The shadow of Bai Qingyao lingered at the periphery of Shen Xian’s perception, a faint ripple in the spiritual fabric of the fifth floor. With his Soul Formation Divine Sense, her presence was as conspicuous as a candle in a dark room. Shen Xian didn’t turn back; he simply let his intent flare—a cold, final warning that brooked no further trailing. Feeling the weight of his refusal, the woman finally withdrew into the gloom.

Free of his shadow, Shen Xian and Wei Zhaoli pressed deeper into the heart of the Blood Hall. For several days, they drifted through the ancient, gore-stained corridors like ghosts, unearthing hidden alcoves of spirit stones and weathered jade slips. But the air was thickening, growing heavy with the metallic tang of old slaughter.

At the absolute terminus of the hall, the architecture opened into a cavernous void. In the center stood a monolithic altar.

It was a jagged construction of dark red crystal, its facets weeping a slow, viscous energy. Eerie demonic patterns writhed across its surface like living veins. Surrounding the dais, nine massive bronze pillars rose into the darkness, thick crimson chains snaking from their heights to bind a central, hideously contorted demon statue.

At the statue’s feet stood Lin Lang. He clutched a shard of blood-colored jade, his silhouette blurred by a swirling vortex of Fiend Fire and malevolent Qi.

As they approached, Lin Lang’s lips curled into a sneer. “Tsk. The Young Master of the Shen family truly lives up to the hype. It’s a pity, Shen Xian—you’re far too late.”

Though Shen Xian had previously left him broken and bloodied, Lin Lang now stood tall. His wounds were gone, replaced by an aura so dense it felt like a physical weight pressing against the floorboards.

“Lin Lang!” Wei Zhaoli’s voice shook with righteous fury. “You’ve butchered your own kin, your own sect brothers. Once we step out of this purgatory, there will be no corner of the cultivation world where you can hide. I will see you Answer to the Sect!”

Lin Lang threw back his head, a bark of derisive laughter echoing off the crystalline walls. “Junior Sister Wei, your innocence is almost touching. Tell me: who reports the crime when there are no survivors?”

Wei Zhaoli stepped forward, her hand white-knuckled on her blade. “This altar reeks of the Great Abyss. To deal with demons is to invite the heavens to strike you down. Do you not fear Divine Retribution?”

“Divine Retribution?” Lin Lang’s eyes snapped open, glowing with a frenzied, crimson light. The blood-mist around him surged. He looked down at them with a gaze of utter contempt, as if viewing ants from a mountaintop. “In this Blood Hall, I am the heavens!”

As the words left his lips, the void above groaned. Thunder rumbled within the chamber, a localized storm of spiritual pressure gathering to strike.

Throughout the exchange, Shen Xian remained silent. His eyes were narrowed, tracing the flow of Qi between Lin Lang and the jade shard. Lin Lang was a snake—sinister, decisive, and rarely prone to monologue. If he was talking, he was stalling.

He hasn’t fully merged with the altar yet, Shen Xian realized.

[Wuchen Sword] sang as it cleared its scabbard. In a blur of motion, Shen Xian’s aura detonated. He vanished.

Boom!

A pillar of snow-white sword light tore through the stagnant air, carrying a sharp, cleansing intent that threatened to split the altar in two. Lin Lang’s face paled. He frantically thrust the jade shard forward, screaming a command. Nine translucent curtains of blood-light hissed into existence, forming a jagged perimeter.

“Stop him!”

It was a futile cry. The [Wuchen Sword] was an unstoppable force; the first barrier shattered like cheap glass upon contact. The second and third followed a heartbeat later. The sword light, capable of mincing a Golden Core Perfection cultivator, carved through the “invincible” defenses as if they were wet paper.

Panic flared in Lin Lang’s eyes. He slammed his palm against the crystal altar. The ground buckled, and dozens of blood-soaked puppets clawed their way out of the stone, their eyes glowing with Golden Core intensity.

Shen Xian didn’t break his stride. He moved with a dancer’s grace, his sword light coiling around him like a protective dragon, parrying the puppets’ claws with rhythmic, metallic clangs.

Too strong. He’s too strong! Lin Lang realized with a jolt of terror. He couldn’t let Shen Xian reach the summit.

Desperate, Lin Lang shifted his focus. He didn’t aim for the monster in front of him; he aimed for the weakness at his side. The jade jue flashed, spitting a needle-thin arrow of concentrated malice straight for Wei Zhaoli’s heart.

The obsidian puppet Shen Xian had gifted her reacted instantly. Its pitch-black arm swung up in a blur of reinforced stone.

Clang!

The arrow shattered against the puppet’s forearm, leaving nothing but a faint white scratch. The Third-Tier guardian didn’t even flinch.

“A Third-Tier puppet?!” Lin Lang hissed. His plan was crumbling. Seeing no other way, he bit the tip of his tongue and sprayed a mist of Essence Blood onto his jade shard. “Then let us all burn!”

The altar convulsed. The chains on the bronze pillars snapped with the sound of whip-cracks, dissolving into thousands of floating runes. The central demon statue’s eyes flickered to life, twin beams of concentrated ruin sweeping across the room. The power was suffocating—a Law Suppression so heavy it felt as if a Nascent Soul True Lord had stepped into the fray.

