Chapter 38: Zhan Xian Awakens—The Demon Lord a Sword Slave? No!

Late at night. The silence of the room was shattered by a sudden, violent vibration from Xiao Yifeng’s storage ring.

A wave of bloodthirsty, malevolent aura punched through the spatial containment. Before Xiao Yifeng could react, the essence blood within his veins began to surge uncontrollably, drawn toward the ring like iron filings to a magnet.

His face turned pale instantly. His breath came in ragged gasps.

But Xiao Yifeng was no longer the ignorant youth of the past. He recognized this sensation immediately.

Zhan Xian is awakening.

“Stay down!”

He hurriedly circulated the Nine Scrolls of Asking Heaven and the Formless Heart Sutra simultaneously, pressing down on the rebellious artifact with his spiritual will. He sent a sharp mental warning into the ring: Do not come out now. If you do, we both die.

He layered the concealing arts of his dual cultivation techniques over the ring, masking the terrifying aura leaking from it. He broke out in a cold sweat. Fortunately, Master Su Qianyi and his wife were currently in seclusion, acting as Dharma Protectors for Su Miaoqing’s breakthrough. If they had been patrolling, this pulse of evil energy would have doomed him.

Inside the ring, the sword drank a significant portion of his essence blood before finally quieting down.

Xiao Yifeng slumped back, exhausted. He knew that his blood and magic power would keep Zhan Xian pacified for a while—like tossing a steak to a tiger. But this was a temporary fix. If he didn’t resolve the issue of ownership soon, the sword would eventually drain him dry.

He took out the storage ring and stared at it for a long time. His breathing steadied, and his eyes grew cold and hard.

When he returned to this life, he had made a vow to reverse the tragedies of the past. He would not be controlled by a weapon.

He walked to the window and pushed it open. The moon was bright, the stars sparse. The cool night wind brushed against his face, clearing his mind.

Xiao Yifeng didn’t hesitate. His figure flashed, vanishing from the room like a ghost.

He sprinted toward the back mountain. Once he hit the tree line, he mounted his flying sword, skimming low over the forest canopy to avoid detection. Speed was of the essence.

Moments later, he arrived at the familiar cliff edge.

Unlike his previous visit, he didn’t need to climb. He dove straight down, the wind whistling in his ears, before pulling up at the last second to land softly at the bottom of the abyss.

The hidden crevice he had used as a child was too small for his current body, so he found a secluded clearing deep within the ironwood forest. The towering trees blocked out the moonlight, and a thick, unnatural mist shrouded the canopy. It was a place forgotten by the world.

Xiao Yifeng scanned the surroundings. The natural concealment was excellent, but he took no chances. He retrieved the formation flags for the Fire Crow Array and deployed them, activating only the stealth and aura-masking functions.

He sat cross-legged in the center of the clearing.

With a deep breath, he pulled the Zhan Xian sword from his storage ring.

The blade was pitch black, covered in intricate, dormant red veins. It felt cold and heavy in his hand. In his previous life, earning this sword’s recognition had been a stroke of impossible luck, aided by Mo Tianqing. It had been a scenario of nine deaths and one life.

Even with his memories, he had no guarantee of success.

This was a demonic weapon. The most likely outcome was that Zhan Xian would go berserk, drain his blood, and scatter his soul. In his past life, he had the fearlessness of a newborn calf. Now, he knew exactly how terrifying the abyss was.

But fear was useless.

“Zhan Xian,” Xiao Yifeng whispered, his voice steady. “I know you’re awake. Come out. Let’s talk.”

Silence.

Then, the blood-red patterns on the black blade ignited.

Countless particles of crimson light drifted from the steel, swirling in the air like blood-red fireflies. They coalesced into a figure floating a few feet off the ground.

It was a girl, appearing no older than 15 or 16. She wore a crimson dress that left her pale legs bare. Her hair was distinctively black, her eyes a glowing, demonic red, and her lips the color of fresh blood.

She looked down at him with utter indifference.

“Talk?” The Sword Spirit’s voice was ice-cold. “How do you wish to talk? By offering your throat? Do you wish to become just another soul under my blade?”

“We are both smart people,” Xiao Yifeng replied calmly. “I snatched you from Mo Tianqing’s grasp. That alone should tell you I have my secrets. Make a contract with me. I will take you to stand atop all living beings. I will feed you essence blood every month. And sooner or later… I will help you shatter every other Divine Weapon in this world.”

Xiao Yifeng spoke directly to the Sword Spirit’s core desire. He knew exactly what she wanted.

The girl’s expression flickered. “You know me well,” she admitted, her eyes narrowing. “But why should I trust you? You are a trash cultivator with mixed spiritual roots. You want to stand atop all living beings?”

