After a full cup of tea’s time, the blood glow around the orb shrank abruptly, and a voice, ancient beyond measure, emanated from it: “Dixue, what do you want? Don’t you know I’m occupied with matters crucial to our grand scheme?”
The owner of the voice seemed greatly displeased with the blood-robed man’s interruption.
“Heh, it’s been decades since we laid our plans. Now that I’ve finally reached out, can’t you spare a few moments for a chat?” the blood-robed man chuckled softly.
“Stop beating around the bush. State your business directly, or I’ll sever this connection,” the old woman’s voice turned cold, brimming with impatience.
“Very well. Last time we divided our tasks: Mu Qing gathers blood sacrifices, Liuzu collects Yin Spirit energy, I craft puppets, and you nurture the eight thousand Yin Armor Ghosts—the linchpin of our plan. How’s your progress?” the blood-robed man asked calmly, unfazed.
“Hmph, you know full well! With all the spies you’ve planted among my ranks, how could you not know?” the old woman retorted icily after a brief silence.
“Ha! The same could be said of you. My puppet workshops aren’t free of your disciples either. But now, I’d like to hear it from you directly,” the blood-robed man laughed.
“It’s no secret. The eight thousand Yin Armor Ghosts are manageable—just a matter of time, provided Liuzu supplies enough Yin Spirit energy. The real challenge lies in the eight Ghost Kings needed to command them. Only souls with formidable spiritual power can be refined into such entities. Souls of that caliber are exceedingly rare,” the old woman replied indifferently.
“Oh? How many Ghost Kings have you succeeded in refining?” the blood-robed man pressed with interest.
“Three. The success rate is abysmally low,” the woman admitted, her tone tinged with frustration.
“Precisely why I contacted you. I may have a lead on such a soul,” the blood-robed man said, stroking his palm with a smile.
“Dixue, since when did you take an interest in souls, with your hands full crafting puppets?” the old woman sounded surprised.
“Unlike you and Liuzu, I’ve little expertise in ghostly arts. But I’ve just encountered a Feiling tribesman who sensed a wisp of my divine sense attached to a clay puppet. His spiritual power must be extraordinary—perfect for your Ghost King,” the blood-robed man mused.
“A Feiling tribesman? Is it their trial season again? If he detected your divine sense, could it be one of their elders?” the old woman’s voice grew cautious.
“Rest easy. It’s just a Spirit General-level youth. No trouble at all,” the blood-robed man dismissed.
“A Spirit General? Then no issue. But to detect your divine sense, his spiritual power must indeed be remarkable. Fine, I’ll take this gift. But what do you want in return?” the old woman asked after a pause.
“Heh, I do enjoy dealing with someone as astute as you. Simple—one ten-thousand-year Blood Fish for the information. If I capture and deliver the soul myself, make it two,” the blood-robed man bargained shamelessly.
“Hmph! My Blood Fish are not so cheap. One soul for two fish? Impossible. I’m busy—send me the soul, and you’ll get one fish. Consider yourself lucky,” the old woman snapped.
“Deal. The soul will reach you in ten days,” the blood-robed man agreed swiftly, clearly pleased.
“One more thing—what do Mu Qing and Liuzu propose regarding the Feiling trial disciples? Exterminate them all, or let them roam the first three layers as before? Will they interfere with our plans?” the old woman inquired.
“At this critical juncture, we can’t afford to draw the Feiling Tribe’s attention. As long as they stay out of the fourth layer and below, let them be. Mu Qing and Liuzu surely agree,” the blood-robed man replied without hesitation.
“So be it.”
With that, the old woman’s voice vanished, the orb’s glow extinguishing instantly. The blood-robed man caught the orb, and it disappeared into his grasp.
“A high-tier Spirit General, two low-tier ones, and three early-stage Bloodwood Puppets should suffice,” he murmured, flicking his sleeve.
Three crimson shadows shot out, landing before him—three indistinct figures kneeling motionlessly. Blood threads shot from his brow into the figures, which then raised their heads, eyes glowing eerie green.
“Kill those three and bring back their souls,” he commanded coldly, pointing at the bronze mirror’s image.
The crimson shadows transformed into streaks of light, vanishing into the walls. The blood-robed man leaned back, closing his eyes as if it were all trivial.
…
At the heart of the first layer’s mysterious mountain range, atop a fog-shrouded peak, stood a hundred-zhang altar. Upon it rested a gray-white eyeball, veined with blood, spewing countless gray threads that absorbed the surrounding mist.
Below the altar, a towering figure cloaked in black stood motionless.
…
In a grand palace bathed in green light on the sixth layer, a pale, white-haired beauty stood by a black abyss, watching its depths coldly. Beside her stood two black-robed women—one delicate and sweet, the other icy and statuesque.
Around the abyss, arrays pulsed with dark runes drifting into the water, where shadowy figures clad in black armor floated lifelessly.
“Summon the Netherflame,” the white-haired woman—the same as before—ordered hoarsely.
The two women stepped forward, one producing a black vial, the other a dark fan. With a strange cry, a black-flamed flood dragon emerged from the vial, plunging into the abyss. The other fanned her rune-covered fan, releasing waves of black flame.
The merged flames engulfed the shadowy figures as the white-haired woman watched, her eyes glinting with anticipation.
…
Unaware of the danger, Han Li flew cautiously through the second layer with Lei Lan and Bai Bi, frequently scanning their surroundings with his spiritual sight. This vigilance helped them avoid low- to mid-tier demons, though ordinary beasts had long perished here.
After a day’s uneventful travel, with Lei Lan and Bai Bi replenishing their energy, Han Li reduced his spiritual sight usage. They entered an emerald mountain range at a steady pace.
By the second afternoon, as they crossed a peak, a sudden glint of light and a sharp cry heralded a jade streak shooting toward them, pursued closely by three yellow beams.
Caught off guard, Han Li halted, frowning as the mysterious lights approached.
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