I Become Sect master In Another World-Chapter 188 — Sect Master Returns
Ash was still falling when the pillar landed.
Gray flakes drifted through the golden light, melting as they touched the blazing column that stood between Qin Morian and the broken line of the Sanatan Flame Sect.
The terrace glowed beneath it, stone turning warm and bright where the radiance pressed down.
Smoke crawled low across the ground, but the pillar burned through it—steady, absolute—filling the battlefield with molten gold.
Not flickering.
Not fading.
Burning.
The disciples stared at it.
Faces streaked with blood and soot were washed clean in its glow.
Cracked swords lowered without thought. Someone’s breath hitched.
Someone else fell to their knees and didn’t realize.
Elder Liya’s hand tightened around Lin Shu’s shoulder as the light spilled over them, warm enough to sting.
Hope trembled through the broken ranks of the Sanatan Flame Sect like a fragile heartbeat.
Even the creatures went still.
Claws scraping stone... stopped.
Snarls died in warped throats.
They stared at the pillar too—bodies twitching, wings folded tight—waiting without understanding why.
Across the terrace—
Qin Morian narrowed his eyes.
Violet aura curled tighter around him as the golden column roared softly against the cracked stone between them.
Light pouring outward in heavy waves that pushed ash back and painted the entire battlefield in gold.
Inside the pillar—
A shadow moved.
The ground trembled.
Not from impact.
From recognition.
A thunderous shockwave burst outward from the heart of the light.
A ring of molten gold ripping across the mountain and tearing ash and smoke into spirals that scattered like frightened birds.
Broken banners snapped straight. Loose stones leapt once and shattered.
The golden pillar did not fade.
It shattered.
Cracks raced through it in branching veins, light splitting apart like glass struck by a hammer.
Then the whole column burst into a storm of tiny golden particles that rained down slowly, drifting through burning air like falling stars.
Inside the fading light—
A silhouette stepped forward.
Boots touched stone.
The terrace cracked beneath them, fractures spreading outward in thin, trembling lines.
Golden motes slid away from his shoulders, from his arms, from the line of his jaw—revealing him piece by piece.
White inner robes, spotless despite the battlefield.
A crimson outer robe hung from his shoulders like a war cloak, golden embroidery burning faintly along its edges—trident on the left, chakra on the right—each thread catching dying firelight.
Black cultivator trousers tucked into dark metal boots dusted with ash.
His meteorite sword rested at his waist, inside a blue Scabated.
His face came into the light.
No smile.
No softness.
Only stillness.
Ash slid down his cheek.
He didn’t blink.
His fist tightened.
Stone cracked under his boots.
Dust lifted in a hard circle.
Broken tiles scraped across the terrace.
Nearby flames bent sideways as pressure rolled out from him.
His pupils darkened—
then burned gold.
A thin Sudarshan Chakra mark flared on his forehead.
His Divine Form Activates.
The air dropped heavy.
Wind stopped.
Ash froze mid-fall.
Even the smoke seemed to hesitate around him.
The sky dimmed.
Not from clouds—
from him.
The golden motes had not finished falling when it appeared.
A translucent window unfolded in front of Shaurya’s eyes—not snapping open, not mechanical—but sliding gently into existence like light parting to make space for words meant only for him.
Soft gold.
Warm.
Familiar.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield vanished.
Then the voice came.
Not loud.
Not cold.
Tight.
Careful.
Like someone choosing words that would hurt anyway.
[Host... I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.]
Shaurya’s fingers froze mid-motion.
The ash drifting past him slowed, caught in the sudden stillness of his aura.
[Blue Stone City...]
The words hesitated.
[...we lost most of them. Nearly ninety percent of the people are gone. Qin Morian’s army wiped the city street by street. I tried to confirm twice before telling you... but it’s real.]
Stone cracked under Shaurya’s boots.
A thin fracture ran outward like a spiderweb.
His breath didn’t come out.
The system spoke softer.
[The Sanatan Flame Sect... the outer halls are gone. The inner peak collapsed. Most of the disciples are injured. Many elders are fighting on broken meridians.]
His jaw tightened.
