Godslayer: Reincarnated with SSS Rank Cultivation System

The air stood still, heavy with something unseen—something ancient and merciless. The mortals couldn't move, couldn't even swallow, as if their throats had been chained shut by fear alone. Down the stone path, he came, step by step, without urgency, without mercy. Each time his foot met the ground, the silence cracked with a brittle sound—tchk... tchk... tchk...—like bones snapping quietly in the dark.

His crimson eyes didn't just look at them; they devoured, dissected, and promised endings. There was no light in them, no empathy, no restraint—only hunger, patient and pure. With every step, the space around him seemed to collapse inward, thickening with the scent of blood not yet spilled, but already written into fate itself.

As Wen Ran approached, the mortals were seized by a terrifying vision. In a single heartbeat, their heads seemed to fly upward, severed cleanly by an invisible blade. Their throats burned sharply, raw with the sensation of being cut—yet no blood spilled, no actual wound appeared. It was as if Wen Ran's killing intent alone had sliced through them, leaving behind only the cruel promise of what would soon become reality.

The mortals watched helplessly, realizing something far more terrifying than the looming sense of death: he wasn't simply walking toward them; he was walking for them.

"G-go away..."

"Scram from this place!"

"The gods will punish you for this!"

The braver voices managed weakly, trembling as they shattered the oppressive silence. Others couldn't even muster that courage, collapsing onto the ground, their dignity stripped away as their bodies betrayed them. Small puddles of shameful urine or manure formed beneath them, their legs trembling uncontrollably, losing all strength to stand. They couldn't grasp why this was happening, why such terror had chosen them, but the aura surrounding this white-haired youth felt like the end of their world.

They had never seen a powerful cultivator before. Even if they had, they would never have been allowed near one. Without spirit roots, without the protection of cultivation, their fragile existence would shatter in a cultivator's presence. Yet now, they had the horrifying honor of standing before someone whose mere presence could crush their souls. All that was required from them in return was to obediently offer their necks on a silver platter for Wen Ran to sever. Simple, wasn't it?

The mortals slowly realized the terrible truth: their lives meant nothing. Their existence had already been erased by the approaching storm. Wen Ran didn't merely bring death—he embodied it, a demon stepping into a pasture filled with helpless sheep. They were the sheep, yet even sheep would run—but these people stood frozen, unable to move, paralyzed by fear itself.

Then, the first head truly flew. Blood splashed onto the faces of those nearby, their eyes instinctively blinking shut against the sudden warmth, the metallic scent overwhelming their senses. But when their eyes reopened, they found themselves staring upward from the ground, their vision blurred by crimson pools filling around their severed heads. The last thing most of them saw was the youth standing in golden robes, his crimson blade resting casually on his shoulder, and the small white rabbit hopping gently through the carnage, ensuring none survived.

Everything turned crimson in their fading sight, except two things that matched the bloody hue perfectly—the demon's merciless eyes, and the blade screaming out with insatiable thirst for fresh, innocent blood.

Five lives were claimed effortlessly by Wen Ran in mere slashes of his blade. Calmly, he extended his hand; several cuts appeared on his fingertips, revealing five small black openings. A mysterious, dark swirl of energy enveloped the fallen bodies, and from within each corpse, something emerged—ghostly, ethereal forms that mirrored their former selves. They were incomplete, spectral shadows that were hard to perceive clearly at a glance, yet Wen Ran recognized them immediately: the souls of those he'd slain. With unstoppable force, they rushed into his body, and the moment they entered him, he felt his being grow lighter, as though something precious he'd once lost was gradually being restored.

"Haaaa..." A cold, soul-shaking sigh escaped his lips. Those unfortunate enough to hear it felt their spirits freeze, struck by the chilling realization that they'd just heard the breath of something far beyond mortal life—something that now commanded their very fate.

One by one, he killed them without mercy. His blade was a death sentence—unquestionable and absolute. When he swung it, there was no negotiation. It killed. The same went for the small white rabbit. Despite her innocent appearance, her soft fur and delicate features, no one would have suspected that she was tearing out throats with her teeth. Her white fur, once pristine, was now stained crimson with the blood splattered around her. The lifeblood of the mortals soaked the ground, turning the air thick with the sickly scent of metal.

And yet, not even the powerful, mighty experts had suspected a thing. They couldn't feel anything, as though this place had never existed—just a forgotten domain. The demon and his companion, silently and mercilessly ripping the souls from innocent mortals, forever staining their hands with the most vile of taboos, the most disgraceful of acts. But right now, neither of them cared. They had a job to do, and they did it without hesitation. In just five minutes, not a single breath of a mortal remained—no adult, no child, nobody spared. Only two bloody figures emerged, vanishing back into the fog, disappearing into the unknown.

The next day, the four divine sect elders would find a scene of grotesque horror: the ground soaked in blood, bodies scattered in decay, flooding the sacred grounds where their cultivators once stood. What was once a place untouched by death had become a graveyard filled with carnage. Not a trace was left of the killers—no sign, no hint of who had done it. All that remained was a trail of bloody footprints and paw prints leading out of the village. As for how and where the two went, no one knew. Only Wen Ran and Xiao Mo were aware of the mess they had stirred—and the danger they had brought upon themselves. As they glanced at the corpse of an ancient deity before them, they knew the looming threat was far from over.