Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World-Chapter 401- Tribe’s New Breeder

CLANG!

The first silver-skinned warrior’s spear met his blade mid-thrust. The sound of metal on metal rang out like a bell.

But Tianlong was already gone.

He appeared behind her, his second sword cutting horizontally—

SLASH!

—severing her head from her shoulders in one clean stroke.

Blood sprayed. Her body stood for a moment, headless, before collapsing.

"Attack together!" one of the warriors screamed.

Three more rushed him simultaneously from different angles, their silver skin gleaming, their weapons aimed at vital points.

Tianlong’s eyes flashed crimson.

His swords became blurs.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Three strikes parried in the span of a heartbeat.

Then three counter-strikes—

SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!

The first warrior was bisected at the waist, her upper body sliding off her lower half.

The second lost both arms before her head followed.

The third was impaled through the chest, Tianlong’s blade piercing her heart before he ripped it sideways, tearing her torso open.

Blood painted the ground.

Four dead in less than five seconds.

Behind him, near the village entrance, the naked women of the Silver Fang Tribe stood frozen.

They’d emerged from their meditation, sensing the battle. Their bodies still glowed with newfound power. Their pussies still leaked his cum. Their bellies still carried his seed.

But they didn’t move to help.

They couldn’t.

Because what they were seeing wasn’t the lustful man who’d bred them for hours.

They were seeing a demon.

Tianlong’s movement was inhuman. His body twisted in ways that defied physics, dodging strikes that should have been impossible to avoid. His swords sang through the air, each swing ending a life.

SLASH!

A head flew.

SLASH!

Arms severed.

SLASH!

A torso split from shoulder to hip.

"Surround him! Don’t let him—"

BOOM!

Tianlong’s foot struck the ground with catastrophic force.

The earth erupted.

A shockwave rippled outward, visible as a distortion in the air. Trees in a hundred-meter radius bent away from the impact. The ground cracked, fissures spreading like spiderwebs.

Ten warriors were thrown backward, their bodies ragdolling through the air.

Tianlong appeared above them mid-flight.

His swords flashed.

SLASH-SLASH-SLASH-SLASH-SLASH!

Ten strikes. Ten bodies. Ten fountains of blood.

He landed softly as corpses rained around him.

"No... this can’t be..." one of the remaining warriors whispered, her silver skin pale with terror.

Tianlong looked at her. His crimson-gold eyes glowed in the darkness.

"You came to take what’s mine," he said softly. "Now pay the price."

He moved.

Not running. Flowing.

His body became a storm of death. His swords were the thunder and lightning.

SLASH-SLASH-SLASH-SLASH-SLASH!

Bodies fell like wheat before a scythe.

Blood sprayed in arcs, painting the grass crimson.

Screams filled the air—desperate, terrified, cut short.

The watching tribal women—Tianlong’s new concubines—pressed their hands to their mouths in horror.

"He’s... he’s slaughtering them..." one whispered.

"Like they’re nothing..." another breathed.

"Is this... is this the same man who made love to us?"

Gara, standing at the front of the group, watched with wide silver eyes. Her warrior’s instinct recognized what she was seeing.

’This isn’t cultivation technique,’ she thought. ’This is pure combat mastery. He’s been in real battles. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.’

BOOM!

Another shockwave.

This one was stronger.

The ground didn’t just crack—it shattered. Chunks of earth the size of houses flew into the air. The nearby mountain—a massive stone formation that had stood for millennia—groaned.

Then cracked.

Then shattered.

The entire mountain exploded into fragments, raining debris for miles.

"Impossible!" one of the tribal women screamed. "That mountain was—"

RUMBLE!

The ground began to shake.

Not just near the battle. Everywhere.

Thirty miles away, in distant tribal settlements, people stumbled as the earth convulsed.

Forty miles away, beasts howled and fled.

An earthquake. Created by a single man’s combat.

In the sky above, something changed.

