The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 634

High above the misty peaks of Wudang Mountain, the sky filled with streaks of white. Hundreds of disciples rose on their flying swords, blades humming beneath their feet like living things.

Lu Piao flew at the front of one tight formation, his plain robes whipping in the wind, jaw set like iron. For years he had swallowed his rage. Now it burned clean and bright.

A younger disciple pulled alongside him. “Brother Lu Piao, you are joining the fight against the Yin Yang Sect?”

Lu Piao’s face darkened, the old scar along his cheek pulling tight. “Joining? I’ve been waiting for this day since they beat me bloody in that back alley many years ago. Counted every insult, every stolen pill, every junior they cut down just to prove they could. Today I collect.”

“Same here,” another called from his left, a woman with a fierce scar across her brow. “They slapped me in the middle of the street in Qingshui, laughed while the crowd watched. Said Wudang dogs didn’t deserve to walk the same ground. This time I fight until one of us stops breathing.”

A senior disciple farther back laughed, short and cold. “I’ve killed their kind a hundred times already—inside the Gaia Virtual Realm. Every training session, every simulation. They bleed the same. They die the same. Out here it’ll be even easier.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the formation. All around them, more white-robed figures poured from the mountain’s hidden gates, swords flashing in the late sun. The humiliation had lasted three centuries.

Beatings in the alleys. Robbed shipments. Juniors forced to kneel. Every Wudang heart carried its own ledger of pain. Today the books balanced.

Lu Piao glanced left and right, taking in the sheer number of them. “Didn’t expect this many.”

A brother laughed. “Look around. Drones handle the fields, the forges, the daily patrols now. For once, every peak can fight. Sword Peak, Medicine Peak, even the archivists—they’re all coming. No more sitting on the mountain while those bastards laugh.”

“Party,” someone shouted ahead, voice ringing with dark delight. “That’s the word. We’re throwing the Yin Yang Sect a party they’ll never forget!”

Laughter exploded across the sky—sharp, hungry, alive. “Party!” others roared back. “Let’s give them one they’ll remember in hell!”

The cry spread, fierce and bright, as the entire host swept toward Qingshui City like a storm of white blades.

Far below, on the black-granite roads leading from the Yin Yang stronghold, a different tide moved.

One thousand one hundred and five fighters marched under banners of black silk stitched with yin and yang symbol. Drums boomed in time with their boots. Sect Master Yin Long rode at the head on a massive white tiger, his silver-streaked hair loose, eyes burning with the promise of slaughter.

Flanking him, the two women in crimson and emerald silk laughed softly at his sides, their hands resting on the hilts of poisoned daggers.

The column poured through the city gates like oil spilling into water. Civilians scattered. Market stalls emptied in seconds. Mothers snatched children from the street and slammed doors.

A few brave souls tried to bar their shops; Yin Yang disciples kicked the doors in for sport, smashing crates and stuffing pockets with whatever they found. One man tried to protect his noodle cart.

Two outer disciples slammed into a noodle cart, overturning it with a crash. Scalding broth exploded across the vendor’s legs. He screamed and crumpled, writhing on the cobblestones as the burning liquid soaked through his clothes. Laughing, the disciples ripped the coin pouch from his belt and left him curled in the dirt, moaning in agony.

“Take down Wudang!” one roared, thrusting his sword toward the sky.

“Death to that bastard Bai Xiachun!” another bellowed back.

The cry spread like wildfire.

“The Yin Yang Sect will become the real Wudang!”

“YES!”

“Bai Xiachun dies today!”

“YES!”

“Our sect will become the City Lord!”

“YES!”

The chant rolled through the thousand-strong column like thunder—ugly, rhythmic, and dripping with raw arrogance. They knew the city feared them. They fed on that fear. For three hundred years the Yin Yang Sect had ruled these streets with blood money and terror. Tonight they reminded every trembling soul exactly who owned Qingshui City.

Yin Long lifted one hand. The drums slowed but did not stop. His voice carried over the marching feet, calm now, almost conversational.

“Burn the Bai Mansion to the ground,” he said. “Bring me the City Lord’s head. And when the Pure Snow bitch shows herself, take her alive. I want Wudang to watch while we break her.”

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