I Become Sect master In Another World

The first scream ripped across the temporary military encampment with such raw terror that conversations stopped instinctively. Hundreds of heads turned toward the sound just as another cry echoed from the opposite side of the avenue, followed almost immediately by a third somewhere beyond the rows of supply wagons. Within only a handful of breaths, alarms erupted throughout the sprawling camp, shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had filled the military grounds only moments earlier.

Death Riders abandoned their meals without hesitation and rushed toward the fallen. Wooden bowls slipped from startled hands, scattering colorful fried rice across the packed earth as untouched cups of lemonade rolled beneath hurried boots. The laughter that had echoed between the tents moments ago disappeared beneath a rising tide of confused voices.

"What happened?"

"Move!"

"Someone call the physicians!"

A military physician forced his way through the gathering crowd before dropping to one knee beside the first collapsed cultivator. His fingers immediately settled against the man’s wrist, searching for the steady pulse every healer expected to find.

Nothing.

His expression tightened. He shifted his hand to the side of the man’s neck, pressing more firmly this time, yet the result remained exactly the same. Frowning, he lowered his ear toward the soldier’s chest before spreading his spiritual sense throughout the body.

His brows slowly drew together.

The meridians were completely intact.

The flow of spiritual energy showed no signs of disorder.

Even the heart remained untouched, beating neither too quickly nor too slowly because it had already stopped altogether.

The physician lifted his head, genuine confusion replacing the confidence earned through decades of battlefield medicine.

"There are no external injuries..."

He pressed a palm against the cultivator’s chest once more, carefully guiding a stream of spiritual qi through the lifeless body.

"No ruptured meridians."

"No damaged organs."

His voice dropped almost to himself.

"Then... why?"

Before anyone could answer, another heavy impact echoed across the avenue.

A cavalry officer crashed to the ground beside his spirit horse, his body striking the packed earth hard enough to send dust billowing into the air. The frightened beast immediately reared onto its hind legs, letting out a panicked cry before tearing free from its hitching post and galloping wildly between the tents.

"Commander Zhao!"

Several nearby Death Riders sprinted toward him. One reached the fallen officer first and dropped beside him, extending both hands to help him upright.

The instant his fingers touched the commander’s shoulder, the officer’s entire body arched violently.

Every muscle locked at once.

The veins beneath his neck and temples bulged as though something inside him were struggling desperately to escape. Blood seeped slowly from the corners of his eyes, tracing thin crimson lines down his cheeks while his jaw trembled under unbearable strain.

His mouth opened.

No scream emerged.

Only a strangled gasp escaped his throat as his eyes widened with a terror beyond words.

The convulsions grew increasingly violent. His fingers clawed helplessly at the empty air before stiffening completely. Every trace of strength vanished from his body almost as suddenly as it had appeared.

A heartbeat later, he collapsed motionless into the dust.

The soldier kneeling beside him reached forward with trembling fingers, pressing them desperately against the commander’s neck.

His own face slowly lost all color.

"...No pulse."

The words barely left his mouth before another scream erupted farther down the avenue.

Then another.

And another.

Within moments, bodies began collapsing throughout the encampment, as though an invisible hand had reached silently into the heart of the Black Iron Mercenary Group.

The cavalry officer’s body suddenly relaxed.

Not because the pain had passed.

Because there was nothing left inside him to resist.

His fingers slipped lifelessly from the soldier supporting him before his entire body collapsed heavily onto the packed earth, sending a cloud of dust rolling across the avenue.

For several breaths, nobody moved.

The soldiers kneeling beside him stared blankly at the commander’s motionless face before reaching toward his neck with trembling fingers. He searched once.

Then again.

The silence stretching beneath his fingertips felt colder than any battlefield he had ever survived.

"...No pulse."

The words had barely left his mouth when another desperate voice rose from farther down the avenue.

"Physicians!"

Several military physicians immediately abandoned the first body and rushed toward another fallen officer sprawled beside an overturned dining table. An assistant sprinted after them carrying a heavy medicinal chest, dropping to his knees before hurriedly throwing the lid open. Glass bottles knocked against one another as his hands searched frantically through rows of precious pills before stopping on a jade vial engraved with golden spiritual runes.

"Spirit Restoration Pills!"

The leading physician snatched the bottle without hesitation. A pill slid between the unconscious officer’s lips before the physician immediately pressed both palms against the man’s back. Pure spiritual qi surged through the officer’s meridians like a rushing river, illuminating every spiritual pathway beneath the skin.

The physician’s eyes narrowed.

