A little past midnight.
On the outskirts of Westlake City, at the Mason Family estate.
This is a secluded manor, surrounded by dense, verdant trees.
The Mason Family compound is much like the Zhuo Family’s estate in the Capital—isolated from the world, with only the central residential area showing signs of daily life: occasional whispers, lights flickering on and off.
Moonlight drapes the night like silk, and a gentle breeze stirs the air.
Cicadas and birds call out, deepening the tranquility.
Clink. Clink.
The sound of glasses clinking occasionally echoes through the main hall.
Tonight, the Mason Family hosts a banquet for a distinguished guest. There is only a single round table; beside the seat of honor sits a middle-aged man in a suit and gold-rimmed glasses—Jack Zhang, a key official of the Martial Arts Alliance’s Westlake City branch.
The Mason clansmen nearby offer polite words and wine.
The lively midnight revelry leaves Jack Zhang thoroughly satisfied.
“Jack Zhang,” says Mason Jin, the white-haired patriarch of the Mason Family and a lower-tier Martial Lord, seated at the head of the table. He smiles warmly: “Your presence at our banquet truly brings honor to the Mason Family.”
“Ha ha.”
Jack Zhang offers a modest smile.
Though he is a Martial General, he dares not act too freely before the Mason Family’s sole Martial Lord.
Nearby, Mason clansmen frequently propose toasts, and the atmosphere is harmonious.
Every clan member attending the banquet is at least peak Martial Artist Realm—these are the Mason Family’s core members.
“This toast is to you.”
“We warmly welcome your visit. Regarding that area, we hope you’ll be understanding. We’re only seeking a few martial resources—nothing more.”
Jack Zhang raises his glass, smiling as he accepts.
Suddenly—
A deep, majestic voice reverberates through the residential area of the Mason Family estate.
"Mason Family—"
"You! All! Must! Die!"
From the depths of the dense forest, Andrew Han steps forth, wreathed in blazing light, suspended in midair. He commands the Cascade of Three Thousand Streams, unleashing a Unity-Type Art capable of destroying all things.
The Unity-Type Art is utterly terrifying.
This is a martial technique that harnesses the power of heaven and earth—even a trace can kill an ordinary Martial Artist, let alone the torrent of Internal Power swirling like a sky-wide cyclone.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Incomparable, solidified streams of wind overturn every structure—reinforced concrete, red-brick walls, duplex buildings—everything in their path collapses, as if swept by a wrathful tornado of nature.
In just over ten seconds, the hundred-meter stretch ahead is nothing but ruins.
Peerless killing intent erupts, determined to turn the tranquil night into utter void.
"I command the full flow of three thousand winds!"
Andrew Han exhales, his left palm—shrouded in countless rays of light—pushes forward, unleashing a raging hurricane that sweeps through the compound, eradicating all life in its path.
No pleas for mercy, no chance to resist.
With overwhelming might descending, the Mason Family has no chance to escape.
"Rules?"
"Regulations?"
"I once thought to stand aloof, and asked myself if I was meddling too much." Andrew Han walks beneath the pitch-black night, radiating peerless light. His expression is cold as ice, his resolve firm—no hesitation remains.
Such vicious acts are utterly inhuman.
It is the very definition of monstrous depravity—horrors beyond imagination!
As martial practitioners, you collude with Demons and Specters, breeding so-called 'resource units' and 'premium stock' in exchange for vast martial resources... Demons and Specters do indeed control immense resources across the continent and oceans.
Rotten to the core!
Utterly tragic!
"All for resources?"
"What martial arts do you practice! How are you any different from Demons and Specters? You cultivate by draining the lives of your own kin—no matter how strong you become, you are beneath beasts!" Andrew Han flipped his left palm, as if pressing down a colossal seal upon the heavens, and slammed it to the side.
To the side.
A high-tier Martial General burst from the collapsing ruins, eyes blazing with hatred, charging at Andrew Han: "Stop! You reckless fiend, how dare you destroy us—"
Bang!
He slapped down with his palm!
The high-tier Martial General was shattered on the spot!
"Heh."
"You don’t treat yourselves as human, so why should I waste words?" Andrew Han’s gaze burned with terrifying, furious killing intent. Only death could be the rightful end for such creatures.
Madness! Madness!
Slaughter! Slaughter!
He stormed forward in fury, covering six or seven kilometers, killing without restraint.
He strode through the ruins on both sides, Internal Power blazing, overturning everything in his path.
Here and now, under the shroud of night, Andrew Han held nothing back. Any Martial General or Martial Artist who charged at him was crushed to dust by a single punch or palm.
A Martial General might leave behind a whole corpse.
But Martial Artists—all were reduced to blood mist... This is the power that rivals a titled Martial Lord; even buildings made of diamond and steel could not withstand Andrew Han’s terrifying arrival.
"Still trying to struggle?"