A muscle jumped under his cheek.
Golden aura flickered once.
Then steadied.
The window dimmed slightly.
Like someone lowering their voice.
[...Lin Shu.]
Shaurya’s pupils shrank.
The battlefield noise vanished completely.
[She’s alive.]
A breath.
[But she’s hurt badly, Host. Fifty bones broken. Multiple meridians torn. Spiritual exhaustion at critical levels. If the fight continues much longer... I don’t know if she can hold on.]
The words lingered.
Didn’t disappear.
Didn’t rush.
Just... stayed.
Shaurya’s hand trembled.
Not fear.
Not weakness.
Rage.
The mountain felt it.
Pebbles lifted.
Ash burned midair.
[I know you’re angry,] the system said quietly.
[I am too.]
A pause.
Then softer—
[But you’re here now. And they’re still breathing because of you.]
Shaurya’s expression Harden.
He clenched his fist.
Across the battlefield—
Qin Morian watched.
Head tilted just enough to look curious.
Violet light drifted lazily around his fingers, coiling like bored serpents tasting the air. His gaze slid past Shaurya’s burning aura—past the molten pupils, the trembling mountain—until it settled on the disciples behind him.
Some were crying.
Some were laughing through blood.
Some were whispering his name like a prayer they had been afraid to say aloud.
Qin Morian’s lips curved.
"...Ah."
A soft breath.
Understanding.
He clasped his hands behind his back, robes stirring in the fading wind.
"When you stepped out of that light," he said mildly, "their spines straightened. Their hands stopped shaking."
His eyes flicked to Wang Tian wiping tears with a bloody sleeve.
To Luo Chen lowering his blade in relief.
To Elder Liya steadying Lin Shu as hope lit her eyes again.
Qin Morian chuckled under his breath.
"They look at you," he went on, voice smooth as silk over steel, "the way dying men look at the sunrise."
His gaze returned to Shaurya.
Sharp.
Interested.
"So you must be their master."
A pause.
Violet light curled tighter around his palm.
"The one they’ve been waiting for."
His smile widened a fraction.
"...The one they believe can save them."
Shaurya’s jaw locked.
A vein pulsed along his temple.
His teeth scraped against each other hard enough that a faint metallic sound slipped through the wind.
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
His eyes stayed on Qin Morian.
"...Qin... Morian..."
The name dragged out of his throat like something sharp.
Ash drifting between them caught fire.
"...You touched my people."
His fingers curled.
Bones cracked softly inside his fist.
"...You hurt Lin Shu."
The golden light around him trembled.
Once.
Twice.
Then it roared.
"...Now I’m mad."
His head lifted.
Molten gold burned in his pupils.
"Very... very... mad."
His voice broke into a scream.
"YOU’RE GOING TO PAY!"
The aura exploded.
A pillar of golden fire tore upward from his body, ripping smoke apart, blasting shattered stone into the air.
Loose weapons lifted off the ground and spun wildly. Broken walls groaned. The mountain shuddered like something alive.
Wind burst outward in a violent ring, snapping banners into shreds and hurling creatures backward across the terraces.
Pebbles turned into bullets. Ash became sparks.
Qin Morian’s robes snapped violently in the shockwave.
The translucent window flickered beside Shaurya’s face, trembling in the storm of his rage—but it did not vanish.
It stayed.
Soft.
Steady.
[Host...]
The voice was quiet.
Not afraid.
Not cold.
Just... certain.
[Show him what it means to make the Sanatan Flame Sect bleed.]
Golden motes drifted from the edge of the window like falling stars.
[Show him our wrath.]
The window dissolved into light.
Shaurya stepped forward.
Stone shattered beneath his heel.
Qin Morian laughed.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Just... certain.
Violet runes crawled out from beneath his sleeves and circled him in slow, elegant loops.
They spun once around his wrists, once around his shoulders, then rose to hover behind his back like a halo made of knives.
Each sigil hummed softly, heavy enough that the air bent around their edges.
He lifted one finger.
A pulse rippled outward.
Disciples staggered. Loose stones cracked under the weight.
