Chapter 3061: Then Perish!

Lin Mu raised his left hand.

From the Sword Cradle Divine Sheath on his back, a second blade answered his call.

Ocean Raker.

The sword shimmered as it flew out, its blade wreathed in a serene yet terrifying flow of an ocean made from sword qi. Deep blue energy laced with threads of silver trailed behind it like a comet’s tail, humming with tranquil death.

Together, the twin swords hovered on either side of the floating Lin Mu, Afternoon Pine to his right, Ocean Raker to his left. One golden like a sun-kissed pine at dusk, the other as deep and fluid as the sea itself.

With a calm breath, Lin Mu extended both hands. His eyes, twin points of clarity and fury, reflected the mirrored blades now angled toward the castle below.

"Sever," he whispered.

The two swords moved.

No, danced.

A golden-yellow arc and an ocean-blue wave carved through the air. They traced opposing half-circles, closing inward like the blades of a heavenly guillotine.

The sound was neither thunderous nor sharp—it was clean.

Pure.

The world itself seemed to pause as the slashes drew closer together.

When they met in the center of the castle, there was no explosion. No dramatic impact.

Only a moment of silence.

Then the entire top half of the castle slid diagonally.

Like a severed fruit, the grand fortress—once a proud bastion of secrecy and resistance—tilted with an unnatural grace before the upper portion collapsed, tumbling in chunks and slabs of stone, metal, and shattered enchantments. Violet crystals flickered one last time before imploding under the weight of Lin Mu’s sword intent.

A thick curtain of dust billowed outward.

In the heart of the devastation, the cut was so clean, it revealed the entire cross-section of the fortress’s interior like the sliced edge of a mountain. Staircases, corridors, dormitories, and halls were all exposed in an instant—revealed to the blade and to judgment.

Elyon stood still, unable to speak for several breaths.

"That... wasn’t destruction," he muttered. "That was precision. He didn’t just break their fortress. He dissected it."

In the exposed innards of the keep, several hundred figures were now visible. Some had been caught directly in the slice—bisected before they even understood what had happened. Others were crushed in the collapse of their rooms. But most... most stood or knelt or cowered in the rubble, shaken and stunned.

They stared upward.

At the two swords now floating in formation, still pulsing with intent.

And at the figure descending from above, his robes untouched by dust, his gaze unwavering.

Lin Mu.

They felt him before they truly saw him.

His aura pressed upon the cavern like a descending mountain. A spiritual weight, invisible yet inescapable. Every instinct screamed to kneel, to submit, to look away from the judgment falling upon them.

And still, he spoke calmly.

"I’ll give you one chance," he said, his voice ringing through the cavern like a divine edict. "Surrender now. Reveal everything I ask. Or die."

Silence.

No one moved.

They had heard tales, rumors—of monstrous talents and terrifying geniuses from righteous sects. Of prodigies who fought against demonic tides and defied heavens. But what they now witnessed transcended tales.

To cleave an immortal fortress in two, to break layered defensive formations with a call of the blade...

What was this man?

Who was he?

Some muttered among themselves. "Xian Sword Sect...? Could it be...?" Others shook their heads in denial, unable to connect the legend with the terror before them.

Then a voice rang out.

"Never!"

An aged man, draped in indigo ceremonial robes, rose to his feet amid the rubble. His face bore deep lines, but his eyes burned with fanatical resolve. His cultivation surged behind him, a vortex of qi spiraling upward.

Seventh Tribulation Stage of the Immortal Realm.

A peak elder of the Drowned Crescent Cult.

He stepped forward, defiance pouring from every word. "We will never kneel to your so-called righteous sects. You call us cultists, yet you rule with the same violence. Hypocrites! We have waited for this time—for this age to fall! We will end it!"

His declaration echoed through the cave.

Lin Mu looked at him, impassive. The swords beside him hovered silently, awaiting his command.

He said only two words.

"Then perish."

Suddenly, the air changed.

The fabric of space groaned, as if a silent weight had been dropped upon the world. Lin Mu’s Gravity Dao Embryo—his absolute manifestation of dominion over force—unleashed its power.

A wave of gravity rolled outward.

It was not merely heaviness. It was an unrelenting storm of pressure, reality itself warped by a crushing force that sought to erase all resistance.

The enemy cultivators had no time to react.

One by one, they collapsed. Bones shattered like twigs. Muscles snapped, compressed by an invisible vice. Organs ruptured under the immense, ever-growing pressure.

Screams erupted—brief and choked.

Some reached out in vain, crawling, gasping as their own blood burst from their pores. Others tried to activate techniques, but their dantians were crushed mid-formation.

Dozens.

Then hundreds.

In mere seconds, over 80% of those still alive were reduced to pulp—flattened into meat paste across shattered stone and fallen debris.

And those who survived?

They screamed not in pain—but in horror.

Their minds broke before their bodies could. Some curled into balls, rocking and whimpering, unable to process the massacre. Others vomited, eyes wide with incomprehension at the sheer brutality and power. The scent of blood flooded the air, thick and metallic, mixing with dust and ozone from shattered formations.

"He didn’t touch them," someone whispered in a cracked voice. "He didn’t even touch them..."

"This isn’t a man," another muttered, clutching their trembling arms. "This is a calamity..."

"A Demon!"

"No a Devil!"

"A True Horror!"

Many now wondered if they were the true evil, or if the man before them was.

Those words echoed louder than the initial strike.

They stared upward again—at Lin Mu, floating with both hands behind his back, his robes fluttering gently in the gravitational distortion he himself birthed.

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