My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 345 Overflow

"Who are you? And what has our sect done to incur your wrath?!" the sect leader bellowed, his qi flaring as he glared down at Riley.

His voice shook the air, a desperate attempt to mask the fear gnawing at the edges of his heart.

Riley’s gaze was calm, unshaken.

"Nothing," he said evenly, his words like a cold wind brushing past.

"I’m simply harvesting evil—and claiming the returns it brings."

He didn’t bother to elaborate. Words were wasted on the damned.

Bang!

The world blurred. Riley vanished from where he stood, his movement faster than the mortal eye could follow.

In the next heartbeat, he was behind the sect leader. A wet, sickening sound followed.

When Riley reappeared, the sect leader’s head had already been torn from his shoulders, spinning high into the air, droplets of blood scattering like crimson rain before the lifeless body toppled.

The head hit the ground with a dull thud, the leader’s eyes still wide in frozen disbelief—dead, yet unwilling to accept it.

Silence fell.

But Riley could hear it—the cries of the damned.

From the corpses and from the very stones of the sect, black miasma poured out, thick and writhing.

The accumulated sins of generations: bloodshed, oppression, cruelty, and greed.

It rose like a fog, and Riley’s eyes narrowed as he watched it seep into his being, his strength growing in return.

He felt no pity.

These people had lived on the suffering of others; their hands were stained with too much blood to ever wash clean.

To him, this was justice—cold, impartial, absolute.

And yet... not everyone deserved the blade.

Beyond the grand hall, chained figures knelt in trembling silence.

Slaves, servants, and broken souls—taken from their homes, stripped of dignity, and forced to serve the sect.

Their eyes were hollow, but in them glimmered the faintest spark of hope at the sight of the fallen sect master.

Riley turned to them.

With a simple wave of his hand, the chains binding their wrists and ankles shattered like fragile glass.

Shackles crumbled into dust.

Doors sealed with formation runes burst open, the symbols flickering and then dying as his will cut through them with ease.

Gasps filled the air.

Some fell to their knees, overwhelmed by freedom they had never thought to taste again.

Others wept openly, clutching each other in disbelief.

"You are free," Riley said simply. His tone carried no warmth, no comfort—only truth.

To him, they were not allies, nor burdens, nor even worth remembering.

He released them because they were innocent, because their suffering bore no stain of guilt.

The sect burned behind him, its once-mighty halls collapsing into ruins as flames fed on the corruption that had reigned here for too long.

Riley walked away without looking back, the freed slaves watching his departing figure in awe and fear.

For them, he was both savior and reaper. For Riley, they were nothing but shadows at the edge of his path.

And of course, Riley did not stop there.

Once he had drawn blood, he did not rest—his path became one of endless slaughter.

He visited death upon every evil sect he could find, leaving behind nothing but ruins and corpses.

Wherever his shadow passed, sect masters fell, disciples perished, and grand legacies were wiped away in a single night.

The Blood Fiend Sect was the first to crumble.

Known for bathing in the blood of innocents to fuel their cultivation, their crimson halls were shattered by Riley’s hand.

The rivers of blood they had amassed turned against them, surging like tidal waves as Riley’s presence twisted their own formations into a curse.

Their sect master tried to flee, but his body was split neatly in half before he could take his third step.

From there, Riley descended upon the Heavenly Demon Cult.

Their so-called "Heavenly Demon Palace," carved into the side of a mountain, stood for centuries as a place where mortals were broken and remade into puppets.

That mountain now lay in ruins, its foundations torn apart by sword light so fierce that even the heavens trembled.

The cult’s elder demons, each boasting lifespans of a thousand years, were reduced to nothing more than dust scattered by the wind.

The Nine Nether Palace, famed for their assassins who struck unseen, thought they could outwit him.

They filled the night with shadows, concealed blades, and killing intent.

But one by one, their assassins fell, unable to comprehend how Riley could see through every trick and illusion.

When dawn came, the palace itself lay silent, not a single killer left breathing.

