The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 635

The roar of five thousand Wudang voices crashed over the courtyard like a breaking wave, the sound so loud it rattled the shattered stones beneath the invaders’ boots.

For one frozen heartbeat, the Yin Yang Sect stood motionless in the center of the killing field they had just created for themselves.

Sect Master Yin Long’s cruel smile died on his face. His eyes—those black-ice chips that had terrified half the Jianghu—widened in disbelief as he stared upward at the unbroken ring of white robes.

One thousand of his fighters. Against five thousand Wudang disciples.

Five times their number, and every last one of them standing on the rooftops, the walls, the air, swords still humming beneath their feet.

Flying swords.

Only Foundation Establishment cultivators could ride the blade like that. Every single Wudang disciple here had already stepped into that realm.

Meanwhile, most of Yin Long’s own force—outer disciples, hired blades, even many of the inner sect—were still struggling at Qi Condensation.

A handful of elders had reached Foundation Establishment, but the rest were simply strong bodies and louder mouths.

The gap was not a gap.

It was an abyss.

A low, collective tremor ran through the black-robed ranks. Knees buckled. Sweat broke out on every forehead. The two women in crimson and emerald silk pressed closer to Yin Long, their seductive confidence evaporating into wide-eyed panic.

“Impossible,” Yin Long whispered. His voice cracked on the word.

Alex stood on the dais, hands still clasped behind his back, expression calm as still water.

Li Qingxue remained at his right, her silver blade sheathed, her face as cold and beautiful as fresh snow. Neither of them had drawn a weapon.

Alex’s voice carried across the courtyard, clear and unhurried.

“Release your auras.”

The command was simple. It did not need to be loud.

Five thousand Foundation Establishment cultivators obeyed at once.

The pressure slammed down like an invisible mountain.

It was not killing intent. It was simply presence—pure, refined qi compressed by decades of disciplined training inside Gaia’s secret realm. The air thickened until it felt like breathing syrup.

The black banners of the Yin Yang Sect drooped as if soaked in water. One thousand bodies staggered. Then, in a single rolling wave, they began to drop.

Disciples crumpled where they stood, foam bubbling at the corners of their mouths, eyes rolling back. Elders hit their knees with bone-cracking thuds, gasping, clawing at their throats.

The hired thugs—those who had come only for coin and cruelty—collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.

Within seconds the entire courtyard floor was a sea of black robes and twitching limbs. One thousand fighters, reduced to unconscious sacks of meat.

Only Yin Long remained standing.

His Core Formation cultivation fought like a cornered tiger, veins bulging along his neck, silver-streaked hair whipping in a wind that existed only for him. But even he trembled.

Sweat poured down his face. His white tiger mount had already sunk to its belly, whining like a beaten dog.

Three hundred years.

Three hundred years the Yin Yang Sect had ruled Qingshui City while Wudang hid on its mountain.

Three hundred years of beatings in alleys, stolen shipments, humiliated juniors, and mocking laughter. And now the gap was not merely wide—it was insulting.

The Wudang disciples had not even drawn their swords. They had not even broken a sweat.

Many of them still wore the faint, almost bored expressions of people who had already slaughtered these same enemies a thousand times inside the training realm.

Lu Piao stood on the western wall, arms folded, the old scar on his cheek twisting with grim satisfaction.

He looked almost disappointed that the fight had ended before it had truly begun.

The same bitter disappointment gripped the thousands gathered there. They had come spoiling for battle, hungry for revenge. Yet their enemy proved far too weak to even withstand their presence—there was nothing left to strike. A profound letdown.

Alex stepped forward on the dais, his voice rising into a calm but carrying roar that reached every soul—friend and foe alike.

“They once said that if five thousand people piss in the same place, they can drown a man.”

His smile was thin and razor-sharp. “I’ve been wondering if that’s true. So tell me, brothers and sisters of Wudang… who among you is willing to help test the theory on the Yin Yang Sect’s so-called leaders?”

A stunned silence fell over the courtyard.

Then a low, ugly chuckle rippled through the white-robed ranks. It grew, spreading like wildfire until it became full-throated laughter—dark, cathartic, and long overdue.

However, many of the female Wudang disciples’ faces flushed bright red with a mix of embarrassment and humiliated fury.

They had zero interest in joining that particular “game.” Some were already turning away in disgust, preparing to slip out of the courtyard.

The grand battle they had been eagerly anticipating—the explosive release of three hundred years of pent-up resentment—had ended before it even started. Their enemies lay unconscious on the stone floor like broken dolls.

It was a massive letdown—like a man and woman finally on the verge of passionate lovemaking, the woman trembling with eager anticipation for an incredible, unforgettable night—only to realize the man had already ejaculated the moment he laid eyes on her.

A crushing, frustrating, and deeply humiliating disappointment.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify