Han Li sat quietly in meditation within his room. After an unknown amount of time, the spiritual power he had expended during his journey gradually recovered to its peak state.
When he opened his eyes and inspected his internal condition, a faint smile appeared on his face. Ever since he had cultivated the Green Essence Sword Art to the tenth layer, he had clearly noticed a significant improvement in the speed of his spiritual power recovery—an unexpected boon.
With this thought in mind, Han Li pondered for a moment before reaching into his robe and retrieving a jet-black wooden box, its lid sealed with several glowing green restriction talismans. With a single sweep of his hand, the talismans detached and transformed into streaks of green light, disappearing into his sleeve. He then tapped the box lightly with a finger, causing the lid to open on its own, revealing its contents—a palm-sized talisman covered in intricate runes. A faint crimson flood dragon slithered restlessly across its surface.
Han Li extended his hand and beckoned lightly, causing the talisman to fly out and land gently in his palm.
He had spent several days refining this talisman, failing three times before finally succeeding. Though he was unsure of its exact power, he was certain that this “Spirit Suppression Talisman” was weaker than what the refinement method had described. After all, the three failed attempts had drained most of the soul power from the eighth-grade flood dragon spirit. Its true efficacy could only be tested in actual combat.
As Han Li traced the runes on the talisman with his fingers, he fell into deep contemplation, his expression shifting between uncertainty and resolve.
While Han Li sat in quiet meditation, deep underground in a stone chamber beneath the Mulan Fa Tribe’s encampment, dozens of miles from the Heavenly South Alliance’s base, several mysterious figures gathered around a stone table, discussing matters in hushed tones.
There were five men and two women, one of whom was shrouded in a black robe, their faces completely concealed. Among the others were two individuals Han Li recognized—one was the woman surnamed Yue, who had wielded an ancient lamp during the battle at Yellow Dragon Mountain, causing him considerable trouble. The other was the middle-aged Confucian scholar who had pursued him relentlessly for days, severely depleting his vitality—the revered Zhong Shenshi. The remaining three men consisted of a withered, dark-skinned elder, a dwarf barely four feet tall, and a dignified man in embroidered robes.
“Master Yue, how are the preparations for the sacred oil? The duration of the sacred lamp’s burning directly affects how long the Sacred Bird can remain in this realm. There must be no mistakes,” the withered elder, his eyes clear and piercing despite his wrinkled face, asked calmly from his seat at the stone table.
“Divine Master Zhu, rest assured. This battle concerns the survival of our people. I have brought all the lamp oil our clan has stored for over a thousand years—enough to sustain the Sacred Bird throughout this war,” the green-robed woman surnamed Yue replied solemnly.
“Brother Zhong, your spiritual formation should also be ready, correct? Compared to the Heavenly South cultivators, our Fa Tribe’s magical artifacts are inferior in both quantity and quality. We must rely on spiritual formations to suppress their attacks,” the elder then turned to the middle-aged Confucian scholar.
“There will be no issues. My centuries of research into spiritual formations were not in vain. I have already taught them several newly improved formations. If the Heavenly South cultivators judge this battle based on the power of our old formations, they will be in for a shock,” the scholar replied calmly.
“Good! Brother Bi, once the battle begins, have all high-ranking Fa Tribe members summon phantom beasts to attack first, drawing the enemy’s attention and depleting their spiritual power. Sect Master Fang, we will also need the cooperation of your giant beasts,” the withered elder instructed the dwarf before addressing the black-robed man respectfully.
“I will hand over the giant beasts before the battle. However, I hope your tribe will not go back on your promises afterward,” the black-robed man agreed but added meaningfully.
“Go back on our word? Brother Fang, you jest. After just engaging in a war with the cultivators, would our Mulan Tribe be foolish enough to offend your sect? After all, your Yin Luo Sect is one of the Ten Great Demon Sects of the Great Jin. Once we seize the Heavenly South, we will focus on recuperation. Handing over a few mortal nations to your sect is no great matter. These mortals are merely Yan people—their lives mean nothing to us,” the withered elder replied coldly, his eyes flickering.
“Good. If not for the fact that several of our sect’s treasured Ghost Luo Banners were destroyed by those righteous cultivators, forcing us to gather a large number of souls for repairs, we would never have involved ourselves in your conflict with the Heavenly South cultivators. Collecting souls in the Great Jin would have drawn unwanted attention from the righteous factions. Though we do not fear them, we cannot afford delays in repairing our treasures,” the black-robed man nodded, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Additionally, all the souls of the fallen cultivators in this battle will belong to our sect. I trust Divine Master Zhu has no objections?” the black-robed woman spoke up, her voice rough and hoarse—a stark contrast to her slender figure, startling those who heard it for the first time.