"I suppose introductions are overdue," he said, tone almost polite. "Spirit Lord... Level fifth Cultivator."
The words settled like iron.
The violet sigils brightened.
His eyes slid back to Shaurya, measuring him from molten pupils to clenched fist.
"...And you," he continued softly, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth, "barely into the Third level of Spirit Lord."
He let the silence stretch.
Watched the elders stiffen.
Watched Wang Tian’s grin falter.
Watched Elder Wan’s fingers tremble.
Then he smiled wider.
"Tell me," Qin Morian murmured, tilting his head, "did you rush here because you thought you could win... or because you couldn’t bear to watch them die without you?"
Wind dragged ash between them.
No answer came.
Shaurya just stood there.
Still.
Breathing once.
Twice.
Then—
The gold around him blinked.
And he was gone.
A streak of gold ripped across the sky.
Not light.
Force.
Air folded inward as Shaurya’s body cut through it, robes snapping violently behind him, crimson coat flaring like a torn banner. Stone below split open in a straight line where his pressure scraped the terrace bare.
Qin Morian’s pupils shrank.
He barely lifted his hand—
CLANG—!
Shaurya’s fist slammed into a violet formation disk inches from his face. The disk warped inward like molten glass struck by a hammer. Shockwaves tore outward, flattening broken pillars, blasting ash into spiraling storms.
Qin Morian slid back one step in midair.
Boot scraping nothing.
"...Fast," he breathed.
Shaurya didn’t stop.
His body twisted mid-flight, heel snapping toward Qin Morian’s neck in a brutal arc.
WHOOOOM—
The kick tore a crescent through the clouds.
Qin Morian’s forearm rose just in time. Violet sigils flashed across his skin—
CRACK.
The impact rang like thunder. The sky buckled. Both figures shot apart, air detonating between them.
Shaurya spun.
Came down again.
A knee strike.
Blocked.
A palm.
Caught.
An elbow ripped toward Qin Morian’s jaw—
The old man leaned back a hair’s breadth. The strike shaved his beard instead of his skull.
They vanished.
Reappeared above a shattered hall.
CLANG—CLANG—CRASH—
Gold and violet collided again and again, each clash birthing shockwaves that shattered windows, cracked terraces, ripped tiles from rooftops and hurled them spinning into the abyss.
Shaurya ducked under a palm strike that cratered stone behind him.
He drove upward with a rising punch.
Qin Morian twisted sideways, sleeve tearing as the blow grazed his ribs. Violet runes snapped into place—
BOOM.
A counter-formation exploded outward.
Shaurya crossed his arms.
Gold flared.
The blast threw him backward through smoke, boots skidding across shattered stone before he dug in and launched again.
Faster.
A golden comet.
Qin Morian’s smile thinned.
"...Interesting."
Shaurya appeared above him, spinning once in midair. His heel dropped like an executioner’s blade—
CRASH.
The terrace collapsed entirely.
Qin Morian caught the kick on both palms, violet light screaming as he redirected the force sideways. The shockwave carved a canyon through the mountain wall, rock disintegrating into dust.
They blurred again.
Clash.
Clash.
Clash.
Their silhouettes flickered across the sky like dueling stars—gold tearing violet, violet swallowing gold—each missed strike ripping trees from roots, each blocked blow ringing like divine bells.
Then—
Qin Morian snapped his fingers.
Soft.
Casual.
The sky screamed.
Creatures poured downward.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Wings snapping open, claws tearing through smoke as they dove like living arrows toward Shaurya’s back.
Shaurya’s eyes narrowed.
He twisted midair, kicking a beast aside so hard it burst apart, bones and flesh scattering like wet leaves.
Another lunged.
He caught its skull in one hand and crushed it.
But more kept coming.
"...They move wrong," Shaurya muttered, golden pupils tracking their patterns as he slipped between claws by breaths of air. "...Like corpses... but thinking."
A translucent window slid open beside him, glowing softly as it adjusted to his motion.
Not cold.
Not mechanical.
Just... worried.
[Yeah... you’re seeing it right, Boss. These things are basically walking corpses stitched together with forbidden qi.]
