I Was Reincarnated As A Sword Spirit

The crazed cultivators lunged, their swords flashing through the crimson haze.

Qing'er barely had time to react. She ducked, the blade slicing just above her head, its eerie hum filling her ears. Before she could strike back, another attacker came from the side.

Fast!

She twisted, parrying just in time. Sparks flew as steel met steel. But her opponent did not stagger—they felt no pain, no hesitation.

"The Blood Mist corrupts their minds," Yao Yan said calmly, floating beside her, arms crossed. "They fight without fear of death."

"Then how do I stop them?" Qing'er asked, gritting her teeth as she deflected another strike.

Yao Yan smirked. "Kill them."

She hesitated. Could she?

Before she could answer that question, a third cultivator appeared behind her, his blade aimed for her neck.

Too fast—I can't dodge!

In that moment—Yao Yan moved.

He flickered like a crimson shadow, appearing behind her in an instant. A single strike.

The mad cultivator froze, then collapsed.

Qing'er stared.

"You…"

Yao Yan grinned. "Didn't I tell you? As long as I exist, no one will kill you."

She exhaled sharply, gripping her sword. No. She couldn't always rely on him.

She had to fight.

The next attacker came.

This time, Qing'er did not hesitate.

Her blade moved with precision—a perfect arc.

Blood sprayed. One fell.

Then another.

Another.

The crimson mist thickened, absorbing the fresh blood like a living thing.

But Qing'er did not falter.

She had stepped into the dance of battle—and she would not stop until the last enemy fell.