The physician searched again, slower this time, refusing to believe what his senses were telling him. Every pathway remained exactly as before. Nothing was damaged. Nothing was broken. Yet the body lying before him was as empty as cold stone.

His spiritual energy circulated through the entire body once...

Twice...

Three times...

Searching desperately for something—anything—that explained why the cultivator lying before him refused to wake.

Nothing answered him.

The spiritual qi flowed through an empty shell before dispersing naturally into the air, unable to grasp anything resembling life.

Cold sweat gathered across the physician’s forehead.

"...This shouldn’t be possible."

He increased the flow of spiritual energy until veins bulged beneath his own temples, yet the result remained exactly the same.

The body never responded.

Not even a single finger twitched.

Another elderly physician pushed through the gathering crowd carrying a leather pouch filled with silver spirit needles.

"Stand aside."

The younger physician immediately moved away.

The elder spread the needles across a clean cloth before selecting nine of them in rapid succession. Each needle glowed with pale blue spiritual light as they pierced the officer’s major acupoints with flawless precision. The elder’s fingers danced across the remaining needles, connecting them with threads of spiritual qi until a delicate healing formation shimmered faintly above the unconscious body.

Normally, such a treatment could pull even severely wounded cultivators back from the edge of death.

Today...

The formation simply flickered.

The silver needles gradually dimmed.

One after another, the spiritual light vanished from their surfaces until they became nothing more than ordinary pieces of polished metal.

The old physician slowly withdrew the final needle.

His weathered hands, steady through decades of war, trembled for the first time.

"...It failed."

The younger physician looked at him in disbelief.

"Master..."

"...how?"

The elder remained silent.

He had no answer to give.

A thunder of hurried footsteps suddenly echoed through the avenue.

Several Death Riders appeared carrying another unconscious officer between them.

"Save the Battalion Commander!"

They dropped the unconscious cultivator onto the ground before the physicians.

"He collapsed while inspecting the eastern defenses!"

One soldier pointed frantically toward the commander’s chest.

"He just... stopped."

The physicians immediately bent over the unconscious commander once more. One pressed two fingers against the man’s wrist while another leaned close enough to listen for even the faintest heartbeat. A third spread his spiritual sense through the commander’s body, allowing strands of spiritual qi to flow carefully through every meridian, every organ, and finally into the vast spiritual sea resting within his dantian.

Nothing appeared wrong.

His meridians remained broad and unbroken, carrying no trace of injury. The dantian showed no signs of collapse, the spiritual sea rested as calm as ever, and every internal organ remained completely intact. By every principle of cultivation they had studied throughout their lives...

The man should have been alive.

The physician withdrew his spiritual sense and slowly looked toward the others. Their expressions mirrored his own.

One silently shook his head.

Another removed his hand from the commander’s chest before taking an involuntary step backward.

"...It’s the same."

No one had time to question what he meant.

A group of Death Riders burst through the crowd carrying two battalion captains between them. Both men’s bodies hung limply over the soldiers’ shoulders, their heads swaying with every hurried step while thin streams of blood escaped from the corners of their eyes.

"Move!"

"Make way!"

"They’re still breathing!"

The physicians rushed forward immediately, but before they could even reach the two captains, another commotion erupted from the western avenue. Three servants struggled to carry a formation master whose robes had already been stained crimson.

They had barely reached the treatment area when the old cultivator’s body convulsed violently, forcing the men supporting him to lose their grip. He crashed onto the packed earth, his fingers clawing desperately across the dust as though trying to seize something only he could see.

One physician hurried to his side and immediately poured spiritual energy into his body.

Another prepared silver needles.

A third forced a high-grade medicinal pill between the old man’s lips.

None of it changed anything.

The convulsions gradually weakened before disappearing altogether.

His hand remained stretched toward the empty sky.

Then it slowly fell back onto the earth.

Silence lingered around his body for only a heartbeat before another terrified shout echoed across the camp.

"Physicians!"

"Over here!"

"We have more!"

The treatment grounds descended into complete disorder.

Death Riders arrived from every direction carrying fallen comrades across their shoulders. Some transported captains. Others dragged unconscious officers across the packed earth because there was no time to find stretchers. Behind them came servants supporting military physicians who had themselves collapsed while trying to save others.

The open ground that had served as an orderly medical station only minutes earlier disappeared beneath a sea of motion. Bodies covered every available space. Physicians hurried from one patient to another without finishing a single examination before another desperate call pulled them away. Silver needles scattered across bloodstained cloth, jade medicine bottles rolled unnoticed through the dust, and healing formations flickered one after another before fading uselessly into the afternoon air.

