Far behind, the howling clamor of battle rang without cease, and flashes of radiance strobed through the darkness — the three members of Qingyu Sect were clearly locked in fierce combat with the other demon cultivators lurking in the dark. Yet here where Zhang Fan stood, a strange and eerie silence had suddenly fallen.
Zhang Fan stood there in a daze, but hidden from sight, the owners of the yellow flying sword and the gray fangs had personally witnessed the bizarre scene that had just unfolded—so thoroughly stunned that, for a moment, neither of them knew what to do.
"Wild Dog, am I seeing things? Jiang the Third feeds on people's blood—so how in the world does it look like *he's* the one who got drained dry?"
In the darkness, another voice rasped out: "What in the hell — to think that even Qingyun Sect has someone who can refine this 'Blood-Sucking \*\*.' Could this fellow actually be a disciple of our Immortal Sect?"
He had meant to say something to the man, but after a moment no words came. Vexed, he said: "No good—this fellow's origins are far too suspicious. I must get a clear answer out of him!"
Two orbs of light blazed to life before Zhang Fan, gradually resolving into two silhouettes. Zhang Fan came back to his senses with a start, hastily casting aside his stray thoughts and steeling his focus to face his opponents.
In the fading light, the yellow flying sword and the gray fang flew back to the two men respectively. The one on the left caught the sword — a gaunt, tall man with a lean face, an aquiline nose, and eyes that were stark black and white, glinting with a vicious light. The one beside him was even stranger. The moment Zhang Fan laid eyes on him, he felt a jolt of surprise: the man was also quite tall, yet his appearance was deeply odd — heavy-lidded eyes, a prominent nose, upswept ears, lips of dark crimson, and a tongue that seemed uncommonly long, darting out of his mouth at intervals, giving him every look of a large dog. As the gray fang came sailing back into that man's hand, Zhang Fan's instinct seized on the thought at once: surely that couldn't be a tooth from some oversized hound?
The man called Wild Dog saw that once Zhang Fan looked at him, his gaze could not be pulled away, eyes wide with astonishment. Flying into a rage, he bellowed: "You wretch, why are you staring at your Daoist Lord Wild Dog?"
"Wild Dog Daoist?" Zhang Fan furrowed his brow. Only now did he notice that this wild-dog-looking man was actually wearing a grimy, pitch-black Daoist robe. It seemed he shared the same faith and tradition as Qingyun Sect—though whether tracing the lineage back three thousand years would reveal any common roots was another matter entirely.
The man who styled himself the Wild Dog Daoist saw the evident contempt on Zhang Fan's face and grew all the more incensed. "This Daoist Lord is asking you—how did you kill the vampire?"
Zhang Fan was stunned. "A vampire?"
The tall one beside him said angrily, "Isn't it just the one on your back!"
Only then did Zhang Fan remember he still had the corpse slung across his back. At once a chill crept up his neck — he recoiled in alarm and flung the body off with a shrug. A muffled thud rang out as the thing, now nothing but a skeleton wrapped in dried skin, hit the ground. Zhang Fan caught one look at it and felt his stomach turn; he wrenched his gaze away.
The Wild Dog Daoist and the tall man each cast a glance at the skull, then turned to meet each other's eyes — and in that shared gaze, both read the same look of shock and suspicion. The blood-draining art was cruel and sinister; though fearsome in power, the harm it inflicted upon the practitioner's own body was equally severe — those who cultivated it ended up neither truly human nor truly ghost. They were members of a demonic sect and no strangers to dark ways, yet they had always kept a respectful distance from this particular practice, even so, they still knew something of this mysterious technique.
The man now lying dead upon the ground — who had styled himself the sole successor of the Blood-[\*\*] lineage — had in the blink of an eye been drained of every drop of his vital essence. To the knowledge of the two of them, whoever had done this possessed cultivation that far surpassed that of the dead vampire Jiang the Third; even the storied old blood demon of legend likely commanded no such mastery. Yet looking now at this disciple of the Qingyu Sect before them, he bore none of that strange and sinister aura characteristic of those who walked the Blood-Sucking path.
Wild Dog Daoist shot a glance at Zhang Fan. "But are you the disciple of that blood-sucking old... old senior?"
Zhang Fan was taken aback. "A bloodsucking old senior?"
The Wild Dog Daoist opened his dog-like maw, his overlong tongue lolling out and curling in the air. Watching him, Zhang Fan couldn't help but think of Da Huang, the great dog from Dazhu Peak on Qingyun Mountain. But even as that thought crossed his mind, a sharp shriek suddenly rang out from the depths of the cave — a flying sword flashed — and a man in black came crashing out of the darkness, his face sheeted with blood. He thrashed on the ground a few times, and it was plain he would not live.
Zhang Fan suddenly came to his senses — his fellow disciples were locked in a desperate battle, yet here he was, wasting words with these demon cult fiends. What a fool he had been. Without another moment's hesitation, he leaped to his feet and made to rush to their aid.
The Wild Dog Daoist and the tall man both started when they saw Zhang Fan suddenly shift his stance, assuming he was about to launch an attack, and hurriedly braced themselves — but Zhang Fan had barely moved before he grimaced and dropped, sinking to one knee on the ground, hissing sharply through his teeth as cold sweat beaded across his forehead.
In his haste, Zhang Fan had forgotten that the dark-red fork was still buried in the flesh of his shoulder. The instant he moved, a searing pain pierced him to the core, and he collapsed back down helplessly. The bleeding, which had barely stilled, now poured fresh from the newly wrenched wound.
Seeing such an opportune moment, how could Wild Dog Daoist and that tall figure bear to let it pass? Better to slay wrongly than to spare — a murderous gleam kindled in both their eyes, and the sword-fang flying swords in their hands blazed with light once more.
But just then, a clear, piercing cry rang out from behind. Amid the churning chaos of colored lights in the darkness, a brilliant arc of blue blazed suddenly to life—so radiant and dazzling that it instantly overwhelmed every other gleam. Within that blue radiance, "Ya" was drawn proudly from its scabbard, and suspended in midair behind it, Lu Xueqi stood with transcendent, peerless grace, her robes billowing and dancing in the wind.
As the Stray Dog Daoist and the tall man stood frozen in shock, the Yasheng Sword's blue radiance exploded outward, manifesting as a colossal blade of blue light that slashed down into the darkness. Several ragged beams of light instantly rose to resist, but the moment they touched that vast, pure blue brilliance, they dissolved into nothingness. Strange cries rang out in rapid succession as a number of figures leaped from the shadows—then came a thunderous crash as the blue sword of light struck the stone wall, sending shattered rocks flying in all directions with terrifying force. Nearly every one of those who had sprung out bore fresh wounds. At the same moment, the white radiance of Qi Hao's Frost Sword blazed to life, surging out suddenly from an oblique angle; wherever its gleam swept, several demon cult followers were frozen solid into pillars of ice. Hard on its heels, Zeng Shushu came flying on her sword and shattered them to pieces one by one.
The tall figure standing before Zhang Fan exchanged a glance with the Wild Dog Daoist, and together they abandoned Zhang Fan and charged forward. A yellow flying sword and gray fangs were raised in unison, meeting the combined assault of Qi Hao and Zeng Shushu head-on.
The two of them appeared to stand a cut above the rest among the Demon Sect's members in terms of cultivation, and they immediately repelled the assault of Qi Hao and his companions — yet in their hearts, both were crying out in silent misery.
It was because they had secretly witnessed the scene of Qi Hao and the others being attacked by bats the previous night that they had set this ambush deep within the ancient cave—suddenly shattering that seemingly impenetrable *-circle barrier, then intending to pick off these four Qingyun disciples one by one. The plan had indeed unfolded as expected; what they had not anticipated was that these Qingyun disciples would prove so extraordinarily skilled in their cultivation, making them far more difficult to deal with than expected.
For this ambush, the Demonic Sect had dispatched Wild Dog Daoist, the tall man, and the vampire Jiang the Third as their main force. Having discerned that Zhang Fan appeared to be the weakest of the four, the three had agreed to join forces against him first, intending to dispose of Zhang Fan swiftly before splitting up to handle the remaining three. What none of them anticipated was that matters would take a strange turn—though Zhang Fan had been wounded, it was the vampire Jiang the Third who inexplicably ended up with his vital blood drained dry by someone, dying in the process.
At that moment, though they had momentarily checked Qi Hao and Zeng Shushu, a beautiful woman wielding a strange blue sword stood close by, and the brat behind them, though wounded, was behaving in an exceedingly odd manner. Should those two join the fray together, their situation would take a sharp turn for the worse. After trading two more rounds, they watched as Lu Xueqi wounded several Devil Cult disciples in quick succession and began to turn back toward them — whereupon Wild Dog Daoist was the first to cry out: "Run!"
The tall man beside him shared his thoughts without a word, withdrawing his Artifact at the same instant, mounting it swiftly, and with two sharp whooshing sounds, the pair transformed into twin streaks of eerie radiance and fled deep into the cave. The rest of the demon cult followers, upon seeing this, cried out in alarm and scattered in all directions.
Qi Hao made a snap decision and barked, "Pursue those two!" He shot into the air riding his sword and gave chase at once. Zeng Shushu followed close behind. The blue sinister radiance around Lu Xueqi surged as she was about to give chase as well—but then something came to mind and she moved to turn back, only to suddenly catch sight of Zhang Fan soaring skyward astride his fire-poking staff, the weapon flickering with a dark azure glow. Blood was pouring freely from his shoulder, yet the dark crimson fork that had been buried there was already gone, wrenched free.
Zhang Fan flew forward. Xueqi watched his retreating figure, seeming to freeze for a brief moment before following after him.
This chase deep within the cave bore something of a resemblance to the time Zhang Fan and Tian Ling'er had chased the monkey Huihui through the back mountain of Dazhu Peak—winding and strange, darting left one moment, veering right the next, shooting straight upward, then plunging to the depths below. Further along there were ever more branching passages, yet the four from Qingyun Sect paid little heed to any of it, keeping their eyes fixed on the two streaks of light ahead—one yellow, one grey—and pressing the pursuit without relent.
The cave was a labyrinth of jagged rocks and sudden jutting peaks. Zhang Fan kept close on the heels of his fellow disciples, pouring every ounce of focus into steering the fire-tending staff. As the passages grew narrower — some barely wide enough for a single person to slip through — he had no time to think, let alone be afraid; a sharp cry burst from his lips, and somehow he shot through each gap regardless. The chase, fore and aft, became six streaks of light tearing through the darkness of the cave at breathtaking speed. To Zhang Fan it felt as though howling wind and blackness had coiled together into one, surging toward him in an endless torrent from ahead.
The chase stretched on for another half an hour. Wild Dog Daoist and his companion, relying on their familiarity with the terrain, wove left and right through the paths—and though they could not shake off the four tenacious pursuers dogging their heels, neither had the gap between them closed by so much as a step.
Suddenly, a glimmer of light appeared in the far distance ahead. The Wild Dog Daoist and the tall man immediately flew toward it with all their strength, while Qi Hao and the others gave chase without letting up. Zhang Fan followed behind them and noticed that the pain in his shoulder was gradually ebbing away. A moment ago he had gritted his teeth through excruciating agony to wrench out the fork, and had somehow managed to keep up—something that surprised even himself. His shoulder still ached, yet the qi and blood within his body circulated freely, as though he possessed an inexhaustible store of strength. But the instant his mind drifted back to what had just transpired—the instant he recalled those two words the Wild Dog Daoist had spoken, *blood-drinking*—his heart went cold, the chill seeping all the way into his marrow.
