Uncle Dan’s breath grew heavy as the oppressive aura surged forth. His lips trembled.

  “This is bad…”

  The force struck him like a tidal wave, hurling his body backward through the air. Dust and shattered stone exploded as his heels carved deep gouges across the ground before he finally stabilized himself.

  His chest burned. His arms trembled from the impact.

  Yet his feet slammed down once more.

  Though battered, his stance remained firm—his spirit unbroken.

  The saber wielder’s eyes gleamed with arrogance. Death qi surged around him, corrosive and suffocating, burning away his upper garment until only his hardened physique remained. The ground cracked beneath his presence, and the very air seemed to rot under the venomous haze.

  So this is the power of Qi Gathering… Uncle Dan thought, sadness flickering in his gaze.

  Even so, I cannot retreat.

  With a roar, the cultivator swung his saber.

  A crescent of qi tore through the air, shrieking as it descended upon Uncle Dan—its edge carrying the weight of death itself, enough to crush an ordinary man.

  Uncle Dan twisted his body, power surging from his hips through his shoulders.

  He struck.

  BOOM!

  The collision erupted into a violent explosion, smoke and dust swallowing the battlefield. The ground trembled beneath the shockwave, and for a moment, nothing could be seen.

  The saber cultivator smirked.

  “Hmph. The old man is finished.”

  But when the smoke cleared—

  A lone figure still stood.

  Uncle Dan’s silhouette emerged, battered yet unyielding. His voice cut through the silence, cold and steady.

  “It’s been a long time since I fought a cultivator. My hands once dripped with your blood.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “Now—show me if your cultivation is stronger than my martial arts.”

  In the blink of an eye, Uncle Dan vanished.

  Strange lights traced across the ground—footwork patterns etched by an ancient martial art. He reappeared directly before the saber cultivator, his presence crashing down like a mountain.

  “Or you die.”

  The cultivator’s eyes widened.

  Too late.

  Uncle Dan’s fist surged forward.

  BOOM!

  The saber cultivator was hurled backward, his body skidding across shattered earth. Before the momentum could carry him further, he slammed his saber into the ground. The blade bit deep into stone, sparks flying as it carved a trench and slowed his retreat.

  With a sharp twist, he sprang back to his feet, eyes blazing with fury. Death qi flared violently around him.

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  “Old man… you dare!”

  He lunged forward.

  This time, each strike carried more than raw force.

  Shadows clung to the blade. With every swing, ghostly figures emerged—pale phantoms shrieking as they followed the arc of the saber. Their wails echoed across the battlefield.

  The ground trembled beneath the onslaught. Each strike was not merely steel and qi, but the haunting illusion of death itself—as if the saber dragged souls from the abyss to fight alongside him.

  Uncle Dan narrowed his eyes.

  So… every strike brings a ghost. This is no ordinary saber art. He’s channeling death qi into manifestations.

  The cultivator’s grin widened, arrogance dripping from his voice.

  “Let’s see if your martial arts can withstand the weight of a thousand dead!”

  He raised his saber high, death qi swirling like a storm around the blade.

  With a roar, he plunged it into the ground.

  CRACK!

  The earth split open.

  From the fissures erupted countless skeletal hands—clawing upward, shrieking silently as they reached for Uncle Dan, desperate to drag him into the abyss.

  The air reeked of decay. The battlefield itself seemed possessed.

  Uncle Dan’s eyes sharpened.

  So this is his mantra… a death art that summons the hands of the damned.

  He leapt.

  His body twisted midair, landing lightly atop a broken ceiling beam of the ruined hall. The skeletal hands snapped at empty air below.

  He dropped, rolled, twisted—another wave of hands bursting from the ground where he had been moments before. Dust and shattered stone scattered with each precise movement.

  Every jump, every roll was a dance against death itself.

  The cultivator sneered.

  “Run as you like, old man. The dead will always catch the living.”

  Uncle Dan’s lips curved into a grim smile.

  “Then let’s see if your ghosts can grasp a martial artist who refuses to die.”

  He planted his feet.

  His stance stabilized—immovable, like a mountain rooted in the earth.

  With a deep breath, he roared:

  “Mountain Breaking Fist!”

  His fist surged forward.

  Power flowed from his hips, through his spine, into his shoulders—then exploded outward. The tide of skeletal hands shattered, phantoms dispersing into smoke and silence.

  The battlefield trembled.

  Uncle Dan’s voice cut through the haze.

  “Show me more, Death Corpse… or should I say—Jingshi.”

  The saber cultivator froze.

  “How do you know…?”

  Uncle Dan’s gaze turned icy.

  “I know this too. You came from the Dark Palace, scum.”

  The cultivator sneered, death qi flaring violently.

  “Since you know… this will be your burial ground!”

  Uncle Dan smiled grimly.

  “Oh? Let me remind you—you’re the one who stepped into the lion’s den.”

  They clashed again.

  The saber tore through the air in a vicious arc, ghostly qi trailing behind. Uncle Dan slipped past the strike with fluid precision—kick, then punch.

  The cultivator barely raised his weapon in time.

  CLANG!

  Steel met flesh. The impact rang like thunder, cracking the ground beneath them as dust spiraled into the air.

  The battle reached its turning point.

  Uncle Dan’s seasoned eyes caught it—the falter.

  The saber cultivator’s movements were losing precision. His aura wavered.

  He’s deviating… his qi is unstable.

  For someone from the Dark Palace, this is nothing more than borrowed strength.

  Uncle Dan roared and struck.

  His fist slammed into the cultivator’s abdomen.

  BOOM!

  The man staggered backward, distance forced between them. Dust swirled as they faced each other once more.

  The saber cultivator’s face twisted with rage. He gathered every shred of remaining qi—death energy condensing into a single, desperate strike.

  His final gamble.

  Uncle Dan mirrored him, stance shifting, martial essence surging.

  “DIE!” the cultivator screamed.

  “YEAHHH!” Uncle Dan answered.

  Their attacks collided.

  Light and shadow exploded outward. The ground split. The air screamed.

  Then—silence.

  Uncle Dan staggered back, body trembling.

  Across from him, the saber cultivator stood still.

  Then his knees buckled.

  Qi scattered. The crimson glow in his eyes faded.

  Uncle Dan approached, each step heavy with finality.

  “Now… this is your end.”

  The cultivator snarled weakly.

  “This is not my end. Even in death… I shall return.”

  Uncle Dan’s eyes narrowed.

  “Of course you will. But only if I fail to find your true body.”

  In the fading red reflection of the cultivator’s eyes, Uncle Dan sensed it—

  Someone else was watching.

  A shadow beyond the gaze.

  A presence from the Dark Palace.

  So… they’re watching. And they control this corpse from afar.

  Uncle Dan raised his fist.

  But—

  WHOOSH!

  A figure burst from the doorway, cloaked in death qi. A blade flashed toward him.

  Instinct screamed.

  Uncle Dan raised his arm just in time.

  CLANG!

  The impact forced him back a step. The attacker followed instantly, striking again with ruthless precision. Uncle Dan twisted, rolling aside as the blade carved into the ground where he had stood.

  In a blur, the newcomer seized the fallen cultivator’s body.

  Then vanished.

  Silence returned.

  Uncle Dan stood frozen for a heartbeat.

  “So… they retreat. Thank goodness…”

  Blood spilled from his lips as his body finally protested the strain.

  The hall fell quiet once more, filled only with dus

  t, ruin, and the lingering stench of death qi.

  Uncle Dan steadied himself, gaze hardening.

  This battle—

  Was only the beginning.