“Careful!” Shen Xian’s left hand shot out. The [Taixu Rope] lashed out like a living serpent, wrapping around Wei Zhaoli’s waist and yanking her behind the safety of his back. He pushed his Flawless Golden Core to its limit, dodging the beams by a hair’s breadth.

Where the beams hit the floor, the stone simply ceased to exist, replaced by smoldering craters of necrotic energy.

On the altar, Lin Lang was transforming. His skin was spider-webbed with cracks, leaking thick, black-red smoke. The jade shard had fused into his flesh, turning his right arm into a monstrous, oversized demon claw.

“Hahaha! Feel it!” Lin Lang’s voice was a wet, guttural rasp. “This is true power!”

He lunged. The demon claw tore through space, sending five arcs of bloody energy shrieking toward them. Shen Xian met the blow with the flat of his blade, but the impact sent a shockwave through his marrow, forcing him back three steps.

“You… will… all… die!”

Lin Lang was no longer a man; he was a phantom of the Blood Hall, his power surging toward the threshold of the Nascent Soul realm. He unleashed a literal tidal wave of blood-mist, a curtain of gore designed to crush everything beneath it.

But Shen Xian’s eyes remained icy.

“Enough.”

He summoned the [Zhenyue Huntian Bell]. The artifact rang out—a deep, resonant bronze toll that seemed to anchor the very atoms of the room. An earth-yellow dragon spirit spiraled upward, and the altar’s chaotic energy hit a wall of absolute stillness.

[Law Suppression]

The spiritual flow within ten miles was seized by an iron fist. The blood curtain slowed, its momentum dying in mid-air. Shen Xian didn’t stop there. He threw out a second treasure: the [Fantian Cauldron].

A torrent of pure, solar fire erupted. It wasn’t just heat; it was the essence of the sun, burning away the filth of the Fiend Fire. The blood-light evaporated into nothingness.

“A mere Golden Core, playing at being God?” Shen Xian’s voice was a calm blade.

Lin Lang, lost to madness, threw himself forward. He ignored the fire, his demon claw reaching for Shen Xian’s throat. Shen Xian simply ignited the [Lihuo True Seal] on his brow. A net of white-hot flame ensnared the attacker, charring the demonic flesh.

In a final, desperate paroxysm, Lin Lang triggered the demon statue’s eyes one last time. This beam was different—it was solid, a pillar of concentrated suffering etched with the screaming faces of ten thousand souls. It was a mental assault as much as a physical one.

Shen Xian’s mind wavered for a fraction of a second, the wails of the damned echoing in his skull. Then, the [Xuanyuan Ningzhen Jue] surged, his sixth-stage heart technique flushing the illusions away with a wave of crystalline clarity.

He reached for his ultimate defense: the [Taiyi Mirror].

As the mirror flipped into the air, its surface rippled like mercury. The blood-pillar struck the glass and vanished as if entering a different dimension. The yin-yang symbol on the mirror’s back spun with blinding speed.

Reflect.

The beam shot back, purified into a streak of golden light, carrying the added weight of the [Taixu] power. It struck the demon statue’s head, vaporizing it instantly.

Shen Xian didn’t wait for the dust to settle. He was already a blur of movement. [Wuchen Sword] flashed.

Crack!

The jade shard in Lin Lang’s arm shattered. The traitorous disciple shrieked, his demonic form collapsing back into a broken, bleeding human shell. “You… you destroyed it… then come with me!”

He smashed a dark pendant on his chest. A black streak, faster than any sword, hissed toward Shen Xian.

“Heart-Devouring Gu!” Wei Zhaoli’s scream was a piercing note of terror. She knew that poison—it was a death sentence that ignored all cultivation.

She didn’t think. She threw herself in front of him.

Pfft.

The black streak vanished into her chest. Dark, spider-web veins instantly erupted across her fair skin, crawling toward her neck. She collapsed into Shen Xian’s arms.

“You… why?” Shen Xian’s voice, usually so steady, cracked.

Lin Lang coughed up a glob of black blood, a hideous grin on his face. “So deep… such love… let’s see you save her from the Heart-Devourer.”

The [Wuchen Sword] didn’t let him finish. It pierced his throat, pinning him to the stone. Lin Lang’s eyes went dull, his body slumped into the cooling blood of the altar.

“Zhaoli!” Shen Xian knelt, cradling her. Her skin was turning ash-gray, her spiritual pulse fading like a retreating tide.

“Shen… lang…” She managed a faint, pained smile. A trickle of black blood escaped her lips. She had paid her debt of affection in full.

Shen Xian’s Divine Sense swept through her, and his heart sank. The Gu was eating her Golden Core. He tried to use the [Lihuo True Seal] to burn it out, but the moment the holy flame touched her, she gasped in agony, the black veins pulsing violently.

External force only makes it more aggressive, he realized, a rare flash of panic flickering in his eyes. He was the wealthiest man in the hall, a master of artifacts and swords, but here, in the shadow of the altar, he was helpless.

Unless she could fight it from the inside.