I Become Sect master In Another World-Chapter 181 — Threads Behind the Sky

The barrier did not fail immediately.

It cried.

A thin vibration cut through the mountain—sharp, piercing, crawling straight into teeth and bone. Several disciples flinched at once, hands rising instinctively to their jaws as the sound skittered along nerves instead of air.

Light surged across the cliffs.

Not smoothly.

Not evenly.

Formation lines flared in broken rhythm—one blazing white-hot, the next dimming to a sickly glow, then flaring again as if struggling to stay alive. The mountain’s skin flickered, illumination stuttering like a wounded heartbeat.

The stone itself remained whole.

The light did not.

Across the sky-spanning barrier, fine fractures appeared—lines of radiance splitting apart, branching and curving in erratic patterns. They spread like veins beneath skin, racing outward, intersecting, recoiling, then spreading again as unseen pressure hammered from above.

Each tremor rippled downward.

Weapons rattled in their racks. Hanging lanterns clinked violently against stone. Disciples staggered as shockwaves rolled through the terraces, the vibration traveling up through boots and bones alike.

Someone dropped their sword.

It struck the stone with a sharp clang that echoed far too loudly.

Heads lifted.

Eyes widened.

Breaths caught.

A disciple near the front swallowed hard, throat working as he stared at the spiderweb of light above.

"...no," he whispered.

The word barely left his mouth.

The barrier shuddered again—harder this time—and several formation lines flared so brightly they burned white afterimages into the eyes of everyone watching.

Then dimmed.

Just for a fraction of a breath.

Enough.

The mountain groaned.

And in that sound, the sect understood—

Not from words.

Not from explanation.

But from instinct.

Something was breaking.

And still—

The barrier bent.

Not shattered.

Bent.

The light strained inward, fractures widening by slow, deliberate degrees, as if something were leaning its full weight against the mountain and waiting for it to give.

Above, the creatures reacted.

They didn’t howl.

They didn’t shriek.

A low sound drifted across the sky instead—wet, gurgling chuckles layered one over another. The laughter was quiet, intimate, like a shared secret passed between throats that no longer remembered breath.

They could feel it.

Taste it.

Elder Liya’s fingers tightened around her sword until the leather creaked.

"Wan," she said sharply.

No embellishment.

No explanation.

Just command.

"Now."

Elder Wan was already on his knees.

Both palms were pressed flat against the stone terrace, fingers splayed wide as if gripping the mountain itself. His eyes were shut tight, lashes trembling. Veins stood out along his temples and neck, dark and swollen, pulsing with each controlled breath.

The air around him quivered.

Not visibly.

But enough that the dust at his sleeves began to stir in slow, circling patterns.

His lips moved.

"No..." The word scraped out, thin and strained. "This isn’t—"

The mountain lurched.

Another impact slammed into the barrier. Light buckled violently overhead, shockwaves rolling down the terraces like invisible tides. Several disciples were thrown forward, palms slamming into stone as weapons skidded loose across the ground.

Wan sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes snapped open.

"This pressure—" he said, voice cutting through the chaos, suddenly sharp, suddenly clear. "It isn’t them."

Elder Wu turned, boots grinding against stone. "Then what is?"

Wan didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze lifted.

Slow.

Measured. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Tracking something no one else could feel—let alone see.

Higher.

Beyond the circling creatures.

Beyond the barrier’s fractured skin.

"There," he said.

He raised his hand.

Pointed.

Straight into empty sky.

For a heartbeat—

Nothing happened.

The creatures’ laughter faltered.

Just slightly.

Then the air wrinkled.

Not tore.

Not shattered.

It folded inward, like fabric pinched between unseen fingers. Light bent around the distortion, stretching into thin, warped lines before snapping back again. The sky twisted, depth collapsing in on itself as space resisted—then yielded.

Something stepped through.

A figure emerged where nothing had been.

Tall.

Too tall.

Its outline resolved first—long limbs, narrow shoulders—followed by robes that flowed in deep black and violet, colors so dense they seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it. The fabric drifted as if submerged, moving gently despite the absolute stillness of the air.

Long gray hair spilled down his back, strands floating lazily around his shoulders.

He stood suspended in the sky.

Relaxed.

Smiling.

And the mountain, for the first time—

Felt watched.

His eyes—

They were not eyes.

They were molten.

Liquid violet burned within sunken sockets, light moving beneath the surface like slow-flowing magma. The glow wasn’t bright. It didn’t need to be. It pulsed gently, hungrily, as if watching was an act of consumption.

In his right hand rested a skull.

Human.

Its surface had been polished smooth to a dull sheen, every imperfection erased. Runes spiraled across the bone in precise, elegant carvings—too refined to be accidental, too deliberate to be sane. Violet spiritual energy throbbed within the hollow eye sockets, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Like a heart.

The man smiled.

Not sharply.

Not cruelly.

Wide. Relaxed. Almost pleased.

"Well," he said, voice drifting down without effort, cutting through the windless sky as if distance did not apply to him, "I truly didn’t expect anyone in this region capable of noticing my handiwork."

