Beyond the vale, Wang Lin raised his right hand, and the ten leagues of land trembled violently, soaring into the heavens.

Wang Lin turned, settling into a meditative pose outside the valley’s maw. His eyes gleamed with an icy light as he summoned forth the Soul Devouring Banner. Upon its manifestation, the banner unfurled, a cloth of ten fathoms, and a chorus of wails erupted from within, a maddening symphony of tormented spirits.

Though lacking the billion phantoms of its prime, the Soul Devouring Banner was still the treasured heirloom of the Soul Refining Sect. Its mere presence sent tremors through the hearts of all within the valley who practiced the forbidden arts. An involuntary reverence surged from their depths, a testament to the banner’s dark power.

Wang Lin seized the banner, and with a flourish, the six dominant souls within surged forth. Among them was the tattered remnant of Zhu Lin’s soul, now bound and enslaved. These six shadows coalesced into streaks of black, taking their positions at the edges of the uplifted ten leagues of land.

Then, Wang Lin spat forth a mouthful of vital essence, his nascent soul’s very blood, onto the banner. The cloth expanded, stretching beyond measure, until it encompassed the entire floating territory.

“Burn!” Wang Lin commanded, his eyes flashing with ruthless intent.

The six master souls, their spectral eyes ablaze, unleashed jets of violet flame. These six streams of incandescent fire engulfed the captive land, and a cacophony of crackling, searing sounds arose, punctuated by shrieks of terror.

These were the primal flames of the infant souls, imbued with unimaginable power. Under their relentless assault, the ten leagues dwindled, halved in size, glowing an infernal red.

However, a barrier of pure, emerald light stubbornly resisted the fiery tide, preventing its utter annihilation. The ethereal shield flickered, valiantly deflecting the flames’ relentless assault in a stalemate of power.

Wang Lin observed the stalemate for a moment. With a sigh, he rose and strode back into the valley.

“If you cower within, I will scorch you for seven days and seven nights, until your barrier is ash and all is within my grasp!” Those within the valley watched the spectacle outside with a mixture of awe and dread, their reverence for Wang Lin reaching new heights. Even the children of the vale whispered of him as a god.

Ignoring the turmoil outside, Wang Lin directed Ouyang Hua to bring Thirteen deep into the heart of the valley.

Ever obedient, Ouyang Hua cradled Thirteen and carried him into the valley’s depths. He laid the still form before Wang Lin and retreated with due reverence.

Thirteen’s face held a faint flush of color, yet he remained unconscious. Wang Lin frowned. Awakening him would be simple, but he would emerge broken, useless in a land where only the strong survived.

Thirteen’s body was a ruin of shattered meridians, incapable of absorbing the valley’s ambient demonic energies. Wang Lin’s spells and techniques, predicated on drawing power from this land, would be useless to him.

Thirteen, as he was now, was a husk, incapable of cultivation. Only the miraculous rebirth of his meridians could restore him, a feat beyond Wang Lin’s current abilities, achievable only through the rarest and most potent elixirs.

Wang Lin pondered, his gaze hardening. Among the vast repertoire of his knowledge, there existed one path that might yet save Thirteen, albeit a perilous and uncertain one. The weight of the decision caused him a rare moment of hesitation.

“A cultivator’s meridians are their oceans, collecting the streams of celestial energy, a microcosm of the universe within. Through them, they sense the turning of ages, and seek the Dao.

“The Ancient Gods, however, regard their skin as the heavens, their bones as the earth, and their spirits as the very foundation of existence. They devour the world’s energy to forge their physical bodies, to refine flesh and blood, to shatter enlightenment with brute force, and to etch their own will upon the very fabric of reality!” Wang Lin murmured, his gaze distant. Imbueing Thirteen with the power of the Ancient Gods could change him utterly, transform him from a cripple into a force to be reckoned with.

But even if Thirteen could channel the power of the Ancient Gods, his constitution was weaker than Wang Lin’s true form. Failure was a distinct possibility. The uncontrolled demonic energies flooding his body would crush him, leaving him shattered and lifeless.

Furthermore, the Ancient Gods thrived on celestial energies, not this demonic miasma. Could Thirteen even absorb it? Wang Lin shook his head, dismissing the thought. He drew upon the Five-Plague Demonic Crystal, allowing demonic energy to flow from the five armors over his body, and he became the sinister demon-lord once more.

His fingers became like lightning, and he pressed them to Thirteen’s brow, channeling demonic energy into the comatose youth.

Wang Lin lifted his hand, closing his eyes in meditation.

A half-incense stick later, Thirteen’s eyes fluttered open. He gazed at the sky above the valley, and remained silent for a long time. Then, he struggled to his feet and knelt before Wang Lin, a mask of agony on his face.

But not an agony of the flesh, but of the soul.

He realized, in that moment of awakening, that the demonic energy within him was gone, vanished completely. He was now weaker than before he had ever practiced the forbidden art of soul refining.

Wang Lin did not open his eyes. Thirteen knelt for a long time, staring at Wang Lin, before hitting the ground three times with his forehead in a final act of respect.