Shaurya ducked under a claw swipe and punched upward, exploding a creature into red mist.
[They still think. They still plan. But they don’t have emotions or they don’t feel any type of pain. They’re just smart enough to hunt.]
Shaurya flipped backward, sword still sheathed, heel smashing another creature into the stone below.
[No mercy left in them... and no way back either.]
Shaurya’s pupils tightened.
A creature lunged—he sidestepped without looking, blade flashing once.
The body split cleanly from crown to waist, halves tumbling past him in slow, wet arcs.
He watched the halves twitch.
"...So they think," he murmured, breath steady despite the blood mist clinging to his cheek. "They’re Zombies that still have minds. Zombie Cultivators."
A golden window slid open beside his shoulder, hovering like a quiet companion keeping pace with him in midair.
[Yeah... I’d call them Zombie Cultivators too, Boss. That name fits disturbingly well.]
Another creature dove from above.
Shaurya leaned back just enough for its claws to miss his throat, then drove his elbow into its ribs—bones caving in with a dull crack.
[Careful though. They don’t feel pain, they don’t hesitate... and they don’t stop.]
The window dimmed, flickering gently.
[Good luck... to your opponents.]
The light dissolved into drifting motes.
Shaurya’s sword slid back into its sheath.
The click was soft.
Too soft for a battlefield full of screams.
His left foot shifted half a step forward. His shoulders lowered. Fingers rested lightly on the hilt—loose, relaxed, deadly.
The air noticed.
Wind stopped wandering and began to circle him.
First a whisper around his ankles.
Then a tightening spiral around his waist.
Then a roaring vortex clawing upward, dragging ash, sparks, and loose stones into its spinning throat.
His robe snapped like a banner in a storm.
Golden hair strands lifted. Dust stung faces yards away.
Shaurya inhaled once.
Deep.
The wind inhaled with him.
"ULTIMATE—"
His eyes snapped open.
"WIND CUTTING SLASH!"
Steel left the sheath.
SHIIIIIIING—
The sound cut through the battlefield like a bell struck inside a coffin.
For one heartbeat—
Nothing moved.
Then—
The sky broke.
His arm blurred into afterimages as the blade traced a single arc... then another... then dozens layered inside each other so fast they became one continuous scream of motion.
Wind exploded outward.
Not a gust—
Blades.
Invisible crescents of compressed air tore into existence in sheets and spirals and intersecting lattices, each one screaming as it ripped forward.
They carved glowing scars through smoke, splitting drifting ash into neat, floating halves before touching flesh.
The first creature hit—
—and came apart without resistance.
Torso slid away from legs. Wings detached cleanly.
A head spun upward, eyes still blinking, before tumbling end over end into the storm below.
Another dove screaming—
A crescent met it.
Its chest opened like paper.
Blood burst outward in a fan that glittered briefly in the firelight before the body separated into perfect sections mid-flight.
The swarm collapsed into pieces.
Hundreds of bodies froze in the air for a fraction of a breath—
Then separated.
Limbs fell one way. Spines another. Teeth clattered across stone.
Wings drifted down like shredded banners.
Reddish-purple blood sprayed into the sky.
Not drops—
Sheets.
Warm rain fell across broken terraces, splashing against armor, running into cracks, painting stone slick and dark.
It hissed where it touched lingering flame, steam rising in thin coils that smelled of iron and rot.
A disciple raised his face without realizing it.
Blood streaked across his cheek like war paint.
More slashes followed.
Thousands.
They crisscrossed the heavens in blinding geometry, slicing through the remaining horde until the sky itself looked stitched together by lines of invisible steel.
Creatures didn’t scream long enough to finish the sound.
They burst apart mid-charge, pieces scattering like torn dolls across the battlefield.
Wind roared.
Flesh rained.
And Shaurya stood at the center of the storm—
Sword extended,
Eyes cold,
While reddish — purple blood painted the battlefield.
For one breath—
Silence.
Then—
Movement.
A severed hand slammed into the stone and clawed forward, nails scraping sparks.
A head bit down on a disciple’s ankle even without lungs to scream.
Half a torso dragged itself upright, ribs grinding against shattered rock as it lunged.
