In the distant sky, a flash of light appeared, and a vast expanse of black and purple radiance emerged high above, swirling and flickering incessantly, obscuring half the heavens. Beneath it, a verdant cloud, several acres in size, rose slowly, spinning gracefully under the eerie glow. The intertwining of the green cloud and the strange radiance produced a thunderous roar, and the deafening bellow seemed to emanate from that very spot.
The black and purple radiance exuded a monstrous aura as overwhelming as raging tides—a demonic energy all three of them recognized all too well. It was identical to the aura Nanlong Hou had emitted after transforming into his two-headed, four-armed form, though far less terrifying than what now loomed in the sky. Even from a distance, the oppressive force was suffocating.
What alarmed Linghu Lao the most was that the black-purple radiance and the green cloud were rapidly moving toward their location, closing in fast.
“Belly Corpse Poison Cloud! That’s the mist formed by Fellow Daoist Wei’s toxic arts. Ordinary cultivators perish instantly upon contact. I’ve seen him use it once before,” the woman in white said with a hint of delight upon spotting the green mist.
Han Li and Linghu Lao exchanged a glance, their expressions strange, both seeing deep fear in each other’s eyes.
Though the green cloud was imposing, it was clearly being suppressed by the black-purple radiance. What kind of demonic entity was battling Wei Wuyi that even a late-stage Nascent Soul cultivator seemed outmatched? Yet, given the overwhelming aura, it couldn’t be Nanlong Hou, who had just fled.
The woman in white wasn’t foolish either. Seeing Han Li and Linghu Lao’s expressions, she quickly grasped the situation, her face darkening.
“Perhaps we should—” she began hesitantly, but before she could finish, a chilling spiritual sense swept over the three of them, abruptly silencing her.
Han Li’s heart tightened, while Linghu Lao’s expression turned even grimmer.
“Now that we’ve been detected by whatever is over there, if we don’t leave soon, we may never get the chance. The demon that attacked us earlier has also joined the fray. If it teams up against Fellow Daoist Wei, even his profound cultivation won’t last long. The choice is yours—either assist Wei Wuyi or scatter and hope to evade these demons’ pursuit after his fall,” Han Li said coldly after a moment of silence.
He had just attempted to probe the black-purple radiance with his spiritual sense, only to find the fluctuations of spiritual energy so intense that his senses couldn’t even approach. This unsettled him deeply—it meant the combatants’ cultivation far surpassed his own.
Linghu Lao and the woman in white exchanged uneasy glances.
If possible, neither of them, having just narrowly escaped death, wanted to risk their lives against those demons again. But as Han Li had pointed out, if Wei Wuyi fell, they had little hope of escaping the valley, especially now that they were deep in its heart.
Moreover, if Wei Wuyi survived and learned of their abandonment, as members of the Nine Nations Alliance, they’d face dire consequences. As sect elders of the Masked Moon Sect and Yellow Maple Valley, their actions could bring calamity upon their sects. Yet, sacrificing themselves for their factions in a hopeless battle was equally unappealing. Their faces twisted with hesitation.
Han Li smirked inwardly, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the approaching black-purple radiance, saying nothing more.
“Among the three of us, Fellow Daoist Han’s abilities are the greatest. What do you propose?” Linghu Lao suddenly asked after exhaling his frustration.
“Me? Heh…” Han Li chuckled without answering.
Linghu Lao could only inwardly curse Han Li for his evasiveness. Had Han Li outright suggested fleeing, they could have shifted blame onto him if Wei Wuyi later questioned them.
Just as Linghu Lao grew uneasy, Han Li suddenly let out a soft exclamation.
“Hmm? Other cultivators are approaching. Though, given the commotion, it’s no surprise—this must have drawn attention for miles around.”
Linghu Lao and the woman in white followed Han Li’s gaze and saw faint spiritual light flickering near the battlefield. A group of cultivators was indeed flying toward the black-purple radiance and green cloud.
“Why them? What are they doing heading into such danger?” Han Li scrutinized the group with his spiritual sense and was startled to recognize two of them.