His gaze shifted.

Settled.

Locked onto Elder Wan.

The pressure followed it.

"Very good," the man added lightly. "Boy."

Elder Wan’s jaw locked. His hands curled into fists so tight the skin split at the knuckles.

"Show yourself," he spat. "You bastard."

The old man’s smile deepened.

"As you wish."

His left hand rose.

Slow.

Casual.

As if indulging a child.

The air around his fingers shimmered—and then thin lines began to appear.

Threads.

Violet.

So fine they were nearly invisible, catching the light only when they moved. One became ten. Ten became hundreds. Hundreds bled into thousands, unraveling outward like a living web.

They stretched downward.

Embedded themselves into the barrier.

The formation reacted violently.

Light spasmed along its surface as the filaments pierced through it, runes flickering erratically as if screaming without sound.

Gasps rippled through the terraces.

"They’re—connected—!" someone shouted, voice cracking.

Elder Liya’s eyes snapped upward.

Her breath caught.

"Cut those threads!" she barked. "Now—!"

Too late.

The old man turned the skull in his palm.

Just a fraction.

The threads tightened.

Every single one.

The barrier screamed.

Not with sound—

—but with light.

Then—

He snapped his fingers.

The formation didn’t collapse.

It burst.

The sky fractured as if struck by a god’s fist. Shards of radiant light exploded outward, spinning and scattering like broken glass caught in a storm. They shimmered for a heartbeat—beautiful, impossible—

Then evaporated.

Gone.

The barrier was gone.

Silence followed.

Not peace.

Not calm.

A hollow pause.

Then—

Laughter.

The creatures surged forward in a howling wave, bodies dropping and diving as gravity reclaimed them, claws and weapons tearing through open air toward the exposed mountain.

The old man lowered his hand.

Watched.

Smiling.

"Go," he said, tone gentle, conversational. "Kill them all, my children."

Below—

Steel screamed.

Elder Liya’s blade tore free of its sheath, the sound sharp enough to cut through the rising chaos. Pink aura erupted around her like a detonated star, pressure slamming outward as stone cracked beneath her feet.

Her eyes burned.

"Everyone—" she roared.

She lunged forward.

"ATTACK!"

The mountain answered.

Disciples surged upward, formations dissolving into violence as weapons ignited with qi. Blades met bone.

Spears punched through twisted flesh. Spiritual techniques detonated midair, explosions blooming across the sky in fire, lightning, and light.

Blood fell from the sky.

Not in drops.

In sheets.

Wang Tian burst through the chaos like a mad god, laughter tearing from his throat as his fist drove forward. Bone shattered. Flesh imploded. His arm punched straight through a creature’s chest, the impact collapsing its torso inward before the rest of the body even realized it was dead.

"HAHA—YES!" he roared, ripping his arm free as the corpse folded around the empty space where its heart had been.

Beside him, Luo Chen did not laugh.

He moved.

One step. One cut.

Wind screamed as his blade passed, a silver line flashing through the air. Heads lifted—then slid free in clean arcs, expressions still frozen in confusion as bodies collapsed a heartbeat later. His eyes were cold. Focused. Every strike precise enough to be cruel.

On another terrace, Lu Fang’s boots ground into stone as he parried a clawed strike, countering immediately with a thrust that pinned a creature to the ground. Sheng Lu fought back-to-back with him, staff cracking ribs and snapping spines with brutal efficiency. Yan Chen’s blade moved in short, lethal bursts—no wasted motion, no hesitation.

They didn’t shout.

They didn’t smile.

Their faces were carved from stone.

Below them—

The newer disciples bled.

One screamed as claws ripped through his robe and into flesh, spinning him sideways. Another stumbled, blood pouring from a gash along his thigh—he caught himself on his blade, teeth grinding as he forced his legs to move again.

Someone fell.

Someone dragged them back.

Someone else stepped forward in their place.

Fear lived in their eyes.

So did refusal.

Above them, the elders turned the battlefield into slaughter.

Elder Wu caught a lunging creature by the skull.

His fingers tightened.

The head burst.

Fragments sprayed outward as the body collapsed bonelessly at his feet.

Elder Feng Yu stepped forward, palm slicing through the air. The strike didn’t hit flesh—it split space. A line tore forward, cleaving three creatures in half before detonating in a thunderous shockwave that erased what remained.

Elder Yaochen’s talismans flared gold.

He flicked his wrist.

They shot outward like falling stars, embedding themselves into clustered bodies before igniting. Fire blossomed midair, reducing writhing forms to ash that scattered across the ground.

And then—

There was Elder Liya.

She moved once.

Ten bodies fell.

Her blade carved a crescent of pink light through the sky, heads lifting free as if pulled by invisible strings. Blood fanned outward in a perfect arc, splashing across stone before bodies followed.

She didn’t slow.

Didn’t breathe.

She looked up.

Her eyes locked onto the old man floating above the battlefield.

Her jaw tightened.

