountain, towering proudly, piercing the clouds. Midway up the mountain, on a relatively flat outcrop, rested a solemn palace.

The palace gates were seamlessly joined to the final, thousandth step.

This peak was called the Sacred Mountain.

The palace was named the Sacred Palace, the hallowed ground of martial artists. All the sects, schools, clans, societies, and associations under heaven—be they masters, disciples, or even those of ill repute, righteous or wicked—held this place in reverence.

Through the generations, the Sacred Palace had always been graced by a single Sacred Maiden. Her status was of the utmost dignity, representing the honor of the Sacred Palace, and serving as the spiritual pillar of all martial artists. Wherever she walked, all bowed in submission; her words carried the weight of law. Her sanctity was inviolable. Should any scoundrel dare defile her, the entire martial world would unite to destroy him. In such a vast world, there would be nowhere to hide, and death would be too lenient a fate.

Ordinarily, during the Sacred Maiden's cultivation, none would trespass within a hundred miles of the Sacred Mountain, ensuring peace and quiet. But now, the peaks flanking the thousand steps teemed with people—no fewer than tens of thousands. Banners fluttered in the wind, each bearing the insignia of a different martial faction.

Blades in hand, swords drawn.

Despite the multitude, not a single person spoke. The air was thick with killing intent, growing even more somber beneath the dying light.

A gust of wind swept up dust, swirling and dancing, but it could not divert the warriors’ unwavering gazes. Their eyes converged upon the foot of the mountain path, their collective will palpable and oppressive.

Though many felt unease at the thought of facing the Demon Lord Yuan Ming, reputed as the greatest figure of this generation, not one retreated—not even half a step. This man had declared his intent to ascend the Sacred Mountain that very day and take away the Sacred Maiden.

Such audacity defied heaven and earth.

Any with a drop of blood in their veins could not tolerate it.

No words were needed, no agreement required; their resolve was as one. Even the terror of death could not shake their determination: protect the Sacred Maiden, destroy the Demon Lord.

Suddenly, hundreds gasped in unison, shattering the silence. Their faces were tense, eyes wild, hearts pounding, blood surging, bodies trembling.

“He’s coming!”

At the edge of the thousand-step path, a figure in azure robes drifted into view.

…

Du Gu Bie Li was born to a humble hunter’s family, his childhood once joyful. But tragedy struck when his father died in a hunting accident, and his mother soon followed him in grief, leaving the boy alone in the world. At twelve, he had no choice but to shoulder the burdens of survival—taking up his father’s bow and arrows, he began to hunt.

On his very first foray into the mountains, he encountered a fierce tiger. His bow broke, his arrows scattered, and his chest was nearly torn open. Death seemed certain. But at that life-and-death instant, fortune smiled upon him. The Sacred Maiden, in her eighteenth year, was out traveling the world as custom dictated, gaining experience before returning to her lifelong seclusion. She happened to pass by.

She intervened, slew the tiger, and saved his life.

With healing herbs, she extended his life. In a month, his wounds were nearly healed.

During this time, the Sacred Maiden sometimes lamented that, once she returned to the Sacred Palace, she would never again leave the Sacred Mountain—a melancholy fate. Du Gu Bie Li overheard her words. From that moment, he set his life’s goal.

The Sacred Maiden had but one chance to leave the mountain in her lifetime, for three short months. As Du Gu Bie Li’s wounds improved and her departure drew near, she left. But his injuries relapsed—fever, infection, death loomed once more.

In a delirium, he felt as if a great gate opened before him, and through swirling mists, caught a glimpse of a colossal figure murmuring, whispering… That figure’s gaze fell upon him, and from then on, Du Gu Bie Li mastered a mystical art—the Yuan Ming Technique.

The Yuan Ming Technique was wondrous, allowing its user to absorb external forces while circulating energy and healing wounds—granting power beyond the limits of martial arts, to a realm more profound. Its only flaw: it was constrained by the strength of the body. If the power exceeded what the flesh could contain, there was but one outcome—explosion.

Relying on the Yuan Ming Technique, Du Gu Bie Li pursued his dream, traversing the martial world, enduring countless failures, challenges, learning, imitating, exploring, accumulating, absorbing, comprehending, and growing ever stronger. Gradually, he forged his own path, creating his unique art—the Blade of Parting.

