Chapter 11: The Fierce and Resolute Junior Prince Virtuous

"Welcome, martial arts brothers and sisters, to this long journey. You must be exhausted. I am Puzhi, and by the undeserved kindness of you all, I have the honor to preside over this grand gathering!"

At the foot of Mount Yandang, on a flattened expanse of ground, Puzhi looked out over the bustling crowd. While sighing inwardly, his expression remained completely serene.

These ordinary martial artists of the lowest tier still had no idea what had happened, nor could they foresee what disasters awaited them in the future.

In this brief span of time, many people had already been quietly assassinated, though all the news had been strictly suppressed by those in the know. Everyone was well aware of how grim the situation was, yet they dared not make the news public for fear of causing widespread panic.

By now, roughly eighty percent of the martial arts world's factions had gathered in the vicinity. Aside from those sects that had been ambushed and wiped out halfway here, virtually everyone else was present. Not only that, but a great number of independent martial artists had also arrived, making this perhaps the most comprehensive assembly in history.

Added to that were the onlookers and wandering swordsmen, bringing the total number of people here to several thousand. At this point, leaving was no longer an easy task.

"It is truly a rare privilege that you have all gathered here today for this grand event. I shall not waste words; allow me to invite a few esteemed and virtuous martial arts peers to join me—"

"Old monk, aren't you ashamed?"

Before Puzhi could finish, a sarcastic voice rang out from the middle of the crowd.

The people nearby parted to the sides, revealing a group of more than a dozen individuals standing exposed before everyone.

"What is the meaning of this, benefactor?" Puzhi's expression remained unchanged.

"So many martial arts brothers and sisters are missing, yet you turn a blind eye and pretend nothing is wrong! To think that Shaolin is revered by all as the leader of the martial arts world—is this how you behave?"

The speaker was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a snow-white fur robe and holding a folding fan. Though his attire was somewhat eccentric, his words were exceptionally sharp.

"Missing people? What do you mean?"

The surrounding crowd broke into murmurs; these were the people who knew nothing of the situation. Meanwhile, those who were privy to certain details wore flickering expressions, uncertain how Puzhi would respond.

"What is it that the benefactor wishes to say?" Puzhi offered no explanation, instead staring steadily at the young man and his companions.

"Ha! What do I wish to say?" The young man sneered.

"I simply want to ask: twenty-three people from the Tongyou Valley, seventeen from the Medicine King Sect, sixteen from the Seven Mysteries Gate, twenty-seven from the River Sword Sect, nine from the Sun-Shooting Gate... So many people have died, yet you ignore it entirely and act as though nothing has happened?"

The young man swept his gaze around, his face dripping with mockery.

Yet because his words were clearly structured, complete with specific names, sects, and exact casualties, the vast majority of the onlookers broke out in an uproar. Even those who knew a fraction of the truth—who merely understood that the Martial Arts Conference was not going smoothly and that some had faced ambushes along the way—had no idea the losses were this severe.

Some looked around and realized that indeed, not a single person from the sects mentioned by the youth was to be seen. Evidently, what he said was true.

The strength of these sects was by no means weak; each possessed numerous Xiantian-realm experts, and a few even had Grandmasters holding down the fort.

Unconsciously, everyone's gaze shifted to Puzhi standing in the open space at the center.

"Young Commander, please step forward and explain the situation! Is it true, as this fellow Daoist has said?"

Someone shouted loudly, clearly hailing from the underworld greenwood factions, hoping to get answers from their own people.

"What is there to explain!"

Murong Xun stepped out from the crowd. His expression was stern as he glared at the group.

"There are no fellow Daoists here—only vicious wolves from the grasslands."

"So you are the so-called Green Forest Young Commander?"

Seeing that Murong Xun was so young, the leading youth wore an expression of utter disdain.

"He doesn't look like he has three heads and six arms at all. Quite ordinary!"

He fancied himself the most outstanding youth of the grasslands, blessed by the heavenly gods. He held even his fellow herdsmen in low regard, let alone the people of the Central Plains. He had heard of Murong Xun's name—after all, given the man's status, he naturally paid special attention. Initially, he had harbored high expectations, but upon finally meeting him face-to-face, he felt a profound sense of disappointment. The man seemed utterly mundane, entirely devoid of any brilliant qualities.

"What kind of person I am is not something that requires your concern!" Murong Xun looked at him and suddenly waved his hand.

"Take them!"

Zhao Ze and his party, along with the leaders of several other factions, charged forward simultaneously. Wasn't waiting here for prey precisely for this very moment? What they hadn't expected, however, was that the enemy would be foolish enough to leap out of their own accord.

Since that was the case, there was naturally no need to be polite.

Aguduo was dumbfounded. This was completely different from what he had imagined!

He had intended to keep these people in the dark about his identity, whetting their appetites before magnanimously revealing who he was, letting them know that he had come to avenge his father.

So what was happening right now?

