Fang Han knew all too well how powerful a Shura was—swift as lightning, untouchable even by flying swords, its scales harder than steel. A single one possessed strength rivaling thirteen horses, a force that only experts in the Divine Ability Realm could suppress. If one Shura was that terrifying, what about ten working together?
Even disciples like Jin Shitai, famed for their strength, would likely be crushed instantly—leaving not even bones behind.
If I can truly evolve all ten Flying Yakshas into Shuras, he thought, I'll secure my place among the elite disciples. I might even dominate the Mountain and River Rankings. I should also find out who holds the top spot now. I've spent all my time cultivating, not making allies. That's not the best strategy…
He sprinted onward, chasing the faint traces of the demonic army—not to fight them head-on, which would be suicide, but to hunt stragglers along the way. Each kill meant another refined Biluodan, a purer form of Blood Pill, and an excellent medicine for his cultivation. The more demons he slew, the sharper his reflexes and instincts became.
This was real combat—no illusions, no safety nets. Ten days and nights in the Demon Battlefield would forge him anew.
"Yan," Fang Han muttered to the spirit bound within him, "when I face the next demon, don't intervene. I need to test myself."
"Relax," Yan replied dryly. "Even if you call for me, I won't appear. There are too many demons here—if I act, the Yuhua Sect will sense it. That would ruin everything. Don't use the Silver Snake Sword or the Blood Cotton Robe either. You can openly use the Seven Fiend Gourd though—it's enough to protect you."
With that, Yan's voice faded. Fang Han felt the ancient tattoo of the Yellow Springs Diagram sink beneath his skin, vanishing completely.
He exhaled slowly. "Good. There'll be plenty of disciples in danger soon. If I can save some, I'll gain their gratitude—and perhaps some loyal allies."
He smiled grimly. "Time to show what I can do."
His senses sharpened like a predator's. Every shift of wind and grass stirred his nerves. Then, without warning, he veered sharply and struck a seemingly ordinary boulder with his palm.
The "rock" screamed. It twisted midair into the shape of a sinister old Daoist—another demon, disguised and lying in ambush. But Fang Han's spirit was keen enough to see through the trick.
"Kui Star Kicks the Dipper!"
His leg flashed out, radiating sharp, masculine energy. The demon shattered into pieces before it could even reform, and the Sky Wolf Smoke swept out to seize its remnants, pulling them into the Yellow Springs Diagram.
Yan said nothing—only refined the essence into a shining Biluodan.
A clean kill. One strike, one corpse.
Fang Han moved on, faster now, confidence burning in his chest. Before long, he found another pack of fifteen demons. His shout echoed like thunder, shaking them apart with sound waves before the Sky Wolf Smoke devoured them.
Twenty Biluodan now gleamed in his pouch. Thirty-one demons slain. Ten fed to the Yakshas, one consumed himself, the rest saved for the future. In cultivation, pills were both food and fortune.
Sound attacks hurt these demons badly, he noted. They're made of pure demonic energy. But what about the Demon Kings—beings even stronger than Shura? If I could kill one… no, without Yan's help, I'd never survive.
Still, he refined his technique, slaying with speed and precision. Another demon swooped from the sky—dead in an instant.
"Twenty-one pills… still far from my goal. I'll need at least five hundred kills."
Meanwhile, deep within Yuhua Sect's Heavenly Academy, several half-elders stood before a massive mirror, their faces pale. On its surface, black and red dots moved in chaotic swarms—the black representing demons, the red their disciples.
"There are too many!" one elder cried. "In past trials, there were a tenth as many. The Sect Master sealed this region—no strong demons should've entered! And the number keeps increasing!"
"I've already sent word to the Heavenly Palace. The Grand Elders will respond soon."
Even as they spoke, a bell tolled above the clouds—clang! clang! clang!
"The Heaven-Earth Alarm!" someone gasped. "All True Disciples and Mountain-River Rank disciples must report to the Heavenly Palace immediately!"
It was an unprecedented call—proof of the sect's respect for those ranked disciples, nearly equal to the True Disciples themselves.
But Fang Han, far away in the blood-soaked battlefield, knew nothing of this. He was lost in the rhythm of combat, learning the demons' tricks, mimicking their stolen martial arts, refining his own.
Each fight was like facing the myriad faces of human nature—deceit, greed, fury, despair. His heart grew calmer, his spirit sharper, his insight deeper.
"Understanding the world, mastering human nature…" he murmured.
Then another ambush—three entire squads of demons encircling him. Fang Han roared, summoning the Sky Wolf Smoke to wrap around him like a cocoon. His energy surged; the smoke condensed into a black armor that clung to his body.
"The Sky Wolf Battle Armor!"
It was the true form of his artifact—born from his powerful spirit, the armor radiated killing intent. Every demon that touched it shattered instantly, their essence sucked into the Yellow Springs Diagram.
"Thirty-five… fifty… sixty-one!"
In a single burst, thirty more demons perished. Fang Han surged through the skies like a hunting wolf, wrapped in shadow and fury.
Then—music.
The sound of flutes and zithers drifted from ahead. His "wolf eyes" narrowed. In the distance, hundreds of demons swirled in the air, surrounding a ring of Yuhua disciples.
"Another illusion?"
He paused, focusing. "No… those are real people. I can feel their life force. And that music—it carries spiritual power. Sound-based artifacts! They're holding the demons at bay!"