Chapter 312: The End

Even Lin Xiao himself could not answer this question.

No matter how ordinary, how unremarkable, or how inconspicuous Lin Xiao appeared on the surface, deep within his bones, he was still that supreme soldier king who had fought across three thousand miles and defeated a million troops with a single punch.

The entire Xia Country’s military numbered in the millions. Lin Xiao had no prominent family background, no deep connections, and no powerful patrons. Yet, he managed to stand out from millions of soldiers and become a member of the Dragon Sword Squad. On what grounds?

On one word: Kill.

Relying solely on his iron fists, Lin Xiao fought his way from the lowest selection rounds, defeating every competitor and carving a bloody path through millions of soldiers.

After becoming the captain of the Dragon Sword Squad—the most mysterious and elite special forces unit in Xia Country—Lin Xiao was destined to carry out the hardest missions and eliminate the most formidable targets.

Lin Xiao himself no longer remembered how many dangers he had faced, how many battles he had endured, and how many enemies he had slain.

His killing intent gradually accumulated through countless battles, eventually condensing into a vast sea.

At this moment, Lin Xiao’s figure, against the backdrop of his surging killing aura, seemed like he had walked straight out of hell. Especially those eyes, faintly glowing with a crimson hue, exuding an authority so oppressive that no one dared meet his gaze.

This authority was not born from high status or power but from cold-blooded, decisive slaughter.

Under the impact of Lin Xiao’s murderous aura, Zhao Changlei, Duan Changhan, and the others closest to him felt as if they were standing at the edge of an abyss, treading on thin ice—one step forward, and they would be crushed to pieces, damned for eternity.

Even Wang Changuang, his eyes flickering with intense fear, realized that despite having overestimated Lin Xiao, he had still underestimated him.

Because, throughout their entire fight, Lin Xiao had never unleashed such a violent killing intent. If Lin Xiao had displayed this overwhelming bloodlust from the start, even a seasoned warrior like him would have been able to utilize at most eighty percent of his strength.

Everyone held their breath, their hearts pounding with terror, fearing that Lin Xiao might suddenly lose control and turn the martial hall into a bloody slaughterhouse.

Fortunately, Lin Xiao’s killing aura retracted as swiftly as it had erupted, flowing back into his body like a receding tide. Once again, he returned to his usual, unassuming, composed self.

Yet, after witnessing his strength and murderous aura, anyone who still regarded Lin Xiao as an ordinary person was either a fool or a complete idiot.

“Master Lin, rest assured, from this day onward, Golden Claw Sect will never be your enemy again!” Wang Changuang wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, stood up straight, and declared solemnly, “The grievance between you and the Golden Claw Sect originated from Jiang Linfeng. The dead hold no grudges. Now that Jiang Linfeng is gone, there is no reason for enmity between us.”

This statement was not a mere concession—it was, in essence, a plea for mercy.

Jiang Linfeng, once Wang Changuang’s disciple and a key figure within the Golden Claw Sect, was now dismissed in his words as though he were a stranger.

But Wang Changuang had no choice.

Lin Xiao was simply too powerful. With his own strength, he had single-handedly crushed every expert of the Golden Claw Sect. At this moment, their survival hung entirely on Lin Xiao’s whim.

Compared to the survival of the sect, personal grudges were meaningless. Wang Changuang was not only Jiang Linfeng’s master but also the leader of the Golden Claw Sect. His duty was to prioritize the sect above all else.

If sacrificing Jiang Linfeng—or even Duan Changhan—could appease Lin Xiao and resolve this crisis, Wang Changuang would not hesitate.

Duan Changhan stood with his head lowered, his expression obscured, but his trembling hand at his side betrayed his turmoil.

“Very well. I will remember Sect Master Wang’s words. I hope you live up to them. Since the matter is resolved, I will take my leave.”

Lin Xiao gave Wang Changuang a deep, piercing look, then turned and walked away without the slightest hesitation.

The gates of the Golden Claw Sect headquarters remained tightly shut. The two disciples guarding the entrance scrambled to swing them open, then quickly stepped aside, bowing with utmost reverence as they watched Lin Xiao depart.

As Lin Xiao stepped out, the gates closed behind him with a resounding bang.

“Master—”

Duan Changhan finally raised his head, trying to speak, but before he could finish.

A crisp, resounding slap landed on Duan Changhan’s face—Wang Changuang’s hand.

A bright red palm print appeared on Duan Changhan’s cheek, which immediately swelled. He was stunned, his hand instinctively rising to cover his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. Never had he expected his master to strike him.

“You caused this entire disaster! If not for you, how could our sect have suffered such calamity?” Wang Changuang didn’t even glance at Duan Changhan. Turning toward the interior of the martial hall, he coldly declared, “From now on, you are relieved of all duties. Zhao Changlei will handle the sect’s affairs.”

Duan Changhan’s heart plummeted, his mind crashing into despair.

“Yes, Master!” Unlike Duan Changhan’s devastated expression, Zhao Changlei’s face lit up with undisguised joy.

He had coveted Duan Changhan’s position for a long time, and today, he had finally seized it. Inwardly, he even felt a trace of gratitude toward Lin Xiao.

Elated by his sudden promotion, even his broken ribs hurt less. Zhao Changlei shot Duan Changhan a gloating glance and sneered.

“Martial Brother Duan, never forget, you are just a member of the Golden Claw Sect, not its master. You let your petty grievances provoke a powerful enemy against the sect. Instead of reflecting on your actions, you tried to drag Master down with you. Is this the behavior of a proper disciple?”

His words, sharp and merciless, cut into Duan Changhan’s pride, leaving his face alternately pale and flushed. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

“Martial Brother Duan,” Yang Changtai chimed in, “you should learn from this. Your personal vendetta brought disaster upon the sect. The sect master, the elders, none of us have wronged you. Martial Brother Zhao’s words may be harsh, but he speaks the truth.”

“This is a lesson,” added Xu Changjun. “It reminds us that arrogance and recklessness only invite disaster. We should act with restraint in the future.”

“Exactly,” Xu Changjun agreed, “That Lin Xiao… he’s terrifying. Such a peerless young talent, who knows how far he’ll rise. We’d be fools to provoke him further.”

Zhao Changlei, Yang Changtai, and Xu Changjun continued their discussion of the aftermath, gradually walking deeper into the hall, leaving Duan Changhan standing alone, cold and rigid, like a statue.

The disciples in the martial hall began to disperse—some tending to their wounds, others cleaning up the wreckage. Yet, as they passed Duan Changhan, each cast him a complicated glance.

“Father, are you alright?”

When the crowd had finally thinned, Duan Fei, leaning on a crutch, approached his father.

Duan Changhan’s rigid frame suddenly trembled. He opened his mouth and blood gushed out.

Then he collapsed backward, unconscious.