Having once been swallowed by a spatial rift, Han Li remained wary of such phenomena, though he didn’t panic. Empowered by the Spirit Subduing Talisman, his mana had reached the peak of mid-Nascent Soul stage. He immediately channeled a surge of spiritual power into the Yuan Gang Shield, transforming it into a blinding silver radiance.
Given the sheer size of the rift, as long as he avoided its edges, the Yuan Gang Shield’s power should suffice for the moment—or so Han Li nervously reassured himself.
The darkness lasted only an instant. After a brief bout of dizziness, his vision cleared, and he found himself floating in a void.
Thanks to prior experience, Han Li regained his composure instantly and swiftly scanned his surroundings. What he saw startled him.
“Ninth floor!” he murmured almost reflexively.
This was clearly another isolated space—a vast, open area spanning several miles, surrounded by rolling yellow mist that cast everything in a dim, murky haze. The exact boundaries were impossible to discern.
Beneath him stood an enormous altar over a hundred zhang tall, wide at the base and narrowing toward the top, shaped like a four-sided trapezoid. Crafted from pristine white jade, it was both grand and exquisitely detailed. Encircling it was a massive formation of towering stone pillars, each glowing intensely, as if fully activated. At the summit of the altar stood a twin-headed wolf the size of a small hill. One of its black heads spewed endless dark miasma, locked in a fierce standoff with several opponents hovering nearby.
These opponents were none other than the cultivators and demons who had vanished from the eighth floor. Among them was the possessed Hua Tianqi—the demon consort Long Meng—whose palms danced as she summoned massive milky-white hands to pummel the dark miasma. The Great Elder of the Ye Family, the Ten-Thousand-Year Corpse Bear, the Silver-Winged Nightfiend, and others were all present. Only the Ye Family’s big-headed freak was missing.
To Han Li’s surprise, a human cultivator stood beside the giant wolf, wielding a gleaming silver shuttle in support. It was none other than the beautiful woman from the Hua Xian Sect. Her face was shrouded in black mist, her eyes vacant as she mechanically controlled her treasure, locked in combat with the furious Madame Mu—as if her mind had been hijacked.
The others unleashed their full might, desperately attacking the giant wolf. Above it, a dark hurricane raged, concealing an inky flood dragon that spewed black winds to counter a massive silver lotus and eight spectral beast projections.
The silver lotus hovered motionless, its surface gleaming brilliantly as dense streams of Buddhist scriptures and Sanskrit characters cascaded from its petals. Each palm-sized talisman exploded with a thunderous boom upon contact with the flood dragon’s black winds, scattering the sinister energy.
“Black Wind Flag! Eight Spirit Ruler!” Han Li instantly recognized the two Heaven-reaching Spirit Treasures. He was equally stunned by the state of the Hua Xian Sect’s women.
Earlier, Gui Ling had reported that the two seemed to be setting up a formation underground, hinting at some scheme. Had he not been in a hurry to escape the black teleportation array, he would have followed to investigate. Now, it appeared one had fallen under the control of the ancient demon saint.
Even more shocking was the giant wolf’s overwhelming dominance. Despite facing so many foes, it forced them into retreat, preventing them from nearing the altar. The inky miasma it spewed was thick as liquid. Only the Ten-Thousand-Year Corpse Bear’s blood blade could cleave through it; the others dared not let their treasures touch the miasma, relying solely on spells and ranged attacks to disperse it.
This left them at a severe disadvantage. Were it not for “Hua Tianqi” and the Corpse Bear bearing the brunt of the wolf’s assaults, and the Eight Spirit Ruler’s silver lotus diverting its attention—forcing it to occasionally aid the flood dragon—they would have already collapsed. The Silver-Winged Nightfiend’s Soul-Severing Threads and the Lion-Hawk Beast’s golden waves seemed utterly ineffective against the demonic miasma.
Yet Han Li noticed something odd: the twin-headed wolf appeared bound to the altar, refusing to leave its summit.
Before he could ponder further, an enraged shout rang out nearby.
“Damn it! The seal’s been broken! How did this demon get the artifact to open it?”
Han Li turned to see Xuan Qingzi staring aghast at a spot on the altar, with Qi Miao Zhenren beside him, his expression equally grim. Nearby, Lin Yinping, the Spirit Rhinoceros Peacock, Gui Ling, and the humanoid puppet had also appeared unscathed in the ninth layer. Clearly, the spatial rupture wasn’t accidental but a triggered mechanism that transported everyone here.
Lin Yinping looked pale, still shaken by the ordeal.
Han Li’s gaze swiftly shifted to the spot Xuan Qingzi had been fixated on. Behind the wolf stood two unremarkable gray stone steles, each several zhang tall. A jade-green seal was half-embedded in one, causing the stele to emit faint black ripples.
Recognition flashed in Han Li’s eyes—these were made of Chi Ling Soft Jade, a rare material he’d encountered before in the Demon Abyss of Tian Nan. Unlike the shattered one he’d seen then, these were intact. The steles’ glow synchronized with the altar’s formation, suggesting they were its core. The wolf’s refusal to leave now made sense—it was guarding them.
As Han Li stared, his thoughts churned.
“Xuan Qingzi, Brother Qi Miao, thank heavens you’re here!” Madame Mu cried in relief. “This demon saint is breaking the altar’s seal. Whatever lies beneath, we can’t let it succeed!”
“Understood. Xuan Qing, we must act now—the situation is dire,” Qi Miao Zhenren said grimly. With a flick of his sleeve, seven treasures shot forth: swords, mirrors, pearls, and more, including the famed Miaoyin Mirror Lin Yinping had once borrowed. These were his legendary Seven True Treasures, which had earned him renown across Great Jin.
Xuan Qingzi sighed, drawing an ancient sheathed yellow sword from his sleeve. Dull at first, it blazed to life when he spat a mouthful of blood onto it. A dragon’s roar echoed as the sword gleamed blindingly. With a solemn incantation, he pointed two fingers at the blade and swung downward.
A colossal sword aura, over ten zhang long, erupted like a divine blade splitting the heavens, leaving a white scar in the sky. The thunderous force alone seemed to bisect the firmament.
The wolf—the incarnation of Yuan Cha Saint Ancestor—had noticed the newcomers. Seeing the attack, its eyes flashed coldly. Black mist surged from its paws into its body, and it spewed a torrent of viscous miasma skyward.
“Beware! That miasma corrupts treasures on contact!” Madame Mu warned.
Qi Miao Zhenren’s seven treasures halted just before impact, releasing multicolored spirit light to engulf the miasma. Meanwhile, the sword aura struck first, piercing the black fog with explosive yellow flares. For a moment, victory seemed imminent—until the wolf spat more miasma, smothering both sword aura and spirit light.
Xuan Qingzi’s expression tightened as his attack vanished without a trace. The black tide surged upward, threatening to engulf everyone, including Han Li.
Qi Miao Zhenren hastily recalled his treasures, while Xuan Qingzi slashed repeatedly with his ancient sword, barely holding back the miasma with a yellow barrier. “Brother Qi Miao, ordinary treasures won’t work. Use *that* now. The seal’s not fully open yet—we can’t delay!” he urged.
Nodding, Qi Miao Zhenren slapped his storage pouch, producing several palm-sized emerald rings.
Simultaneously, Han Li summoned dozens of golden flying swords. Lightning crackled as golden arcs shredded the approaching miasma before it could near him.
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