Duan Mu, Old Wei, Little Ling, and the other two men were completely frozen at the gambling table. Their eyes stared at Zhi Xuan's back as it disappeared behind the dull beaded curtain, their minds still grappling with that fleeting glimpse of the Heavenly Sword shrouded in white cloth.

  It was the sword always described in the whispers of the Empire—the weapon of the Silver-Haired Devil who was saved by Patriarch Zhu Tian Sheng. They were not blind; no lowly Wandering Daoist carried a sword wrapped in cloth like that, a heralded blade, let alone possessed a weight of calmness that forced a cultivator of Old Wei's caliber to surrender in negotiations.

  "The Fifth Envoy!" The thought struck Duan Mu and the others like a sledgehammer. They had just sold information about a cursed slaughterhouse to the man suspected of being a bloodthirsty Devil, who was now an Imperial Envoy.

  Old Wei, the quickest to recover, immediately grabbed the leather sack of Divine Jades lying on the table, hiding it beneath his robes with a swift movement practiced in mortality.

  "Silence!" Old Wei hissed, his voice containing the weight of the Soul Transformation pressure he released to suppress Duan Mu and the others. "Not one of you dare mention his presence here, or the fate of the Shi Clan will look like a pleasant dream to you!"

  Duan Mu, who was previously full of greed, was now pale, his thick beard trembling. He swallowed hard, staring at the tattered scroll he had just handed over to Zhi Xuan.

  "He... he is really going there," Duan Mu murmured, his voice hoarse and filled with cold fear. "He is seeking the Blood Corpses. He is seeking slaughter."

  "Stupid rat!" Old Wei grumbled, slapping the back of his hand against Duan Mu's head. "He asked about the Blood Corpses, and you, in your greed, gave him information about the Xuan-Huang Energy! Do you think he is going there just for quiet cultivation? He will overturn those entire ruins!"

  Little Ling, who was tasked with guarding the door, now returned to the table with trembling knees. "Old Wei, what should we do? We just sold forbidden secrets to a Devil who treads upon the Heavenly Path!"

  Old Wei took a long breath, reclaiming the composure that was difficult to reach. He stared toward the door, sensing Zhi Xuan's aura had completely vanished into the crowd.

  "There is nothing we can do," Old Wei decided. "We got the Divine Jades. He got his path. Never cross paths with him again. And Duan Mu, forget about the Xuan-Huang Energy. If he succeeds, then let that be his way. If he fails, then those entire ruins will become a fitting grave for a Devil like him."

  Old Wei leaned his back against the stool, staring at the dull wine glass in front of him. His decision was cold and pragmatic. They were merely rats selling information beneath the glitter of the Empire; they were not capable of facing the storm created by a Heavenly Kindness walking the Demonic Path.

  Zhi Xuan stepped out of the stifling stall, the cold night air of the Imperial City welcoming him. His Ghost Veil worked perfectly, hiding his now serious face and striking silver hair. He appeared only as an ordinary wanderer in a hurry, carrying the burden of travel on his back.

  The tattered scroll was now etched into his Sea of Consciousness. The Ruins of the Heavenly Light Sect. Located in the Tianluo Sacred Mountains, the southern border. Blood Corpses. An eternal resurrection cycle. Pure Spiritual Essence needed to cripple them. And, most importantly, the Xuan-Huang Energy at the core foundation. The eternal Blood Corpses. A thin, soundless, hoarse smile curved beneath his veil.

  "Those rats were right," Zhi Xuan murmured in his heart, his voice hoarse and calm. "I am indeed looking for a slaughterhouse. And a field cursed by the Heavens with an eternal cycle of life and death is the perfect place."

  His Heavenly-Blood Body Law vibrated slightly, responding to the promise of infinite blood and destruction. The Blood Corpses that rose again and again would become an inexhaustible source of Slaughter Seals—a perfect exercise to forge the cruelty of his Dao in a short time. He walked toward the southern gate of the Imperial City.