Stone exploded beneath her feet as she launched skyward.

For a heartbeat—

She almost reached him.

The old man smiled.

He lifted his hand.

Space screamed.

A rift tore open behind Elder Liya, black and yawning, edges writhing like living wounds. From within, bodies poured out—screaming, howling, colliding into one another as they spilled into the sky.

Hundreds.

Then more.

They slammed into her midair.

Weight crashed against her from every side. Claws raked. Teeth snapped. Bodies wrapped around her limbs, dragging her down through sheer mass.

She roared.

Pink light exploded as her blade flashed, carving space around her, bodies torn apart as she forced herself free—

—and crashed back into the ground.

Stone shattered beneath the impact.

She skidded, boots gouging trenches through the terrace as she came to a halt, chest heaving, blood splattered across her armor.

The rift sealed.

Silence—just for a breath.

The old man sighed.

He shook his head slowly, disappointment tugging at his lips.

"I truly didn’t expect to use my entire army on a single sect," he murmured. "How troublesome."

Below—

The world burned.

Explosions ripped through courtyards. Pillars collapsed. Entire halls caved inward, stone and flame swallowing screams. Only the ancient durability of the sect’s foundations kept it from becoming rubble in moments.

In the medicinal garden—

Emerald light detonated.

Elder Hua stepped forward, eyes blazing as her aura surged violently outward. The earth split at her feet. Vines erupted from the ground—thick as pillars, covered in thorns—snapping and coiling as she lashed them through the horde.

Bodies were crushed.

Wrapped.

Dragged screaming into the soil.

Xu Ran fought beside her.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision—but her strikes never faltered. Her sword rose and fell again and again, slicing through flesh, blood spraying across her arms as she screamed—

"You hurt my father!" Her voice tore raw from her chest. "I won’t let you leave alive!"

Her blade flashed.

Another body fell.

Cheng Fang glanced at her.

Just for a fraction of a second.

His eyes widened.

Then hardened.

His aura erupted outward in a violent surge. He stepped forward, sword sweeping in a wide arc—

Four creatures split apart in a single motion.

Blood sprayed.

The battle did not slow.

It only deepened.

And above it all—

The old man watched.

Smiling.

Then—

The sky ruptured.

Not with light.

With shadow.

A violent detonation tore through the air above the sect, shadow-colored spiritual energy exploding outward like a collapsed star being born in reverse. The shockwave carved through the battlefield, severing bodies mid-flight—torsos splitting, limbs spinning away as blood atomized into a red mist that hung briefly before raining down.

Creatures died before they understood they had been struck.

The battlefield went unnaturally still.

Not because the war had ended—

—but because something greater had arrived.

The shadow thinned.

From within it, a figure stepped forward.

Boots touched the air as if it were solid ground.

Elder An Ning.

His robes were torn, scorched at the edges, cultivation marks still glowing faintly along his skin—evidence of a breakthrough violently interrupted. His hair hung loose, shadow clinging to every strand like smoke that refused to disperse.

His eyes—

Burned.

They were no longer calm pools of cultivation focus.

They were storms.

He looked down.

At the ruined terraces.

At the blood-soaked stone.

At disciples fighting and dying beneath a sky filled with monsters.

His hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

The sound of metal sliding free was soft.

Controlled.

Deadly.

"WHO—"

The word rolled across the mountain, heavy enough to press knees into stone.

"—DARED—"

The air began to scream.

"—DISTURB—"

Shadow gathered, spiraling around his blade, compressing until the space around it warped and bent.

"—MY—"

The sword came up.

"—CULTIVATION?!"

He swung.

The world answered.

A storm of shadow slashes erupted outward—hundreds, thousands—each one a crescent of compressed darkness that screamed as it tore through the battlefield. They did not discriminate.

They erased.

Creatures were sliced apart where they stood—heads, torsos, entire bodies severed so cleanly they didn’t fall apart until seconds later. Lines of shadow carved trenches into stone, vaporizing anything unlucky enough to exist in their path.

The sky cleared.

The ground trembled.

When the storm passed—

Nothing stood where the slashes had gone.

Disciples stared.

Weapons hung frozen mid-air.

Breaths caught in chests that had been moments from collapsing.

Someone whispered his name without realizing it.

Hope—raw, dangerous, desperate—ignited like a spark in dry grass.

On a distant terrace, Elder Feng Yu exhaled slowly.

A faint smile touched his lips.

The pressure eased.

The creatures recoiled—some snarling, some retreating instinctively, others staring upward with warped expressions that finally held something new.

Caution.

The tide—

Shifted.

Above them all—

The old man floated, hands clasped behind his back, robes unmoving despite the chaos below. He watched the annihilation calmly, violet pupils glowing as his grin stretched wider, teeth catching the dim light.

"Oh?" he murmured, amused.

His gaze lingered on Elder An Ning.

"This is getting interesting."

Below him, the mountain burned.

Stone cracked.

Blood steamed.

And the war—

Had only just begun.

To Be Continued.....