I am invincible, that's why I lie down. You're using your entire clan to rebel?

Qin Mu strode toward the large gray tent.

His pace neither quickened nor slowed, as naturally as if he were walking in his own backyard.

The black wolf followed at his feet, its posture relaxed, but its gaze remained fixed ahead.

The first person to notice him was a Northern Man sharpening a knife at the edge of the training ground.

He raised his head, his gaze lingering on Qin Mu for a moment, as if trying to recognize this unfamiliar face.

Then he put down the millstone, stood up, and took a step toward Qin Mu.

"Who are you? You can't just walk in here."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the certainty of someone who had been stationed at the outpost for years.

He had gotten used to using this phrase to stop anyone who shouldn't be allowed in.

Qin Mu did not stop.

The man frowned and reached out to push Qin Mu's shoulder.

His actions weren't particularly fierce; they were more like a routine shooing.

He opened his palm and pressed it towards Qin Mu's shoulder.

His hand stopped moving when it was about a hand's width away from Qin Mu's shoulder.

The hand was still in a pushing posture, with the knuckles slightly spread.

Then a very thin red line appeared on his wrist.

The red line slowly extends from the inside of the wrist bone, wrapping around the entire wrist.

He looked down at the line, as if trying to identify what it was.

His hand was severed at the wrist and fell to the ground.

He looked down at his empty wrist, his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to say something.

His body fell forward and into the sand.

The people who were training on the drill ground stopped.

Someone was the first to react and glanced in their direction.

His voice broke free, like a rope suddenly taut.

"Enemy attack!"

The two characters spread rapidly across the training ground, landing in every crevice where they were spreading out.

The second man rushed in from the side, holding a short knife in his hand, the blade flashing briefly in the sunlight.

He moved quickly, his boots making a dull thud on the sandy ground.

He lunged straight toward Qin Mu's side.

But when he was halfway there, his figure suddenly froze.

As he ran, the knife was still being passed forward, and his hand was still reaching out.

But his body had stopped moving forward.

His leg even kicked off the sandy ground.

He slumped to one side.

As he fell, the dagger slipped from his hand and landed on the sandy ground with a dull thud.

A third, a fourth, and a fifth person also rushed up.

They charged in from different angles, each wielding a different weapon.

Some people were holding short knives, some were holding long spears, and some were picking up half of a broken wooden stick from the ground.

But they all stopped about ten feet away from Qin Mu.

They are falling evenly and silently into the dust.

Someone tried to shout something before falling, but his voice was cut off before it could fully form.

Someone ran a few steps and suddenly slowed down, looking down at the thin line on their chest where blood was slowly seeping out.

His mouth opened slightly, but before he could utter a word, his body had already leaned forward.

Someone climbed over the wooden fence at the edge of the drill ground, but as soon as their feet touched the ground, their knees buckled.

He fell forward, his forehead hitting the gravel ground.

Someone had already run to the entrance of the gray tent, their hand already on the edge of the curtain, and was lifting it.

He stopped abruptly, his entire body frozen like a stone statue, still in the posture of lifting the curtain.

After a moment, he slowly tilted to one side.

Those who were still running on the training ground suddenly stopped.

They stopped rushing forward and stopped trying to cross that invisible boundary.

Some people were still holding their knives, while others were still in the posture of about to turn around.

But their feet seemed to be nailed to the ground.

Some people threw down their weapons and retreated step by step.

Some people had already knelt down, their knees sinking into the sand, their hands supporting them on the ground, and their heads bowed.

Qin Mu continued walking forward.

His pace remained unhurried, as if he were strolling in his own backyard.

He is not in a hurry and is not bothered by anything.

The black wolf remained at his feet, its posture relaxed.

The curtain of the gray tent was finally lifted from the inside.

A burly general from the Northern Barbarians stepped forward, holding no weapon, but his eyes burned like flames.

He saw Qin Mu walking towards him, passing through the figures lying on the training ground.

He stood at the tent entrance, watching the figure slowly approaching.

His gaze swept across the training ground, as if confirming the people lying on the sandy ground.

His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something.

Before he could utter a sound, a silver thread pierced through his chest.

He looked down at the thin, slowly bleeding gash on his chest.

He fell backward into the tent.

Inside the tent, the eldest prince, Huyan Lie, was sitting on a low couch covered with a thick felt mat.

