“Ling ling ling…”
A faint, almost imperceptible crisp sound of a copper bell pierced through the damp, decaying air of the canyon, faintly echoing from afar.
This bell’s chime was far from pleasant,
instead carrying a chilling, penetrating coldness and a sharp malice that cut straight into the soul.
“That brat stole our sect’s Sacred Artifact! Don’t let him get away!”
“Move quickly, all of you! Finish this fast—no dragging it out and ruining the hunt.”
Sparse footsteps echoed around the dense forest, sinking Lu Qiancha’s heart deeper with each sound.
What the hell is going on?!
He had come to simply complete a low-level sect task for some contribution points, only to be chased by a Demonic Sword claiming mastery over him.
Not only that, but a powerful Demonic Cultist sect was now pursuing him relentlessly, treating him like a thief who had stolen their sword, chasing him for more than forty or fifty miles!
Behind him, the life-threatening bell sound fluctuated, near and far, like bone-maggots gnawing at his mind, stirring up unease in his heart.
The pursuers’ footsteps, though sparse, carried immense pressure.
Each step hit with a unique rhythm, subtly forming an encirclement.
Lu Qiancha knew very well these were highly skilled cultivators spreading out to trap him, not mere patrolling soldiers.
He could sense several cold, tangible spiritual presences sweeping through his potential hiding spots like invisible tentacles.
If not for his extraordinary spiritual talent, far surpassing his peers, and his deliberate choice of complex terrain—using the ever-present damp moss and twisted rock crevices to mask his aura and distort the light—he would have long since been precisely located.
“Kid, that bunch is about to catch up. Do you want to live?”
A lazy female voice echoed directly into Lu Qiancha’s ear, tinged with mockery, tightening his already taut nerves.
The owner of that voice was none other than the Demonic Sword that had dragged him into this unwanted disaster!
At that moment, he wanted to scream at his mindscape: “Isn’t it because of you they came after me?!”
But he had no energy left for such retorts.
His spirit was stretched as tight as a drawn bowstring, all his senses locked on the increasingly dense rustling footsteps in the thick mist and that curse-like, life-threatening “ling…” sound.
He pressed closely against the cold, slippery stone wall, nearly holding his breath, his peripheral vision fixed on the shadowy, gradually approaching figures within the purple-gray fog.
“Hmph, no answer? You’d better think carefully. The one anxious here is you, not me.”
The sword’s voice remained lazy but carried a chilling certainty, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
“Now you’re surrounded from all sides, trapped with no escape. Besides me, no one can save you.”
“Well, then hurry up and make a move!”
Gritting his teeth, Lu Qiancha forced out a low growl from deep in his throat, his voice hoarse from fear and tension.
He had no choice!
If the Demonic Sword didn’t act, the Demonic Cultists would tear his soul apart; if it did… at least there would be a sliver of hope!
“That’s what you said.”
The female voice instantly shed all its laziness, leaving only pure, indifferent coldness.
Before the words had even finished—
Hum!
A terrifying buzzing sensation, not heard but felt, exploded inside Lu Qiancha’s body!
It was as if all the blood and marrow in his body were forcibly frozen and drained, then infused with an extreme, violent energy!
He felt every joint, every muscle, even the nerves at his fingertips, instantly slipping beyond his control!
He watched helplessly as his right hand rose on its own!
In the palm, a rusted, battered Iron Sword, as if just dug up from a grave, appeared out of thin air.
In that instant, Lu Qiancha “saw” clearly everything within dozens of yards ahead—
Seven Shadow Soul Disciples clad in black and red battle gear, advancing in a fan-shaped formation, cruel, cat-and-mouse smiles on their faces.
Three of them had nearly transparent, pale white threads coiled between their fingers.
But as the oppressive pressure descended, their expressions froze and twisted into sheer terror.
The Demonic Sword controlled Lu Qiancha’s body, making a subtle flick of the wrist.
The sword’s edge traced an exquisitely mysterious arc.
At that moment, Lu Qiancha vaguely “saw” a phantom long river of Demonic Yuan flowing from the rusted Iron Sword’s tip—
A stream composed of solidified despair, burning hatred, and thick, blood-like Demonic Yuan.
“No!! Sacred Artifact protects its master…”
The cultist’s ghost cried out, eyes wide with desperation, using all his strength to activate a broken copper bell, emitting a dying wail.
