*Clang!*
Sparks flew as the broken sword plunged into a bluestone, trembling slightly with lingering metallic echoes. Little Rascal widened his eyes, scanning the skies—no sign of the four supreme experts or the gray-haired elder, only a few fierce birds streaking across the void. With a sharp *shing*, he yanked the broken sword free, then glanced around furtively like a thief before hoisting the injured Crimson Bird onto his back, grabbing Qing Feng and Er Meng, and bolting.
This was a supreme treasure—even broken, it had cleaved through the Devouring Sky Sparrow and split the Qiong Qi. Now that it was back in his hands, he had to safeguard it carefully, wary of prying eyes. Only after sprinting dozens of miles did he finally drop the Crimson Bird, eliciting a pained squawk as it flapped helplessly on the ground.
Little Rascal grinned, inspecting the broken sword anew. Pitch-black and unreflective, it radiated no divine power, yet he knew—this was a peerless weapon. “The rust is gone… but why are there dark red bloodstains now?” Scratching his head, he noted how the crimson stains had replaced the rust.
*What happened to Ghost Grandpa?* A pang of worry struck him as he sighed, slinging the sword over his shoulder. Survival was the priority now. The battlefield was chaos—death lurked at every misstep.
This area was quiet, but Little Rascal didn’t rush off. Being the first to flee was a sure way to draw attention. The best strategy? Blend into the chaos.
“Big Brother… can we escape?” Qing Feng’s face was smeared with blood. He had witnessed too much death already, even slain a few beasts himself. The distant cries of battle were creeping closer—they were still trapped.
A deep roar shook the mountains. A colossal black tiger, drenched in blood, burst from the battlefield, dozens of Sky-Suppressing Pavilion disciples clinging to its back.
*It’s him!* Little Rascal recognized the beast—a guardian of the Black Lotus from the second trial grounds. Even among ancient descendants, this tiger was formidable. Yet now, its shoulder was torn to the bone, barely escaping with its life.
He nearly called out, but the tiger suddenly reared, nearly flinging its riders off.
*Whoosh!*
A crimson streak erupted from a dark abyss—a massive Flood Dragon, rivaling the tiger in might. Their clash shattered mountains, sending boulders tumbling like pebbles.
And then—a golden lion, towering like a mountain, its eyes glowing like lanterns. A single swipe of its paw obliterated a stone peak.
Little Rascal’s heart pounded. *Thank the heavens I didn’t rush out.*
The black tiger was outmatched. The golden lion—a king among beasts—was unstoppable. With a thunderous impact, the tiger was sent flying, crushing a hillside. Half its riders were dead or dying.
“Fleeing? Not so easy.” The lion’s voice was icy. “I am the Golden Lion King of the Western Tomb Beast Mountain. Today, Sky-Suppressing Pavilion falls.”
A Sky-Suppressing Pavilion elder arrived, engaging the lion in a cataclysmic duel.
Little Rascal clenched his fists. The sect was in ruins. Even with the broken sword, he was no match for these titans.
“Move!” He led Qing Feng and Er Meng deeper into the wilderness, avoiding open conflict.
Hours later, he stumbled upon a heart-wrenching scene—two elders, bodies ablaze, detonated themselves to buy time for their disciples.
“GO!” Their final roar echoed as light engulfed their enemies.
Little Rascal roared in anguish.
The wounded foes soon regrouped, pursuing the fleeing disciples. Unable to stand by, he stashed Qing Feng and Er Meng in his spatial pouch and *charged*.
The broken sword *hummed*, blazing like a sun as he unleashed his full power. The earth split—several mountains exploded. A few enemies perished instantly, but the rest dodged.
They were *strong*.
Little Rascal fled, the enemies in hot pursuit. A winged predator dove at him, but he activated the Kun Peng’s divine wings, vanishing into the wilderness in a storm of wind and lightning.
For over an hour, he ran—bloodied, battered, but alive. A spirit herb mended his wounds.
“I *will* survive.”
He searched for familiar faces—Mu Yan, Ling Tianhou, Elder Liu. Maybe only with them could he escape. But the battlefield was vast, and they were likely hunted.
*No choice. Return to the heart of the storm.*
Disguising himself with Mao Qiu’s transformation art, he infiltrated the Tuoba Clan’s ranks.
Yet soon, a sword beam nearly obliterated him.
“*DIE, BRAT!*”
*How?!*
He fought desperately before vanishing into the wilds again.
Opening his spatial pouch, he consulted Qing Feng and the others.
“The four great clans *hate* you,” Er Meng explained. “They must’ve marked you with Ghost Orchid scent. It lingers for days.”
Little Rascal’s face darkened.
The day became a desperate flight. Every time he thought he’d escaped, new enemies barred his path.
“I *will* live. For vengeance.”
Bodies littered the land—friend and foe alike.
Then—a voice of betrayal.
“Elder, hand over the scriptures.”
Yu Feng—once a prodigy of the genius camp—now stood with the Rain Clan, demanding treasures from his own sect.
“Traitor!” The elder roared.
Little Rascal’s blood boiled. He *remembered* Yu Feng—a lightning-wielder, once favored by the sect.
*No mercy.*
He struck, cutting down Rain Clan experts in a blur of steel and wings.
“IT’S *HIM*! THE BRAT!”
The Rain Clan *erupted* in fury.
A chase ensued. Half an hour later, Little Rascal escaped—bruised, but alive.
Exhausted, he stumbled upon another tragedy—Elder Xiong Fei and Elder Zhuo Fei, who’d once scolded him, now lay torn apart, having sacrificed themselves for their disciples.
“*ELDERS!*” The disciples wailed.
A senior brother—Lin Mu—stepped forward. “Go. I’ll hold them.”
He was already dying, his body burning with the Blood Ignition Art.
Little Rascal *acted*.
The broken sword *flared*, beheading a monstrous beast.
“*RUN!*” he screamed.
Lin Mu laughed. “Little Brother… let’s fight together one last time.”
Tears streamed down Little Rascal’s face as he fled, Lin Mu’s final charge lighting up the battlefield.
The calamity lasted a day and night.
At dawn, Little Rascal collapsed on a distant hill, staring at the blood-soaked horizon.
He stood, wiped his tears, and turned away.
The sun rose as he marched forward—into the unknown.
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