After the Sky Wolf Smoke transformed into the Sky Wolf Battle Armor, its defensive power surged once again, and the aura of ferocity thickened to a deadly intensity. This gave Fang Han a tremendous advantage over the Sky Demons—and the means to both survive and save others.
His charge into the fray wasn't reckless; it was a calculated strike. He had seen the demons breach the women's formation—every one of them lunging in, desperate for a share of the spoils, completely unaware of what was descending from above.
He came down like a feral wolf god, eyes locked on his prey, plummeting from the sky with an unrestrained, lethal roar. His lungs were powerful, his breath long and deep, and when he howled, the sound itself became a shockwave—more violent than the sonic power of the Pine-Wave Zither or Cloud-Water Flute that had shaken the battlefield earlier.
In an instant, he blasted open a path—a blood-soaked tunnel through the demonic horde.
Fang Han's strikes were ruthless. His palms swept wide, black qi surged forth; every grab, every strike shattered a demon into mist, its form unable to reconstitute. Without hesitation, he drew the scattered essences into his Jiaofu Netherworld Diagram, refining them silently into pills.
In just a few breaths, he had slain twenty or thirty Sky Demons—while still holding back the full power of the Sky Wolf Smoke. Had he spread the smoke into a wide net, he could have trapped and annihilated hundreds at once. But doing so would strip him of its protection, leaving him exposed and likely dead within moments.
"Stop him!"
Several of the stronger demons—hulking brutes in human form—reacted quickly. With guttural roars, they hurled out waves of icy yin wind, thunderous and rolling, trying to intercept him.
Fang Han didn't meet their strike head-on. Instead, he slipped aside, body gliding outward in a feint. The moment they moved to block his escape, his body dropped like a falling shadow. He became a streak of black light that spun in tight circles around Xu Yue'er, Yu'er, and the others.
The women gasped as a thick shroud of demonic smoke enveloped them.
The Sky Wolf Smoke coiled protectively, wrapping each of the eight disciples in a cocoon of black mist.
"Good," Fang Han muttered under his breath. "There are only eight. Any more, and the smoke wouldn't hold."
The Sky Wolf Smoke's strength waned with every division. Splitting it into eight parts weakened its might; the armor around Fang Han's body began to fragment, reforming into a swirling sphere of black fog. Its speed, power, and defense all diminished in turn.
"Don't panic," Fang Han's calm voice echoed in their minds. "I'm Fang Han, a disciple of the Feather Transformation Gate. I carry a demonic treasure capable of suppressing the Sky Demons. The battlefield has gone awry, but as fellow disciples, we'll face this calamity together."
The sound of his voice cut through their fear. When the smoke had first surrounded them, the women thought it was a demonic spell and were moments away from despair. But realizing it was one of their own—a rescuer—they nearly wept with relief.
Xu Yue'er and Yu'er, the group's leaders, felt tears sting their eyes. He came at the very brink of death, they thought. Without him, we'd already have fallen into the demons' hands—and begged for death in vain.
"Which senior brother do we owe our lives to?" Yue'er called out, voice trembling with gratitude. "Your kindness today, we eight sisters can never repay—even if it costs us our lives."
The surrounding smoke shifted with a deep hum, forming into a massive orb several meters across. Inside, the nine of them stood at its center, protected by a dense, pulsing barrier. Outside, hundreds of Sky Demons battered against it, shaking the mist but failing to break through.
Within the smoky sphere, the eight women turned their eyes toward Fang Han. He stood tall and resolute, radiating heroic energy. Even through his robes, one could see the sculpted power beneath—his physique refined to perfection, like a statue carved by divine hands. His presence carried both grace and dangerous magnetism.
The women's eyes widened slightly, awe mingled with admiration. What a perfectly forged man.
Fang Han's bearing was utterly transformed from before—his qi and blood had reshaped his body through the Spirit Transformation Realm, enhanced further by the power of the Nine-Aperture Golden Pill. Even among advanced cultivators, few could rival his fluid, ideal form.
"Senior Brother Fang Han," Yue'er said, her eyes sharp. "That treasure of yours—it's the Sky Wolf Sevenfold Smoke, isn't it? I've read of it before. It's said to have once been sealed inside the Sevenfold Fiend Gourd—a sacred artifact of the Demon God Sect. How did it come into your possession?"
"It was Sister Qingxue," Fang Han replied smoothly. "She seized it from the Demon God Altar and lent it to me for protection. I didn't expect it would prove so useful today. Still, we're far from safe. I haven't yet reached the Spirit Power Realm, so I can't unleash the smoke's full strength. With it spread thin around nine of us, we can't fly fast—and we won't outrun the demons."
The truth was clear: only when the Sky Wolf Smoke was condensed into armor could it achieve full speed and protection. As a sphere, burdened with nine lives, it moved like a turtle compared to the hunting demons outside.
"May I know my senior sisters' names?" Fang Han asked politely.
"I'm Xu Yue'er. She's Ye Yu—call us Yue'er and Yu'er, Brother Fang," Yue'er said. "We've been in the sect for five years and have faced the Demon Battlefield twice. We survived last time, but this… this is far beyond expectation."
"Two senior sisters, then. I've only been in the sect for half a year," Fang Han replied with a respectful bow. "And the others?"
The women giggled softly.
They hadn't expected such a powerful man to be so humble. Most strong cultivators were arrogant to the bone—cold, aloof, always posturing. Yet Fang Han, their savior, showed neither pride nor entitlement. Their admiration deepened instantly.
"I'm Ai Wei."
"Zi Xuan."
"I'm Yan Xiaoyu!"
"I'm Yan Xiaoxing—Xiaoyu's elder sister."
"Lin Fengxi."
"And I'm Nan Beibei! I'm actually a member of the Jialan Society—Rank Xuan!" the youngest, barely twelve, declared proudly.
"Jialan Society?" Fang Han raised an eyebrow.
"It's a small alliance of female disciples," Yue'er explained quickly. "We formed it to protect ourselves and grow together. With nearly forty thousand outer disciples and five thousand inner ones in the Feather Transformation Gate, factions are inevitable. Some even answer to true disciples."
"I see," Fang Han said thoughtfully. "Where there are people, there are factions. And where there's power, there's struggle."
He understood perfectly—whether in the mortal court or the cultivation world, alliances and rivalries were inevitable. The difference was that here, the stakes weren't mere wealth or titles—they were power, divinity, and eternal life.
Yu'er stepped forward, her tone solemn. "Brother Fang Han, you saved our lives. The Jialan Society will never forget this debt. When our senior sister hears of it, she'll ensure you have our full support. Whatever trouble you face, we'll stand with you—through fire and blood if we must."
Fang Han's eyes brightened. This was no small promise. The Jialan Society clearly held influence—if they could borrow spiritual instruments, their reach extended beyond the outer sect, perhaps even into the realm of true disciples.
He was about to reply when the smoke around them suddenly convulsed.
Boom!
The entire sphere shuddered violently. The women staggered, qi surging chaotically. Through the haze, they saw the cause—several of the demon leaders, those same massive brutes, had regrouped and commanded the horde once more.
Hundreds of Sky Demons formed a spiraling formation—the Wind Drill—and hurled it straight at the smoke sphere, like a spear meant to pierce the heavens.