Song Wanxiong roared as he smashed into the “Qingwan Residence,” but the room was desolate.

The furniture was pristine, the bed made, and the windows sealed tight. The silence was deafening—the occupant had clearly fled more than a day ago.

A low, bestial growl rumbled deep in Song Wanxiong’s throat. Behind him, his wild red hair lashed at the air like a swarm of hunting vipers.

His fingers hooked into claws, shredding the wooden table into splinters with a single swipe.

“Essence Blood… still not enough!”

He spun around and crashed through the wall, sending bricks flying. Outside, he barreled into three panicked disciples, knocking them into the air like ragdolls. A jade bottle slipped from one disciple’s robe and shattered on the ground, releasing a pungent, metallic aroma.

Song Wanxiong’s pupils contracted to pinpoints. He opened his mouth and inhaled violently, sucking every drop of the spilled Essence Blood into his gullet.

It was merely an appetizer.

He transformed into a streak of bloody light, pouncing on the three fallen disciples. Screams erupted, only to be cut short by the wet tearing of flesh. Seconds later, he discarded the drained husks and shot toward the sect’s blood-refining grounds, which were currently sealed by a defensive formation.

He tore the formation open. Inside, a group of Deacons and Qi Refining disciples turned in surprise.

“Sect Leader—”

Before the greeting could leave their lips, Song Wanxiong was upon them.

The slaughter was instantaneous. The Qi Refining disciples collapsed without a sound. The Foundation Establishment Deacons managed a few futile struggles before their Spiritual Power was crushed, their eyes dimming as they slumped to the floor.

Silence returned to the blood-refining grounds.

Song Wanxiong surveyed the carnage. Seeing that not a single living soul remained within the formation, a flicker of regret passed through his eyes.

But there was no turning back now. The path to power was paved with blood.

Gritting his teeth, Song Wanxiong lowered his head and plunged his face directly into the central blood pool.

Gulp. Gulp.

He drank greedily, like a starving beast at a watering hole.

Footsteps echoed from the entrance.

Di Ping, the Spirit Beast Sect’s Golden Core Elder, walked in. He froze, his eyes widening in horror at the scene before him.

“Sect Leader Senior Brother… what are you doing?” Di Ping stammered, looking at the bodies. “The Deacons… the disciples… how could you kill them all?”

“For the Spirit Beast Sect’s grand ambition, to die for the cause is a worthy death!” Song Wanxiong didn’t lift his head, continuing to guzzle the thick liquid. “If they are gone, so be it. But if the Spirit Beast Sect falls, our legacy ends!”

Di Ping stepped back, incredulous. “You said you needed my support for a better future! But this… this is madness!”

Song Wanxiong whipped his head around. His face was a mask of crimson gore, his eyes burning with pure bestiality.

“So what? Utter another word of dissent, and I will eat you too!”

“But…” Di Ping’s voice trembled. “If you drain the blood pool, the Guardian Formation will collapse. The two thieves from the Mystic One Sect are attacking the formation’s vital points right now!”

Song Wanxiong paused. He nodded slowly, wiping his mouth. “True. I shouldn’t drink from the pool. It’s full of impurities anyway. It tastes… foul.”

Whoosh!

A blood-red blur flashed across the room. Before Di Ping could react, a hand clamped around his throat.

“I am but one step away from the Nascent Soul realm,” Song Wanxiong whispered, his voice dripping with madness. “Junior Brother, help me take that step.”

“Let me eat your spirit beast!”

Di Ping frantically flared his Spiritual Power to shield himself, screaming, “Senior Brother, wake up! The Blood Refining Art has corrupted your mind!”

“Hand over the beast, or I eat you!”

“Senior Brother, the White Tapir has been my companion for two hundred years! I cannot—”

“Then you all die!”

Song Wanxiong roared. Inside the sealed formation, Spiritual Power detonated with cataclysmic force.

A rain of blood exploded into the air.

When the red mist settled, the stone floor had been ground to dust. Song Wanxiong stood in the center of the ruins, motionless as a statue.

His right hand clamped tightly around Di Ping’s skull. The bone had deformed under the pressure, collapsing inward. Blood dripped steadily from the corner of Song Wanxiong’s mouth, soaking his robes in fresh crimson.

Suddenly, a strange phenomenon occurred.

At Song Wanxiong’s dantian point, a blood-colored Golden Core slowly floated out, hanging before his chest like a miniature blood moon.

The core pulsed with an eerie light. Then, with a sound like cracking ice, hairline fractures appeared on its surface. It was being torn apart from the inside.

Crack.

The Golden Core shattered completely.

In its place, hovering over Song Wanxiong’s heart, sat a newborn infant.

The infant was the color of coagulated blood, as if birthed from the deepest pits of hell. Its eyes were tightly shut, its legs crossed in meditation. It was small, yet it radiated a presence that was ancient, mysterious, and utterly terrifying.

The Nascent Soul.

A ripple of invisible energy swept outward from the infant.

As the fluctuation passed, the defensive formation around the blood-refining grounds shattered like glass. The corpses of Di Ping, his White Tapir, and the slaughtered disciples twitched on the ground, dancing macabrely as if manipulated by an unseen puppeteer.

The blood in the pool began to boil and churn violently.

A thick, suffocating stench of blood expanded outward, covering the entirety of Crouching Dragon Cliff like a heavy fog.

Song Wanxiong stared at the red infant floating before his chest, his expression twisting into one of intoxicated ecstasy.