“I said it before: in the past life and the present life, I am your master.” Xiao Yifeng stood up. “As for my qualifications… watch closely.”

He stopped hiding.

First, he circulated the Nine Scrolls of Asking Heaven. His aura became ethereal, righteous, like an immortal descending. Then, he shifted to the Formless Heart Sutra. His presence turned solemn and compassionate, like a Buddha. Finally, he engaged the True Explanation of Stars. His energy turned cold, vast, and eerily demonic.

Three supreme techniques. Three conflicting paths. All unified in one body.

The Sword Spirit stared at him, stunned.

“You…” She laughed, a sound like silver bells. “You are truly daydreaming. But you are interesting. The convergence of the Three Teachings? You have a massive appetite.”

She circled him in the air, her red eyes gleaming with interest. “I am curious where a brat like you stole these supreme secrets. And I am curious how far you can go before you explode. Fine. I don’t mind following you for a while. If you die, I’ll just find another wielder. But do not let me fall into the hands of those self-righteous hypocrites.”

“Naturally,” Xiao Yifeng said smoothly. “As long as you don’t pop out unannounced like last time.”

“However,” the Spirit interrupted, a cunning smile playing on her lips. “Although I am willing, the ritual is dangerous. You are too weak. If we sign an Equal Contract, your soul will collapse under my weight.”

She leaned in close, her ghostly face inches from his.

“I will only sign a Master-Servant Pact with you. Sword as Master. Human as Slave. Do you still dare?”

Xiao Yifeng cursed internally.

In my past life, and even with Mo Tianqing, the contract was equal. Now that I’m weak, she wants to enslave me?

But on the surface, he showed a look of desperate gratitude.

“I… I am willing!” Xiao Yifeng said, his voice trembling with feigned excitement. “To be the slave of such a magnificent sword is my honor. I know the risks. But for you, it is all benefit and no harm, correct?”

“Hehe… correct.” The Sword Spirit giggled, looking at him like a wolf looks at a particularly stupid sheep. She licked her lips. “Then let us begin. Watch the pattern I project in the air. Draw it on the blade with your own blood.”

She floated higher, spreading her arms. She began to chant, and behind her, complex, profound runes manifested in blood-light.

The Slave Rune.

“Do it!” she commanded.

Xiao Yifeng gripped the blade of Zhan Xian with his left hand and pulled.

Slice.

Blood gushed out, coating the black steel. The sword drank greedily. The old red patterns on the blade—the remnants of Mo Tianqing’s ownership—began to glow, resisting the intrusion.

Xiao Yifeng gripped the hilt with his blood-slicked hand and channeled the True Explanation of Stars to its limit.

“Burn!”

He wasn’t just feeding it blood; he was actively attacking the old seal.

On the surface of the blade, two distinct auras clashed. Xiao Yifeng’s blood was fresh, a river with a source. Mo Tianqing was long dead, his remnant will fading.

But a dead camel is still bigger than a horse. The resistance was fierce.

Xiao Yifeng felt his blood reversing its flow, rushing violently toward his right hand. A freezing chill invaded his arm, numbing half his body. His meridians spasmed in agony, but he didn’t make a sound. He poured every ounce of spiritual power he had into the blade.

Sizzle…

It sounded like water boiling on hot iron.

Suddenly, the sky seemed to darken. A blinding crimson light erupted from the sword, dyeing the entire forest red. A stream of black, foul-smelling blood was forced out of the sword tip. It hit the ground and dissolved into black smoke.

Mo Tianqing’s mark was gone.

Zhan Xian was now a masterless object of pure destruction. The ghostly whispers of thousands of slain souls murmured in the wind.

“Hurry up!” The Sword Spirit shouted from above. “Draw the Slave Pact! Do you want to be sucked dry?”

Xiao Yifeng felt his life force draining at a terrifying rate. His face was paper-white, but his eyes were sharp as knives.

“Rise!”

He shouted, and his blood began to move on the blade, tracing a complex sigil.

As he drew, he slowly floated into the air, suspended by the gathering storm of Qi. The wind howled, sending rocks shooting out like bullets. A vortex of power formed around him and the Spirit.

Threads of blood connected them.

The Sword Spirit looked down at the rune Xiao Yifeng was drawing. Her smug expression vanished.

“Wait…” Her eyes widened in panic. “That’s not the pattern I showed you! You’re drawing it wrong!”

“No,” Xiao Yifeng whispered, his voice cold and commanding. “I am drawing it perfectly.”

He wasn’t drawing the Slave Rune. He was drawing the Master Rune—the true binding seal that only the Sword Spirit should know.

“How… how do you know the True Binding Curse?!” The Spirit screamed, her face twisting in terror. “Stop! I don’t want to recognize you as Master! Stop it!”

She finally understood Mo Tianqing’s fear.