A Blood-Moving Realm has arrived in the world of The Return of the Condor Heroes.

Upon hearing Kuo Duan's command, the archers on the rooftop instantly drew their bows and fired in unison. Countless arrows, accompanied by sharp whistles, rained down on the three of them.

Seeing this, Zhang Huai took the black gold staff back from Lu Wushuang's hands. The black gold staff was light and agile in his hands, as if it were a living thing.

He flipped his wrist rapidly, creating a dense circle of stick flowers. The dark stick shadow instantly formed a barrier, blocking all the incoming rain of arrows.

In truth, Zhang Huai's physique was not harmed by this rain of arrows at all, but Lu Wushuang and Yao Yue behind him were powerless to resist, so he could only protect them firmly.

As the volley of arrows was exhausted, the archers hurriedly took turns reloading. In that fleeting moment, Zhang Huai looked up at the eaves, a faint purple light flashing in his eyes, and silently activated the Soul Transfer Technique.

Any soldier who met his gaze instantly lost focus, their expression becoming numb, like a manipulated puppet. They all drew daggers from their waists and stabbed their unsuspecting comrades beside them.

In an instant, the formation on the rooftops was thrown into chaos. Screams and the sounds of clashing weapons mingled together as the archers turned on each other, completely losing their ability to fire arrows and posing no further threat.

Just then, heavy, orderly footsteps echoed from the ground. A squad of soldiers clad in heavy armor quickly formed a charge formation in the narrow front yard, all their spears aimed at Zhang Huai.

They had already realized that Zhang Huai was the strongest core among the three, and as long as Zhang Huai was subdued, the other two women would be no threat.

Looking at the heavily armored formation standing ready before him, Zhang Huai curled his lips into a disdainful sneer. There was no fear in his eyes, but rather a hint of mockery.

He gripped the black gold staff tightly in one hand, and with a sudden burst of strength, hurled the staff like a javelin at the leading soldier at the very front of the formation.

The heavily armored soldier immediately raised his wooden shield and fought back with all his might.

Although the black gold staff had no spearhead, it carried immense force, piercing through thick shields and even penetrating chests of those clad in fine iron armor.

The black metal staff continued its momentum, piercing through the bodies of five soldiers behind it before finally stopping. The six men, like puppets strung together, were already dead, but because they supported each other, they stood upright in place.

Before the other soldiers could react, Zhang Huai's figure had already transformed into a ghostly black shadow, rushing to the front of the formation in an instant.

He reached out and grabbed the black metal stick stuck in the corpses, and pulled it out suddenly. All six corpses fell to the ground, and bright red blood instantly soaked the stone floor.

At this moment, the black gold staff in Zhang Huai's hand completely abandoned all fixed rules and sect staff techniques, leaving only the purest and most brutal power to crush.

He swept his arm across, the wind from his staff whistling, and all the soldiers within his attack range were cut in half at the waist, their limbs scattered and blood gushing out.

The armored soldiers' charging formation collapsed instantly, men and horses fell, and mournful cries echoed throughout the palace, the pungent smell of blood filling the air.

Zhang Huai never stopped, weaving through the crowd like a demon from hell. The Mongol guards, martial arts instructors, and guard commanders along the way, regardless of their martial arts skills, were as vulnerable as paper in front of him. They were either shattered by the wind from his staff or cut in two. No one could withstand even a single move from him.

At this moment, Zhang Huai was like an old man harvesting wheat in the field. His black gold staff was his sickle, and the Mongol soldiers were the wheat waiting to be harvested. With one sweep of the staff, swathes of soldiers fell to the ground without any chance of resistance.

The soldiers brandished their spears and swords like madmen, desperately stabbing at Zhang Huai. But the weapons struck him like thorns, causing him only slight pain. No matter what they did, they couldn't pierce his skin, not even leaving a white mark.

Standing at the back, Lu Wushuang was stunned as she watched Zhang Huai's overwhelming and domineering fighting style. Her heart was filled with shock and disbelief.

She thought to herself, "Could this be the legendary Vajra Indestructible Divine Skill? The martial arts of Shaolin Temple are so miraculous that they can make one move through thousands of troops as if they were nothing. I must go to Shaolin Temple to find out more in the future."

Meanwhile, the Mongol guards were already terrified by Zhang Huai's attacks. He was no ordinary man, but an invulnerable monster that no human could withstand.

In an instant, all the soldiers cowered and retreated, their legs trembling, no longer daring to take a single step forward, fearing that they would be the next to perish.