“This is… the power of the Nascent Soul?”

He murmured the words, his voice trembling with excitement.

He slowly clenched his fists. He could feel it—the boundless ocean of Spiritual Power, the surge of vitality extending his lifespan by centuries. It felt as though reality itself would bend to his will.

“Nascent Soul achieved… throughout the Southern Domain, I alone am supreme!”

Song Wanxiong threw his head back and roared at the heavens.

“Ye Guxing! You Golden Core ants! What are you to me now?”

“Hahahahaha!”

His maniacal laughter echoed against the cliffs. But as the echoes faded, a faint, inexplicable unease pricked at his heart.

He looked up, confused.

The sky, previously clear, was rapidly darkening. Heavy, ink-black clouds were gathering directly above his head. Within the gloom, arcs of lightning slithered like silver snakes, accompanied by a low, menacing rumble.

Song Wanxiong frowned.

Today is my day of glory. I have become invincible. I am about to sweep Ye Guxing and his rabble into the dust. Why do I feel this dread?

He stared at the gathering storm.

Wait. These clouds… surely this is a Heavenly Phenomenon descending to celebrate my ascension?

The thought soothed his anxiety. He replaced the fear with arrogance.

Even the Heavens are rallying to me. Who dares oppose me now?

Outside the formation.

“Song Wanxiong… he actually reached the Nascent Soul realm!”

Daoist Lingyin and Daoist Lingxiu cried out in unison, their faces pale with shock.

Beside them, Qin Ting and Xiao Wen of the Little Sky Net Sect exchanged grave looks.

“A Nascent Soul cultivator in the Southern Domain…” Xiao Wen muttered. “The Upper Sect strictly forbids this. We must report this immediately.”

Ye Guxing stood apart, his expression unchanged. His brows were sharp as blades, his grip on his black sword unyielding. There was no hesitation in his eyes.

Nascent Soul realm…

If it is a Demonic Cultivator, it must die.

Suddenly, the Guardian Formation groaned.

The barrier caved inward, sucking the surrounding blood mist into a massive, funnel-shaped vortex.

On Crouching Dragon Cliff, every bird and beast let out a mournful cry before dropping dead. Weaker spirit beasts and low-level Qi Refining disciples didn’t just die—they exploded into blooms of gore. The blood from thousands of sources coalesced into a tidal wave, rushing toward Song Wanxiong.

With a teeth-grating shriek of metal and energy, the Spirit Beast Sect’s Guardian Formation opened of its own accord.

Amidst the towering waves of blood, a figure stepped into the sky.

Song Wanxiong rose, his disheveled red hair flowing like a cape of flames. Every step he took left a lingering, bloody footprint stamped onto the void itself.

“Thank you, everyone…”

Song Wanxiong’s voice boomed, dripping with rampant arrogance. “This Seat has just broken through. How kind of you to deliver yourselves as appetizers!”

Clang!

Ye Guxing’s black sword left its sheath. The cold steel reflected the icy intent in his eyes.

“You consume your own disciples as Blood Food,” Ye Guxing said calmly. “Are you even worthy of being called human?”

“Human?”

Song Wanxiong threw his head back and laughed. He spread his arms wide. Behind him, the ocean of blood surged forward, transforming into a rain of crimson arrows targeting the four Golden Core masters and Ye Guxing.

“I am no longer human. This Seat is now Immortal!”

He pressed his palm downward.

BOOM!

The Pressure of a Nascent Soul crashed down like a collapsing mountain.

At the front lines, over two hundred disciples from the Mystic One and Little Sky Net sects instantly dropped to their knees. Those with weaker cultivation screamed as their Meridians burst, vomiting blood before collapsing dead.

Further back, the disciples of the Spirit Sword Sect and Wanchun Valley felt the air solidify into lead. Breathing became a struggle.

Elder Lü’s eyes filled with the weight of ages. He sighed internally.

I never thought I would die like this, at the hands of a demon. If we fall here, how long can Wanchun Valley survive?

But… my disciple cultivates Demonic Arts. Perhaps he won’t be killed. Perhaps the demon will spare a fellow practitioner.

A small mercy in a great misfortune.

Suddenly, Ye Guxing vanished.

In the next instant, a beam of starlight tore through the blood mist. The black sword appeared inches from Song Wanxiong’s chest.

“Useless,” Song Wanxiong sneered.

He didn’t dodge. He simply raised a single finger to block the tip of the blade.

“Against the power of this Seat’s Nascent Soul, you are nothing but—”

His voice cut off.

Ye Guxing’s expression was cold, severe. The black sword erupted with blinding light as he thrust forward with everything he had.

Schlick.

Song Wanxiong felt a sharp sting. He looked down, stunned.

A single drop of blood seeped from his finger.

This sword maniac… he actually pierced my Nascent Soul Spiritual Power defense?

Song Wanxiong’s arrogance faltered. He immediately leaped backward, summoning the blood waves to wrap around him in a defensive cocoon.

I just broke through. My realm isn’t stable yet. I can still be injured by this lunatic… I shouldn’t be too reckless.

As he retreated, the unease in his heart spiked again. He couldn’t help but glance upward.

The dark clouds and roiling thunder that had been hovering over the cliff were now positioned directly above his head. The mass was pitch-black, oppressive, and heavy. Looking at it made his chest tighten with inexplicable dread.

This Heavenly Phenomenon… does it really need to brew for so long?

What kind of auspicious omen is this?