One strike, and all was severed.

Thereafter, he began challenging the masters and leaders of every sect, carving his way through blood and fire to stand atop the world, feared by all, his name alone enough to chill the soul.

He was eighteen that year.

He believed himself finally strong enough, and so boasted that he would ascend the Sacred Mountain and take the Sacred Maiden from the Sacred Palace.

Today, with excitement in his heart, Du Gu Bie Li finally set foot on the Sacred Mountain.

…

His gaze swept across the countless warriors, blades and swords gleaming with the hues of the sunset, murderous intent rolling off them. Beneath the fluttering banners, hundreds of sect leaders, backed by their disciples, glared with bloodshot eyes, nearly frenzied. The pressure in the air was dense and inescapable.

His azure robe fluttered in the wind. Du Gu Bie Li smiled calmly, steady as a mountain, and stepped forward.

The first step.

Though ten thousand may stand in his path, none could bar his way. What his heart desired, he would achieve—even if it meant rivers of blood and mountains of corpses.

“Demon, halt and retreat at once, and we might spare you. Otherwise, you will die here to appease heaven and earth!” roared the master of the One Sword Sect, who guarded the first ten steps.

“You?” Du Gu Bie Li shook his head in disdain. “If you have the means, use them. If all you can do is shout, you’d best scurry back to your sect. Anger me, and disaster will befall you.”

“Today, all the heroes of the world are here. Demon, don’t be arrogant—” the master retorted, sword in hand, trembling—whether with rage or fear, none could say.

“Noisy.” Du Gu Bie Li frowned, advancing in anger. He raised his hand and slashed. A hazy blade aura shot from his arm, swift as lightning. The sect master hadn’t finished his sentence, nor could he react; a sickening sound, and he was cleaved in two, blood spraying into the sunset.

The Blade of Parting claims another life.

The disciples of the One Sword Sect had never imagined he would kill so swiftly, and with screams, they retreated in terror.

“Cowards,” Du Gu Bie Li didn’t spare them a glance and continued his ascent.

In the blink of an eye, he reached the tenth step.

The next ten steps were guarded by the Celestial Star Sect, led by their Grandmaster, the Celestial Star Elder. But the disciples of both sects, cowed by the demon’s infamy, were thrown into chaos, not knowing what to do. Seeing this, the Celestial Star Elder tried to rally them: “No matter how strong the demon is, he’s only one! Why fear? Disciples of One Sword and Celestial Star, heed my command—forget the rules! Attack together, and kill him!”

A flash of the blade, a rain of blood. The Grandmaster, for all his strength, was sliced in two before he could retaliate.

Chaos erupted—the disciples of both sects scattered like a receding tide, faces pale with terror. Two masters slain in succession had reignited their fear of the Demon Lord, overwhelming their resolve to defend the Sacred Mountain. No one was unafraid of death.

There is terror in the face of mortality.

Step by step, Du Gu Bie Li advanced.

The twentieth step.

“The demon is savage—I too am afraid—but have you all forgotten? The Sacred Mountain, the Sacred Palace, the Sacred Maiden must never be defiled. The demon’s deeds are monstrous, unforgivable. Even if we die, we must not yield! As warriors, seeking the path of martial arts, how can we fear death and let evil flourish? Even knowing we will die, we cannot let this demon shame us further. Follow me—kill him!”

Guarding these steps was a great sect—the Xuan Yin Sect. Its leader, Leng Wuqing, shouted hoarsely, trying to rouse their spirits.

The influence of a sect leader was not to be underestimated. As he charged forward, the others followed, weapons raised, unleashing every technique they knew.

“Fools. Only death awaits you!” Du Gu Bie Li split his hands, and flashes of blade light flew—none survived his blows.

“When the Blade of Parting is drawn, all must part!” He gathered his inner strength and unleashed a blade arc over ten feet long, icy and unfathomable, striking at Leng Wuqing.

With a roar, Leng Wuqing leapt into the air, inner strength surging, both palms swelling to the size of fans, clapping together to trap the blade’s arc. “The demon is nothing—kill him!”

Du Gu Bie Li snorted coldly, and the pressure on the blade arc surged. Leng Wuqing felt as if a mountain pressed upon him; he lost control and crashed to the ground like a meteor.