One was Tianjing Zhenren, with whom he had once traded, still accompanied by his two fierce ghost puppets—though now battered, one missing an arm, as if they’d endured some ordeal.
The other was the silver-haired elder from the Falling Cloud Sect—his so-called “Senior Brother Cheng.”
The third was an unfamiliar elder who had entered the valley with Cheng. The fourth member of their original group was conspicuously absent, likely fallen to misfortune.
Han Li’s expression darkened.
These fools must have mistaken the battle for a struggle over some treasure. Had they known it involved soul-devouring demons rather than riches, they’d have fled long ago.
At this distance, even if Han Li tried to warn them via voice transmission, it was too late. They were already nearing the battlefield. Wei Wuyi would no doubt welcome the distraction, but the silver-haired elder and his companions were walking into grave danger.
Han Li cared little for the others, but “Senior Brother Cheng” had treated him well in the Falling Cloud Sect. He wasn’t one to forget kindness—he couldn’t just watch the man march to his death. It seemed he had no choice but to intervene.
Originally, Han Li hadn’t planned to charge recklessly into the battle between Wei Wuyi and the ancient demon. His intention was to stealthily observe before deciding whether to assist. If Wei Wuyi was only slightly disadvantaged, he’d help fend off the newly arrived demonic soul—after all, as a human cultivator, he didn’t want the ancient demon rampaging unchecked, devouring Nascent Souls.
But if Wei Wuyi was on the verge of defeat, Han Li wouldn’t throw his life away. Self-preservation came first—this would simply be the valley’s collective calamity. Against an opponent even a late-stage Nascent Soul cultivator couldn’t handle, he had no delusions of turning the tide.
Now, however, with the silver-haired elder’s group rushing in, Han Li’s expression flickered before he steeled himself. If things turned dire, he could always resort to the Bloodshadow Escape—though he’d have to be careful not to teleport straight into a spatial rift. He’d only use it as a last resort.
Having made up his mind, Han Li turned abruptly to Linghu Lao and the woman in white.
“Since other fellow Daoists are stepping in, we can’t stand idle against these soul-devouring demons. Whether you join or not, I’m going. But given how close you are to the battle, Wei Wuyi has surely noticed you by now. Explaining your absence afterward won’t be easy.”
With that thinly veiled warning, Han Li shot toward the battlefield as a streak of azure light.
Linghu Lao and the woman in white stood frozen for a moment.
In the brief delay, the black-purple radiance and green cloud had clashed even more violently, now only ten miles away. If Wei Wuyi willed it, his spiritual sense would easily detect them. Han Li’s words weren’t entirely empty threats.
“Let’s go. Fellow Daoist Han is right—as human cultivators, vanquishing demons is our duty,” Linghu Lao said with a wry smile, his lips twitching.
The woman’s face remained grim, but she nodded reluctantly. With so many cultivators joining the fight, even a formidable demon shouldn’t pose an immediate lethal threat. Clinging to this hope, the two transformed into streaks of light and followed.
Unbeknownst to them, a hundred miles behind, Dongmen Tu, the grand elder of the Spirit Beast Sect, was leading three green-robed figures toward the commotion. Of the five spirit-infant cultivators, only three remained—the other two must have fallen to spatial rifts or traps.
Yet, far from disheartened, Dongmen Tu’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he gazed at the distant sky. The violent spiritual fluctuations were unmistakable—likely a fierce battle over treasures. He intended to investigate, perhaps to profit from the chaos.
Farther still, the Ghost Spirit Sect’s Elder Zhong led a group of disciples toward the battlefield, his expression thunderous.
Despite following a safe route into the valley, two of his disciples had perished to shifting spatial rifts. Worse, the Spirit Candle Fruit he’d painstakingly sought—the key to advancing to late-stage Nascent Soul—had been plucked just before his arrival. The fresh traces suggested the thief couldn’t have gone far, but days of searching had yielded nothing.
Just as he prepared to retreat empty-handed, a shockwave nearly wiped out his disciples. Only an ancient defensive treasure saved them. Then, sensing the distant spiritual upheaval, he suspected the fruit thief might be involved and rushed toward the battle.
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