The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 607

On the descending path of Thousand Herbs Peak, six outer disciples from Sword Peak made their way down the mountain, their laughter echoing through the quiet air.

“Turns out Jun Jiu’s name was just hype,” one of them scoffed, grinning.

“Pathetic,” another added. “He surrendered the moment he heard we were coming to test him.”

“Senior brother,” a third chimed in with a smirk, “this is Thousand Herbs Peak. They’re just a bunch of herb-obsessed nerds, gardening and brewing pills all day. What would they know about real swordsmanship?”

“Exactly,” someone else said. “That disciple had no idea how powerful Sword Peak truly is. And he still dared to challenge us?”

“Oh, come on,” one of them laughed, nudging his companion with a crooked grin. “They’re so weak—even if Jun Jiu showed up, he’d just lower his head and lick our shoes.”

“Yeah,” another voice cut in mockingly. “And that idiot friend of his—what was his name? Lu Piao? Lost his arm trying to protect that coward.”

The group burst into loud, cruel laughter.

“Good,” one of them said, wiping a tear of amusement from his eye. “Now we just need to spread the word—Jun Jiu is nothing but a coward.”

They continued down the mountain, still chuckling—until suddenly, a figure dropped from above and landed directly in their path.

The sound of impact silenced them instantly.

Dust settled.

A man stood before them, calm… still… holding nothing but a simple kitchen knife.

“Can someone tell me,” he said quietly, his voice cutting sharper than any blade, “who was the one… that cut off Lu Piao’s arm?”

The six disciples stopped in unison, their expressions shifting from amusement to irritation.

One of them stepped forward, sneering. “That robe… you’re from Thousand Herbs Peak, aren’t you?”

His eyes swept over Alex with open contempt.

“I’ll give you some advice,” he continued coldly. “Wipe that look off your face… or I’ll take your arms too. Just like I did to your friend.”

Alex’s gaze moved slowly—until it locked onto him.

“So,” Alex said, his tone eerily calm, “you’re the one who took Lu Piao’s arms.”

The man laughed, loud and fearless. “Yeah. So what?”

His grin widened.

“If you don’t get lost right now,” he added, “I’ll take yours too.”

For a moment… nothing happened.

The wind shifted.

Then Alex moved.

Just once.

So fast it barely registered.

The six disciples were still laughing—

Until suddenly—

A wet, heavy thud broke the air.

The man’s laughter died instantly.

His eyes widened.

He hadn’t even felt it.

Then—

Both of his arms fell to the ground.

Into the dirt.

Blood poured into the earth, dark and spreading, soaking through the soil—dripping from his hands, staining his clothes, turning everything it touched into something raw… something irreversible.

Silence.

Absolute.

The world seemed to stop breathing.

“I took one arm,” Alex said quietly, his voice steady, almost indifferent, “for Lu Piao.”

His eyes darkened.

“And the other… for threatening to take mine.”

A scream tore through the mountain.

Raw.

Primal.

The man collapsed, writhing in agony, blood pouring into the earth beneath him.

The other five froze—shock crashing over them like ice water.

Then instinct kicked in.

Their hands snapped toward their swords.

In that same instant—

A pressure descended.

Invisible.

Crushing.

Alex stepped forward slightly, his presence suddenly overwhelming, suffocating.

“If you draw your swords…” he said softly—

“…I’ll take that as you wanting to fight me.”

“Who do you think you’re scaring?” one of the disciples snapped, yanking his sword free.

The blade had barely cleared its sheath—

When his arm fell.

It hit the ground with a dull, sickening thud.

For a second, he just stood there, staring… unable to understand what had happened. His mind lagged behind reality, refusing to catch up.

Then the pain came.

Too late.

Too sharp.

Too real.

No one saw Alex move.

No one saw anything.

One moment, the arm was there—

The next, it wasn’t.

The remaining four froze mid-motion, their hands hovering near their swords, suddenly unsure… suddenly afraid.

If they couldn’t see how he attacked—

How were they supposed to fight him?

“Go,” Alex said calmly. “Take your people and leave. Their arms can still be reattached… if you’re fast enough.”

“How dare you do this to us?” one of them shouted, his voice trembling despite the anger. “Do you even know who we are? We’re from Sword Peak!”

Alex tilted his head slightly, his expression cold.

“And this,” he said, his voice dropping, “is Thousand Herbs Peak.”

“How dare you come here… and cut off one of our people’s arms?”