  He needed no inn or long preparations. Every second was precious, and he only had one full lunar cycle. As he stepped through the gate, Zhi Xuan felt the Imperial spies who had been watching him now completely ignored him. The Ghost Veil had successfully granted him mortal freedom.

  "Tianluo Sacred Mountains," Zhi Xuan murmured, looking ahead toward where a massive mountain range appeared in the distance. The ancestral memory of the Ancient Heavens gave him a brief projection of the area. "The name alone has brought the fall of the Heavens."

  Zhi Xuan increased his speed. In an instant, he turned into a shadow streaking across the mortal roads, his speed no longer burdened by the need to hide his identity. The Ghost Veil on his head swung gently, mimicking a fast mortal aura. Red strands with flashes of lightning spread across the night sky like a heavenly eagle.

  In a short time, the Hongmeng Imperial City faded behind him, replaced by vast stretches of forests and grasslands. Under the dark sky, the weight of the Tianluo Sacred Mountains felt increasingly heavy, radiating a contaminated ancient aura—a mixture of primal majesty and trapped rot.

  "Tianluo," Zhi Xuan repeated, stopping at the crest of a hill overlooking the mountain range that looked like the back of a sleeping giant dragon. "A place that was once holy, now bearing a blood curse."

  He took a deep breath. The air around him felt colder, carrying a faint scent of iron—the aroma of dried and fermented blood. He felt the Laws of Heaven and Earth around the mountains were chaotic, as if the place had become a dumping ground for unresolved karma. From the outside, the mountains looked unremarkable, and perhaps the ruins of the Heavenly Light Sect would not be that easy to find.

  Zhi Xuan folded his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes, letting his Sea of Consciousness scan the aura of chaos creeping from the Tianluo mountain range. Eyes were not needed to see; the entire mountain was a massive Sealed Formation, a karmic trap created by the Heavens, or perhaps by the remnants of the Heavenly Light Sect Elders themselves.

  He opened his eyes slowly. His sapphire blue eyes radiated a dim light, piercing through the veil of darkness and mortal illusions. He focused his gaze on a point in the center of the mountains where the Laws of chaos reached their peak. There, hidden by a subtle Illusion Formation, lay a dilapidated and quiet valley, as if swallowed by eternal silence.

  "Low-tier Sealing Formation," Zhi Xuan murmured with a dismissive tone. The formation might deceive an ordinary Soul Transformation cultivator, but to a Daoist who had forged the Path of Lightning and Extreme Ice, such an illusion was merely a thin mist.

  He stepped down from the hill, his feet not even touching the ground. His body shot forward, piercing the night like an arrow launched by an ancient god of archery. In the span of a few breaths, he reached the foot of the Tianluo Mountains. As he entered the mountains' aura, a bone-chilling cold immediately entwined him—not the cold of Zhu Qinglan's Pure Ice, but a damp and rotten cold, like the air in an ancient cemetery.

  His spiritual essence automatically formed a protective layer, but he immediately brushed that layer away. He wanted to feel the rot of karma and the horror of the place, letting his body adapt. Zhi Xuan stepped forward. He ignored the trees that looked normal and the rocks that appeared natural.

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  Whush!

  Suddenly, the scenery before him changed. The trees that were previously green withered and rotted in an instant, the rocks turned into piles of gray debris covered in black moss. Before him stretched a massive abyss that split the mountains, and at the bottom of that abyss lay the majestic ruins that were once the Heavenly Light Sect.

  The destroyed building structures radiated a pathetic aura of majesty; their white jade pillars were now cracked and decorated with thick reddish-brown stains—blood that never dried. A thin red mist floated over the ruins, a mist that carried the fishy smell of iron and an indescribable decay.

  There, the wailing of souls, the cracking of bones, and the sound of swinging weapons echoed. Down there, several cultivators floated in the air, slaughtering the Blood Corpses yet seemingly never stopping; they launched swords that pierced the night, swung whips that slashed souls, yet it felt futile as those Blood Corpses continued to come back to life.

