Godslayer: Reincarnated with SSS Rank Cultivation System

The cultivators of the Wu Clan surrounded Wen Ran, their auras oppressive, but to their surprise, he remained unfazed. Confusion was evident on their faces. Each of them wielded swords, their weapons radiating power and sharpness—one swing could easily cut through a tree. Yet, when they tried to slice through the crimson tendrils attacking them, they met a resistance as solid as iron. Their heads throbbed with frustration. This young man, barely more than a boy, held his ground against them effortlessly. No matter how they tried, they couldn't break past his defenses.

Wen Ran scanned his opponents, his aura twisting eerily through the air, oppressive and domineering. It was an impossible presence for someone still in the Spirit Gathering stage. His sharp gaze locked onto one of the men—a slight hesitation, an awkward grip on his sword. A weakness.

Without hesitation, Wen Ran pressed forward, forcing the man to retreat. That was exactly what he wanted. His black sword thrust toward his opponent, making him stumble backward. The man instinctively dodged, but his allies' expressions turned to horror. Behind him, a crimson blade materialized, striking in perfect synchronicity. He never even had a chance to turn around before his head flew cleanly from his shoulders.

A perfect cut. The sheer sharpness of the blood-forged weapon left the remaining cultivators tense, their grips tightening on their swords. A technique that could switch between liquid and solid at will—such an ability in the hands of someone still in Spirit Gathering? It was unheard of. Fear crept into their hearts.

"You're too ruthless. The heavens will smite you for your sins, but before that, we will execute you in their stead," the man in his twenties declared, his voice sharp. His brown eyes flickered with fear, yet they held a glimmer of determination.

"Oh? Are you a god? Can you command the heavens?" Wen Ran scoffed coldly.

He moved like a phantom, a warrior honed to perfection. His opponents tried to surround him, striking from all directions at once, but Wen Ran merely leaped upward, dodging with effortless grace. In midair, he twisted, his leg snapping out like a whip. His foot connected with two of them, sending them crashing into the ground. The third barely had time to react before Wen Ran spun his sword downward. Using the hovering blood as a foothold, he propelled himself into a front flip, landing behind his remaining opponent in a fluid motion.

The moment his feet touched the ground, his blade slashed.

The man didn't even have time to scream before he was cleaved in half.

Everything happened in mere moments, yet it was enough to plant the seed of terror in the hearts of his remaining enemies. To them, Wen Ran wasn't human—he was a devil in the flesh. His strength, his movements, his eerie blood control—it all defied reason.

They had once thought their young master, Wu Xiaohui, was a genius. A cultivator so talented that he had earned a place in a great sect.

Now, compared to the monster standing before them, that belief seemed laughable.

"You're strong," another Wu Clan cultivator spoke, his voice steady but his eyes burning with both respect and killing intent. "That is why we can't let you leave here alive. Prepare to die!"

A strange energy gathered around his arm, slithering like a coiling snake before solidifying into a twisting stream of water. It felt sharp, thin, and deadly. In the blink of an eye, the water transformed into an arrow, shooting straight at Wen Ran's chest with terrifying speed.

But Wen Ran didn't panic.

The blood surrounding him surged forward like a living shield, intercepting the attack. The water arrow crashed into the crimson barrier, producing a sharp metallic clang before dissipating into mist.

Yet before he could breathe, more attacks followed.

Fire, earth, and wind arrows rained toward him in quick succession, each carrying immense force. Wen Ran narrowed his eyes, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

Well, this is annoying… I'm a bit outnumbered.

Without hesitation, he used his floating blood as a foothold, gripping it like a monkey bar and flipping himself upward. He spun through the air, twisting his body to evade the incoming attacks before launching himself behind them in a single fluid motion.

More attacks came, but Wen Ran moved like a phantom, his form flickering between the crumbling buildings and the narrow alleys. Using the walls, rooftops, and his own blood as platforms, he darted through the battlefield, dodging with precision.

Each step was calculated.

Each movement brought him closer to turning the tide.

"Are you a monkey!?" one of the six remaining cultivators shouted in frustration. Wen Ran's erratic movements were driving them insane—dodging, flipping, using the blood itself as a foothold. He was impossible to pin down. And worst of all, his blood relentlessly attacked them, slashing and striking from every direction.

Then, suddenly, a single black sword floated toward them, hovering in midair.

Panic spread among them instantly.

"Flying sword…!?"

"Impossible! He's only at the Spirit Gathering Stage!"

Controlling a weapon with spiritual power was a technique only those in the Spirit Refinement Stage could accomplish. Even the most gifted genius at Wen Ran's cultivation level shouldn't be capable of this. But what they failed to see was the thin crimson thread attached to the sword—blood, under Wen Ran's command. It wasn't true flight, but an imitation of advanced techniques, one that cost him a great deal of spiritual energy to maintain.

Still, it was enough to fool them.

The sword shot forward, piercing through the chest of a panicked cultivator who had hesitated for even a moment. Blood splattered, and Wen Ran's reserves surged back to life as the crimson liquid fed his power.

Before the others could react, the sword twisted midair and flew toward another target. The man raised his blade to defend, but the black sword curved unnaturally, spinning in a circular motion before cleaving his head clean off.

Four remained.

"Now he's defenseless!" One of them rushed forward, sword drawn.

Wen Ran smirked.

He abruptly turned the blade toward himself, aiming the tip at his own chest.

"Let's die together if you want." His laughter rang out, wild and unhinged.

The attackers flinched, their blood running cold. They weren't expecting this level of madness. In their moment of hesitation, the black sword twisted again, the hilt flipping toward Wen Ran instead of the blade.

"Cowards," he spat, catching the weapon as he lunged at the remaining four.