Under the blood moon, the hollow interiors of the shattered mountains stood like volcanoes, barren and lifeless.
A transcendent man, his lips resting upon a bone flute as white as jade, stood atop the crimson-brown cliffs, his robes fluttering in the wind. His body shimmered with an ethereal glow as he played an immortal melody.
“It was you who caused all of this!” Shi Yi’s eyes blazed with divine light, symbols intertwining within his pupils as he glared ahead.
The haunting melody echoed through the night, like a celestial hymn.
The man remained serene, offering only a peaceful smile, his teeth gleaming white. His entire being exuded an immortal aura, even his hair strands translucent, emitting a soft radiance.
Yet, in the distance, screams of agony clashed violently with this tranquility. Blood spilled, sending chills through the heart.
Chang Gong Yan gripped a massive black bow, stepping forward with his left foot in an archer’s stance. He nocked a black-feathered arrow, raising the bow high with his left hand while his right arm pulled the string taut.
In an instant, the heavens and earth trembled violently. Black ripples erupted from him, surging outward like tidal waves, sweeping across the land.
This was a terrifying divine power, unleashed from the bow!
All around, boulders, ancient trees, and stone peaks shook violently. Countless plants were uprooted, exploding midair. Some even floated upward, while entire cliffs cracked apart, tossed like driftwood upon the black waves.
The sheer force was overwhelming!
This was the might of an ancient freak—once enraged, none could withstand his fury. The very world quaked, roaring in response.
But the most terrifying of all was the black arrowhead, pulsing with dark energy, lethally sharp, aimed straight at the cursed nest ahead.
“Whoosh!”
At last, he released the string.
A black ancient arrow shot forth, transforming into a streak of dark light, shattering the void!
Even deities would shudder at such a sight—a single arrow that could pierce the heavens. None could survive its strike, and all could feel its horrifying power.
Upon the lifeless volcanic cliffs, the figure vanished in a flash, disappearing without a trace.
Yet, the flute’s melody lingered, ethereal and serene, as if descending from the highest heavens.
The black arrow shattered the space where he had stood, piercing only an afterimage before vanishing into the horizon.
In a flicker, the figure reappeared, as if never gone, still glowing with an enigmatic light as he played his flute, slaughtering distant warriors.
Petals drifted down, each stained with blood—each one claiming a life.
“Whoosh!”
A gale howled as the black arrow returned from the distance, reversing its course to strike again at the mysterious man, relentless until it drew blood.
But he was too fast. With a twist of his body, he warped space and vanished once more.
When he reappeared, a tattered pouch hovered beside him—ancient and unassuming, yet exuding an oppressive aura of the Great Dao.
This was no ordinary sack—it was the **Cosmic Pouch**, a true artifact of slaughter.
Woven from the primordial hides of nearly a hundred ancient beasts, its surface was etched with dense runes. It could swallow mountains, rivers, and even gods—melting them into blood and broken bones within.
A truly horrifying treasure!
Legends spoke of an ancient artifact from the Immortal Ancient Era, forged from the hides of ten thousand ancestral beasts, said to contain the three thousand provinces of the Upper Realm and dissolve the stars of the universe.
Though this pouch was not of that caliber, crafted from merely a hundred divine beast hides, it was still a nightmare incarnate.
Chang Gong Yan’s expression darkened. He formed hand seals, redirecting the black arrow in a sharp arc, recalling it to his grasp.
Then, he drew another black arrow from his back, merging it with the first, preparing to loose another shot.
“Wait!” Shi Yi suddenly tensed, his eyes deepening as if witnessing something dreadful.
The others shuddered as well, a chill creeping into their hearts. Before them, an unspeakable horror unfolded.
As the flute’s melody played, countless shadows emerged from the hollow cliffs, crawling out from the volcano-like caves—thousands upon thousands of creatures, black as ink, their auras terrifying.
“ROAR—!”
They howled, charging forward.
“Ghostfiends!” Shi Hao’s face paled. He recognized them—unnatural beings cultivated through dark means. He had seen them before while harvesting the Half-Immortal Fruit.
“Retreat, now!” the Dragon Maiden urged.
This place was too horrifying. That man was unfathomable, and with an army of Ghostfiends at his command, resistance was futile.
Thousands upon thousands of them poured forth, as if the gates of hell had been thrown open.
“Hum—!”
The Cosmic Pouch expanded, hovering midair as radiant light spilled from its open mouth, seeking to swallow them whole.
