Fang Han spotted the trapped disciples below—but he didn't rush to intervene.
Hundreds of Sky Demons swarmed like a living storm; charging in recklessly would be suicide. He needed to observe, to strike only when the time was right. What truly intrigued him was how those disciples were holding their ground.
The flute and zither they wielded weren't ordinary treasures—they were spiritual artifacts. Who among the outer sect disciples could possess such powerful items? Even the princes of the Great Virtue Dynasty didn't have spiritual weapons.
Among spiritual artifacts, flying swords and robes of protection were most revered—offensive and defensive perfection. The flute and zither might not rival those, but their sonic power was devastatingly effective against Sky Demons. Clearly, these women had prepared carefully for the Demon Battlefield assessment.
So the outer sect has its hidden dragons after all, Fang Han thought, shooting upward. Wrapped in his Sky Wolf Battle Armor, he soared silently into the clouds. His speed now far surpassed what the Blood Cotton Robe could offer.
The armor exuded a faint demonic aura, masking his human scent. To the Sky Demons below, he was just another shadowy kin, unnoticed amid the chaos. Below him, the waves of sound crashed through the air—righteous melodies so fierce they shook the heavens. Demons faltered midflight, some even crashing to the ground in human form, dazed. Yet for every one that fell, more surged forward.
Watching coldly from above, Fang Han soon saw the truth:
"All of them… are women."
On the ground, a ring of eight female disciples struggled to hold the line.
"Sister Yue'er, there are too many of them this time!" one cried. "This is nothing like last year's trial. Can your Pine-Wave Zither and Cloud-Water Flute really keep them back?"
Xu Yue'er sat cross-legged amid the storm, her fingers dancing across an ancient zither carved from lightning-struck wood—its surface half-charred yet glimmering with divine hardness. Every pluck of her strings sent waves of pure yang energy rippling outward, battering the encroaching demons.
"Stay focused!" she shouted. "I borrowed these two artifacts from Sister Long specifically for this trial. Something's gone wrong—too many demons have flooded the field—but we can only hold and wait for sect reinforcements."
"Yue'er, we might not last that long!" cried another woman, the one playing the flute. She passed the instrument to a nearby sister, pale from exhaustion.
"Yu'er, no despair!" Yue'er's voice rang firm. "Play in turns—each of you for one hour. Pour your spirit into the flute. Let your will merge with the sound. The Cloud-Water Flute will temper your breath and strengthen your essence. Remember, danger is the crucible of growth. Seize it!"
Yu'er forced a faint smile. "I haven't lost faith, but if a Demon King appears, we'll be helpless…"
Yue'er nodded grimly. "True. Ordinary demons are manageable. If one or two breach our defense, we can resist with spirit alone. But a Demon King…" She paused, her gaze steady. "Then our fates would be worse than death."
The other women blanched at her words. Eight of them, all strikingly beautiful, all trembling beneath the shadow of the demonic swarm.
A guttural laugh tore through the wind.
"Well, well… pure female cultivators. So much untainted yin energy. Perfect to feast upon!"
"Don't kill them too quickly," another demon hissed, voice dripping with vile hunger. "Their screams make the sweetest symphony. The more despair, the stronger we grow…"
Several powerful demons surged through the weakening sound barrier. Their forms half-corporeal, half-shadow, their aura towering—they were high-tier Sky Demons, almost Demon Kings in strength.
They cackled and morphed, flesh bubbling into monstrous human shapes—towering men, muscles rippling, eyes gleaming with depravity.
"Ah!" the disciples screamed, terror spreading like fire.
"Compose yourselves!" Yue'er roared. Her eyes flashed open, fingers striking her strings with renewed ferocity. The zither's tone shifted from melody to battle cry—metal against metal, drums of war, a surge of killing intent that roared like a tiger.
The demons snarled. "Form the Wind Drill!"
Their command sent dark winds spinning into a vortex—a monstrous tornado drilling straight into the sound waves.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The shockwave shattered the melodies. Yue'er's zither jumped from her lap; she pressed down hard, but it slipped free. The flutist beside her was flung backward, tumbling across the ground.
The sound barrier collapsed. The Sky Demons swarmed.
"Fight to the death!" Yue'er shouted.
Dozens of talismans ignited—Spirit Suppression Charms, bursting into crimson flames that cloaked the disciples like spiritual fire, warding off corruption. But the fire's power was fleeting—it would last only half an hour.
Fang Han watched from above, tense. He had no such charms—he hadn't been in the sect long enough to earn them.
"It's no use!" roared one of the massive demons. The hulking figures lunged, tearing through defenses. One woman's sword was ripped from her grasp, her protective flame flickering dangerously low.
Yue'er and Yu'er stood firm, but despair shadowed their faces.
If I wait any longer… they'll all die.
Fang Han clenched his fists.
From the heavens came a deafening wolf's howl, shattering the sky. A torrent of black light streaked downward, sweeping across the battlefield like a storm of shadows. The weaker demons screamed as the black aura coiled around them, twisting and devouring them whole.
Fang Han had finally moved—charging into the swarm of hundreds, alone, his battle armor howling like a beast unleashed.