The distant glimmer ahead drew closer and closer, brighter and brighter, as the six of them shot forward like arrows loosed from a bowstring, charging straight toward that light.
※※※
That radiance bloomed like some uncanny flower bursting suddenly from the darkness, flooding the eyes of all who stood before it. Zhang Fan leaped into the light alongside the others, his vision flaring white—and in an instant he was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight before him.
It turned out that the place where they had been chasing just moments before was a wide and straight corridor — and beyond that corridor lay an inconceivably vast space. The rocky ceiling of the cavern soared a hundred zhang overhead, while the ground lay ten zhang beneath their feet. Not far ahead, a massive boulder stood upon that ground, blazing with an intense radiance that illuminated the entire expanse.
But what was most astonishing was not the massive boulder itself—it was what lay behind it. There, deep within that radiance, a vast chasm yawned open without warning. The light shed by the boulder illuminated the dome of the stone cave, yet seemed utterly incapable of penetrating even a fraction into the abyss at its back. Viewed from above, it was pitch black—so absolute that not even the far end of the chasm could be made out, leaving only an expanse of deathly, eerie darkness.
Before that great boulder stood three figures: one was a burly man with a face full of coarse beard, another was a strikingly beautiful young woman, and the third was a pallid youth clad in white robes, his entire face suffused with sinister energy. The Stray Dog Daoist and his tall companion descended, taking their places before the boulder. Qi Hao took in the scene at a glance; seeing that every one of those people had an uncanny and unusual bearing, he dared not be careless. He called out to his fellow disciples, and together they landed some five zhang away from the group assembled beneath the boulder.
Zhang Fan stopped in his tracks and looked ahead, only to see three great characters carved upon that strangely luminous boulder in sweeping ancient seal script:
Netherspirit Abyss!
Watching the four members of Qingyu Sect descend, those standing beneath the great boulder showed no reaction—save for one burly man with a beard-covered face, who furrowed his brow. "You dogs! Liu Hao, how utterly useless can you be? You ran into a handful of Qingyu brats and ended up in such a sorry state—and worse, you led them straight here to the Dead Spirit Abyss!"
The Wild Dog Daoist's dog-like face flushed red. He was just about to argue when a middle-aged woman standing behind the burly man cast them a glance and suddenly cried out in a shrill voice: "Where's Jiang the Third?"
The stray dog cast a glance toward the Qingyun Sect members — he was already in their hands.
"What?" The people who had stood as steady as Mount Tai all stirred with visible alarm—though it seemed not to be because the Qingyun Sect members' cultivation ran deep enough to have killed Jiang the Third. The young woman froze for a moment, then shook her head. "If that blood-sucking old demon starts pressing for answers, we'll have no way to account for ourselves!"
The burly man with a face full of beard pondered for a moment, then turned to look at the crowd from Qingyu Sect and said: "Then we'll capture these Qingyu people and hand them over to Senior Xixue when the time comes. That will settle it."
The others nodded in agreement one after another. Seeing them each carrying themselves with such arrogance, Qi Hao grew all the more alarmed. He lowered his voice and said to the three behind him: "These people appear to be the masterminds of the Demonic Sect here—their cultivation is likely even above those few we just faced. Everyone, be on your guard when dealing with them."
Zhang Fan gave a sound of acknowledgment and turned his head, only to catch Lu Xueqi's gaze sweeping over the wound on his shoulder. He froze for a brief moment; Lu Xueqi immediately looked away.
At that moment, the burly man stepped forward and addressed the disciples of Qingyun Sect: "I advise you all to surrender without a fight — spare yourselves the trouble of having your bones shattered and your flesh torn once we make our move!"
Qi Hao let out a cold snort. Before he could speak, he heard Lu Xueqi's icy voice from behind him: "Hideous demon, you still dare act so brazenly? Today is the day you die."
