Immortality Starts From Making Money.

BOOM!

The commerce district erupted in chaos.

The ground quaked violently, splitting the earth with a deafening roar.

Cobblestones fractured under the pressure as a blinding shockwave tore through the street, hurling dust and debris high into the sky.

Screams tore through the air.

Pedestrians and hawkers scattered in every direction—some diving behind carts, others shielding children and clutching their loved ones.

Eyes wide, limbs trembling, people dared a glance toward the heart of the destruction.

Where once stood the towering and newly built Seven Talisman Trade Hall, there was now only ruin.

A massive crater gaped in the center of the commercial district. Crumbled walls smoked and sizzled as if hit by lightning.

The once proud banner of the Seven Talisman Trade Hall lay torn, fluttering helplessly in the debris-choked wind.

Thick clouds of dust rose like an apocalyptic fog, choking out the sunlight and darkening the skies above.

From the ruins... blood seeped.

Crimson trails ran through the cracked tiles, too fresh to dry, too many to count.

Cries echoed faintly—wails of the barely-living, the unfortunate who had survived the blast only to be pinned under rubble.

Weak hands reached out through the stone, trembling fingers grasping at empty air.

"Help… please…"

But no one moved.

Fear paralyzed the crowd.

They didn't even dare breathe loudly, much less step forward.

Because at the center of that devastation, locked in a battle that defied reason, were four figures—three old men and a single middle-aged woman whose beauty seemed untouched by the chaos.

Each clash of their attacks released terrifying shockwaves, audible even at the capital gates.

Windows shattered in districts miles away.

Wild winds howled like beasts through alleys and rooftops, scattering loose tiles like paper. The air itself felt like it might rip apart at any moment.

Those who hadn't died in the initial explosion now watched with horror, their livelihoods turned to ash.

Vendors, shop owners, and residents—many of whom had already lost everything in the recent unrest—now saw their last remnants turned to dust.

Rage brewed in their hearts… but no one dared speak it aloud.

In the eye of this storm, the woman remained calm.

Her pristine silk robes fluttered gently in the wind, unsinged and unsoiled. Her breathing, even.

Her expression, cold.

A crescent-shaped fan shimmered in her delicate hand like a blade forged from moonlight.

Her opponents were worse.

The three old men were battered and bruised.

Their clothes were torn in several places, their hair matted with sweat and blood. Cuts marred their limbs.

One of them had a deep gash running across his cheek; another held his side, blood oozing through his fingers.

But they did not retreat.

Blood foamed at their lips, yet they pressed forward with grim determination.

Then—

Bang!

One of the old men reacted a second too slow. A fan-shaped wave of qi struck him in the chest, sending him flying like a ragdoll.

He smashed through a collapsed wall, carving a deep furrow into the ground before crashing to a halt, unconscious or worse.

The second old man charged in response, a sword shimmering with deadly light in his hands.

But the woman's fan danced with elegant precision. She sidestepped the blade and flicked her wrist.

Fwip!

A bright arc of energy burst from her fan, cleaving through the air toward him.

"Hmph!" the old man grunted. In a flash, he pulled a talisman from his spatial pouch and tore it.

Fwoosh!

A golden defensive barrier erupted around his comrade just in time.

The arc collided with the shield.

CRACK!

The shield quivered, trembled… and then fractured. Spiderweb-like cracks raced across its surface before it shattered into a rain of golden sparks.

The two old men looked on in disbelief.

"She broke it… in one strike?!"

The arc didn't stop.

BOOM!

It struck the protected man full force, hurling him back like a thunderbolt, his scream echoing through the district.

He slammed into a pile of broken masonry, coughing blood as his body went limp.

Only one remained.

The last old man's face twisted with dread.

His knees trembled when he saw the faint, almost mocking smile on the woman's lips.

That same smile she wore when the fight began.

"DIE, BITCH!" he howled, consumed by fear, regret, and fury.

He surged forward, raising his saber overhead.

But the woman didn't flinch. She merely raised her fan.

The two weapons met.

CLANG!

The saber shattered—splinters of cold steel scattered across the battlefield like falling stars.

"What—?!" the old man gasped. But before he could retreat—

Slash!

A sharp pain cleaved through his chest. He screamed, stumbling backward. Blood sprayed from a long, deep wound.

His ribs cracked audibly, organs trembling beneath the blow.

He collapsed to his knees, gasping. His chest was open. He saw his own heart, pounding… slowing.

He lifted his gaze to the woman standing above him, her eyes unreadable.

"W-We just… wanted… compensation…" he rasped, eyes swimming with regret.

She did not answer.

Whoosh.

Her fan flicked one final time.

A beam of white light flashed.

