The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 678

The sword struck with a wet, final sound.

Emperor Liu Xie jerked once, his dragon robes blooming dark red across the chest. His fingers slipped from the throne’s armrest. Then he slumped forward, eyes wide with the stunned look of a man who had not yet understood he was already dead.

For one terrible heartbeat the entire plaza froze.

Then the screaming began.

“Guards!” Alex roared. “Seize Murong Sheng and Xiao Wuji. They tried to kill the Emperor.”

Wudang disciples poured from the side chambers in a disciplined wave, elders at their head. Their robes snapped as they moved. Swords and qi flared in unison.

Ten of the strongest elders fanned out around Murong Sheng and Xiao Wuji, faces grim, killing intent thick in the air.

Murong Sheng’s blade was still humming from the deflected strike. He stared at the fallen Emperor, then at the sword that had killed him, and something cold and ugly twisted behind his eyes.

“No,” he said, voice hoarse. “It was an accident. Someone must have redirected the sword. Someone powerful—”

“Shut your mouth, murderer.” The Wudang sect master, Feng Taiyi stepped forward, sword already drawn. “Surrender now. You will be questioned. Resist and we cut you down where you stand.”

Murong Sheng’s laugh was short and ugly. “You? Ask me to surrender?” His grip tightened on his sword until the knuckles whitened. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

He exploded into motion.

Qi detonated around him in a violent storm. The ground cracked beneath his boots as he launched himself at the Wudang master with everything he had left.

The two men met in a clash that sent shockwaves rippling across the plaza. Stone flags shattered. Dust and debris flew. The watching soldiers staggered back, hands over their ears against the screaming pressure of Nascent Soul power.

Xiao Wuji did not move.

“I surrender,” he said quickly, dropping his sword. It clattered on the stones. He raised his empty hands. “I had nothing to do with this. I am not the killer here.”

Murong Sheng’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide with disbelief and sudden, vicious rage.

“You coward,” he snarled between strikes. “You know this is their trap. They staged this fight to destroy all four of us. If we stand together we can still break out—”

“Murong Sheng!” Alex’s voice rolled across the plaza again, colder than winter steel. He had descended from the platform and now stood at the edge of the circle, surrounded by Wudang guards. “You killed the Emperor. Surrender. Do it now and I will let you live long enough to speak your piece.”

Murong Sheng’s blade met the Wudang master’s in another thunderous impact. Sparks flew. Blood ran from a fresh cut above Murong’s eye, but he did not slow.

“I will never surrender to you,” he spat. “Feng Taiyi, you saw what happened. Someone with real power moved the sword’s trajectory. Someone who wanted the Emperor dead and me to take the blame. You know it.”

The Wudang master’s face remained hard. “Everyone saw your flying sword take the Emperor’s life. Everyone saw you lose control of it in the final exchange. Do not insult us by blaming shadows.” His next strike drove Murong back three steps. “If you are innocent, stop fighting. Let justice take its course.”

Murong Sheng’s chest heaved. Sweat and blood mixed on his face. His arms burned from the two brutal fights he had already endured.

The final match had been meant to crown a champion, not end in regicide. Now the Emperor lay dead, and the only man left with real authority in Xia was the one standing in front of him—Bai Xiaochun.

If he stopped now, he would never leave this plaza alive. Bai Xiaochun needed a scapegoat.

The public needed someone to hang for the Emperor’s death. Murong Sheng was already the perfect candidate—ambitious, proud, the former head of the old Murim Alliance.

They would parade his execution and call it justice.

He had seconds to decide.

Murong Sheng’s qi surged again, wild and desperate. He had no strength left for a long battle, but he still had enough for one last, all-consuming strike.

Enough, perhaps, to carve a path through the men surrounding him and vanish into the chaos.

“I will not die for your schemes,” he roared. “I will kill every last one of you and walk out of here on my own terms.”

He poured everything he had left into his sword. The air around him warped. The ground trembled.

The Wudang elders braced as the full weight of a cornered Nascent Soul cultivator prepared to explode outward.

Murong Sheng’s eyes burned with the terrible clarity of a man who knew he had already lost everything that mattered.

He attacked.

Alex rose from the chaos, sword already in his hand.

“Since you refuse to surrender, I will take your head.”

Murong Sheng never saw it coming.

His full attention was locked on Feng Taiyi, the Wudang sect master. The two men traded blows in a blur of steel and qi, each strike ringing like thunder.

Alex vanished.

One instant he stood at the edge of the circle. The next he was behind Murong Sheng, the Wudang Limitless Sword a silver blur in the dying light.

There was no dramatic flourish. No shouted technique. Only a single, clean swing.

The blade passed through Murong Sheng’s neck as if the flesh offered no resistance at all.

For a fraction of a second Murong’s body remained upright, sword still raised. Then the head toppled forward and struck the stones with a dull, wet sound. The body followed, collapsing in a heap of robes and blood.

The plaza went silent.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

Alex stood over the corpse, sword lowered, white robes untouched by the blood that now spread across the broken flagstones.

He turned to the three remaining cultivators still standing in the circle.

“Zhan Tianba. Xiao Wuji. Ling Fengxian. If you had nothing to do with the Emperor’s death, surrender now. Cooperate, and once the truth is known you will be released.”

Zhan Tianba’s scarred face was pale beneath the blood and dust. “You’re putting us in prison?”

“No,” Alex replied. “I will seal your cultivation for one week. You will remain in the guest quarters as honored guests. Nothing more.”

Ling Fengxian let out a short, bitter laugh. “If the food is good, the wine better, and the women accommodating, I suppose I can endure a week of luxury.”

“Done,” Alex said without hesitation.

Xiao Wuji stepped closer. The movement looked casual, but it brought the three men into a tight knot with Alex at the center. Their voices dropped to a whisper only they could hear.

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