Only after Thirteen’s shuffling footsteps faded away did Wang Lin open his eyes, sighing softly. Of all the inhabitants of the valley, Thirteen possessed the keenest mind and a unique insight into the Soul Devouring Banner. Without this misfortune, he might have achieved greatness.

Thirteen returned to his small dwelling, one of the few within the valley without a wife or children. He sat alone in the bare room, the vibrant energy of youth now absent, replaced by the hollow stillness of a man already nearing the end of his days.

For a long time, he sat in silent contemplation. Then, he assumed a meditative posture and began to attempt the breathing exercises of the soul refiners. Each attempt sent torrents of agony through his ruined meridians, pain beyond mortal endurance.

Yet he endured. If one attempt failed, he would try again, and again, bearing the unbearable agony.
The elder gasped, each breath a searing torment that soaked his robes with sweat. Veins, thick as earthworms, pulsed on his skin, a testament to the agony he endured. Despair flickered in his thirteen eyes. “I will not yield!” he croaked, summoning a final reserve of will. Ignoring the excruciating pain, he attempted another cycle of pranayama. This time, the instant the demonic energy touched him, it felt as though a mountain had crashed upon his frame. He coughed up a torrent of blood and collapsed, unconscious, upon the earthen floor.

Beyond the valley’s mouth, a ten-mile expanse remained engulfed in infernal flames, a fiery purgatory that had raged for three days and three nights. The protective ward that shielded the land pulsed with a weakened light, its ethereal glow dimming with each passing hour.

Within this fiery prison, the inhabitants had succumbed to despair. The shadow of death, cast by the relentless flames, had grown to eclipse all hope, smothering the embers of their resilience.

The grey-robed elder, his face etched with sorrow, closed his eyes. When he opened them, a steely glint shone within. He turned sharply towards a white-robed elder, whose face mirrored the collective dread. “Your folly has doomed our clan!” he hissed. The white-robed elder flinched, silent in his shame.

“That outsider is beyond our power to overcome. To resist further is to invite annihilation. The moment the ward fails, not just you and I, but every member of our clan will be consumed by the flames. As one of us, can you bear the thought of their deaths upon your conscience?” The white-robed elder replied with a pained voice, “What is it you suggest?”

“You must atone for your actions. It is the only way for our clan to survive. Know this: if you fall, I swear to avenge you!”

“Furthermore, upon our escape, I will personally bring this matter before the Left Wing General of the Ancient Demon City. I believe he will find your actions of… interest.” The grey-robed elder spoke with grim finality.

The white-robed elder pondered for a long moment. Then, with a sigh that echoed the weight of generations, he cast a mournful glance at his kin, their faces contorted with fear. Taking a deep breath, he rose, and with a surge of power, flew towards the faltering barrier that enclosed them.

“I am the one who issued the challenge!” his voice boomed, carrying beyond the ward and echoing throughout the valley. “Let us settle this matter, just you and I. Win or lose, let no innocent blood be spilled!”

Wang Lin, meditating in the heart of the valley, opened his eyes. In a blur, he vanished, reappearing in the air just beyond the valley’s edge. He surveyed the fiery wasteland with icy disdain, his gaze settling upon the figure of the white-robed elder.

Wang Lin extended his right hand, summoning his six Flame Souls. With a collective surge, they absorbed the raging inferno, drawing the flames into themselves before returning to Wang Lin’s side, swirling like fiery guardians.

Without the onslaught of fire, the white-robed elder gritted his teeth and stepped outside the ward. He raised his hands, and two eerie orbs of demonic energy flickered into existence. He faced Wang Lin. “Let us fight!”

“You are unworthy!” Wang Lin retorted. With a gesture, Wang Lin clenched his fist in the void. The white-robed elder’s face contorted in shock as the demonic lights in his hands winked out.

At the same moment, his body moved against his will, drawn inexorably towards Wang Lin. In a heartbeat, Wang Lin’s hand clamped around his throat.

The white-robed elder struggled to break free, but Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed with chilling power. He tightened his grip. A sickening snap echoed through the air, and the elder’s eyes widened in death.

Wang Lin’s celestial energy surged into the corpse, scouring it clean before seizing the elder’s nascent soul, imprisoning it, and casting it into his Soul Banner, where it would join the ranks of his spectral legion.

Casting the lifeless husk aside, Wang Lin gestured. A Flame Soul darted forward, unleashing a torrent of fire that consumed the body, reducing it to ashes.

Wang Lin then reached towards the ten-mile expanse, yanking it down from the sky. With a deafening roar, the land crashed to the valley floor, sending up clouds of dust and debris.

“Open the ward!” Wang Lin commanded, his voice a glacial wind that cut through the air, his gaze fixed on the crumbling remains of the fiery prison.

The grey-robed elder trembled. He had never imagined the outsider could dispose of the white-robed elder with such ease. His previous estimations had been woefully inadequate. He swiftly suppressed all thoughts of vengeance. This was a force he dared not provoke.

At that point, whether the ward was opened was inconsequential. With a sigh of resignation, he channeled his energy into a complex rune. The rune shimmered, encompassing the ten-mile radius. Then, with a final flicker, the ward vanished, leaving not a trace.

“Ouyang Hua, accept the new members of your clan!” Wang Lin said before stepping back into the valley, disappearing from sight.