With a dull thud, his legs struck the stone steps, cracking them and sending dust rippling outward. He groaned, his legs in agony, bones nearly shattered, organs shaken, blood spurting from his mouth and nose. His face paled, breath ragged, strength fading.

The blade arc showed no mercy, cleaving through the massive palms, slashing onward.

A burst of scarlet—Leng Wuqing was dead.

“If you wish to live, get out of my way. I do not wish to stain my hands with more blood as I go to greet the Sacred Maiden.” Du Gu Bie Li swung his blade a dozen times, felling those who approached, and called out his warning.

The onslaught wavered.

He had reached the thirtieth step.

Behind him lay over a hundred corpses, everything stained with blood.

Yet his azure robes remained spotless.

…

Du Gu Bie Li moved as if through an empty land, unstoppable and ruthless, finally provoking the fury of the crowd.

“Demon, retreat or die! Your blood will stain the Sacred Mountain, your bones scattered!”

“Arrogant youth! You dare defile the Sacred Maiden, trample the dignity of all? Do you think yourself invincible?”

“No more words! Let’s join forces and erase him, restore peace to the world!”

One after another, the leaders of the neighboring factions voiced their opinions, chaos erupting. And all their swords and words were aimed at the young man in azure, his face still youthful. Their disciples and followers below were roused to a frenzy, eager to act.

To defend the Sacred Maiden’s honor, to preserve the face of all warriors, to slay the Demon Lord and make a name for oneself—so many reasons to act. Most importantly, on one side was the multitude, on the other a lone man. Numbers breed courage. However strong the demon, how could he face the entire martial world alone?

“Come, then.” Du Gu Bie Li sneered, his quiet voice somehow carrying to every ear among the assembled hosts. The warriors atop a dozen peaks paled in shock, their emotion shifting quickly to rage.

Even the sound of their hurried breathing merged into a gale, their collective might pressing in from all sides.

“Enough! We cannot endure this any longer—kill the demon!”

“There’s no reasoning with him. Let blood cleanse our shame! Brothers, unite and annihilate this madman!”

“Kill!”

“Kill!”

“Kill!”

Deafening shouts rolled across the peaks as warriors surged down like a flood, engulfing the path, surrounding the center, weapons gleaming like forests of steel.

“I was born a hunter’s son. From childhood, I learned that in this world, there are no eternal truths—save the strength to crush all before you. And my strength is my fist!” Du Gu Bie Li stood amid the human sea, a lone boat in the storm, always at risk of capsizing. The roar of the crowd was like thunder; their martial techniques rained down, merciless and fierce. Yet he walked calmly, his robe unstained, his fists at ease, as if painting with a brush, striking without hurry.

“If your fists are strong enough, your power great enough, that is truth. In my eyes, you are but chickens and dogs. Since you wish me dead, then bear the price—death. Many as you are, what can you do to me?”

With each punch, a thunderous boom; each slash, a mist of blood.

Since he began, he had walked a hundred steps, meeting countless foes, yet none could withstand a single exchange. Behind him, blood flowed in streams down the mountain path.

“Human strength has its limits. I don’t believe you can kill all the warriors under heaven. When your energy is spent, your end will come,” shouted a sect leader from afar, trying to restore courage to those chilled by the carnage.

“Fools beyond help. Witness my Yuan Ming Technique!” Du Gu Bie Li mocked, his fists transforming, palms suddenly swirling with strange vortices. With a casual gesture, two warriors were caught. As his art circulated, their hard-earned strength, spirit, and life force surged into him like a breached dam, replenishing his own energy and vigor. The two men, flesh and bone, crumbled to dust.

…

Three hundred steps had already been passed.

“With the Yuan Ming Technique, where can I not go? What I fear least is being surrounded. Don’t you fools understand?” Du Gu Bie Li laughed, replenishing himself as he called out, “Sending your disciples to die is pointless. If you have the time, why not all attack at once, and let me see if you’ve improved. If you lack the courage, then begone—do not hinder me from taking the Sacred Maiden. Otherwise, I cannot say how many will survive my wrath.”

…

Two more warriors were drained and turned to ash. The rest were finally terrified, fleeing in panic. The Demon Lord’s might was unstoppable.

By then, half the thousand steps were covered.

His azure garments remained unstained.

[Editor’s note and promotional material omitted.]