An elderly physician staggered back several steps, his breathing growing increasingly ragged as his eyes swept across the countless cultivators lying motionless before him.

The panic spread beyond the medical grounds before anyone could contain it.

Across the neighboring avenue, several formation masters forced their way through the terrified crowd before stopping beside dozens of unconscious cultivators scattered across the packed earth. None of them wasted a single breath asking questions. Their hands immediately moved through familiar seals as streams of spiritual qi poured from their fingertips into the ground.

Brilliant blue inscriptions spread rapidly beneath the fallen soldiers, weaving together into a massive healing formation that covered nearly the entire avenue. Countless runes awakened one after another before releasing gentle waves of restorative qi across every unconscious cultivator lying within its boundaries.

The formation remained active for several breaths.

Nothing changed.

Not a single body responded.

No spiritual fluctuations appeared.

The formation masters frowned almost simultaneously.

One crouched beside a fallen captain and placed two fingers against the man’s wrist while another extended his spiritual perception throughout the healing array.

"...The injuries aren’t healing."

The eldest formation master slowly shook his head.

"There aren’t any injuries to heal."

His words immediately drew everyone’s attention.

He swept his spiritual sense carefully through the captain’s body once more.

The meridians remained complete.

The dantian was untouched.

Even the spiritual sea showed no signs of collapse.

Everything inside the body appeared exactly as it should.

Everything...

Except life itself.

The formation master’s expression gradually became solemn.

"...Dispel the healing array."

The blue inscriptions dissolved back into the earth without resistance.

Another formation master stepped forward, his brows knitted tightly together as his fingers formed an entirely different sequence of seals.

"If the body isn’t damaged..."

"...then examine the soul."

Golden inscriptions quietly emerged beneath the unconscious cultivators. Unlike the previous formation, these runes never released healing energy. Instead, they revolved slowly around each body while thin strands of golden light extended inward, searching every meridian, every acupoint, every corner of the spiritual sea.

The surrounding physicians and soldiers watched without daring to interrupt.

One formation master suddenly frowned.

"...Nothing."

His companion immediately increased the flow of spiritual qi.

The golden runes brightened.

The searching strands spread deeper.

Several breaths passed.

Then the expressions of every formation master changed.

One after another, they slowly lowered their hands.

"...I can’t sense a soul."

The oldest formation master looked at the others.

Neither of them contradicted him.

He stepped toward another fallen cultivator and activated the diagnostic formation again.

Exactly the same result.

Another body.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing.

The avenue gradually fell silent.

One younger formation master swallowed.

"...It’s impossible."

"The spiritual sea is complete."

"The body is intact."

"So where..."

His voice trailed away.

"...did the souls go?"

None of the elders answered.

Because none of them knew.

The eldest formation master slowly dispersed the formation before taking a deep breath.

"We need to report this to Commander Li—"

His words stopped abruptly.

A strange stiffness spread through his fingers.

The jade formation compass he had been holding slipped from his grasp and struck the ground with a sharp metallic sound.

Everyone looked toward him.

The old master’s brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at his own hand.

"...Why..."

His fingers refused to move.

The numbness climbed rapidly from his palm to his wrist.

His breathing suddenly became uneven.

A nearby physician immediately stepped forward.

"Elder?"

The formation master instinctively reached toward his own chest.

"...Something..."

Blood slowly seeped from the corner of his lips.

His pupils trembled.

The younger formation masters rushed forward together, supporting him before he could fall.

"Quick!"

"A physician!"

The healer had barely reached his side when the old master’s body convulsed violently.

His spiritual energy erupted instinctively.

The golden formation compass lying on the ground shattered beneath the uncontrolled surge of qi.

Every muscle in his body locked.

The younger formation masters stared in horror.

"Elder!"

His eyes widened.

Not from pain.

From realization.

For one brief moment...

He understood.

Then all light vanished from his eyes.

His body collapsed heavily into the arms of his disciples.

Silence froze the entire avenue.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

One of the younger formation masters slowly looked down at his own trembling hands.

He immediately reached for another jade bottle hanging from his waist.

Before his fingers could remove the stopper...

A sharp pain exploded inside his own chest.

His body lurched violently.

The medicine bottle slipped from his grasp and shattered across the ground.

He staggered backward, staring at his own trembling hands in disbelief.

"...What..."

His knees buckled.

The formation masters instinctively reached toward him.

Too late.

He collapsed beside his master, his body convulsing only once before becoming completely still.

The other two formation masters looked at one another.

