Chapter Sixty: Spoils of War

Boom!

A flash of blood-red light thundered toward Lu Qian.

Wherever it passed, the ground was plowed into deep furrows.

Ji Kong gripped the blood-devouring demonic blade, his heart ablaze with hatred. The blade, influenced by his malice, erupted with a ferocious thirst for blood.

“No rush. In a moment, you’ll drink your fill of our enemies’ fresh blood,” Ji Kong sneered cruelly.

The baleful fire unleashed by the Sevenfold Slaughter Sword of Yin had already left his body charred and broken, his soul wounded as well. He had become a creature half-human, half-demon.

He drew ever closer to the man in black.

The man’s eyes were tightly shut; the bluish vapor above his head had been entirely absorbed. His presence was deep and reserved, as unyielding as a mountain.

Ji Kong felt a faint sense of disappointment—what a pity he could not witness his opponent weep in despair before death.

At that instant, the black-robed Daoist suddenly opened his eyes.

A sharp gleam burst forth, black mist swirling into existence.

The murk half-veiled his face, revealing only his clear, shining gaze.

The Daoist smiled, as if greeting an old friend after many years apart. “My friend, your timing is perfect. Allow me to test my newfound skill upon you.”

His expression brimmed with confidence, his tone bold with the pride of mastery.

Boom!

A surge of pitch-black true water erupted from Lu Qian, and without invoking any spell, he drove his fist straight ahead.

His fist was sheathed in a membrane of black light, radiating a bone-chilling cold as it tore through the air.

The killing intent was razor-sharp, prickling the back like needles.

His fist collided with the blood-devouring demonic blade.

“Hm?”

The scene Ji Kong had envisioned—his foe cleaved in two, their blood drained—did not occur. Instead, it was as if his blade had struck an unyielding stone. A tremendous force reverberated down the weapon.

Ji Kong grunted, forced to stagger back several steps, gouging deep ruts into the earth.

“Your cultivation has grown, but today you’ll still die!” Ji Kong roared, and the demonic blade spewed forth a scarlet mist.

“That’s Ji Kong’s Blood-Dissolving Demonic Mist! To touch it is death,” the distant man muttered, wary, eyes fixed on the battlefield.

He worried whether the mysterious Daoist could prevail over Ji Kong. If not, he would have to flee.

Wherever the blood mist spread, even stone blackened and dissolved into a vile slurry.

The toxic fog rolled in from every direction, sealing off all of Lu Qian’s escape routes.

There was almost no hope of survival.

Whether he stood his ground or attempted to break through, it made no difference.

Any contact would reduce him to the same fate as everything else that touched it.

“Your artifact is fierce, your sorcery vicious. Even a master cultivator would find you a formidable foe,” Lu Qian observed the encroaching blood mist, calm and unhurried. “But it’s unfortunate for you to have met me.”

Whoosh!

His robes billowed as he summoned his true energy.

The River of the Yellow Springs surged in his mind’s eye, dragons leaping and frolicking, spitting and swallowing black water, summoning clouds and rain.

Lu Qian swept his hand, sending out a torrent of pitch-black water.

The inky stream writhed like a dragon’s claws and fangs.

The water was pure black, devouring all light—a substance as cold and shadowed as anything in the world, capable of washing all things clean.

Crash!

The true water of Yin Kui swept outward, instantly dissipating most of the blood mist, then tore open a gap and shot straight for Ji Kong’s face.

Ji Kong barely had time to react, only managing to raise his demonic blade in a reflexive block.

Boom!

The blade screeched under the strain. Hairline cracks, like spiderwebs, appeared in its bone-white surface.

“So heavy! How has he become this powerful?”

The immense force jolted Ji Kong’s mind to temporary clarity.

The Yin Kui true water was known for its relentless cleansing power and crushing weight.

This black dragon’s surge carried the strength of ten thousand tons.

In a single instant, the spiritual imprint on the blood-devouring demonic blade was washed away; its glow faded and it fell to the ground.

The black water struck the dragon-scale armor directly.

Crack!

The armor fractured; the plates seemed to writhe, as if sentient and wracked with pain.

Yin Kui true water engulfed Ji Kong entirely.

For dozens of yards all around, the land was laid waste, blood mist and true water leveling everything.

Even a pair of Daoists who had retreated miles away felt the shockwave.

“Brother San, I think we should leave. Their powers are terrifying,” the woman said anxiously.

“Sister Wu, you don’t understand. The fiercer their fight, the more exhausted they’ll be. When it’s over, won’t it be easier for us to act? Let’s wait a little longer. If it’s not possible, we’ll leave,” the man replied stubbornly, heedless of her advice, his mind fixed on the outcome.

For some reason, the woman found her companion suddenly unfamiliar.

They did not know that the omnipresent mists of the underworld subtly influenced the minds of all who entered.

There is a gulf between the living and the dead, between the world of mortals and the realm of ghosts.

Yang energy from the mortal realm weakens spirits; the yin mists of the underworld amplify the darkness within living hearts.

This was true for the man, for Ji Kong, and for Lu Qian himself before he mastered the Purity of Heart Incantation.

Back on the battlefield—

The dragon-scale armor was a formidable artifact, barely withstanding the crushing force.

It also absorbed most of the impact; otherwise, Ji Kong would have been reduced to pieces.

But before Ji Kong could rejoice, a black shadow sliced through the air.

Lu Qian, wielding a three-foot azure sword, moved like a dragon.

Murderous intent radiated coldly, aimed straight at his brow.

This period of seclusion had taken his Supreme Yin Guidance to perfection—the late stage of Qi Refining.

All his true energy had been transformed into Yin Kui true water.

A single gesture summoned a torrent of energy, surging like mighty rivers.

His true energy, turned to yin water, had also tempered his body to an unprecedented degree—he was now like a walking artifact.

“Ah! Impossible!” Faced with this unprecedented crisis, Ji Kong’s mind cleared completely; he roared in fury and despair.

He could not fathom how his opponent’s strength had soared so dramatically.

“My friend, prepare to meet your end!” Lu Qian laughed heartily.

Li Du’s assessment of him had not been wrong.

Outwardly calm, yet inwardly ablaze, he gambled everything for victory—erasing his enemy’s hope and reveling in the thrill of the contest.

The Sevenfold Slaughter Sword of Yin pierced Ji Kong’s skull. A breath of baleful fire followed, reducing him to ashes—leaving behind only the dragon-scale armor and the demonic blade.

Lu Qian crouched and searched the remains.

There is no greater joy, after vanquishing a formidable foe, than collecting the spoils of victory.

The man had emerged from the explosion with most of his belongings destroyed, but the dragon-scale armor and demonic blade remained.

Lu Qian stowed them in his pouch of holding.

It was enough; though slightly damaged, they were still artifacts.

He could keep them for himself or sell them for a handsome price.

This time, he was determined to exchange them for a new spell, or perhaps for a method of alchemy or smithing.

“But wait, there’s still you two…” Lu Qian turned abruptly, offering a calm smile to the man and woman miles away.

“Now!” the man shouted. The longsword on his back soared into the sky.

Both of them froze, their flight halted.

It was not that Lu Qian had caught up, but that a dozen eerie paper figures blocked their path.

Clad in crimson funeral robes, faces white with rouge at the cheeks, mouths twisted into uncanny smiles, they cast showers of spirit money into the air.

…

(Brothers, regular updates are between noon and two, and evening between eight and ten. I’m on night shift today, just woke up, and writing is a bit slow. Damn this wretched company—half the month is night shifts, only thirty-five hundred a month, and they always find excuses to dock my pay. Once this book is on sale and I can afford a meal, I’ll quit for sure.)