Shaurya’s eyes widened once.
"...Annoying."
He kicked off the ground.
A crawling arm snapped at his leg—he twisted midair, blade flicking once in a tight circle.
Blue-white wind ignited into flame.
Fragments disintegrated.
Ash scattered.
He landed lightly, boots cracking stone beneath him, and turned toward the sect.
"Everyone—move!"
His voice rolled across the burning mountain, cutting through screams and explosions alike.
"Get away from here!"
He snapped his fingers.
The sky answered.
Clouds parted with a low groan as something enormous descended through smoke—slow, silent, inevitable.
A black pearl.
Massive.
Runes crawled across its surface like living constellations, each symbol igniting faint gold as it hovered above the shattered terraces.
Layers of translucent shields rippled outward from it, humming softly as they unfolded.
Wind bent around its presence.
Ash swirled away.
Elders stared.
Disciples forgot to breathe.
Wang Tian blinked hard. "...Dark pearl?..."
Luo Chen’s jaw tightened. "...We’re... getting out?"
Below—
Qin Morian’s pupils shrank.
For the first time, his lazy smile faltered.
"...A spiritual ship of that grade," he whispered, violet aura curling tighter around him. "Even the great sects hoard relics like that..."
His gaze lifted slowly to Shaurya.
Measured.
Cold.
"...This sect," he said softly, voice thinning into disbelief, "...is far more dangerous than it looks."
Disciples stumbled toward the Dark Pearl in waves.
Some ran.
Most limped.
Two boys dragged a third between them, his arm hanging uselessly while he tried to laugh through blood in his teeth.
A girl tore her own sleeve to her friend’s thigh while pulling her forward with her shoulder.
Broken swords were tossed aside so hands could lift bodies instead.
"Inside! Inside, quick!" Elder Wu roared, shoving three trembling juniors up the pearl’s glowing ramp.
The ship hovered low, its black surface reflecting firelight like liquid night.
Runes along its hull ignited one after another—ancient sigils spinning awake, humming like distant thunder.
Wounded were pushed first.
Disciples climbed after them.
Elders came last.
Elder Wan staggered up the ramp, leaning on Feng Yu’s shoulder.
Elder Liya turned back once—eyes searching the battlefield—then stepped inside as the hatch sealed with a deep, resonant thud.
The pearl rose.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Golden formations bloomed around it in layered rings—barriers interlocking, rotating, locking into place with sharp metallic clicks.
Light thickened around the ship like overlapping shields of molten glass.
Creatures leapt for it—
Too late.
They smashed against the barrier and slid off, claws screeching uselessly against humming gold.
Inside the glow, faces pressed to the crystal windows.
Watching.
Praying.
Shaurya stood alone below.
He didn’t move until the last silhouette disappeared inside.
Then he let out a long breath.
"...Good."
The word vanished into the wind.
His sword slid into its sheath.
The golden aura around him dimmed—not fading, not weakening—pulling inward, condensing like a sun folding into itself.
Then—
Blue fire appeared.
Not loud.
Not violent.
It ignited quietly along his shoulders, along his arms, along the edges of his robe.
Sapphire flames licked upward without smoke, curling in elegant spirals that bent the air around them.
Heat didn’t burst outward.
It pressed inward.
Stone beneath his feet blackened slowly, hairline cracks glowing dull blue as the ground began to soften like wax near a candle.
Across the battlefield—
Qin Morian’s eyes narrowed.
"...Immortal Fire?"
The words came out thin. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
Careful.
Shaurya lifted one hand.
Palm open.
Steady.
"I can’t cut you," he said softly.
His voice carried through smoke and ruin like a blade sliding free.
"So I’ll burn you."
His fingers snapped.
The flames answered.
Every sapphire tongue around him lurched inward at once, collapsing toward his palm in a violent spiral. Fire did not spread—
It compressed.
Blue light folded into itself again and again, shrinking, brightening, growing denser until a sphere formed above his hand—small as a fruit, blazing like a newborn star.
The air screamed.
Wind reversed direction, sucked toward the burning core.
