Chapter One: Every Year Has Its Share of Fools, But This Year Surpasses Them All

"Hey, have you heard? They say the six great sects are going to besiege Bright Summit."

"That's right. This time, those demon cultists are doomed for sure."

"Those demon cultists, their deaths are nothing to regret."

In the bustling tavern, a table of patrons chatted in hushed voices.

Not far from their table sat a young man of seventeen or eighteen, clad in white robes, who happened to overhear their words as he raised his cup. He couldn’t help but shake his head.

He only shook his head absentmindedly, but this gesture was caught by the martial artists discussing the demon cult. Hot-tempered as they were, they assumed the young man in white was openly disagreeing with their words.

"Boy, what are you shaking your head for?" one of them shouted, pointing at him.

"What’s wrong?" the other three, confused by their companion’s sudden outburst, asked.

"He shook his head as we spoke, clearly looking down on us," the first man declared.

"Shaking his head?" The three exchanged odd glances. In their world, to shake one’s head while another spoke was a clear sign of disagreement. They weren’t at the same table, but why did the young man in white choose that moment to shake his head, if not to show contempt?

"Boy, explain yourself. Why did you shake your head?" the man demanded.

The young man in white glanced at him, then calmly resumed sipping his wine, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

This indifference ignited the man’s fury. As a martial artist of the orthodox path, he was accustomed to respect from commoners—now, this youth dismissed him entirely.

If before there was merely a misunderstanding, now it was outright insolence.

"You little fool, you don’t know what’s good for you! We’re speaking to you and you behave this way? Today, I’ll give you a lesson your elders have neglected!" barked another man, his temper flaring as he rose and pointed at the young man in white, berating him.

The young man's expression remained calm, unaffected by their threats. "Teach me? Heh... Get lost. Get out of my sight, or else..."

"You!" The arrogance of the white-robed youth infuriated them—they’d never met such an audacious youth.

"Brothers, I say he’s with the demon cult! Let’s take his head and claim the reward!"

At the mention of a reward, the others sprang up, gripping their weapons.

"Such noise," the young man muttered coldly. In a flash, the pair of chopsticks in his hand shot forth.

A moment later, two cries of pain rang out. Two of the four martial artists had been struck in the thigh by the chopsticks, blood gushing forth and staining the floor.

"He’s a true master—run!" one cried, making for the exit. The others, seeing his retreat, tried to flee as well.

But causing trouble and then trying to escape? Not so easily.

Before the stunned gaze of the remaining patrons, several flashes of sword light gleamed; in the next instant, several thuds sounded as the would-be bounty hunters fell to the ground, each with a fatal wound to the throat—dead beyond doubt.

As the reality of the carnage registered, the onlookers stared in terror at the young man in white.

He stood there, white-robed and handsome, dispatching four men with a single stroke, not a drop of blood on him—a testament to his extraordinary skill.

The ordinary patrons were so frightened they scrambled from the tavern in a panic, fearing he would silence any witnesses.

Yet a few well-dressed individuals lingered, observing from a distance.

At this moment, the tavern’s proprietor, alerted by the commotion on the second floor, hurried up. He took one look at the twisted, lifeless bodies, their eyes wide in death, and collapsed in terror.

"This... this..." The proprietor trembled uncontrollably, his face ashen with fear.

A few crisp clinks sounded, and the proprietor saw a silver ingot tossed at his feet—he had no idea who threw it.

Looking up, he saw the young man in white, handsome yet cold-faced.

The proprietor was no fool; he knew perfectly well who was responsible for the carnage. But though he knew, he dared not utter a word.

The young man glanced at him, then turned to leave.

But as he was about to descend the stairs, a voice called from behind.

"Young master, please wait."

He turned to see another figure in white—though ‘young master’ was not quite right; it was clearly a young lady in men’s attire. Perhaps others would not notice, but he saw through her disguise at once.

Beside her stood a veiled monk, and behind them a group of armed soldiers—her identity was clearly not simple.

"You wish to seek justice for them?" he asked indifferently, as though it mattered not to him.

She smiled gently. "You jest, young master. Those men were lawless scoundrels—their deaths are inconsequential."

She thought to herself that, to speak so coldly, he must either be incapable of emotion or possess complete confidence in his own abilities.

"Oh," the young man replied softly, turning as if to leave.

She hurriedly called out, "Young master, please wait."

"What else do you want?" he asked, his tone impatient.

She smiled. "Such formidable skill, sir. My name is Zhao Min. Might I know your name?"

"Yang Wenhao," he replied.

"Yang Wenhao..." As the girl who called herself Zhao Min murmured his name, she realized he had already vanished without a trace.