The Dragon Maiden sneered, her ancient horn glowing as she slashed the air, disrupting the void like rippling water.
“We must flee. He has partial control over this cursed nest, activating its formations at will. We cannot fight him here,” Chang Gong Yan sighed.
There was no chance of counterattack. Having barely escaped, they knew all too well the horrors within—deadly arrays that would have claimed their lives without their combined efforts.
Without hesitation, they turned and ran, pursued by the horde of Ghostfiends, their ghastly forms grotesque under the blood moon.
“Who is he? Do you recognize him?” Shi Hao asked the Dragon Maiden and Chang Gong Yan.
Both shook their heads. That flawless, peerlessly handsome face was unfamiliar—they had never seen him before.
“How can this be?” Qin Hao’s face was ashen.
The cursed nest, ancient and enduring, had become a killing ground for someone else’s scheme. That man was too terrifying—already, he had slaughtered over a hundred thousand lives.
Even someone as unshakable as Shi Yi felt a creeping dread. A mastermind since youth, he now realized the depth of that man’s horror.
According to the Dragon Maiden, she had seen ancient engravings left by past geniuses within the nest—hinting that this man had been scheming for six or seven lifetimes…
The thought sent chills down their spines.
Six or seven lifetimes of anonymity, of patience—only to strike in this final era, unrestrained.
“Just now, three or four ancient freeds perished inside,” the Dragon Maiden said grimly, silencing them all.
That man was a demon, wielding the nest’s formations to slaughter without mercy.
“I suspect he hasn’t fully claimed the nest’s treasures yet. He’s using blood sacrifices to unlock something. And over the ages, he’s bred countless Ghostfiends,” Qin Hao speculated.
Though proud, this venture had humbled him. Without his elder brother’s aid, he might not have escaped alive.
Soon, they reached the Immortal Fall Ridge.
Suddenly, they recalled the legends—that a true immortal had once perished here, his blood essence absorbed by the cursed nest, stored within a divine pool.
Was that man gathering blood to summon the immortal’s essence?
Or perhaps to unlock deeper layers of the nest through sacrifice?
“Six or seven lifetimes of planning… Such patience. He is beyond measure,” Chang Gong Yan murmured.
“If we were to name one among the ancient freeds who fits this profile, who would it be?” Shi Hao asked.
Instantly, one name came to mind—the **Ten Crown King**, hailed as one of the strongest of all time, unrivaled in his era.
“But we’ve never seen the Ten Crown King. And this doesn’t match his style,” the Dragon Maiden dismissed.
“Then it’s even more terrifying,” Shi Hao sighed.
Throughout history, this man had left no trace, unnoticed in every lifetime—only to erupt in brilliance now.
They caught up with fleeing warriors from various clans, all desperate to escape this cursed land.
Shouts and howls filled the air as petals rained down—each one crystalline, fragrant, and deadly.
Every petal carried blood, claiming another life.
Behind them, the flute’s melody continued, its notes transforming into blades of slaughter, reaping lives without end.
Blood blossomed in the air, petals dancing like crimson stars, painting the mountains in macabre beauty.
That man pursued, standing midair with his bone flute, commanding an army of ten thousand Ghostfiends.
Under the scarlet moon, he appeared transcendent, untouched by mortal concerns. Yet his music brought only terror.
“Such cruelty—do you fear no retribution?!” a dying warrior roared.
His answer was a petal of runes, slicing through his brow, drawing a trail of blood.
Above, the man remained serene, saintly in demeanor, smiling without a word.
The petals did not target Shi Hao’s group—the man knew such attacks were futile against them.
But the Ghostfiends surged forth, ten thousand strong, closing in.
“These things can’t catch us… So why do I feel such unease?” Qin Hao muttered, sensing impending doom.
“Prepare for battle. More Ghostfiends lie ahead,” Shi Hao warned.
No sooner had he spoken than howls erupted from the Immortal Fall Ridge—thousands more Ghostfiends leaped from the cliffs, descending upon them.
“AHH—!”
Screams filled the air as warriors fell, torn apart under the flute’s dirge.
These Ghostfiends were formidable—some had already reached the True God realm. How could mere Divine Flame cultivators resist?
Under the blood moon, the forest became a slaughterhouse, a hellish battlefield.
“KILL!”
Shi Hao fought with everything he had, barely breaking free of the Immortal Fall Ridge.
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