The sword moves with the swiftness of lightning, taking lives as effortlessly as reaping grass.

Zhou Lixing was struck with terror. His hand trembled so much he nearly dropped the token at his waist. Sweeping his gaze over the crowd, he barked, “Masters, quickly, come with me to greet General Xiahou.”

The Imperial Guards were the foremost regiment of the realm, established at the dawn of the current dynasty. They protected the capital, obeyed the emperor’s every command, and received privileges far exceeding those of provincial troops. Their strength was formidable—a true band of iron-blooded warriors.

The commander of the Imperial Guards held a prestigious rank, commanding ten thousand men—a position reserved only for those with extraordinary merit or from illustrious families. General Xiahou was one such man, and Zhou had heard stories about him: ruthless, supremely skilled in martial arts, unpredictable in his moods, yet highly favored by the emperor. Bestowed with the title of Deputy Commander, he was among the highest authorities of the Guards, wielding immense power and arrogance.

If someone of such ferocity was sent as an escort, just who was the person being protected?

Zhou dared not ponder further. Leading his retinue, he hurried to the yamen gates, only to see a sea of black-armored cavalry outside. The air was thick with killing intent, chilling the heart.

But what drew every eye was the carriage ahead, drawn by eight fine steeds. The carriage was exquisitely crafted, adorned with gold and jade, exuding nobility. Even the eight horses were rare treasures among thousands.

“Boldness! How dare you not bow before the princess consort?” A cold shout snapped Zhou back to his senses. He shivered, sweat pouring down his back, and immediately dropped to his knees. “Your humble servant Zhou Lixing greets the princess consort.”

“So, you are the magistrate of Guobei County?” Zhou looked up to see a burly, black-armored officer astride a horse, head slightly inclined, eyes as sharp as blades piercing straight through him.

“Yes, I am your humble servant. Greetings, General Xiahou.”

The officer circled on horseback, then suddenly reined in and said, “I am escorting the princess consort through this place. Arrange suitable lodgings, or it will cost you your head.”

“I will see to it at once. Please be at ease, General.” Zhou dared not say more, nor did he dare to ask which princess consort it was. He scrambled to his feet and ordered his servants, who rushed off in panic. “General, my residence is modest but very quiet. No one will disturb the princess consort’s rest.”

The rear court of the yamen had always been the magistrate’s residence, where his wife and children lived. There was no better option now, so he sent his family away for the time being, not wishing to invite trouble.

Hundreds of Imperial Guards dismounted, the weight of their armor raising dust as they moved with intimidating presence, yet Zhou did not dare to avoid it. Stooping slightly, he led the way.

As they passed a courtyard filled with monks and Daoist priests, the black-armored officer asked, “Why are there so many idlers here?”

Zhou did not dare conceal the truth and reported all that had happened in recent days, adding, “Most of these so-called masters are nothing but charlatans with no real powers. Yet I dare not allow them to roam free, lest they swindle the people. So I have kept them here, feeding them in hopes of calming the populace.”

“Demons causing trouble?” The officer burst into laughter. “I’ve been bored out of my mind on the road, yearning for some heads to hone my sword. This is just perfect. You make proper arrangements for the princess consort, and then I’ll lead my men to slay the demons and return clear skies to you.”

Zhou’s heart sank. He knew the demons were powerful and elusive, and alarming the princess consort would be a capital offense.

“These fake priests and bald monks—throw them all out now. If I see another, it’ll cost you your head.”

The officer swept his cloak, leaving Zhou no chance to reply, striding off ahead.

What could Zhou say? He had to drive out the false monks and priests he had harbored for days.

Once arrangements were made, the black-armored guards did not remove their armor but stood in formation in the courtyard, hands on sword hilts, murderous aura radiating from them. The serving maids were so frightened their knees shook as they passed by.

The officer went inside to report. After a while, he emerged and suddenly spotted Yi Fan and his companions. His glare was fierce. “Did I not say that if I saw another priest or monk, your head would roll? Do you think I won’t kill you?”

Zhou hastened to explain, “General, these masters possess true powers and can subdue demons. They are not impostors. Moreover, this Daoist Yi is the only one who knows the location of the demon’s lair. That is why I dared to bring them.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Lead the way!” The officer snorted and swept a cold glance at Yi Fan, whose soul nearly fled his body under the murderous intent, cold sweat soaking him through as if he stood on a glacier.

Such a heavy aura of death—how many must he have slain to accumulate it? Truly a peerless fiend.

Yi Fan and his companions dared not fall behind, following meekly. Before the might of hundreds of Imperial Guards, all their powers would be useless against cold steel.

After being called forward, Yi Fan’s face was not pleasant. Had he known, he would never have revealed the lair’s location.

Once outside the yamen, the guards mounted up, but Yi Fan was at a loss—he couldn’t ride a horse.

“Guide us,” the officer barked, suddenly seizing Yi Fan and tossing him onto a horse, then swept his cloak and spurred his mount into a gallop.

Hooves thundered like rolling thunder, a tide of black-armored cavalry surging down the street, raising a cloud of dust behind them.

…

Though Guobei County was plagued by demons, with many deaths, it could not dampen the spirits of those who sought pleasure. Inside the Purple Blossom Pavilion, guests and courtesans mingled, laughter and music filled the air, and the atmosphere was lively.

Outside the doors, Xiahou shrugged his shoulders, shaking Yi Fan off, and cast a glance at the three hundred armored riders behind him, then grinned wickedly.

“Kill them all. Leave none alive.”

A chorus of assent, swords drawn and hooves pounding, a black tide surged into the building.

Xiahou, cold-faced, sat atop his horse, eyes closed, unmoved.

Screams pierced the air—shrieks and wails that chilled the soul, sounding like the howls of demons, enough to unnerve even the bravest.

Not everyone inside was a demon; most were innocent.

Yi Fan’s expression was grim, and he could not help but speak up, “General, there are many innocents inside. Though there are demons, most of these people are victims, unaware of the truth. Can you not let them go?”

“Victims? I, Xiahou, never need a reason to kill. Kill and be done with it. Any more talk, and you’ll be next.”

So he was unreasonable—Yi Fan dared not protest further.

Suddenly, seven or eight figures burst through the windows and soared into the air. One of them was Si Meng, covered in blood, her face deathly pale and terrified, desperately trying to escape.

“Ha! So there are demons after all. Bring me their heads!”

Sword flashed, and before one could blink, a head fell with a scream—the victim slain on the spot. The rest, seized by terror and rage, only wished to flee.

Xiahou, sword in hand, vaulted between walls and rooftops. With a sweep of his blade, another fell. Cloak billowing, he leaped more than ten meters, blocking the escape route.

“Brothers, this fiend is too strong. Only by joining forces can we hope to kill him; otherwise, none of us will escape alive.”

A demonic figure shrieked, brandishing weapons and unleashing foul sorcery that sent black smoke billowing all around. The stench was overpowering, and those who breathed it in collapsed, their bodies soon rotting—a most fearsome power.