"Princess, he’s gone," the veiled monk beside her said.

"Cheng Kun, what do you think of his skills?" Zhao Min asked, turning to the monk.

"I could not withstand a single blow from him," Cheng Kun replied.

Zhao Min’s face was filled with astonishment. "To think there’s someone so young and yet so powerful in this world. If possible, I must win him to my cause."

At this moment, Yang Wenhao, the slayer of four, was already far from the city.

He had not been born of this world. Two years ago, he had found himself in the world of "Heavenly Sword and Dragon Slaying: The Demon Cult Leader."

In those two years, using martial arts granted by his system, he had become one of the world’s strongest.

The four men earlier were far from his first kills—hence his composure.

He understood that survival in this world demanded killing; sentimentality would only spell death.

The main quest assigned by his system was to kill one of three: Zhang Wuji, Zhao Min, or Xiao Zhao.

As for Zhang Wuji, he had no qualms about killing a man. But to slay a woman, unless there was deep enmity, he would not act. Thus, his first target was naturally Zhang Wuji.

For a year, Yang Wenhao had sought a chance to slay Zhang Wuji. But as long as Zhang Wuji remained at Wudang, any attempt would bring about Zhang Sanfeng’s wrath—so he waited for an opportunity.

Recently, he learned Zhang Wuji had fallen off a cliff and disappeared—his chance had come.

Zhang Wuji was sure to travel with the red-robed maiden, Xiao Zhao, through the secret passage to Bright Summit. Yang Wenhao needed only to wait there and strike.

With Zhang Wuji’s death, he would complete his mission and return to his own world.

Thinking of this, he, who had not smiled in a long while, found a rare smile upon his lips.

No one could resist the pull of home—not even a peerless master such as he.

He did not belong here. He had to return to his own world—a harmonious world of laws and self-discipline.

By now, the foot of Bright Summit was crowded with the six great orthodox sects.

Night had fallen, so they camped at the mountain’s base.

Yang Wenhao now leaned against a tall tree, not far from the camps of the six sects.

He had no dealings with them, nor did he care to.

Just as he was about to close his eyes and rest, a faint breeze made him reconsider.

Watching a black shadow glide across the sky, he murmured, "Bat King Wei Yixiao."

Moments later, the Bat King swooped down toward the camps of the six sects.

The previously quiet camps erupted in chaos as the Bat King, returning, carried off a woman.

"Wei Yixiao, release my wife!" a white-bearded man yelled, pointing up at Wei Yixiao.

"Haha! With a wife this plump, nothing suits me better than to have a little blood!" Wei Yixiao laughed as he hovered above.

"Outrageous!"

Seeing this, Abbess Miejue of the Emei Sect drew the Heavenly Sword and leapt into the air, sending several arcs of sword energy toward him.

In a flash, the woman in Wei Yixiao’s grasp was cut to pieces by the sword energy. With a cry of pain, Wei Yixiao fled swiftly.

Witnessing this, Yang Wenhao’s lips curled in amusement. "The Heavenly Sword truly is a divine weapon—the Nine Yin Manual within is a treasure worth taking, if I have the chance."

He knew he was destined to travel through other worlds; power was the only guarantee of survival.

The greater his strength, the easier his path.

The Bat King abducted a woman, Abbess Miejue intervened, yet in the end, the one who died was not the Bat King, but the wife of a righteous man. Wei Yixiao escaped unscathed.

Though Miejue killed the woman, she shifted all blame to Wei Yixiao’s poison skills. The aggrieved husband, weaker than Miejue, could only swallow his anger.

To Yang Wenhao, it was yet another display of the hypocrisy of these so-called righteous sects.

By dawn, the six sects broke camp and marched toward Bright Summit.

Behind their great procession, a young man in white, handsome and unobtrusive, shadowed their every move.

No one noticed such an unremarkable youth; their focus was on storming Bright Summit and annihilating the demon cult.

But from the moment they set foot on Bright Summit, their fates were sealed.

The Five Elements Flags of Bright Summit had long awaited the arrival of the orthodox sects.

At the very first clash, the six sects suffered heavy casualties. Some among them were already contemplating retreat.

Of course, Abbess Miejue, as their leader, was the first to step forward, shouting that deserters would be executed, and then, sword in hand, led the charge herself.

The others, cowed by her tyranny, had no choice but to follow, with the Emei Sect leading the way in battle against the demon cult.

It must be said, Abbess Miejue’s character was lacking, but with the Heavenly Sword in hand, her strength was unmatched. Moreover, she led from the front.

In a matter of moments, the ambushing demon cultists were utterly decimated.