The Soul Devouring Sect met a fate far crueler.

Their very foundations were steeped in the wails of spirits they had enslaved.

Riley tore open the barriers of their spirit prison, setting free the countless souls they had tormented.

The released spirits turned on their captors with unimaginable fury, and when the carnage was done, Riley’s blade finished what vengeance had begun.

And then there was the Corpse Refining Sect.

Their armies of the undead once blotted out the sun, feared across the lands.

Riley’s arrival reduced their corpses to ashes. His strikes carried a purifying might that incinerated the puppets they had labored for centuries to craft.

Their corpse monarchs fell screaming, their rotten thrones overturned, their necrotic qi burned away until nothing remained but silence.

For a month straight, Riley continued this relentless crusade.

Each sect treasury he raided became another mountain of loot added to his growing hoard.

Spirit stones piled high like hills, divine artifacts hummed with suppressed power, jade slips of forbidden techniques stacked endlessly, and rare medicinal pills glowed with an inner light.

What once belonged to tyrants now filled Riley’s chamber, awaiting his consumption.

At last, after countless battles, he returned to his room.

His spoils glittered around him, treasures enough to make an empire kneel.

And as he had predicted, no one came searching for him.

To the world, Riley was long dead, and his name had already faded into silence.

Yet the silence did not last long.

"Did you hear what happened?" whispers carried across taverns, sect courtyards, and merchant caravans.

"Someone is killing off the evil sects one by one! Even the great Blood Fiend Sect, the Heavenly Demon Cult, the Nine Nether Palace, the Soul Devouring Sect, and the Corpse Refining Sect—all wiped out!"

"What? Impossible! Those sects ruled for centuries, with roots so deep even dynasties dared not challenge them! How could they fall in a single month?"

"Hahaha! Heaven has finally cast divine retribution on this cursed world! The age of wickedness is ending!"

The disciples of the Sacred Heart Sword Sect spoke the loudest, their voices brimming with hope and excitement.

To them, this was a miracle, a turning point ordained by the heavens themselves.

They toasted, cheered, and proclaimed that the world was being cleansed of its rot.

What they did not know was that their so-called "divine retribution" had a name—and that name was Riley.

Riley smiled faintly and paid no mind to the noise outside.

He had no interest in gossip or the petty schemes of others.

There were still more evil sects waiting to be conquered in the coming days, and his path of slaughter was far from over.

For now, his identity remained hidden in plain sight—everyone’s focus was on the chaos shaking the cultivation world, not on him, a newly admitted direct disciple under a sect elder.

Within the confines of his room, however, his true work began.

Spirit stones glittered in heaps around him, their luster dimming as they were crushed to dust one by one, their spiritual essence surging into his body.

Heavenly herbs dissolved upon his tongue, their medicinal power coursing like molten iron through his veins.

Ancient treasures released their sealed energy in blinding flashes before being devoured by his cultivation, their centuries of accumulated might compressed into fuel for his rise.

The process was merciless.

"Ahhhhhhh!" Riley’s cry reverberated through the chamber as his body shuddered violently.

His flesh tore apart and reknit itself, bones cracked like thunder only to reform harder than steel, and his meridians stretched wider, groaning under the strain of channeling more power than they were ever meant to contain.

Pain gnawed at him from every direction.

It was the kind of agony that would break ordinary cultivators into pieces.

Yet Riley did not falter. His face was calm, his will like an unyielding blade.

He knew this torment was the toll of ascension—progress always demanded blood and suffering, and he was willing to pay both without hesitation.

Still, he devoured more. His aura swelled, violent and oppressive, filling the room with such density that the very air rippled.

Energy howled around him like a storm, shaking the wooden beams overhead and threatening to collapse the chamber altogether.

And then—he felt it.

A ripple in the stillness. The subtle sting of another’s gaze.

Someone had forced their perception into his quarters, probing, watching.

Riley’s eyes flickered open.

A sharp glint flashed across his pupils as his lips curved into a cold smile.

So... finally, you’re here.