The old man was split cleanly in two, his body falling apart like paper torn at the seam.

"Nooooooo!"

A heart-wrenching scream pierced through the chaos like a blade through silk.

It came from the distance—raw, hoarse, and trembling with agony.

Dust hung heavy in the air, swirling like ghostly shrouds over a battlefield littered with bodies, broken weapons, and shattered stone.

From beneath a mound of rubble, a figure slowly rose.

The first of the three old men stumbled forward, swaying like a corpse brought back to life.

His robe was torn and smeared with ash and blood.

Dirt clung to his wrinkled face, and one eye was nearly swollen shut.

But none of that mattered—his bloodshot eyes locked onto the source of his fury: the woman standing over the fresh corpse of his brother-in-arms.

His chest heaved.

Veins bulged across his temple, crawling like vines of madness.

They had been brothers not by blood, but by battle, by years of survival, suffering, and sacrifice.

Watching his comrade perish like a fly—snuffed out by that woman—something inside him snapped.

"I'll kill you!" he roared with the wrath of a grieving god.

With trembling fingers, he reached into his spatial pouch and retrieved a jagged, pitch-black artifact: a broken sword, its surface cracked like ancient obsidian.

Without hesitation, he thrust his hand forward and poured his Qi into it.

The sword responded like a ravenous beast tasting blood.

It drank his Qi greedily, hungrily—waves of dark mist erupting from its fractured blade.

Strange runes, long dormant, flickered to life across its surface, glowing faintly like cursed embers.

Each pulse of the runes sent a vibration through the air, unnatural and cold.

And then the sky changed.

A crushing pressure descended upon the battlefield, thick and malevolent like the breath of an ancient beast.

The earth groaned. Stones cracked.

Those nearest to the old man fell to their knees, their bones creaking under the weight.

Some screamed as blood trickled from their nostrils and ears.

"Retreat!" someone shouted in panic.

A wave of people surged backward, eyes wide with dread.

"What… what was that?"

"I think it's the sword… that broken artifact!"

"Impossible! It's just a fragment—"

"Shut up! Look at the sky! Something's wrong!"

Amid the growing whispers, the woman furrowed her brow.

Her instincts, honed from years of battle, screamed danger.

Her soul trembled.

Her figure blurred and vanished with a sharp whoosh, appearing a dozen meters away in the blink of an eye.

Back at the epicenter, the old man stood, his knees shaking.

His vitality drained rapidly as the sword consumed his essence, his skin clinging to his bones, his eyes dimming.

But his grip never loosened. He lifted the sword above his head with all the strength he could muster.

Suddenly, every hair on his body stood on end.

With a final cry, he brought the sword down.

A flash split the sky.

A sword light—monstrous in scale and intent—manifested above.

Ten meters long, born of rage and grief, it tore through the clouds like a divine judgment. Its sharpness howled through the wind.

The air screamed.

Everyone watching was struck by fear, their bodies frozen by the sheer killing intent embedded within that blade.

Whoosh!

The sword light descended.

Everything in its path—boulders, corpses, even the wind—was cut clean in two.

'Danger!'

The woman's mind screamed. She had underestimated the broken sword.

Horribly.

Eyes wide, she reached into her pouch and pulled out a glowing talisman.

Rip!

The moment it tore, a bright, translucent shield enveloped her.

But she knew—it wouldn't be enough.

She was Golden Core Stage Two, yet even her cultivation trembled before this strike.

A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

Then—

BOOM!

The sword light slammed into the shield with a deafening crash.

The earth quaked. Her body jerked backward, feet dragging trenches into the ground.

The shield groaned under the pressure, cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

"No…!" she whispered.

Cracks deepened. Her spiritual energy surged wildly.

The crowd gasped.

Then, with a shattering crack, the shield exploded into fragments of light.

In the same breath, she hurled another item from her pouch—a bronze artifact shield.

BANG!

The bronze shield caught the attack just in time, but the moment it made contact, the artifact quivered, then shattered with a sharp clang.

The sword light had lost most of its power, but remnants still surged forward like the dying breath of a storm.

Summoning her final defensive technique, the woman crossed her arms, light forming around her.

Clang!

The last traces were deflected. She remained standing—but only barely.

Her body trembled.

She coughed violently, blood spilling from her lips, staining her robes red. Her face paled, and her legs buckled slightly.

Though she hadn't taken the full blow, the aftershock alone had caused internal injury.

Far behind, the old man watched it all—his vengeance incomplete.

His body sagged. His knees gave out, and he dropped with a weak groan.

Blood spilled from his lips as his eyes lost their light.

His vitality faded like a candle in the wind.

And then, with a soft exhale, he collapsed to the ground—dead.