“Brothers…” one of the Sword Peak disciples whispered urgently, his voice tight with anger. “There are four of us. If we attack together… we might still—”

His words cut off.

Cleanly.

Just like his arm.

It dropped to the ground before he even realized it was gone.

A heartbeat later—

He screamed.

Alex took a step forward.

Just one.

But it was enough.

All disciples staggered back instinctively, their faces draining of color, their confidence shattered beyond repair.

“I don’t care why you came here,” Alex said, his tone steady, but laced with something far more dangerous than anger. “You hurt one of our people.”

His eyes darkened.

“My people. And you were going to pay for that.”

“If you want to die here,” he continued quietly, “I can cut your necks just as easily.”

In that instant—

Every single one of them felt it.

A phantom sensation.

Cold steel brushing against their throats.

As if their heads had already been severed—

As if death had already claimed them.

One of them let out a strangled sound.

Another staggered, barely holding himself upright.

Someone… lost control completely, warmth spreading down their legs as fear took over.

The smell spread.

Their legs trembled violently, their faces pale as ghosts, eyes wide with raw, animal fear.

Alex walked past them.

“Don’t come here again,” he said, without even looking back.

From the path ahead, the disciple who had guided Alex earlier suddenly came running toward him, breath ragged, panic in his voice.

“Elder brother—how could you just leave me—”

He stopped.

Mid-step.

His words died in his throat.

Because he saw them.

The Sword Peak disciples.

And then—

He saw the ground.

His stomach twisted violently.

Severed arms lay scattered in the dirt, soaked in blood, motionless.

Three of them had lost one arm.

One… had lost both.

The reality of it struck harder than any blade ever could.

“Senior Brother… Jun Jiu…” one of them said, his voice trembling, caught somewhere between fear and awe. “You… you avenged Lu Piao…”

Alex didn’t turn.

“Let’s go back,” he said simply.

And he walked away.

—

The next day.

Alex was still inside his hut when a figure appeared at the entrance.

“Big brother Alex…” Lu Piao stepped in slowly, his movements careful, his presence quieter than usual.

Then—

He bowed.

Deeply.

“No!” the crowd roared.

The sound erupted like thunder.

Hundreds of disciples from Thousand Herbs Peak—gardeners, cultivators, workers—stood behind Lu Piao, their voices unified, their anger no longer restrained.

Around four hundred people.

All watching.

All judging.

“Shut up,” one of the Discipline Committee members snapped, his patience gone. “My word is law here. You will not interfere. And if you do—”

His eyes hardened.

“I won’t hesitate to strike you down.”

Lu Piao stepped forward instead.

Not back.

“I respect justice,” he said. “But I will never respect arrogance.”

He lifted his chin.

“You are not the law. The law exists for everyone.”

The man’s expression twisted.

“How dare you—”

Before the sentence even finished—

His hand lashed out.

Smack.

The sound rang out—sharp, brutal, undeniable.

Lu Piao’s head snapped to the side.

The entire mountain seemed to fall silent.

It happened in front of everyone.

Every single person saw it.

“All of you—” the Discipline Committee disciple barked arrogantly, sweeping his gaze across the crowd, “—if you dare interfere, we will not hesitate to use force!”

For a moment—

No one moved.

Then Lu Piao slowly turned his head back, his cheek flushed, his eyes burning.

“Brother…” he said, his voice low but carrying. “You all saw that, right? He was the one who struck first.”

“We saw it, Brother Lu!” the crowd shouted.

Four hundred voices.

Unified.

Furious.

Then—

Steel sang.

One after another—

Blades slid free.

The sound multiplied—dozens, then hundreds—until it filled the air like a rising storm.

The four Discipline Committee members froze.

Their faces went pale.

They had never seen this before.

Wherever they went, people feared them.

Avoided them.

Bribed them.

No one had ever stood against them like this.

Not like this.

“Don’t use weapons,” Lu Piao said suddenly, raising his voice above the tension. “They hit me—so we hit them back with our fists.”

His eyes hardened.

“Just don’t kill them.”

“You dare—!” one of the Discipline Committee members shouted, panic creeping into his voice.

Too late.

The crowd surged.

Chaos exploded.

Fists flew.

Kicks followed.

A storm of bodies crashed into the four men, overwhelming them instantly.

Four arms against dozens—

Against hundreds—

It wasn’t a fight.

It was a collapse.

No matter how they shouted, no matter how they tried to push back—

Blow after blow rained down on them.

Relentless.

Unstoppable.

The authority they once carried shattered beneath the weight of raw, collective fury.