“We naturally have no issue with the souls of cultivators. But could you not spare the souls of our Fa Tribe members? Your indiscriminate collection of fallen souls recently has already put the three of us in a difficult position. We can offer compensation in other ways,” the withered elder’s expression darkened slightly.
“That is impossible. There is no difference between the souls of cultivators and Fa Tribe members—they cannot be distinguished. Even if there were a way, tomorrow’s battle will claim thousands of lives. How could we possibly identify each one? Are the three Divine Masters planning to break their word on this matter?” The black-robed man’s eyes narrowed, his pupils turning emerald green as an eerie chill emanated from his body.
The Confucian scholar surnamed Zhong and the dwarf surnamed Bi grew inwardly furious. Though they did not act, silver light flickered around one, while red light shimmered across the other’s face as they glared at the black-robed man in silence. The man in embroidered robes and the woman surnamed Yue also stared coldly at him, displeasure evident in their expressions.
The collection of Fa Tribe souls had long been a point of contention. Were it not for their reliance on these Great Jin demonic cultivators, they might have already turned hostile.
“Cough! Enough! What are you doing? Sect Master Fang is my guest. Are you disregarding my authority?” The elder coughed lightly, his expression stern.
Meanwhile, the black-robed woman whispered something to the black-robed man. His green eyes gradually dimmed, and the chilling aura around him vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
The Confucian scholar and the others exhaled softly, dispersing their spiritual power. They knew full well that despite their disdain, this was a time for mutual benefit, not infighting.
“Very well, you may take the souls, but it must be done discreetly after the battle. No one else must witness it. Otherwise, we will struggle to maintain order,” the withered elder gritted his teeth after a moment of hesitation.
“Fine. Our sect can agree to that condition,” the black-robed man nodded after a brief pause. Though the others were still dissatisfied, they had no choice but to accept.
“Are the methods your sect prepared for the duel truly reliable? We wouldn’t want a miscalculation. The Heavenly South also has demonic cultivators—what if they see through it?” The embroidered-robed man, who had remained silent until now, spoke lightly.
“Demonic cultivators? Those amateurs? They either practice crude techniques or foolishly modify demonic arts beyond recognition. They know nothing of the true might of ancient demonic techniques,” the black-robed man sneered dismissively.
“Is that so? Yet one of your elders was instantly slain by a Heavenly South cultivator of the same rank. Perhaps Sect Master Fang should not underestimate them,” the dwarf surnamed Bi remarked mockingly.
The black-robed man’s gaze turned icy, but he offered no rebuttal.
The black-robed woman seized the opportunity to speak. “I was just about to mention this. That cultivator who wields golden lightning is of particular interest to our Yin Luo Sect. We would like the three Divine Masters to hand him over to us. What do you think?”
“Hand him over?” The withered elder frowned in thought.
“What? Is even this small request too much for the three of you?” The black-robed woman’s voice grew even harsher.
“If it were merely an early-stage Nascent Soul cultivator, we would have no issue. But if this involves Golden Lightning Bamboo treasures, the matter becomes far more significant,” the elder replied slowly, a strange smile twisting his wrinkled face.
“So Divine Master Zhu has already guessed,” the black-robed woman’s heart sank slightly in surprise.
“Though our Mulan Grassland may be barren, we are not ignorant of the three divine woods of the cultivation world. Few know of the Evil-Warding Divine Thunder, but it cannot escape our notice,” the elder said leisurely.
“If you know of the Evil-Warding Divine Thunder, then you understand our sect cannot allow it to fall into others’ hands. State your terms plainly,” the black-robed man demanded coldly.
“Simple. I heard your sect brought not only a dozen giant beasts but also a number of bronze-armored corpse soldiers. We hope Sect Master Fang will deploy them at a critical moment in tomorrow’s battle to aid our cause. No matter how well we prepare, we cannot predict the cultivators’ tactics—it’s best to be cautious,” the elder replied with a faint, knowing smile.
“Oh? I didn’t expect Divine Master Zhu to be so well-informed about our sect’s secrets. Though bronze-armored corpse soldiers are easier to refine, losing too many would hinder our future development. If you agree to this, then the Heavenly South cultivator wielding the Evil-Warding Divine Thunder must be captured alive and handed over to us,” the black-robed man stated after a moment’s thought, neither refusing outright nor agreeing immediately.
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