The merciless midday sun of September scorched the land, cicadas shrilling endlessly from the crisscrossing branches.
Weather like this had lasted for four or five months already. Not a single drop of rain had fallen in all that time. The earth had cracked open with fissures over a foot long, and in many places the crops had completely failed. This year's drought, coupled with last year's bitter cold disaster, made it seem as though Heaven itself truly did not want the people of Nanjue to live on.
Such natural calamities, added to the wars that erupted year after year, had driven countless people of Nanjue from their homes. They wandered homeless and displaced, skeletal refugees everywhere. Along the roads lay scattered white bones, while wild dogs gnawing on corpses in the fields stared with eerie green light in their eyes, their bodies reeking of decay.
These wild dogs roamed the country roads in packs, hunting down isolated refugees. They were exceptionally ferocious and cunning—when encountering large groups of refugees, they would only follow from afar.
At the slightest sign of danger, they would scatter and flee. But once they discovered stragglers, they would swarm forward, slaughtering and devouring them at will.
It was as though misfortune deliberately chose those already cursed by fate.
Even after suffering such disasters, what awaited the common people was only deeper despair.
Suddenly, the sky darkened.
The entire city seemed to be shrouded by a thick layer of black fog.
Immediately afterward, waves of screams rang out endlessly within the city.
"Ahhh!!!"
"Help!!!"
"Please! Don't kill me!"
"Tong'er, run!!!"
"Don't look back!!!"
People fled in panic in all directions.
Yet even more numerous were the dried corpses lying collapsed on the ground, drained of all blood.
The people rushed toward the city gates, only to discover in despair that the entire city seemed to be completely sealed—there was no way out at all.
The black fog in the sky constantly transformed into horrifying monstrous shapes. With a casual grab, it would seize a civilian and, within just a few breaths, drain them into a withered corpse.
Blood flowed along the black fog, transported into a massive blood pool at the center of the city.
At this moment, the blood pool was already filled to a third of its capacity—and it was still steadily increasing.
"Compassion… compassion…"
"This old Daoist is merely ferrying you all across the sea of suffering."
The Grand Consecrator gazed upon the massacred civilians, his expression filled with pity.
However—
within his cloudy eyes, a strange blood-red glint flickered from time to time.
Behind him, the blood within the pool surged continuously into his body.
Suddenly—
a blood-black sword qi, condensed from baleful energy, flashed past and slammed violently into the massive blood pool.
Boom!!!
In an instant,
a thunderous explosion rang out.
Immediately after,
the blood within the pool surged forth like a raging river, flooding the center of the city.
"Who is it?!!!"
"How dare you ruin this old Daoist's grand affair!!!"
A furious shout rang out.
The Grand Consecrator stared at the shattered blood pool, instantly enraged. He hurriedly cast spells, causing the black fog to churn violently, forcibly gathering the overflowing blood back together.
After finishing this,
he immediately controlled the black fog and extended it toward the outside of the city.
He had already sensed that the blood-black sword qi had come from beyond the city walls.
However—
the next moment,
within the gloomy sky, an extremely dense blood mist suddenly surged forth.
Then, two entirely different streams of demonic qi billowed and intertwined like inky clouds.
A terrifying pressure of baleful energy descended, the surrounding air seeming to freeze—oppressive to the extreme.
"This is…"
"A demonic cultivator?!"
The Grand Consecrator stared uncertainly at the blood mist in the sky.
Such dense baleful energy was something he had never encountered before.
Only demonic cultivators deeply fallen into madness could produce such a phenomenon.
Though the techniques he used were also demonic arts, he himself had not truly fallen into demonic madness—
he simply could not condense such baleful qi.
The Grand Consecrator waved both hands, tearing open a portion of the blood mist.
At once,
within the mist appeared a cold, sinister figure.
That figure flickered with a dim green glow—the chill and ruthlessness condensed through demonic cultivation.
In his hand was a blood-black demonic sword, strange runes flowing along the blade. Each slight tremble of the sword tip seemed to whisper of endless slaughter and destruction.
"That is…"
The Grand Consecrator frowned. This demonic cultivator looked strangely familiar.
Before he could think further,
the figure within the blood mist moved.
The figure flashed, transforming into an afterimage as the demonic sword tore through the air.
Seeing how frighteningly fast the sword strike was, the Grand Consecrator did not dare underestimate it. He hurriedly swung the black fog, condensing it into a massive hammer that smashed forward violently.
The hammer collided with the demonic sword, erupting with an ear-splitting roar.
At that instant, the two powerful streams of demonic qi collided fiercely, bursting forth with dazzling light that engulfed everything around them.
Immediately after, several more sword strikes followed.
The Grand Consecrator hurriedly continued casting spells to resist them, but under the relentless pressure of those sharp sword techniques, his once immortal, unworldly bearing now appeared rather disheveled.
"This sword art—this is the Immortal-Demonic Sword Art!"
After several exchanges, the Grand Consecrator finally recognized it.
This sword art was incomparably sinister—
exactly the same as Rain-Born Demon's Immortal-Demonic Sword Art.
Fastest, most ruthless, most direct—
and vicious to the extreme.
"This kid is…"
"Ye Dingzhi?!"
Staring at that familiar figure, the Grand Consecrator finally realized who it was.
"No, that's not right!"
"Why has Ye Dingzhi fallen into demonic cultivation—and why does he possess such terrifying strength?!"
"In all of Nanjue, there is only one demonic cultivator who could have such power!"
"Could it be… Ye Dingzhi is the purple-robed demon?!"
As this realization struck him, the Grand Consecrator's expression instantly turned grim.
His original plan had been to use the blood of millions of civilians in Nanzhao to temper and elevate his own cultivation.
Once he stepped into the Shenyou Profound Realm, the purple-robed demon would pose no threat at all.
This was a once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity.
Under normal circumstances, if he had attempted such an act, the Nanjue Emperor would never have agreed.
Nor would the martial world of Nanjue have allowed it.
But now—
the vast majority of Nanjue's experts were already dead.
The strongest figures, Yan Lingxia and Rain-Born Demon, were nowhere to be seen.
Even the Nanzhao imperial palace stood on the brink of collapse.
Only then had he found a slim chance.
After all, that was the Shenyou Profound Realm—
the realm of immortals.
Yet he had never expected that Ye Dingzhi was the purple-robed demon himself.
And worse still, he had arrived at precisely this moment—
interrupting his plan at the worst possible time.
Now, with his current strength, facing Ye Dingzhi—who was also at the Half-Step Shenyou Realm—
the outcome of such a battle was anything but certain.
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