Weren't these Central Plains people supposed to be sticklers for etiquette? How could they attack without even a declaration of war? This simply wasn't playing by the rules of martial arts!

The crisis was immediate, leaving no time for further thought. His guards immediately clashed with Zhao Ze and the others who had swarmed forward.

Murong Xun watched the melee with cold eyes, showing no intention of joining the fight. There were only a dozen of them; had these people remained hidden in the shadows, dealing with them might have been difficult. But since they had jumped out themselves, there was no need for courtesy.

The conflict between the Central Plains and the grasslands was irreconcilable—a hatred accumulated across generations. Since they had crossed paths, killing the enemy was entirely justified.

Amidst the chaos, unnoticed by the others, a single figure quietly slipped out of the encirclement, melting into the crowd. He shook his head as he watched the besieged group.

"If you knew it would come to this, why bother in the first place? I told you not to stand out, not to stick your neck out, but you refused to listen. Look at you now—you're going to throw your life away here."

Cheng Xiaoyu was deeply exasperated.

He had wanted to use his shadow to completely replace Aguduo, even going so far as to enlist Blood Seeker's help. But direct parasitism took far too much time, and before it could succeed, the arrogant and overconfident Aguduo had insisted on eagerly charging off to attend the Martial Arts Conference rather than remaining safely behind the scenes.

Even though his army was already pressing toward the borders, the fool insisted on courting danger in person. Although a script had long been prepared for him, Cheng Xiaoyu could not help but sigh at such sheer stupidity.

Even with an army at your back, what were you thinking by running alone into enemy territory with a mere ten men, expecting to fight thousands of martial artists?

Leaving aside the young people just out to see the world and the mediocre wandering swordsmen who came purely for the spectacle, the combined forces of the various major factions still amounted to at least a hundred Xiantian experts. Though the number of Grandmasters was small, strength lay in numbers. This formation was far grander than the ambush twenty years ago that killed his father, the Left Sage King. Back then, the Left Sage King had been surrounded by countless experts, which was why it had ultimately ended in mutual destruction. But what did Aguduo have now?

He only had a handful of people with him. True, two of them were Grandmasters, but two fists could not fight four hands, especially when surrounded by so many Xiantian experts and a fair share of Grandmasters as well.

Immediately, two Grandmasters soared out from the crowd, directly luring away the Grandmasters guarding Aguduo. The destructive power of Grandmasters far surpassed that of Xiantian warriors; their battles belonged in more open spaces. This was precisely why the Central Plains martial artists had acted to draw them away—otherwise, the collateral damage would have been too severe, easily leading to accidental injuries.

Without Grandmasters to anchor them, the remaining Xiantian experts stood little chance against Zhao Ze and his group. They were quickly cut down, and Aguduo was captured alive on the spot.

This outcome came as no surprise. From the very beginning, the attackers chosen for this mission were specifically elite Xiantian fighters like Zhao Ze, making it an overwhelming mismatch.

Even after being captured, Aguduo maintained a defiant posture.

"Hmph! The children of the heavenly gods never surrender!"

His words sounded extremely fierce, but inwardly, he was struck with sheer terror. This sentence was not what he had intended to say at all; he had wanted to buy time for his army to arrive, as that was the only force that could guarantee his safety.

Instead, he discovered that apart from his eyeballs, his body was completely beyond his control, and the words coming out of his mouth were entirely against his will.

He had no idea what was happening, but a terrifying dread filled his heart.

He was not entirely brainless. Although lacking in real experience, he had relied on the protection of his two Grandmasters, believing that even deep within enemy territory, those two could break him out of the encirclement. Not far away were his twenty thousand troops, which he thought made the venture foolproof. What he had failed to anticipate was that the two Grandmasters he placed all his hopes on had simply abandoned him the moment the fighting started and chased after their opponents.

He had overlooked the warlike nature of the grassland people: faced with a one-on-one duel, they grew too excited and promptly forgot the person they were supposed to protect.

"I carry the golden bloodline, descendant of the Left Sage King of the Golden Tent Court! The children of the heavenly gods will never be captives!"

Aguduo suddenly let out a roar, violently shoved aside the person restraining him, and hurled himself forward into another man's embrace. With clean, decisive precision, he drove his own neck against the blade of a sword, rolled his eyes, and instantly met his end.

Everyone present was stunned. They had not expected their prisoner to possess such unyielding spine—preferring death to captivity.

Only the two men who had been holding him moments before looked bewildered. How could a post-Xiantian cultivator suddenly find the strength to break free from the grip of two Xiantian experts? But at that moment, no one cared what they were thinking.

Right here and now, a royal of the Golden Tent Court, bearing the golden bloodline, had died before their eyes. This was unquestionably a monumental event.

Although they were locked in ceaseless warfare with the grasslands, high-ranking nobles of this caliber had rarely been slain over the years. The last one of comparable status to die further up the lineage was the Left Sage King twenty years ago!