Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!-Chapter 92: Change

At this moment, thousands of cracking, violet lightning bolts rained down from the heavens in a rhythmic, frantic bombardment, striking the shadow dome created by Qing’er with the force of falling mountains.

Each impact sent a shockwave of thunder that threatened to shatter the eardrums of every living soul for miles.

High above, Qing’er’s face was a mask of agony as she coughed up a spray of crimson blood that stood out sharply against the black of her bodysuit.

Yet, her red eyes burned with a terrifying, singular resolve as she gritted her teeth so hard they began to crack, forcing her Saint-realm cultivation to its absolute limit to maintain the barrier.

To her, every bolt of lightning was a hammer blow against her soul, but she was the shield of the Young Master, and a shield will protect its user until it is broken.

Down in the cratered street, Jiang Chen felt the first cold touch of true, final oblivion.

The arrogance that had fueled his "Peerless Sword Venerable" soul was gone, replaced by the primal instinct of a cornered animal.

The Formless Void aura around him, though at Minor Completion, flickered like a candle in a hurricane.

He scrambled backward, his heels dragging through the rubble, his eyes fixed on the grey, conceptual mist clinging to Haoran’s blade.

He Sword Intent, unlike traditional qi or dao, it does not follow the rules of the cultivation system, but it’s own set of rules.

The only thing that mattered in that rule is how strong your intent to cut is.

Even if he has this divine physique, once the sword intent touched him, he would have to say goodbye with his second life.

"Die, Jiang Chen." Shen Haoran whispered.

Without wasting another breath, he thrust Azathoth forward, and the sword moved with a silent, inevitable trajectory, cutting through the air and the very laws of the Saint Burial Realm.

But at the exact moment the dark tip was set to pierce Jiang Chen’s throat, a blinding flash of gold erupted between them as a golden rope, glowing with the brilliance of a thousand suns and etched with ancient immortal runes, spiraled out of the void.

It whipped around the blade of Azathoth, tightening with a metallic screech that resonated with the frequency of a higher world.

The momentum of Haoran’s strike was halted instantly, the shockwave of the sudden stop cracking the ground beneath his feet.

"What!?" Haoran’s eyes widened.

"Fellow daoist, can you give this old man face and let him go?"

The world seemed to freeze.

Even the relentless lightning striking Qing’er’s dome paused for a heartbeat, as if the heavens themselves were curious about the intruder.

Everyone’s gaze shifted to the sky, a few distance away from Qing’er, and there stood an old man who looked like he had stepped out of an ancient scroll.

He was bald, with a white beard so long it reached his waist, wearing a pristine white robe that emitted a faint, holy fragrance.

He held the end of the golden rope with a hand that looked like weathered wood but possessed the strength of a tectonic plate.

Shen Haoran’s eyes narrowed, his golden pupils contracting.

He sensed a profound, troublesome aura from the newcomer—an aura that didn’t belong to the "trash" cultivators of the Saint Burial Realm.

And if he guessed it right, this old man was a Heavenly Saint Realm expert.

He pulled back on his sword, but the golden rope held firm.

"...Who are you?" Haoran asked, his voice dripping with icy disdain. "How dare you interfere in the personal business of the Shen Clan? Do you find your life too long?"

The old man stroked his beard, his expression one of calm, detached wisdom. "This old daoist is an elder from the Golden Cloud Immortal Sect of the High Heavens, and this young man is destined for our sect. I hope the Young Master would give me face, acknowledge the ties between our Great Sects, and let me take this young man."

Golden Cloud Immortal Sect is one of the Four Immortal Sects in the Imperial Capital, each one of them having produced an Immortal and have an immortal legacy.

Shen Haoran clicked his tongue in pure, unadulterated disdain. "So it’s you. A mere elder from an immortal sect. How dare a servant like you make demands of me? I want this man dead, and nothing can stop me. Not to mention you—even if your Sect Master himself came here to beg me on his knees, I would not hesitate to spit in his face and tell him to get lost. You are nothing in the eyes of the Shen bloodline."

The old man’s calm mask fractured for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his eyes. "Young Master Shen, although young people should be arrogant to forge their Dao, they must also know the immensity of heaven and earth. Overreaching will only lead to a shattered foundation."