Neither spoke.

Around them, the treatment grounds had already descended into complete chaos.

More wounded arrived every moment, carried on the backs of comrades who still believed someone could save them. Physicians rushed forward without hesitation, kneeling beside one fallen cultivator after another. Healing formations rose across the avenue, medicinal pills disappeared by the handful, and streams of spiritual energy illuminated the camp from every direction.

One by one...

The healers themselves began collapsing among their patients.

A physician fell while inserting spirit needles into a captain’s meridians, the unfinished treatment ending as both bodies struck the earth together.

Another collapsed halfway through forming a healing seal, his spiritual energy dispersing harmlessly into the air before the technique could activate.

A military alchemist staggered while distributing emergency antidotes. The jade tray slipped from his hands, dozens of precious pills scattering across the dusty road as he pitched forward beside the very soldiers he had been trying to save.

The treatment grounds could no longer be called a place of healing.

Every attempt to preserve life simply added another body to the growing sea of corpses.

Beyond the medical district, the same nightmare consumed the rest of the encampment.

Spirit horses wandered riderless between overturned dining tables. Archers collapsed across unfinished defensive walls with bows still clutched tightly in their hands. Quartermasters remained slumped over open ledgers, brushes lying motionless beside half-written reports. Supply servants never reached their destinations, falling beside overturned carts while steaming food spilled silently across the packed earth.

Only a short while earlier, the camp had echoed with laughter, friendly arguments, and the clatter of shared meals.

Now...

The only sounds that remained were desperate screams, collapsing bodies, and the growing silence left behind by those who would never rise again.

Beyond the medical district...

The nightmare spread with unstoppable speed.

Along the eastern fortifications, rows of Death Riders stood beside the towering wooden barricades, laughing as they watched servants collect the empty bowls.

One veteran captain adjusted the straps securing his heavy armor before reaching for the last piece of flatbread resting upon the table.

His fingers stopped.

The bread slipped from his grasp.

"...Captain?"

The man slowly looked down at his trembling hand.

The trembling spread to his wrist.

Then his arm.

His expression changed.

"...Something’s..."

The words never finished.

His entire body stiffened.

Dark crimson veins bulged beneath his neck as his spiritual energy erupted instinctively through his meridians.

The moment it did—

His eyes widened.

A scream burst from his throat.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH—!"

The sound echoed across the defensive wall.

The soldiers around him spun around in alarm.

"Captain!"

Before anyone reached him...

His body collapsed heavily onto the stone platform.

Thud.

Several Death Riders rushed forward.

One bent to help him—

His own body suddenly froze.

He staggered backward.

His breathing became ragged.

"...No..."

His knees buckled beneath him.

Another body struck the ground.

Then another.

Then another.

Across the western cavalry grounds...

Spirit horses screamed in panic as riders toppled from their saddles one after another.

Massive war beasts tore free from their restraints, galloping wildly through the avenues while lifeless bodies rolled beneath their hooves.

The archery divisions never had time to react.

Bows slipped from numb fingers.

Quivers scattered across the earth.

Entire ranks collapsed where they stood.

Formation masters fell across unfinished arrays.

Quartermasters slumped over open ledgers.

Servants dropped steaming food beside overturned carts before collapsing into the dust.

The cheerful conversations filling the camp only moments earlier disappeared beneath an endless chorus of screams.

The desperate screams echoing throughout the temporary encampment gradually began to fade. One after another, voices that had moments earlier cried for physicians, comrades, and commanders abruptly fell silent until only scattered shouts remained, drifting weakly across the endless rows of tents before disappearing altogether.

High above the sprawling military camp, two Death Riders stationed atop the southern watchtower gripped the wooden battlements as they stared across the landscape below.

Neither of them spoke.

From their elevated position, the entire encampment stretched before their eyes like a living map. Long avenues separated countless white tents, crimson banners fluttered proudly beneath the afternoon wind, and columns of smoke continued rising peacefully from hundreds of cooking fires.

Yet beneath that ordinary scene...

The army was collapsing.

Entire battalions fell in waves across the camp.

One row of soldiers crumpled to the earth while another staggered only a few breaths longer before meeting the same fate. Officers reached toward their men, only for their own bodies to stiffen and collapse beside them. Spirit horses tore wildly through the avenues without riders, overturning supply carts as they fled from a terror they could neither understand nor escape.

The first guard instinctively tightened his grip around the railing until the old wood groaned beneath his gauntleted fingers.

"What... is happening?"

His voice sounded strangely small against the silence swallowing the camp.