  He allowed his gaze to trace that hellish scene. The Blood Corpses did not possess the same form; some still appeared as humans wearing tattered gray robes of the Heavenly Light Sect, but their skin was a blackish maroon, with pupil-less eyes radiating a faint blood light. They moved stiffly, but their strength was brutal and relentless, as if driven by an eternal grudge.

  The floating blood mist was an ill omen. That mist was not just an illusion, but a spiritual layer that constantly rotted and revived the Blood Corpses. As long as that mist existed, the eternal cycle would never end.

  "Fellow Daoist above!" one of the cultivators shouted desperately, calling out to Zhi Xuan with desperation in his voice. "Help me! I am trapped here!"

  One of the cultivators, who shouted for help, was a middle-aged man with a torn brown robe stained with thick blood. His greatsword trembled in his hand, radiating a dim spiritual light, running out of essence. Around him, three Blood Corpses surrounded him, their movements slow yet inevitable.

  Duakh!

  A broken sword from a Blood Corpse struck the man's shoulder, making the poor cultivator stagger, fresh blood spurting from his wound. That blood, as soon as it touched the soil of the ruins, was immediately absorbed by the black moss and red mist around it. A recently killed Blood Corpse, whose head had just been crushed by another cultivator, instantly began to vibrate and reform its shape from the blood mud beneath it.

  "Damn it! There's no end to them!" roared a woman in a tattered robe, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. She swung her spiritual whip, splitting the body of the Blood Corpse in front of her in two.

  However, before the two body parts could fall, blood-red veins immediately grew, pulling the two halves back together. Another young cultivator, whose foundation was still immature, fell to his knees, his Spiritual Essence completely drained. His eyes radiated a cold despair as he stared at the approaching Blood Corpse. The Blood Corpse no longer used a weapon; it only crawled forward, its blood-red clawed hands ready to rip.

  "Help me! I have no more pills! I'm going to die!" cried the young cultivator, his voice bouncing off the shattered ruins.

  No one helped him. Every cultivator in the valley was bound in their own life-and-death struggle, using every last drop of essence to delay the inevitable end. Zhi Xuan, from the edge of the abyss, only observed coldly.

  The blood spurting from the middle-aged man's shoulder touched the debris, and instantly, the black moss around it glowed with a terrifying deep red hue. The Blood Corpse previously killed near him, which had just been crushed by another cultivator's blow, vibrated and quickly absorbed the newly spilled blood essence, condensing its form again with terrifying speed.

  "Damn! We have no time!" roared the woman in the tattered robe, her voice filled with suppressed hysteria. She swung her spiritual whip, which now only radiated a dim light because her Spiritual Essence was nearly depleted. She saw the Blood Corpse she had split in two had merged again, looking even denser and stronger.

  "They cripple us, then use our blood to rise!" shouted the man beside the woman, his eyes widening as he saw the young cultivator who fell to his knees now being swallowed by the Blood Corpses.

  The young cultivator did not scream; he only produced a choked sound as the Blood Corpses crawled over him, their blood-red nails ripping his chest and neck. Fresh blood spurted like a pathetic fountain, and as the blood hit the ground, several Blood Corpses around him that were previously moving slowly instantly gained a surge of wild power.

  "There is no hope!" roared the trapped middle-aged man. The Blood Corpse above him ripped his robe and skin, letting his blood flood the ruins. He stared toward Zhi Xuan on the edge of the abyss, his eyes pleading. "Heavenly Kindness! Do not let this curse swallow my Dao!"

  Zhi Xuan saw the cruelty of the cycle. The Blood Corpses did not kill to take lives; they killed to renew themselves with fresh blood. Every drop of blood spilled, every life taken, became fuel for that cursed eternal cycle. This was not a fight against an enemy, but a fight against the laws of nature that had been overturned.

  He looked toward the cultivator who shouted for him. The middle-aged man was now trapped, three Blood Corpses crawling over him, his body already starting to be torn apart, his blood soaking the ruin's soil. Zhi Xuan took a short breath. He did not move to help. Help for them was merely a delay of death.

