"What a close call! That blade was truly vicious. If you hadn't launched that desperate counterattack to disrupt the Ashura's power, even I wouldn't have been able to restrain it. That strike would have split you in half—or worse."
Even the demon "Yan" sounded shaken after sealing away the Sonic Blade of Death.
Fang Han exhaled slowly, feeling cold sweat trace his spine. Had he hesitated for even a heartbeat—had he chosen defense over offense—he'd already be a corpse. It was a lesson written in blood: sometimes survival lay not in retreat, but in the will to strike first.
Life and death—one thought apart.
That near-fatal clash left his mind honed to a terrifying clarity. His spiritual power condensed, swirling into a dense, luminous core. His consciousness shimmered with brilliance, every nerve alive, every sense sharp enough to pierce the veil of thought itself. His mastery over his body deepened—he could alter his size, regulate every pulse, every secretion. He was beginning to feel like the true master of his flesh.
A transformation was near.
The transition from the Mortal Body Realm to the Divine Ability Realm was, in essence, a metamorphosis of spirit—a rebirth through ordeal. Only those who had skirted death time and again could shatter the cocoon and ascend as something greater.
Few ever reached that threshold.
Even among the elite disciples of the Feathered Gate, countless remained trapped below the Divine Ability Realm. Their strength matched Fang Han's, yet they lacked the mental crucible to transcend.
"At this rate," Fang Han thought, his heart steady as a mountain, "I'll break through soon enough. I'm just one revelation away. The stronger my body becomes before that moment, the deeper and more vast my power will be once I ascend."
Then came the blade's hum.
"The Sonic Blade of Death," Fang Han whispered.
With a sharp command, the purged blade appeared in the air—gleaming, pure, resonating with deadly music. He grasped its hilt, and a droplet of golden blood seeped from his fingertip, sinking into the metal.
The blade shuddered with a living sound. It accepted him.
Now, it was his.
"What a blade," he murmured, awed by the storm of energy coiling within. Its internal array pulsed like a living heart, stronger than any of his flying swords—stronger even than the Silver Serpent, the Azure Truth, or the Scarlet Desire.
Yan's voice thrummed in his mind.
"This blade stands between a spiritual weapon and a true treasure. Had that Ashura reached the Fifth Heaven of the Divine Ability Realm and fused her power into its core, it would've transcended into a genuine artifact. It's forged from Darksea Nether Iron, Yin-Yang Steel, and Polar Magnetite—each tempered with purest crystals. Its craftsmanship rivals the Seven Fiend Gourd. Wield it, and your might will soar—but beware. Blood-bonding is fragile. Until you refine it with divine power, a stronger foe could still strip it from you. Without the Waters of the Underworld, though, even those several realms above won't dare try."
"I understand," Fang Han replied mentally.
Blood Refinement was the crude way—linking by blood. Law Refinement, on the other hand, used one's spiritual power to anchor the bond—far more secure. The Ashura had refined this blade through law. Only the divine essence of the Underworld Waters and Yan's strange existence had allowed Fang Han to seize it.
Their exchange happened at the speed of thought. In any slower world, they would've been dead before finishing a sentence.
"Ten swords, ten Shuras!" a furious cry echoed. "A righteous disciple, using demonic arts—and wielding so many blades!"
The White Demoness struggled within the ring of swordlight and demonic fists. Her aura churned thickly, like glue, bogging down every strike, every shimmer of steel.
Fang Han felt her spiritual erosion tug at his mark—subtle, invasive. Another's will might have crumbled already, their weapons claimed. Without a breakthrough, his attacks would fade, his weapons lost.
"Let's see you swallow this! One blade to silence ghosts and gods!"
With a roar, Fang Han's spirit flared, igniting the Sonic Blade of Death. The runic array within detonated into brilliance.
A wave of cutting sound tore through the air, shredding her aura like silk. The Demoness gasped, her beauty stark and unreal against the gleaming arc of death approaching her face.
Fang Han's eyes were cold.
No mercy.
No hesitation.
"Demon Robe!"
Desperate, she unleashed her last defense. Her white robe erupted with argent light, cocooning her body in holy shimmer—it was a spirit-grade armor, her final refuge.
But the next instant came an explosion of swords and demonic force. The robe shredded like paper; the light dispersed. Her body, pale and flawless, flashed briefly before the storm consumed her. Ten Shuras struck at once, fists cracking bone and air.
She screamed—a cry half-beauty, half-terror—before blood misted the air, and she fell like a broken star.
"Don't kill her!" Yan's command thundered in Fang Han's mind.
A spectral net of yellow light—the Net of the Underworld—descended, sweeping her body into the depths of the Underworld Diagram.
"Lucky for us she hadn't condensed true essence yet. If she were at the Second Heaven of Divine Ability, even I'd hesitate to fight her. Keep her alive. With the Waters of the Underworld, you can cleanse her will—make her your servant. Imagine it: a Divine Ability-level maid."
Those waters, the so-called Waters of Oblivion, erased memories, emotions—everything. A weapon of gods.
Fang Han didn't respond. There was no time.
Hundreds of white-haired corpses, the flying zombies, had seen their leader fall. They shrieked in fury, abandoning the Celestial Cloud Child and diving straight toward him.
"Kill!"
With one swing, Fang Han unleashed chaos. The Sonic Blade of Death, ten flying swords, ten Shuras—all roared into the fray. Beside him, Princess Hongyi's Azure Truth Sword burst with light.
And then the slaughter began.