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Chapter 130: The Nether Fiend Sect (2)

Solomon rested his greatsword against his collarbone and kicked a piece of the shattered throne across the floor. He looked around the exposed temple and clicked his tongue in obvious disappointment as the chunks of rock rained down upon the remaining disciples.

"Is this seriously your forward operating base?" Solomon asked, gesturing toward the crumbling statues and cheap stonework. "The architecture here is terrible. You guys do not even have proper support beams holding the ceiling up. Are you struggling with your funding? I genuinely expected a major dark guild to possess a better interior decorator."

He stepped over a pile of rubble and pointed at the masked leader pulling himself out of the wreckage. "What exactly did you do with all those silver coins from the underground arena? You definitely did not spend the profits on construction materials. Buying decent lighting should have been your top priority."

[Xander_Man: bro is critiquing their interior design while destroying their base.]

[Fatal_Beauty: he literally tore down the walls to complain about the architecture.]

[IceWaterKat: Solo Man asking for the financial reports right now.]

[2Lazy2Care: the harshest building inspector.]

The surviving cultivators pushed themselves up from the dusty floorboards. They clutched their bleeding injuries and stared at the silver-haired boy in sheer terror. The masked leader coughed up a mouthful of blood and gripped his fractured ribs.

He looked at the decimated throne room, entirely unable to process the level of destruction caused by a single sword strike.

More sect members poured into the sanctuary from the connecting tunnels. They rushed forward with drawn sabers after hearing the loud explosion. The newly arrived guards stopped abruptly at the edge of the ruined temple.

They stared at the collapsed ceiling and the dozens of unconscious bodies scattered across the pews.

Solomon grinned at the growing crowd of reinforcements. He shifted his footing and readied Eden’s Penance for another strike.

"I guess the rest of the congregation finally woke up," Solomon announced to the floating bronze owl. "Let us find out if any of these guys actually know how to fight."

[Last_Fables: here we go again.]

[1Fizzy: they look so confused.]

[James_Hayes: bro is about to remodel the rest of the temple.]

The sect leader staggered forward and raised a trembling hand. He tried to issue a command to his arriving subordinates. Before the man could form a coherent sentence, Solomon kicked off the rocky ground and lunged directly into the largest cluster of dark robes.

He raised Eden’s Penance and immediately halted his swing midway. The ceiling above him groaned, dropping a shower of loose gravel onto his shoulders. Using his aura or the Imperial Sword Arts again would definitely collapse the entire subterranean temple and bury him alive.

’What’s the point of mastering the sword arts when I can’t even use them?’ Solomon asked himself, even though the main reason was him being unable to control his strength for the strike output.

He anchored his boots and swung the greatsword using pure physical force. The blunt edge slammed into three martial artists, sending them crashing into a row of pews.

A spear thrust approached his flank from the shadows. Solomon decided to test his morning lessons. He attempted to execute the first deflection arc of the Azure Crane Blade. Pivoting on his front heel, he brought the massive executioner’s sword up to redirect the incoming momentum.

The immense mass and electrical resistance of the sword completely ruined his balance. The blade caught the spear, making his wrists buckle awkwardly and forcing him to stumble backward across the dirt.

[1Fizzy: what was that move?]

[Xander_Man: he just tried to do a crane parry with a giant slab of steel lmao.]

[IceWaterKat: totally mismatched weapon class for that style.]

[2Lazy2Care: bro almost dropped his sword trying to be fancy.]

Solomon gritted his teeth and abandoned the elegant sect techniques entirely.He shifted his grip and embraced his old mercenary habits. Two martial artists charged with curved sabers.

Solomon ducked beneath their synchronized slashes. He let go of his hilt with his left hand, grabbed the nearest attacker by the collar, and threw him directly into the path of the second blade.

The sabers collided with a sharp clack. Solomon immediately drove his knee into the second attacker’s midsection. He ripped the saber from the falling man’s grip and tossed the weapon like a javelin, pinning a third martial artist to a fractured stone pillar.

"You guys really need to coordinate your attacks better," Solomon advised with a bright grin. He slammed the pommel of his greatsword into a masked face. "Now that I notice, your attack patterns are similar to the guys I fought in the arena."

Dozens of fighters swarmed the silver-haired boy. Solomon spun the greatsword in a wide, chaotic wheel. He used the flat of the blade as a massive shield to swat away incoming projectiles.

He stepped inside a spearman’s guard, delivered a brutal elbow strike to the man’s jaw, and used the falling body as a stepping stone to launch himself over a cluster of swordsmen.

[James_Hayes: back to the street brawling.]

[Last_Fables: the disrespect of throwing a guy into his own teammate.]

[Fatal_Beauty: pure chaos. I love it.]

He landed squarely on an obsidian pew. Kicking a rushing martial artist squarely in the chest, he folded the man over a wooden railing. Another group rushed the benches.

Solomon swung Eden’s Penance like a massive club. The impact shattered their weapons and sent them sprawling across the ruined floor. He moved with brutality, chaining knee strikes, headbutts, and wide cleaves together in a completely unorthodox pattern.

The masked leader clutched his fractured ribs and scrambled backward toward the temple exit. His subordinates fell in droves around him. The entire forward operating base was getting dismantled by a single teenager swinging a sword like a wild beast.

The surviving martial artists hesitated, their weapons shaking as they stared at the silver-haired boy standing amidst the wreckage.

Solomon rested his greatsword on his shoulder and wiped a smear of ash from his cheek. He stepped over a groaning fighter and pointed his free hand at the retreating leader.

"I thought a dark sect would put up a better fight," Solomon announced to the floating bronze owl. "They just swing their swords without any spatial awareness."