“The Blood-Forging Soul Array!” an elderly scholar shrieked. “An ancient demonic formation! Back away now!”
Panic slashed through every face. The group scattered toward the tunnel. Jared retreated with them, cold clarity settling in his chest. So, it is a snare… Someone doesn’t merely want us dead. They want our very spirits refined into fuel…
Shadows peeled from the cavern walls, resolving into more than a dozen figures clad in black combat gear. Each wore a snarling demon mask, their aura sharp as winter steel. The three at the front radiated power equal to Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Seven; the rest hovered only a tier or two lower. Together they formed a silent, murderous barricade between the survivors and any hope of escape. They closed in from every direction, barricading every alleyway, rooftop, and break in the rubble until flight itself felt impossible, as though an iron net had dropped over the plaza.
“Malevolent Path Hall!” Conrad growled, the scar along his jaw whitening as his teeth clenched so hard the sound cracked like ice.
Dustin, now safely among the black-robed intruders, bowed to the foremost figure and reported with practiced servility, “Lord Ghostshade, the target has been delivered…”
The envoy inclined his hooded head. A pair of coal-dark eyes skimmed the penned-in survivors before boring into Jared. His voice rasped like frost on steel. “So you are Jared Chance?”
As expected. They came for me and no one else!
“I am,” Jared answered, stepping far enough forward that every torch lit the calm on his face. “For spies, your Hall is quick,” he added, his voice level and almost courteous. “I set foot on level eleven only hours ago, and already you can’t wait to rush over and die.”
“Die?” The envoy gave a soft, derisive laugh. “Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One, and you dare speak of our deaths?”
“Orders from the Hall Master,” the envoy continued, letting the words ring out. “A cool one million high-grade celestial stones and an elder’s seat to whoever brings back your head. My brothers and I gladly accept the bounty.” He flicked his gaze to the men flanking him. “Third, silence the rest—leave no witnesses! Second, help me subdue the boy. Alive. The Master needs his soul intact!”
“Understood!” One black-robed killer lunged toward Conrad and the trapped cultivators while the second fell in beside the envoy, both advancing on Jared with predatory poise.
Vermilion Demon Lord roared and leapt in front of Jared, rivers of dark-crimson demonic essence surging around his armor like living flame.
“A demon-cultivator?” the envoy sneered. “Novel, but insufficient!” His hand snapped downward. “Attack!”
The order was still echoing when both assassins struck at once. One blurred forward with a dagger black as night; its tip gleamed with a cold blue toxin and speared toward Jared’s throat as swiftly as a viper’s tongue. The other swung a pair of metallic ghost claws. Wind screamed around the talons as they scythed straight for Jared’s chest, heavier than a hammer, shriller than tearing glass.
Fast matched with vicious, finesse with brute force—the duet was calculated to leave not a fingerbreadth in which Jared could slip away. Victory, they believed, would be instant. After all, against a mere first-grade Heavenly Immortal, two seasoned killers felt like overkill, not risk.
Across the square, Conrad and the other captives buckled under the third assassin’s assault, each heartbeat adding blood to the stones. Vermilion tried to break free, but five and six-grade disciples from Malevolent Path Hall swarmed him, shackling his power with their own.
For a breathless instant, it seemed Jared would die where he stood, until he finally moved. He neither dodged nor raised a guard. Instead, Jared drew his sword, the motion so measured it felt like the hush before thunder. The instant Jared’s Dragonslayer left its sheath, a sword intent fierce enough to sever karma and unravel every spell burst toward the cavern roof. Frost followed in its wake, draining several degrees from the air and blanching the stone walls.
Jared roared, “Void Slash!”
His blade drew an arc so abstruse it defied geometry, brushing aside the poisoned dagger and the lunging ghost claw with what looked like an off-hand flick. No thunder cracked. No blinding flash heralded the cut. Instead, a single gray filament, thin as spider silk and nearly invisible, slipped from the sword’s tip. Where that strand drifted, space quivered, ripples spreading like circles in a pond struck by a lone pebble.
Shch, shch!
A heartbeat later, the sound resembled silk being sliced in a tailor’s shop. The venom-tipped dagger, still three inches from Jared’s throat, snapped in two, its break as smooth as mirrored glass. At that same breath, the iron ghost claw shattered on contact, exploding into a glittering cloud of metal shards.
The two black-clad assassins froze mid-lunge, horror widening their eyes beyond belief. They stared at their ruined weapons, then at the fading gray filament as though the laws of reality had been rewritten before them.
“W-What… What sword art is that?” the leader gasped.
Jared answered with an icy stare and a second stroke. The filament split, two serpents of steel-gray light gliding soundlessly toward the men’s throats. Fast—so fast thought itself trailed behind! Panic warped their faces; they hurled celestial power into makeshift shields and tried to dive away.
The serpents ignored distance entirely. The moment the idea of escape formed, the threads had already whispered past their necks.
Pfft! Pfft!
Two wet pops broke the hush. Masked heads arced skyward. Blood geysered from open stumps, only to hiss into crimson vapor against the cavern’s heat. Two elite assassins of Malevolent Path Hall, both Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Seven, had not survived a single exchange.
Silence crashed over the chamber. The third assassin menacing Conrad, and every cultist locked with the Vermilion Demon Lord, simply stopped, gaping while the headless bodies toppled. Dustin’s sycophantic grin petrified, melting into bottomless terror; his knees rattled like dice in a cup. Meanwhile, Conrad and the others stood dumbstruck, their rush of survival drowned out by this overwhelming spectacle.
A Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One… One sword, and two seventh-tiers slain?! In that instant, their understanding of power inverted.
Jared lowered his blade. A ghostly pallor crept across his cheeks. He had already unleashed Void Slash twice in a row. The brutal stroke siphoned almost half of the celestial essence still racing through his veins. For a man at his present stage, the technique was earth-shattering, yet the strain it left on muscle, marrow, and spirit was heavier still. He never got the chance to steady his breath.
The third black-clad assassin snapped back to awareness and tore the silence with a shriek sharp enough to peel stone. The man howled, “Form the array! Netherworld Triple-Slaughter Array!”