Qi Hao and Zeng: "Well said, Sixth Junior Sister! That is exactly right!"
The burly man's expression shifted, his face cold as frost. "You're the ones who chose to die," he said icily.
No one saw him make any move. He merely cast a glare toward the four of them. Zhang Fan had been gathering his focus, braced and alert, when he suddenly noticed that of the large man's previously unremarkable pair of eyes, the right one had abruptly doubled in size and turned a vivid crimson. That enormous eye bulged across his face — at once terrifying and grotesque.
He was still puzzling over this when, without warning, a streak of scarlet radiance shot forth from the massive crimson eyes of the hulking man, hurtling straight toward him. The disciples of Qingyun Sect had already grown wary of the man's strange behavior and were on their guard. Qi Hao immediately invoked his Glacial Immortal Sword, and with two sharp *crack-cracks*, two walls of ice crystallized before him.
Unexpectedly, that crimson radiance seemed to carry within it a force of murderous malevolence. A moment later it struck the ice wall, instantly melting a hole clean through—silent and soundless, yet surging forward with the unstoppable momentum of a blade splitting bamboo.
Qi Hao was caught completely off guard. With no time to react, he immediately thrust the Frost Immortal Sword in front of the group to block. The crimson radiance struck the blade, flickering twice before vanishing entirely within the sword's white luminescence. Yet Qi Hao's body gave a shudder—he had caught a glimpse of his Frost Immortal Sword, and where the blade had once been pure white, a patch now bore the faint stain of dark red.
The Cold Ice Sword trembled faintly along its blade, as though tainted by some malevolent force. Qi Hao watched in anguish—for what cultivator does not hold his own Artifact dearer than life itself? Yet there was no time to dwell on that now. The crimson beam had barely vanished when the enormous man in the distance fired another ray from those blood-red giant eyes, streaking forward with terrifying speed. It struck the two ice walls in utter silence, punching clean through both without losing a shred of momentum, and came hurtling straight toward the four of them.
Qi Hao's brow furrowed tight. His Frost Sword blazed with white light as it swept upward through the air to meet the attack, snuffing out the red glow in an instant — yet a fresh red scar now marked the blade.
In the distance, the hulking giant made not a sound. From his enormous crimson eyes, red beams shot forth like arrows in an unbroken stream—blindingly fast, closing the gap in an instant. Qi Hao blocked them one by one, yet the dark crimson light grew ever denser, and the white radiance of the Ice Immortal Sword faded, little by little, into shadow.
The three people nearby all sensed trouble at once. Zeng Shushu was the first to charge forward, rousing his Artifact immortal sword "Xuanyuan," and was just about to rush in from the flank—when the big man gave only the slightest turn of his head. From within those vast crimson eyes another red beam lanced outward toward him. Caught with no room to dodge, Zeng Shushu had no choice but to hurl the Xuanyuan sword skyward in an instant, throwing it up as a shield to intercept that strange, baleful light.
In mid-air, the Xuanyuan Immortal Sword flared with pale violet radiance and instantly extinguished that crimson gleam—yet upon its very blade, a red mark appeared all the same, clinging like an awl driven into bone, and the sword let out a low, mournful tremor.
Zeng Shushu felt a sudden wave of baleful energy surge from the blade, as though it sought to invade her body. Fortunately, she was still at a considerable distance, so its power was faint; and the Xuanyuan Immortal Sword itself immediately rose with auspicious energy to counteract the malevolent force.
Yet he could advance no further. The hulking man in the distance merely stood at ease, giving a slight shake of his head. That single crimson giant eye shot forth unceasing red rays, pinning Qi Hao and Zeng Shushu where they stood, unable to move an inch. And as the red marks multiplied, both felt the baleful energy emanating from the immortal sword growing heavier by the moment—seeping through the blade itself as a conduit, slowly encroaching upon their bodies.