“Thud!”
A heavy sound echoed from the distance as a massive black spider, its body as long as a zhang and seemingly forged from dark gold, crawled past from one side.
“Shi Hao, come back quickly and let us go!”
It was a scene that could drive one to despair. The spider was a corpse, yet its flesh remained uncorrupted, now harboring a vague consciousness as it aimlessly scuttled about.
Fifteen geniuses from the Celestial Academy had offered captives, their faces pale as death. To die like this would be an unjust fate.
“Don’t worry, as long as you don’t provoke it, you’ll be safe!” Shi Hao reassured them.
“Crack!”
The black spider’s eight legs, gleaming like polished obsidian and sharp as spears, scraped against the ground, sending sparks flying as if metal clashed against stone.
One of its legs nearly grazed a young girl’s face, turning her expression ashen with terror—not only would it disfigure her, but it might even sever her head.
Frowning, Shi Hao turned and summoned the Willow God’s power, entangling them all with golden vines before tossing them together. He then erected a protective formation around them.
The black spider’s golden eyes suddenly snapped open, as if infused with life, and it lunged at Shi Hao with hurricane-like speed.
Shi Hao turned to face it, unafraid. In this ancient mine, he had encountered far more terrifying corpses.
Clang!
The spider leaped like a black aurochs, fierce and swift, crashing into the ground with a force that sent sparks flying and made the earth tremble.
But Shi Hao had already vanished into the darkness, leaving behind only an afterimage. The abyss ahead was eerie and unfathomable—a silent realm within the ancient mine.
It was also the very place where the chanting of scriptures had once echoed, stirring both dread and longing in Shi Hao’s heart.
Here, that sensation returned. A chill ran down his spine as if a razor-sharp blade rested against his throat, ready to slit it with the slightest pressure.
It felt like standing on the brink of death, with only a single strike separating him from oblivion.
His entire body ached, suffocating under an invisible weight that threatened to wither even his soul.
Behind him, the black spider abruptly halted. Though long dead and driven only by primal instinct, it trembled with terror.
It dared not advance, shuddering violently before collapsing to its knees in submission.
Shi Hao turned and stared in astonishment.
Now he understood—whatever lay ahead was beyond formidable. If even this savage ancient spider feared it so deeply, how could it be anything but perilous?
Yet Shi Hao pressed on without hesitation. He was determined to obtain the Six Paths Reincarnation Heavenly Art.
The spider retreated step by step, trembling, until it finally vanished into the shadows.
Silent, Shi Hao continued his journey. The mine’s depths exhaled icy gusts as he advanced, clad in the Thunder Emperor’s armor and gripping the Ten Thousand Spirits Diagram, prepared for the worst.
This was survival—and a fight for destiny.
He would never forget the regret and longing of Qi Daolin, the master of the Supreme Dao Field, who had sought the Six Paths Reincarnation in vain. Forced to steal techniques from countless schools in his quest to recreate it, he had been branded an infamous outcast.
This was the legacy of the Supreme Hall. Why it lay hidden here, Shi Hao did not know. But he would claim it, no matter the cost.
“Could it be that this heavenly art existed even in the previous epoch, or beyond?” Shi Hao murmured.
Qi Daolin had once hinted that the Supreme Hall’s inheritance spanned unfathomable eras, linked to the ancient age of immortals.
In the darkness, Shi Hao felt a piercing pain, as though invisible blades slashed at his flesh. Blood seeped from his skin, staining it crimson.
The mine grew darker, as if he walked a path to hell.
Time blurred as he pressed forward, the killing intent around him intensifying.
The Thunder Emperor’s armor glowed, shielding him. Without it, he feared his body might disintegrate.
Suddenly, a pair of green eyes ignited in the darkness.
A hundred-zhang-tall ancient lion crouched on the path ahead, its emerald gaze terrifying enough to shatter the heavens with a roar.
This, too, was a corpse—but one with higher intelligence, as if it understood human speech.
What era had birthed such a monstrous beast? Its ghostly eyes burned with dread.
“Roar—!”
The lion’s bellow shook the mine, splitting the earth and sky.
Blood sprayed from Shi Hao’s mouth as the Thunder Emperor’s armor flared. The Ten Thousand Spirits Diagram unleashed spectral figures to confront the beast.
Outside the mine, everyone shuddered. The beast’s roar had reached them, cracking stone mountains and shaking the earth.
“Heavens, what’s happening? Is this mine actually a nest for horrors yet to emerge?”
“What lies within?” Even the two elders of the Celestial Academy paled. Though their power surpassed sect leaders, they, too, felt fear.
None understood this place’s profundity. The mine held secrets older than the Immortal Ancient Epoch—secrets best left buried.
“Too many things were interred in the Primordial Ancient Mine. Perhaps… they should never see daylight again,” they whispered, uneasy.
If even the Nine Phoenix Furnace had been casually buried here, what terrors lurked in its depths?
Outside, unrest spread as people wavered between dread and anticipation.
Inside, Shi Hao’s nose and mouth bled. That roar would have shattered even stronger beings.
Thankfully, the Thunder Emperor’s armor and the Ten Thousand Spirits Diagram had saved him.
The lion stared at the diagram before vanishing into the dark.
“Formidable. It lacks deep thought, only fleeting consciousness. But if unleashed, it would wreak havoc.”
Wiping his bloodied lips, Shi Hao pressed on. He picked up a few lion hairs—harder than steel, ringing like metal when flicked.
Witnesses would gasp. Shi Hao’s physical strength was monstrous, yet this was the result.
He passed this trial, nearing the source of the scripture’s chant. The pain worsened, as if blades carved his flesh.
Where was this place? The path widened into a vast black abyss, like the gates of hell.
In the distance, shadowy figures passed—dragon-like and phoenix-shaped, all long dead, their ghostly eyes gleaming before fading.
Thankfully, the journey remained perilous but unharmed. Armed with the Ten Thousand Spirits Diagram and the Reverse Dragon Scale, Shi Hao advanced.
Could he ever return? He wondered, but pressed forward regardless.
Invisible rules slashed at him, sparking against his armor. Without its protection, the consequences would be dire.
Finally, he arrived.
Shi Hao gaped. He had expected a radiant chamber filled with ancient scriptures—but this was nothing of the sort.
No mine, no paradise—just a colossal black structure, oppressive and foreboding.
A dark ancient edifice. What did it signify?
Approaching, Shi Hao studied it in disbelief.
What era had built this? How could such a thing exist within a mine?
Did it truly conceal earth-shattering secrets? Puzzled, he steeled himself and stepped forward.
Boom!
Pushing open the gates, Shi Hao entered the black hall—only to be blasted backward as if struck by a tsunami of malice.
He crashed into the wall, bones near-shattered.
What kind of place was this? What beings had constructed it?
Gritting his teeth, Shi Hao rose, blood trickling from his lips.
“Whoosh!”
An invisible force surged, crushing like falling stars.
Without the Ten Thousand Spirits Diagram’s protection, he would have perished.
Forcing himself forward, he stepped into the murky hall—a place of utter desolation, where fear and awe intertwined.
His body trembled under the overwhelming pressure, threatening to collapse.
Ahead stood six figures, each frozen in a unique pose—some meditating, others forming hand seals.
Who were they?
Every one exuded terrifying power, the source of the suffocating aura that filled this place.
“Six figures… Six Paths Reincarnation?” Shi Hao murmured, swaying on his feet.
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