Chapter Forty: A Sword from the West (Second Update Today)

As the figure in black robes drifted downward, Nan Fenglang suddenly recalled the cultivators who had met tragic ends on the frozen lake outside the ice valley, remembered the powerful Realm Guardian who had turned into an icicle in an instant, and recalled Bei Chenwan, who had just been split in two. An overwhelming emptiness and exhaustion rose in her heart, sweeping over her along with the fatigue in her body.

This was indeed a dire situation. From the moment she learned of the coming of the Sacred Beast, Nan Fenglang had sensed something amiss. Since Jin Buhuan and Zuo Hao had reached some kind of agreement, and yet Jin Buhuan had unilaterally broken it by ordering Hua Queyue to capture the Sacred Beast, he must have been prepared. Moreover, although this place was technically outside the Realm, it still belonged to it. How could such a powerful demonic figure in black robes appear here? What was his objective? And was the Realm truly so unprepared?

"Careful!" Zhou Yu's warning rang in her ears, jolting Nan Fenglang from her doubts. She sensed a chill behind her and spun her body, dissolving into a gust of wind. Just as she vanished, a crimson arc from a battle-axe swept through the space she had occupied.

The wind gathered again in another part of the sky, and Nan Fenglang's figure slowly emerged. Her face was pale, drenched in sweat, her breathing ragged. Her thin, light garment was soaked and clung to her delicate form, stray locks of her hair, damp and disheveled, plastered to her face.

In that brief instant, she had become utterly disheveled.

"The Art of Wind Dissolution is still too advanced for you. You managed to evade this time, but how many more times can you use it? Twice? Or just once?" Xuan Zhan said impassively, lifting his battle-axe and bringing it down once more in a mighty swing.

"Tsk, tsk... Little White Dog, it’s time to wake up." The black-robed figure was about to land atop the Sacred Qilin, his withered, tree-like arm already reaching out.

"Begone, demon!" Hua Queyue flashed in front of him, sending a beam of green light toward the black-robed figure.

The green light pierced the black robe.

"Tsk, tsk... impressive, but you missed." The black-robed man sneered, continuing his descent, a swirl of black mist pouring from his wide sleeve toward Hua Queyue.

The black mist surged with tremendous force, engulfing Hua Queyue before he could evade. The mist roiled, compressing Hua Queyue's body before drawing him back into the sleeve.

"So this is the mightiest of the younger generation in the Realm? Tsk, tsk... I admit you've spent much energy capturing this little white dog, but still, such weakness... truly, each generation is worse than the last..."

He hadn't finished speaking when a flash of green light burst from his sleeve. Startled, he flung his arm, and the glowing orb he hurled from his sleeve exploded violently the instant it was released.

With a thunderous roar, the black-robed figure was hurled against the ice wall by the force of the blast, embedding him deeply.

Had he succeeded? Hua Queyue's figure slowly appeared from beneath the snow. Earlier, he had concealed his true body beneath the snow, sending his clone to seek an opportunity for self-destruction. All had gone smoothly, and though the black-robed man's reaction was lightning-fast—managing to throw out the energy mass at the moment of explosion—even the most powerful could not withstand such a nearby blast. This was the inviolable truth of the Path of Samsara: no matter how high your cultivation, your essence remains fragile. Even if the explosion had not killed the black-robed man, it must have heavily wounded him.

"Tsk, tsk... a self-destructing clone? I truly underestimated you." A chilling voice echoed from the crater in the ice wall.

No sooner had the black-robed figure emerged than two cultivators leaped down from the ice wall, attacking him from left and right.

With a tearing sound, the black-robed man's arms shot out like withered vines, each tipped with a clawed, ghastly hand. Without flourish, the claws pierced straight through the chests of both attackers.

He withdrew his arms, now holding two still-beating hearts, shrouded himself in black mist, and stuffed both hearts into his mouth, chewing.

The wet, sucking sounds of chewing and swallowing chilled everyone present, filling the air with a stench of fear and blood.

Hua Queyue watched in silence; the black-robed figure was nothing short of a demon.

The Sacred Qilin stirred slightly, pulling Hua Queyue’s attention back. For a brief moment, his focus had slipped and his energy output faltered, allowing the Qilin to show signs of awakening. In truth, the Sacred Qilin should have awoken long ago; it was only Hua Queyue's constant infusion of energy that had kept it subdued, buying time for others to secure it with energy chains.

As the black mist cleared, the black-robed figure’s cloak appeared charred from the explosion, revealing half his body. Not only were his arms withered like ancient vines, but his torso was similarly shriveled—barely human, yet unmistakably so.

"Tsk, tsk... the taste of fresh hearts is exquisite... what a pity their power is so meager, not nearly as delicious..." The white mask with a tiger painted on it, still pristine, concealed his face, and his chilling voice issued from beneath.

Hua Queyue frowned at the tiger-masked man and demanded, "Who are you?"

"Tsk, tsk... Who am I? Tsk, tsk... Do you even know who you are?" the black-robed man retorted, drifting downward again.

The wind slipped through the rents in his robe, ballooning the tatters.

Overhead, the cold moon had turned a shade of gold.

"Tsk, tsk... let's see what other tricks you have..." he sneered, gliding toward Hua Queyue.

Hua Queyue glanced at the golden crescent moon above, and said with solemnity, "The Realm has always been dedicated to slaying demons and eradicating evil; thus, all within the Realm despise your kind."

Seeing the black-robed man puzzled, Hua Queyue continued, "Among them, there are always a few exceptions. Their hatred for your ilk has reached a level that defies description."