  "Dozens of lives, ending in futility," Zhi Xuan murmured, a spark of desire to save them landing in his heart. But just as he was about to step forward, a voice in his Sea of Consciousness stopped him.

  "Wait, do not save them," Ruo Xianxue hissed from the Sea of Consciousness, her voice dripping with seriousness. "They can no longer be saved since the moment they were down there. Just like you, if you just go down there, you will end up like them."

  Zhi Xuan stopped his steps at the edge of the abyss. The coldness of the tattered Ghost Veil clashed with the heat radiating from the fresh blood below. He stared at the Blood Corpse now swallowing the middle-aged cultivator. The Blood Corpse no longer had a human shape; it had become a mass of moving blood and bone, absorbing every drop of life.

  "Why can they not be saved?" Zhi Xuan asked within his Sea of Consciousness, his tone cold and direct, without excessive emotion. He trusted Ruo Xianxue's judgment.

  "You did not come to save," Ruo Xianxue replied, a hoarse laugh echoing in the Sea of Consciousness. "They have run out of essence, surrounded on all sides; their despair will seize your soul bit by bit. Slash them from here, kill them and let their souls return to Reincarnation."

  Zhi Xuan narrowed his eyes. He processed Ruo Xianxue's words. Yes, the cultivators below were already out of Spiritual Essence, trapped, and on the brink of the Blood Corpses' cruelty. For them, a quick death from a clean, sharp blade was far better than being swallowed alive and turned into fuel for that cursed cycle.

  "I do not kill, nor do I help," Zhi Xuan murmured coldly, pulling the Heavenly Sword from his back; the lightning runes on the dark blade responded to Zhi Xuan's intent with a piercing hiss of reddish lightning.

  Below, the remaining cultivators staggered, witnessing their companions being swallowed and turned into fuel. Despair had reached its peak. They did not see Zhi Xuan's calm shadow above the abyss, radiating a killing intent that rustled through that sea of blood; they only saw the inevitable end.

  "Do not kill me!" roared the woman in the tattered robe, tears and blood mixing on her face. She saw the Blood Corpse she had split in two had merged, now stepping toward her with a wilder speed. "Please, save me, Fellow Daoist!"

  "Save us, why do you want to kill us?" roared one of the cultivators; he crawled and tried to avoid a Blood Corpse. "We only want help, please save us!"

  However, Zhi Xuan showed neither pleasure nor hesitation. Only silence, stepping forward as his black robe with red silk fluttered, his silver hair which had been released from the Ghost Veil like a torch burning in the darkness. Without closing his eyes, he raised the Heavenly Sword and channeled his essence.

  Zzrtt! Whump! Whump! Whump!

  Muffled thunder crackled over the valley, not from the Heavens, but from the blade of the Heavenly Sword. Dense reddish lightning, forged from the Extreme Lightning Law and the power of an Immortal Artifact, gathered at the tip of the Heavenly Sword. The lightning did not carry an aura of wild destruction, but a cold and pure penetrative force—energy capable of burning the soul and severing the threads of mortal karma.

  Whum!

  He dived downward, his body streaking through the blood mist. In his Sea of Consciousness, Ruo Xianxue grinned widely. The blood mist thickened, obstructing his view; even Zhi Xuan's spiritual essence felt suppressed, unable to be used freely—creating an anti-spiritual field, a limitless slaughterhouse supported by the Heavens' curse.

  As soon as his feet touched the ruins, the tattered Ghost Veil was pulled back onto his head, hiding his silver hair. Dozens of struggling cultivators saw Zhi Xuan with the Heavenly Sword in his hand and tried to pull away with hysterical sobs and a weight that felt as if their breath was being snatched away.

  "Go away! You are crazy, you want to kill us!"

  "He is insane! He wants to kill us all; he is seeking slaughter involving us!"

  "Fellow Daoist, save us! Why do you want to kill us? We are innocent toward you!"

  "We have been trapped here for a long time, help us! We will do anything!"