Ash, dust, shattered tiles, broken weapons—all lifted from the ground and spiraled inward, vaporizing before they could touch the light.
The mountain groaned.
Snow far off the peaks melted in thin white lines. Trees bowed as sap boiled inside them.
Rivers hissed where droplets flashed to steam mid-fall.
Shaurya whispered—
"HellFire — Big Bang."
The sphere twitched.
Then he flicked his finger.
It fell.
Not fast.
Not slow.
The moment it touched air—
Creation broke.
BOOOOOOOOOOM—
Light erased shadow.
Sound vanished.
A sapphire sun detonated at the mountain’s heart, expanding in a perfect sphere of screaming blue-white flame.
Fire rolled outward faster than thought, swallowing shattered halls, devouring creatures mid-leap, turning bodies into drifting ash before their screams could finish.
A forest on the lower slopes burst into blue fire without touching flame—sap boiling, trunks exploding into glowing splinters.
Cliffs cracked.
Whole slabs of rock sheared away and lifted into the storm before dissolving into glowing dust.
Clouds ignited.
The sky burned open in spirals of sapphire light that clawed ten kilometers in every direction, a roaring dome of annihilation that turned night into blinding day.
Inside it—
Creatures vanished.
Not burned.
Unmade.
Purple blood flashed once, then disappeared into white-blue radiance.
Mountains screamed.
Shockwaves ripped outward in concentric rings, flattening valleys, blasting trees flat like grass, turning rivers into boiling mist.
From above—
The world had vanished.
No cliffs.
No halls.
No terraces where laughter once rang.
Only a sea of sapphire fire rolling across the mountainside like an angry sun spilled onto the earth.
Flame towers twisted upward in slow, violent spirals, bending clouds into molten ribbons.
The peak that had held the Sanatan Flame Sect was gone—reduced to a glowing basin of cracked stone and boiling air.
Heat reached even here.
The Dark Pearl shuddered softly inside its layered golden barriers, runes along its hull flaring brighter as waves of pressure rolled past like invisible tides.
Inside—
No one spoke.
Dozens of disciples pressed against the crystal viewing panes, palms trembling against warm glass.
Faces streaked with soot and tears stared down at the inferno where their home had been.
Someone sobbed once.
Another dropped to their knees.
A sword slipped from numb fingers and clanged across the deck, the sound small and helpless against the roar of distant fire.
Wang Tian leaned against the railing, ribs wrapped in torn cloth, eyes wide and unfocused as he stared into the burning horizon.
His lips moved before sound came.
"...Did... did Master really..." His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "...destroy the whole sect... just to kill him?"
No one answered.
For a moment—
Only the fire spoke.
Lin Shu stood beside him.
Barely.
One hand gripped the railing so hard her knuckles whitened through dried blood.
Her other arm hung uselessly in a sling of torn cloth. Ash clung to her hair, to her lashes, melting into tears she didn’t notice.
Her eyes didn’t leave the burning mountain.
"...The sect was already gone," she said quietly.
The words came out rough.
Broken.
She forced them steady.
"He’s not destroying our home," she whispered. "He’s burning the army that took it."
Wang Tian’s jaw clenched.
Below them, sapphire fire rolled outward in waves, swallowing forests, licking along ridges, turning stone black and glowing.
Shockwaves still rippled through the air in slow pulses, bending clouds into trembling rings.
Smoke rose.
Thick.
Heavy.
It climbed toward the ship in slow spirals, gray towers streaked with blue embers that drifted upward like dying stars.
Ash began to fall again.
Soft.
Relentless.
It tapped against the Dark Pearl’s barrier like rain on glass.
Inside, no one wiped it away.
No one moved.
Luo Chen stood with his sword lowered, eyes reflecting the fire below.
Elder Liya leaned against a pillar, lips pressed thin, watching without blinking.
Elder Wan sat on the deck, fingers trembling unconsciously through half-formed seals that flickered and died in the air.
Every face turned downward.
Waiting.
Watching.
Praying.
Below—
The flames raged on, hiding everything inside their terrible light.
And the whole sky seemed to hold its breath—
Waiting for the fire...
to finally fade.
To Be Continued...