He was in his early forties, with high brow bones and a broad jaw. He wore an old, dark red leather armor with the edges of the plates worn matte.

He held a copper cup in his hand, with a ring of wine stains still around the rim, as if he had just been drinking something and was interrupted by the noise outside.

He looked up in the direction of the tent curtain.

He saw the burly figure fall backward into the tent, a thin red welt running down his chest, before crashing to the ground with a dull thud.

The bronze cup slipped from his hand and smashed against the edge of the low couch, spilling wine all over the floor and leaving a dark stain on the dark felt.

Huyan Lie was stunned.

He suddenly stood up, his gaze shifting from the figure on the ground to the gray figure walking in through the tent flap.

His voice unconsciously rose when he spoke, carrying a tension he rarely showed in front of others.

"Help!"

Those two words spread rapidly through the gaps in the tent's felt.

A flurry of footsteps could be heard outside the tent.

The boots made a chaotic and rapid sound as they pounded on the sandy ground.

Then came the sound of robes being fluttered by the wind, the sound of weapons being drawn and rubbing against their scabbards, and a few short, sharp sounds, as if they were confirming their location.

Several figures poured in from both sides of the tent one after another.

Their steps were rhythmic, and their movements were precise and powerful.

Someone held a slender, curved knife in their hand; the blade was long and the edge gleamed coldly in the candlelight.

Some people have empty palms, but their fingertips faintly gleam with a dark luster.

Someone was carrying an iron axe, the blade still bearing dried, dark marks.

There were seven people in total, scattered in different parts of the tent, surrounding Huyan Lie in the center.

Their auras were all different, but each of them displayed the composure and tension of a first-class master in that instant.

Hu Yanlie's gaze passed over the figures blocking his way and landed on Qin Mu.

"When did the North produce someone like you?"

Qin Mu did not answer, but simply took two more steps forward.

As he walked past the first figure, that person moved.

The scimitar drew an arc in the air, without any unnecessary movements; it was pure, habitual precision.

But before his sword was fully extended, Qin Mu's right hand had already been raised.

With a simple lift of his hand, a faint gray stream of energy flowed from his fingertips and passed through the man's chest.

He didn't even make a sound as the scimitar slipped from his hand and crashed to the ground, lying face up.

The second person reacted faster.

He clasped his hands together, and a dark red light condensed between his palms—a color that only appears when true energy is highly compressed.

His movements were as fast as a bowstring being drawn back; the ball of light gathered in his palm, about to be released.

Qin Mu raised his left hand as well.

Before the dark red light had even left his palm, a slender gray sword aura had already pierced through his fingertips and precisely grazed his throat.

The light in his palm dissipated in that instant.

He didn't even get to see how it was destroyed.

The third person circled around to Qin Mu's side and rear, and chopped down with an iron axe from above, the blade cutting through the air with a short, sharp whistle.

But just as his axe was about to touch Qin Mu's shoulder, Qin Mu's body shifted slightly.

The iron axe grazed the edge of his robe and fell, cleaving into the sand beneath his feet. The axe blade sank more than an inch into the ground, but it didn't even touch the hem of Qin Mu's clothes.

A thin red mark appeared on his wrist, the iron axe slipped from his hand, and he fell forward.

The fourth person stood at the farthest point, holding a slender silver needle in his hand, the tip of which gleamed a very faint blue in the candlelight.

He had already raised his hand, the silver needle aimed directly at the back of Qin Mu's neck.

But before he could throw the needle, a thin, long gash suddenly appeared on his chest, extending from below his shoulder blade to his waist.

The silver needle slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a very soft tinkling sound.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh people moved almost simultaneously.

An aged figure flashed out from the side, flipped his palms, and struck Qin Mu's side ribs. The palm wind carried a dull force, as if it had been repeatedly compressed.

Another gaunt figure held an extremely thin silver sword, its blade aimed straight at Qin Mu's throat.

Another figure descended from above, its boots landing on Qin Mu's shoulder.

The three attacks arrived almost simultaneously, blocking all possible directions of his movement.

But Qin Mu simply waved his hand lightly in the air.

A sword aura surged from his palm, traversing the interior of the tent.

The sword energy swept past the three figures.

The tent fell silent.

The three figures remained frozen in place for a moment before falling in three different directions, landing on the felt ground with almost simultaneous muffled thuds.

The tent fell silent again, with only the sound of the candlelight flickering in the lamplight.

The seven figures had stopped moving.