A piercing green glow burst from the shattered bell, and a solid, venomous Evil Spirit struggled to appear, opening its huge mouth to devour the oncoming Demonic Yuan River!
But it was useless!
Shhh—!
Like a hot knife cutting through scorching butter!
The Evil Spirit, containing countless vengeful souls’ power, twisted and screamed as it instantly shattered the moment it touched the Demonic Yuan River!
The broken copper bell, carrying the Demonic Cultist’s tracking evil magic, was like a natural enemy’s prey.
Without even a flicker of resistance, it let out a barely audible “ding” of woe before crumbling into the finest powder, not a trace of spiritual light remaining!
Plop!
The lingering force of the river swept gently but irresistibly over the cultist’s body.
He didn’t explode or dissolve; all vitality and soul were instantly “washed away” by the Demonic Yuan River.
Only a hollow shell with vacant eyes and skin shriveled to the color of dead wood was left behind.
With a soft “plop,” he collapsed, then turned to ash under the residual sword energy!
The Demonic Sword seemed unsatisfied.
Controlling Lu Qiancha’s body, it casually performed an awkward sword flourish, blood droplets on the rusty Iron Sword quietly dispersing.
The terrifying, world-crushing pressure receded like a tide.
The moment control returned, an unprecedented, indescribable emptiness and tearing pain gripped Lu Qiancha fiercely!
But just then—
Boom!
A violent, pure spiritual force burst forth, rushing into his parched meridians like a tidal wave!
Lu Qiancha forced his trembling body to steady himself and heavily sat down, hurriedly activating the Heavenly Origin Mantra!
“How does it feel? Ant?”
The Demonic Sword’s female voice lazily returned, tinged with unhidden greed and satisfaction, as if savoring a delicate appetizer just enjoyed.
“This feeling of growing stronger by killing others is quite wonderful, isn’t it?
Effortlessly, it equals all the years of struggling and starving you mediocre fools put in.”
Lu Qiancha ignored her completely—or rather, his entire focus was on the storm raging within him.
He clearly observed his early stage of Soul Cultivation’s boundary being shattered layer by layer under the assault of that violent surge, like thin ice cracking.
Mid Soul Cultivation!
Late Soul Cultivation!
Finally—Soul Cultivation Peak!
A sudden leap!
However, the joy on Lu Qiancha’s face lasted less than a breath.
Closing his eyes and calming his mind, he calmly muttered, “Forbidden path……”
“Heh~”
The Demonic Sword emitted a delighted, lazy laugh, as if hearing the sweetest praise, “Call me what you will, ant.
Anyway… you’re about to die.”
The Demonic Sword’s voice sounded again, this time abandoning its lazy tone, adopting a tone of curiosity as if inspecting a new toy:
“Three souls disordered, seven spirits shaken… tsk tsk tsk, that Nether Bell is even more vicious than my bone-eating, soul-consuming Demonic Sword.”
Lu Qiancha opened his eyes and looked at the rusty sword in front of him, asking, “After all this beating around the bush…….. what exactly do you want to say?”
“Oh dear, don’t be so irritable. I finally found a suitable host; there’s no way I’d just let you die.”
The Demonic Sword’s voice took on a devilish seduction:
“If you want to live, it’s both simple and difficult—
You only need a little bit of the Demon Race Royal Bloodline’s pure blood.
It’s the only key that can repair your broken body!”
As Lu Qiancha listened to this heavenly promise, his heart felt like it was gripped by an icy hand!
The demon race was always power-focused.
Those who dared claim kingship were invariably overlords, their strength at least at the Combined Body stage or above.
Never mind whether such a Demon King could be found in this wasteland.
Even if found… how could a Soul Cultivation Peak like him face a Combined Body realm? Ridiculous!
Besides, this area was filled with disciples from the Yin Soul Sect.
Being captured by them meant a horrible death.
Skinning, tendon-pulling, soul extraction to forge the terrifying Spirit Bell, never to find peace in the afterlife.
The Demonic Sword’s voice spoke lightly:
“Here’s a hint—forged right in the center of this forest, a Demon King dwells.
As for how you get it… well, that’s none of my business.”
If you could get your hands on that Royal Bloodline’s pure blood…”
She paused, full of anticipation for the show to come.
“How do you know that?”
He couldn’t help but ask.
👀👀👀