The darkness took on a red tint. Like the heavens themselves were bleeding.

Crimson clouds formed, swirling, pulsing with malevolent energy. They weren’t natural. They were a manifestation of killing intent so thick it affected reality itself.

The silver-skinned warriors who remained—less than ten now—looked up at the blood-red sky and felt their courage shatter completely.

"Retreat!" one screamed. "Fall back! He’s not human!"

But Tianlong didn’t let them run.

He appeared in front of the fleeing warrior.

His sword flashed.

SLASH!

Her legs fell away. She collapsed, screaming.

He moved to the next.

SLASH!

Bisected vertically.

The next.

SLASH!

Decapitated.

One by one, methodically, he hunted them down.

No mercy. No hesitation. No emotion.

Just death.

Finally, only the old woman remained.

She knelt on the blood-soaked ground, her body trembling. Her wrinkled face was pale, eyes wide with shock and terror.

All her warriors. Gone. Slaughtered in minutes.

Tianlong approached slowly, his swords dripping crimson.

The blades themselves had changed. They were no longer just black with red edges. Now they appeared to be made entirely of crystallized blood—pulsing, glowing, radiating malice.

He stopped in front of the old woman.

Looked down at her.

"It seems women in this world," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, "are slightly too arrogant."

"P-please... I didn’t—"

SLASH!

His blade moved horizontally.

The old woman’s body split in half at the waist. Her upper torso slid off her lower body, hitting the ground with a wet thud.

Her eyes remained open, frozen in eternal shock.

Tianlong flicked his swords, blood flying off the blades in arcs.

Then he turned.

And faced the women of his tribe.

They stood there, naked, glowing with power, covered in his cum.

But their faces...

Horror. Shock. Fear.

Some trembled. Others looked like they might run. A few had tears streaming down their faces.

Tianlong’s expression darkened.

’Disappointing,’ he thought. ’If they fear me, they’ll betray me eventually. Fear breeds resentment. Resentment breeds treachery.’

He’d wanted loyal women. Not terrified slaves.

Maybe he’d gone too far. Maybe showing this side had been a mistake.

He started to turn away, to give them space—

THUD!

Something warm and soft collided with him.

Arms wrapped around his torso. Massive breasts pressed against his chest. A familiar scent filled his nose.

"Kaira?" he said, surprised.

His wife—his blind chief—clung to him tightly. Her naked body trembled, but not with fear. Her face buried in his chest.

His hands instinctively moved, one arm wrapping around her back. His swords dematerialized, dissolving into crimson mist.

"Whoa," he said softly. "So it seems my wife doesn’t fear me."

Kaira pulled back slightly, her blind silver eyes somehow finding his face perfectly.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice thick with concern. "I thought we should help, but your energy... it filled the whole place. We couldn’t move."

Tianlong’s expression softened slightly.

"Indeed I did," he admitted. "I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire."

"Are you all right, Master?"

The voice came from behind Kaira.

Gara stepped forward, her naked body still glistening with cum and sweat from their earlier breeding. But her silver eyes showed no fear. Only concern.

"I’m fine," Tianlong said, studying her.

Then, slowly, more women approached.

Not running away. Moving toward him.

"Master, you’re not hurt?"

"Did any of their weapons touch you?"

"Your robes have blood on them..."

They surrounded him—dozens of naked, cum-covered women—all checking him for injuries, all showing concern rather than terror.

And Tianlong realized something.

’The hierarchy,’ he thought.

Kaira, as his wife, stood strongest. She could handle his demonic side without flinching.

Gara and the other peak warriors came next. They understood combat. Respected strength. Weren’t frightened by necessary violence.

The weaker ones—the young virgins deflowered by him, the gatherers—they showed fear. But they weren’t running. They stayed because the stronger women stayed.

’They follow the strong,’ he realized. ’As long as the leaders don’t fear me, the tribe won’t either.’