Chapter Fourteen: The Most Formidable Fugitive in History

“Damn you! How dare you point your sword at me? Are you tired of living?” Zuo Hou cursed furiously at Liu Yueming, finger jabbing in accusation.

In that instant, the chill of icy energy flared from Liu Yueming’s entire body. The tip of his sword quivered, releasing a dragon’s cry; a beam of pure white frost shot forth, forming a straight line aimed directly at Zuo Hou.

With every passing day, Liu Yueming’s mastery over the art of frost had only deepened. After enduring several fierce battles, his Proud Frost Sword Technique had become even more refined—swift as falling snow, his blade now imbued with a sliver of demonic intent from the trials he had faced while descending the mountain. All these changes marked a fundamental transformation in his strength.

This strike was swifter and deadlier than the one he once used against Liu Wujian.

Zuo Hou was stunned. He had never imagined that anyone would dare attack him here in the Sanctuary.

He was merely a minor beast chieftain in the Beast Sect, commanding just fifty riders. Compared to the other attendees, he was a small figure, yet he was the most arrogant among them—because he had backing.

His confidence stemmed from the Beast Sect. In the past, they ranked low among the top-tier sects, hardly worth mentioning beside the Sword Sect or the Sanctuary.

But then came the invasion of the demon horde. The world was shaken. All the great sects sent their strongest to the front lines to aid the kingdoms in resisting the demons. Countless heroes perished; the realms suffered grievous losses. Even the Sanctuary lost dozens of its champions.

The sects’ power plummeted. Only the Beast Sect, isolated in the southern wilds, far from the demon-infested north, remained untouched by the conflict. With the Sword Sect annihilated, the Beast Sect had quietly risen to become the preeminent power in the world, second only to the Sanctuary.

The beast riders of the sect, less suited to duels than to the chaos of battlefields, had become indispensable to the fate of humanity itself.

This was the root of Zuo Hou’s bravado. What did it matter if the Sword Sect was gone? They were history. Now, the Beast Sect stood supreme. Even the Sanctuary needed their warriors. Why would anyone risk the wrath of the Beast Sect and doom all mankind by striking at him?

The sword’s speed and force left Zuo Hou no time to react. In that desperate instant, he recalled the four words spoken to him by his sect master before departure: “Stir the waters.”

For a minor chieftain to be sent as an envoy to the Sanctuary’s council was itself a statement. Beyond the sect’s desire to assert dominance, Zuo Hou had proven himself through countless flawless missions since joining the Beast Sect. Though not among the strongest warriors, his perfect record spoke for itself. It was only a matter of time before he was elevated to the council of elders—a future as the youngest elder in the sect’s history seemed assured.

But now, it seemed there would be no such opportunity. He was about to die here, by Liu Yueming’s sword.

Zuo Hou had never thought anyone would dare kill him, precisely because so many would not. To kill him was to risk disaster.

Suddenly, a green radiance flashed before him, forming an oval shield of emerald light. The beam of icy energy was wholly absorbed, and at the other end of the glow stood Hua Queyue.

Even Jin Buhuan, quick to anger, had turned a blind eye to Zuo Hou’s arrogance—such was the Sanctuary’s helplessness. The Beast Sect’s strength was now crucial.

“Yueming, calm yourself,” Hua Queyue said, sending another pulse of green energy into Liu Yueming’s body with his left hand.

As the green light entered him, Liu Yueming composed himself. He withdrew his sword and slowly sat down, though the chill about him persisted, as if he might at any moment freeze the world in merciless ice.

Zuo Hou collapsed into his seat, ashen-faced.

“Hua Queyue, speak of the Sword Sect,” Jin Buhuan said, as if nothing had happened.

Hua Queyue returned to his place, but did not sit. He bowed to the assembly. “Esteemed colleagues, by now you all know of the Sword Sect’s fate. It is a loss to all humankind.”

He glanced at Liu Yueming, saw nothing amiss, and continued, “But what truly transpired that night remains a mystery. I have investigated for half a year and found traces, but no answers. Fortunately, the sole survivor of that night—the Sword Sect’s young master, Liu Yueming—has found his way to the Sanctuary. He sits among us now.”

All eyes turned to Liu Yueming, who sat still as a statue of ice, unmoved, as if he heard none of what was said.

“Yueming, can you tell us what happened that night?” Hua Queyue approached him gently.

Liu Yueming looked up at Hua Queyue. “I would like to know where he is first.”

Hua Queyue paced a few steps, then turned to meet Liu Yueming’s gaze. “No one knows where he is. In the past six months, he has appeared several times, leaving a trail of death in his wake—elders of the Soul Sect, the patriarch of the Northstar Clan, the master of the Diamond Gate and many other righteous leaders have all fallen to him. Even the crown prince of the Xuanming Kingdom was slain by his hand. He is now the most wanted man on the combined bounty lists of all the kingdoms and sects—a royal reward awaits whoever kills him.”

Liu Yueming fell into silence. The icy aura faded from him, the last trace of hope in his heart mercilessly crushed.

“There are rumors that Liu Wujian fell to darkness and slaughtered the entire Sword Sect. Is this true?” The Northstar envoy stood up and demanded of Liu Yueming.

Liu Yueming sat in a daze, offering no reply.

“Is it true that Liu Wujian killed the previous Sword Sect master—your grandfather?” the Soul Sect envoy pressed.

Liu Yueming started. He remembered that night: the blood-dripping sword in Liu Wujian’s hand, his grandfather lying dead beside him, eyes wide open in death. He nodded numbly.

A hush fell over the assembly—the rumors were true. None of the slain had been seen killed by Liu Wujian, but the wounds bore his mark. Now, with Liu Yueming’s confirmation, there could be no doubt.

A single tear slid silently down Liu Yueming’s face. He clenched his teeth, struggling to contain himself, but could not hold back a quiet sob.

“Add Liu Wujian to the Sanctuary’s wanted list,” Jin Buhuan announced, his voice tinged with complex emotion.

That peerless man had set himself against the world, becoming the most wanted fugitive in history.

PS: As promised, here is the second chapter.