Huyan Lie stood in front of the low couch, his hand still resting on the edge of the couch.

His gaze swept over the bloodstains that were slowly seeping into the felt, before returning to Qin Mu.

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something.

But his voice seemed to be blocked by something.

It took him a moment to regain its original shape.

"You...you are not one of Xu Longxiang's men."

There was a moment of silence inside the tent. The candlelight flickered slightly in the lamp, casting a long shadow of the figure in the gray robe onto the felt wall.

Qin Mu did not look at Huyan Lie.

His gaze passed over the low couch and landed on a hidden door behind the tent, concealed by an old felt curtain.

"Come out. You don't need to ambush me anymore; you can't beat me."

There was a moment of silence behind the hidden door.

Then a voice came from behind the curtain, but it was impossible to tell if it was male or female.

"How will you know if you don't try?"

The curtain was lifted.

A figure slowly emerged from behind the curtain.

The man was wearing a dark gray robe, the hem of which almost dragged on the ground. His face was mostly covered by a thin veil, with only his eyes showing.

Those eyes were so bright that you couldn't see right through them.

The small section of her wrist that was exposed was slender and pale, making it impossible to tell her age.

She stood at the edge of the shadows behind the tent, not in a hurry to approach.

Her gaze fell on Qin Mu.

Then she moved slightly.

It happened so fast that there was almost no warning.

Her figure emerged from the shadows behind the tent, passing over the low couch without stirring up a gust of wind.

A slender sword appeared in her hand. Its blade was dark and dull, yet the candlelight bent automatically when it touched its surface.

Her sword tip was pointed at Qin Mu's throat.

There were no probing feints, no preparatory moves to build up power.

Qin Mu did not retreat.

He simply turned to the side, and the dark longsword grazed past his neck, the tip brushing against his collar without even touching the fabric.

He raised his right hand, opened his palm, and gently pushed it against the blade of the sword.

The sword seemed to be supported by something, deflecting at a very small angle.

She sheathed her sword, stepped back, and fell back to the edge of the shadows.

Her posture remained steady, but her gaze lingered on Qin Mu's hand for a moment longer.

She moved again.

This time it was even faster than before. The sword light, like a drawn line, slipped from her hand inside the tent, leaving a very thin dark mark in the air.

Her figure was unpredictable, sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right, and every sword light was aimed precisely at Qin Mu's vital points.

Qin Mu moved within that sword light.

His figure always shifted slightly just before the sword's edge touched his robe.

His right hand was finally fully raised as the third round of combat was about to end, palm up, fingers slightly spread.

A grayish-white stream of air rose from his palm.

The current of air was initially just a very faint wisp of smoke, which swirled once above his palm before dissipating.

But the speed at which it spread out was extremely slow.

The wisp of smoke spread out in mid-air, turning into a gray column of air thicker than an arm, which surged from his palm, passed through the tent roof, and shot into the night sky.

The felt on the tent roof was rolled up from the center to both sides, revealing the darkening sky overhead.

The gray column of air continued to rise into the night sky, growing brighter as it went higher, changing from gray to silvery-white, and then from silvery-white to a kind of almost transparent cold light.

The cold light stretched from the ground toward the sky, its edges glowing faintly.

The giant sword paused in mid-air for a moment, then slowly descended downwards.

The sword did not point directly at her, but landed about three zhang away from her side.

The shockwave spread outwards from the point where the sword's edge touched the ground, simultaneously pushing the remaining candles inside the tent to one side.

She stood there, her sword still pointing at Qin Mu.

The tip of the sword was about a foot away from Qin Mu's brow, but that foot of distance was undergoing some kind of change.

She suddenly realized that she could no longer extend that extra inch forward.

Qin Mu lowered his hand.

The giant sword slowly dissipated from the void until only a faint silver line remained, flashing briefly in the night sky before disappearing completely.

She sheathed her sword and took a step back.

The step landed on the sand with a very soft sound.

Her breathing was slightly heavier than before, but still regulated.

"I told you, you can't beat me."

She lowered the tip of her sword and slowly sheathed it.

The face beneath the thin veil was obscured, revealing only a pair of eyes.

Those eyes stared at Qin Mu, and after a moment, she spoke: "A terrestrial immortal?"

She asked very softly, as if confirming something she thought only existed in rumors.

Qin Mu neither nodded nor shook his head, but simply stood there quietly, neither confirming nor denying.