"Tsk, tsk... so much nonsense—are you just stalling for time?" The black-robed man floated before him, his gnarled, claw-like hand reaching out.

At that instant, a beam of golden light streaked from the distance, slamming into the black-robed man and sending him hurtling through the ice wall, more than a hundred meters away.

"I was introducing to you the one famous for his hatred of evil, the Grand Elder of the Realm—Jin Buhuan, making his grand entrance. And yet you thought I was stalling. Serves you right to be pummeled," Hua Queyue sighed with mock regret, then turned to Jin Buhuan, who now appeared before him. "This was your trap all along, wasn’t it?"

Jin Buhuan snorted and replied, "The report Elder Tianxing brought back mentioned mysterious forces vying for the Sacred Beast."

"So you made us bait, letting so many die?" Hua Queyue challenged.

Jin Buhuan flicked his sleeve. "To accomplish great things, one cannot fuss over minor losses. The demon clans are invading; to defeat them, we must seize every powerful force. Sacrifices are inevitable. Focus on capturing the Sacred Beast; leave the rest to me."

With that, Jin Buhuan transformed into a streak of golden light and flew beyond the ice wall.

"Cough, cough... Jin Buhuan... you dare ambush me... cough..." The black-robed man rose from the snow, dark red blood seeping from beneath his mask.

"Against your kind, why bother with honor?" A flash of golden light, and Jin Buhuan appeared before him.

"Tsk, tsk... so dishonor can serve justice? Is this your vaunted hatred of evil, Jin Buhuan?" the black-robed man mocked.

"Hmph! Enough talk. Reveal yourself and I’ll grant you a swift end," Jin Buhuan snapped.

"Tsk, tsk... you really think highly of yourself! But look behind you—who stands there?" the black-robed man taunted.

Had it been Zhou Yu, he would have rushed forward, pummeling the black-robed man while cursing, "Such an old trick? I was using that in kindergarten!" But Jin Buhuan was not Zhou Yu, and he turned—not because he was easily fooled, but because he sensed a powerful presence behind him, strong enough to force him to let go of his quarry and face the newcomer.

"Xuan Zhan?" Jin Buhuan asked.

"Little Jin?" Xuan Zhan replied.

Jin Buhuan flushed. He had indeed met Xuan Zhan once as a teenager, but two years later, the legendary hero had fallen into obscurity. Now, at over a hundred years old and a Grand Elder, to be called "Little Jin" was uncomfortable—though the speaker was perhaps the only one with the right.

"Senior, you have already departed this world. Why do you appear again?"

"I have returned—why should I depart once more?"

"You should not return; therefore you must depart."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I must send you on your way, Senior."

"Little Jin, you have changed so much..."

Suddenly, Jin Buhuan lashed out with his fist, cutting Xuan Zhan off. Was this old fellow about to recount his youthful heartbreak and tears? Absolutely not!

Jin Buhuan’s arms turned golden—not just superficially, but as if cast from solid gold.

With a resounding crash, Xuan Zhan blocked the blow with his own arm, stepping back several paces.

Jin Buhuan struck again; Xuan Zhan parried.

Two peerless masters fought like common street brawlers, trading brutish blows. Zhou Yu gaped in astonishment.

The old man explained, "At a certain level, skill no longer matters. It’s all about raw power—so the fighting gets ugly."

Zhou Yu said, "But if they fought weaker opponents this way, wouldn’t there be lots of openings?"

The old man rolled his eyes. "He could kill you with a single punch—what openings do you think you’ll find? Didn’t you see how Xuan Zhan nearly turned us to ashes just now?"

"But in the end, it was you who turned him to ashes," Zhou Yu pointed out.

"If I’m right, Xuan Zhan now possesses an immortal body. He doesn’t care about our attacks, which is why he allowed himself to be hit. That black-robed demon’s secret art is strange indeed—it can resurrect dead masters, who then obey him and seem to be immortal."

"So Jin Buhuan is doomed?" Zhou Yu asked.

The old man nodded gravely. "That’s my thought as well. We’d best slip away—we clearly can’t win this fight."

Zhou Yu considered this, but shook his head. "There’s still hope. If Xuan Zhan is under the black-robed man’s control, we just have to kill the black-robed man to free him."

The old man glanced at Zhou Yu. "Which do you fear more—the black-robed man, or Xuan Zhan?"

Zhou Yu thought for a moment and answered honestly, "The black-robed man. With Xuan Zhan, the worst is being blown to ashes. With the black-robed man, he’ll rip out your heart and eat it alive..."

"Haah!" Jin Buhuan roared, driving Xuan Zhan back with a punch before lunging at the black-robed man. He had seen it clearly: only by killing the black-robed man could he hope to defeat Xuan Zhan. The latter was but a corpse, yet still wielded his former strength—nearly impossible to overcome. Jin Buhuan had struck first to gain the slightest advantage, pushing Xuan Zhan back and seizing the opportunity to attack the demon.

The black-robed man, already gravely wounded from Jin Buhuan’s earlier charge, now faced the combined onslaught. As Jin Buhuan, the relentless foe of evil, unleashed his righteous fury, his eyes shone with a manic gleam, exhilarated by the prospect of vanquishing a demon.

"Tsk, tsk... Who would have thought Jin Buhuan, famed for his hatred of evil, would reveal such a grotesque face—truly a madman!" the black-robed man shrieked as he faced imminent death, his hysterical scream seemingly meant to drown out his own terror.

Yet Jin Buhuan’s fist never landed—a sword-light flashed.

A single sword arrived from the west.