Just then, a burly man commanding the army from the rear of the formation suddenly stepped forward. This man was none other than Tahai, the fiercest general under Kuoduan.

He was tall, incredibly strong, and a fierce martial artist. He killed countless people in the Sichuan and Shaanxi regions, earning a notorious reputation. Ordinary martial arts masters were no match for him.

Seeing his soldiers being slaughtered and their morale shattered, Tahai knew that if he didn't intervene, defeat was inevitable. He had no choice but to personally take to the battlefield and confront Zhang Huai head-on, attempting to reverse the tide of the war.

He roared, his voice like thunder, gripped the hundred-pound machete tightly with both hands, leaped into the air, poured all his strength into the blade, and slashed down at Zhang Huai's head with all his might. The wind from the blade was so fierce that it sent dust flying from the ground.

"A mere trick." Zhang Huai sneered, his tone full of disdain. Facing the powerful and heavy slash, he neither dodged nor avoided it, but steadily held the heavy machete with just two fingers.

Tahai exerted all his strength, his face flushed red, veins bulging, but the long sword remained motionless, as if it had been welded shut.

"Who...who are you?" Tahai was terrified, his voice trembling uncontrollably, his hands gripping the knife shaking incessantly, and his eyes filled with unbelievable fear.

Zhang Huai exerted a slight force with his two fingers, and a crisp breaking sound rang out. The heavy blade, weighing a hundred pounds and with a back a finger's width thick, snapped in two on the spot.

Immediately afterwards, he threw a backhand punch, slamming it directly into Tahai's chest. With a muffled thud, Tahai's chest exploded instantly, blood splattering everywhere. He was sent flying like a kite with a broken string, crashing through three layers of courtyard walls before landing heavily on the ground, already a bloody mess, dead.

The remaining Mongol soldiers were so frightened that their legs went weak and they could no longer stand. They dared not resist in the slightest. They threw away their helmets, armor, and weapons, and knelt down to beg for mercy, kowtowing repeatedly, just to be spared their lives.

Zhang Huai coldly swept his gaze over the surrendered soldiers on the ground, showing no mercy whatsoever. Suddenly, his aura surged, and an invisible force spread out. The soldier closest to him immediately coughed up blood and collapsed dead.

When the other soldiers saw that Zhang Huai refused to surrender, those further away were terrified and turned to flee for their lives, while those closer had nowhere to retreat and could only grit their teeth and pick up their weapons for a final, desperate struggle.

"None of them will escape!" Zhang Huai shouted coldly, raising his hand to finish off a soldier in front of him, snatching the curved sword from his hand, and flicking his wrist, sending the curved sword flying towards the deserter with a sharp gust of wind.

Before the horrified eyes of the Mongol soldiers, the scimitars pierced through their bodies in an instant, and they fell straight to the ground, lifeless.

Zhang Huai moved swiftly, clearing out the entire palace and not letting any escapee escape. Every move he made resulted in someone's death.

In a short while, the wailing in the palace completely disappeared. Corpses lay everywhere, and the stench of blood lingered. There was no one left alive.

Zhang Huai stopped and gently brushed away non-existent dust from his sleeves, his movements calm and composed, as if he had only done a trivial matter.

He turned to look at Lu Wushuang and Yaoyue, who were already dumbfounded and stiff with shock, and said in a calm and soft voice, "It's over. This number of people isn't even enough to warm up."

This powerful Mongol prince's mansion, which had guarded Shaanxi for many years, was completely destroyed by Zhang Huai with just one stick. He slaughtered everyone and almost leveled it to the ground, leaving no trace of its former majesty and grandeur.

The only drawback was that Zhang Huai never saw Kuo Duan's figure throughout the entire battle.

From the moment he made his move to the moment he cleared the area, it took no more than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. More than a thousand soldiers scattered and fled. Even with his extraordinary strength, he could not kill them all in an instant.

It seems that Kuo Duan was also a coward who feared death. Seeing that the situation was hopeless, he took advantage of the chaos to secretly escape and ran away very quickly.

However, this was not a major problem. After this battle, Kuoduan lost all its elite troops and was severely weakened. It would not dare to set foot in this place again for a short period of time.

Having lost so many elite troops, even if he were to flee back to the grasslands in a sorry state, he would become a laughingstock among the Mongol nobles, unable to hold his head high for the rest of his life, and probably never be able to stir up any trouble again.