As Yan Jin levitated in the air, his attention shifted away from the ongoing battle and towards the auras of two figures below him—the Purple Spear Meng and the City Lord. Though his eyes were covered, his other senses painted a vivid picture of their battered forms. The stench of blood and sweat clung to them like a thick fog, mixed with the acrid scent of burnt flesh and lingering corruption.
Their breathing was labored, rasping like old bellows, each breath a struggle against the pain that wracked their bodies. The sounds of their movements were sluggish, dragging feet across the ground, punctuated by the occasional groan of effort.
The City Lord, whose aura flickered like a candle in a storm, was the first to speak. His voice was weak, tinged with both fear and desperation. "Is it with you?" he asked, alluding to the powerful presence of Scar.
"It comes from the Vein, same as the other," Yan Jin replied, his tone steady and reassuring. "We made a deal, so it is temporarily an ally."
The air around them tensed as the Purple Spear Meng, who was barely holding himself together, asked, "What about the Bloodwitch?"
"She should be making her way here soon," Yan Jin answered calmly, sensing the surge of killing intent from both men at the mention of her name. It was an instinctual reaction, their auras flaring up briefly before fading back into their weakened states.
Yan Jin remained unfazed by their response. "It's okay," he assured them. "I can handle it. You should go and help the survivors."
The City Lord hesitated, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Are you sure...?" he began, but his words were cut off by a series of violent coughing fits. The sound of blood splattering on the ground reached Yan Jin's ears, the metallic scent growing stronger in the air.
"The source of the corruption has been dealt with," Yan Jin continued, his voice firm. "Although the Vein has not fully recovered, it is still fighting back. The people still need you. I remember my promise. You can go in peace."
The weight of his words settled over the two men, offering them a sliver of hope amidst their suffering. Yan Jin could sense their reluctance, their auras still flickering with doubt, but they knew they were in no condition to continue the fight. Their bodies were broken, their spirits battered, and yet, there was a duty that still called to them—a duty to protect the people of Pine City.
With a final nod, the City Lord and the Purple Spear Meng turned away, their footsteps heavy as they moved to fulfill Yan Jin's command. They would gather what strength they had left to aid the survivors, trusting in Yan Jin to handle the looming threat of the Bloodwitch.
As the battlefield emptied and the survivors moved to safety, a heavy silence settled over Pine City. Only one figure remained behind—Wei Xi, still kneeling and clutching the lifeless body of Meng Xiao. His tear-filled eyes were glued to the figure of Yan Jin, who now hovered above the city like a guardian angel preparing for judgment.
The innocence that once defined Wei Xi's features had vanished, replaced by a hardened resolve. He was waiting—waiting for the miracle his older brother was about to unleash.
The corrupted beings could do nothing but wait, their once-powerful forms now reduced to pathetic, writhing shapes beneath Yan Jin's overwhelming presence.
As Yan Jin drew his bow, the string taut with tension but without an arrow, the sky above began to change. Dark clouds gathered, swirling together as if pulled by some magnetic force. Thunder crackled through the air, the atmosphere growing heavy with static, making the hair on the necks of those below stand on end. With every strike of lightning, the shadow of a giant bird flickered across the sky.
Sometimes, the silhouette appeared as a massive bird, wings spread wide as if ready to dive; other times, it shifted into the shape of a colossal fish, its form swimming through the stormy clouds as if they were water.
All eyes were fixed on Yan Jin. The survivors who had once cowered in fear now watched with a mix of awe and anticipation. They knew something monumental was about to happen, something that would change the course of their lives forever. The corrupted beings, too, though helpless, could sense the impending doom, their feeble struggles growing more frantic as they felt the looming end.
Then, like rays of light piercing through the dark clouds, thousands of tiny, shimmering lights began to illuminate the sky above Pine City. They spread out wide and far, engulfing the entire city in a radiant glow. These lights were not random; they were the manifestation of the technique Yan Jin had comprehended during his journey through the corrupted mist.
"The intent of an arrow is a sharp whisper in the wind, a focused expression of will forged from tension and precision. It carries the archer's resolve, a silent pact between bow and target. In flight, it becomes the embodiment of purpose, cutting through air and doubt alike.
Whether it seeks to protect, to hunt, or to strike with vengeance, the arrow's intent is singular and unyielding—a straight line drawn between desire and impact, where hesitation cannot follow. Its aim is not merely to reach its mark but to deliver the intent that propelled it, with all the weight of meaning behind it."
As the tiny lights flickered, they began to change, shifting from mere points of light into the sharp, unmistakable shape of arrowheads. Slowly, they transformed further into fully formed arrows, each one imbued with the intent to kill. Yan Jin's resolve had taken shape, his intent clear for all to see.
The sky above Pine City was now filled with hovering arrows, each one brimming with lethal intent, waiting to be unleashed like a deadly rain shower.
"Arrow Intent," the City Lord murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and dread as he watched the sky.
"No," someone else whispered in the crowd, their voice trembling with reverence. "A celestial descent."
With that, Yan Jin released the string of his bow.
The sky erupted with a deafening roar as the arrows shot forward, each one moving with the speed and precision of a divine judgment.