The Second Apostle''s lips twisted into a sly smirk.“With the Cult Leader gone, the Apostles, with their shallow faith, manipulate the sect as they see fit. Such beings are truly deserving of death. Disciples, purge the Seventh Apostle with your sacred resolve.”


    He spoke with an air of elegance, his arms crossed while he floated mid-air, supported by the profound art of Nenggong Hodo’s Bodhisattva Steps. To any observer, his ethereal demeanor resembled that of a divine figure, but the chaotic aura emanating from his entire body betrayed the sinister essence of the Blood Flame Sect.


    The "god" of the Shaanxi branch of the Blood Flame Sect had issued his decree.


    The disciples, as numerous as red ants, reacted in unison. Fanaticism, by nature, gravitates toward those who dominate nearby. For the disciples of Shaanxi, their land was their entire world, and the murderous intent they directed toward the disgraced Seventh Apostle reflected this reality.


    “The Apostle has spoken!”


    “Drink the blood of the heretic!”


    “Kill her!”


    Amid the fervor, the head of the disciple who called for blood exploded, the result of a powerful palm strike unleashed from a distance. The force of the Crimson Shadow Palm surged forward, obliterating the unfortunate soul. With a calm and detached expression, the Second Apostle remarked, “Every drop of blood in this land belongs to me.”


    As disciples surged toward the Seventh Apostle, their crimson hair flowing wildly, they showed no hesitation, even as powerful shockwaves of internal energy erupted around them. The sheer number of attackers—easily in the hundreds—filled the snowy expanse.


    With the translucent barrier of the Two Flames Blood Spirit Formation shimmering faintly nearby, the scene resembled something out of a myth, a story from the Classic of Mountains and Seas, with monstrous creatures stirring amidst a snowy battlefield.


    The Seventh Apostle did not move. Her gaze flitted lazily across the chaotic scene, seemingly indifferent to the incoming tide of enemies. Her demeanor, though distracted, carried a hint of madness.


    The Second Apostle chuckled, his tone reminiscent of an ancient philosopher.


    “Seventh Apostle, noble aristocrat of pure blood. Do not resist the disciples. They are born from your martial arts and bloodline.”


    “You wield Blood Whispering Arts like a dignitary feigning grace,” the Seventh Apostle replied curtly.


    The Second Apostle’s smile deepened, and his voice flowed with a rhythmic cadence, an enchanting melody of persuasion.


    “Will you truly spill the blood of your kin? Even if you escape, no Apostle will welcome you. Do not rush to betrayal. Would it not be better to become the sword of the Shaanxi branch? There is so much to gain through faith.”


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