The second guard slowly shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrifying scene unfolding below.

"This isn’t an attack."

He watched another entire company collapse almost simultaneously.

"There aren’t any enemies..."

His breathing gradually became uneven.

"...then why are they dying?"

Neither man found an answer.

Across the encampment, thousands of armored figures continued striking the earth one after another. No explosions shook the ground. No arrows darkened the sky. No spiritual techniques illuminated the battlefield.

The army simply...

Stopped standing.

The second guard suddenly turned away from the railing, his face draining of color as realization finally overcame disbelief.

"We have to warn Commander Liu Tong."

Without waiting for a reply, he spun toward the bronze alarm bell suspended beside the staircase. His hand shot forward, intending to seize the heavy wooden striker hanging beside it.

His fingers stopped halfway.

A faint numbness spread across his palm.

He frowned and instinctively flexed his hand.

Nothing happened.

The sensation raced through his wrist and climbed rapidly toward his elbow.

"What..."

Confusion replaced urgency.

He tried to move again.

His arm refused to obey.

The long spear resting against his shoulder slipped free from his grasp before crashing against the wooden platform with a sharp metallic clang that echoed across the silent watchtower.

The first guard immediately looked toward him.

"Brother?"

The second guard opened his mouth to answer.

No sound emerged.

A violent tremor spread through his body as blood slowly trickled from the corners of his eyes. His breathing became ragged, each desperate gasp weaker than the last. He staggered backward, searching desperately for something to steady himself, but his legs no longer possessed the strength to answer.

For one helpless heartbeat, he remained standing only because fear refused to let him fall.

Then his balance broke.

His body pitched over the edge of the watchtower.

The first guard lunged instinctively, his fingertips missing the other’s sleeve by less than an inch before the falling figure disappeared from sight.

A heavy impact echoed from somewhere below.

The guard froze.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared over the railing, unable to believe what had just happened.

"No..."

The whispered word barely escaped his lips.

He forced himself to turn toward the staircase.

"I have to reach the Commander."

He had barely taken three hurried steps before an unbearable pain erupted deep inside his chest.

His vision blurred.

The sturdy wooden staircase suddenly seemed to sway beneath his feet.

He reached toward the handrail, but his fingers had already lost their strength.

Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

His knees buckled.

The world tilted violently as his body tumbled helplessly down the narrow flight of stairs, striking the wooden steps again and again before finally coming to rest at the foot of the tower.

The watchtower overlooking the southern approach stood silent once more.

Across the sprawling military encampment, only a single physician still remained on his feet.

His robes, once spotless, had long since been stained crimson while trying to save comrades who could no longer be saved. Fresh blood clung to his sleeves, soaked into the hem of his robes, and covered his trembling hands, though none of it belonged to him.

His breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps as he forced his exhausted body through the avenues separating the endless rows of military tents. Every few steps his boots struck abandoned shields, shattered bowls, or overturned benches left behind by soldiers who would never return to claim them. More than once he stumbled over motionless bodies scattered across the packed earth, barely catching himself before falling as well.

"Commander!"

His voice cracked from exhaustion, disappearing into the terrifying stillness swallowing the camp.

"Commander Liu Tong!"

No one answered.

Only moments earlier these same roads had echoed with laughter, arguments over the cooking competition, and the cheerful clatter of shared meals. Now the silence felt suffocating. Here and there, another armored figure collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud before lying completely still. The desperate screams that had shaken the encampment since the disaster began were growing fewer with every passing breath, replaced instead by a silence far more frightening than panic.

The physician didn’t dare look back.

He knew what he would see.

He had already seen it too many times.

His lungs burned with every breath, yet he pushed himself even harder. Spiritual energy surged through his weary legs, forcing one final burst of speed as the command district gradually came into view beyond the rows of command tents.

The crimson banner of the Black Iron Mercenary Group still fluttered proudly above the command pavilion, untouched by the catastrophe consuming the rest of the encampment. Guards no longer stood before its entrance. The avenue leading toward it lay eerily empty, as though the disaster itself had carved a path through the heart of the camp.

The physician clenched his teeth and continued running.

No matter what had happened...

No matter what this unseen calamity truly was...

Commander Liu Tong had to know.

He stumbled once more, catching himself with a bloodstained hand before forcing his aching body upright. Every muscle screamed for him to stop, but he ignored the pain and drove himself toward the pavilion with everything he had left.

Beyond those heavy canvas curtains, Commander Liu Tong remained completely unaware that the army he had commanded only moments earlier had already begun vanishing from the face of the world.

To Be Continued...

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