"That’s my line," Haoran retorted, his Qi beginning to boil. "The Saint Burial Realm is a vassal world under the administration of the Shen Clan. An elder from an outside force actually dares to descend here and interfere with a purge? Did you get permission from my aunt to descend here? Or does your Golden Cloud Immortal Sect wish to officially declare war on my clan? Because I assure you, my mother would love an excuse to paint your ’Golden Clouds’ red."

The old man flinched, after all the threat of Chu Xueyu’s name carrying a weight that could crush kingdoms.

She was recognised as the strongest Saint in the empire.

"...We will give the Shen Clan a formal explanation and apology through the proper channels later," he said, his voice tightening. "But this young man, Jiang Chen, is fated with our sect’s ancestral heritage. I am determined to have him."

"I see. Then we shall see if you have the strength to take him from me!"

Shen Haoran didn’t hesitate. Even if he knew that the old man was a Heavenly Saint, far beyond his current Golden Core cultivation, he still didn’t hesitate to attack.

Because he is a Shen.

He reached into his storage and took out the knife—the artifact imbued with the Supreme’s Sword Intent, then without a word of warning, he slashed it downward toward the grounded Jiang Chen.

"Stop!" the old man’s eyes widened in horror.

He realized the nature of the power Haoran had just unleashed, and knew that not to mention Jiang Chen, even he cannot be sure to survive this attack.

He moved in a blur of golden light, appearing directly in front of Jiang Chen, casting his own immortal body as a shield.

The light of the sword intent was too intense for the mortal eye to perceive, and for a single, terrifying instant, the entire Southern Continent was dyed a blinding, sterile white.

The laws of space screamed as they were torn asunder.

When the light finally dissipated, the scene was one of gore and ruin.

The old man was still standing, but he was a mangled wreck. He had lost his entire left arm; the skin on his chest and face had been vaporized, leaving the white bone of his skull and ribs completely exposed to the air.

Blood poured from his wounds, smoking as it hit the ground.

Behind him, Jiang Chen lay unconscious. His clothes were singed and his skin was blackened by the heat, but miraculously, he was alive.

The old man had taken 99% of the strike onto his own Heavenly Saint foundation.

However, the aftermath was far worse.

The sword intent was still lingering, refusing to dissipate as massive, expanding cracks remained open in the air, and a bottomless abyss now ran through the center of Fragrant Flower City, cutting the town and the entire continent in half.

This continent, despite being the smallest in the Saint Burial Realm, was still the size of several solar systems—and it had been cleaved like an apple by a mere fragment of a Supreme’s will.

Shen Haoran stood amidst the wreckage, breathing heavily, a cold smirk on his face. "Good job taking that on. You are at the Heavenly Saint realm, aren’t you? Impressive. But tell me, old man... what would you do about a second one?"

Haoran reached into his robe and pulled out a second jade knife.

The old man’s exposed eye widened in pure, unadulterated terror, but before Haoran could strike, the heavens themselves let out a final, decisive roar.

A bolt of dark gold lightning ripped through the sky.

This wasn’t an aimless strike, it was a targeted attack by the heavenly dao to protect its "favored" son.

The bolt shattered Qing’er’s shadow dome as if it were glass and it struck her directly in the sky.

"AHHHHHH!" Qing’er’s scream echoed across the city as she was engulfed in dark gold fire.

Her soul was being burned by the world’s laws, and despite her will to endure, her eyes eventually rolled back, and she lost consciousness, her limp body beginning to fall from the sky like a broken bird.

Haoran flinched, his heart dropping as he looked up at the sky.

Then, seeing what happened to Qing’er , he simply didn’t care about the old man or Jiang Chen in that moment and immediately tucked the knife away and leaped into the air, using his full speed to catch her before she hit the ground.

Taking this golden opportunity, the old man didn’t say a word and just grabbed the unconscious Jiang Chen, blood spraying from his mangled side, and vanished into a spatial rift that closed instantly.

Haoran landed on the ground, cradling the unconscious and smoking Qing’er in his arms.

He looked toward the empty space where the old man had been and let out a vicious curse. "Damn it! You won’t run far!"

But he didn’t dwell on the escape. He looked down at Qing’er, his golden eyes filled with a rare, burning concern as the dark gold lightning was still flickering over her skin, eating at her Saint-level foundation.

He immediately took out several pills from his storage ring and feed it to her, letting the pill dissolve into her mouth.

He sighed, thinking that he seems to have changed a lot.

Before, he wouldn’t have cared about Qing’er as long as he accomplished his mission.

But now...

He shook his head, ’Don’t think about it for now. Qing’er is a priority.’