A cultivator treads the path of the Dao with unwavering resolve, unmoved by the distractions of the mortal world. This is known as the heart of the Dao.

Yet, should the corrupting winds of worldly desires seep into one’s very being, twisting the spirit and subverting the sacred essence of the Dao, then damnation follows – a descent into demonic madness.

As Wang Lin’s eyes cleared, a flicker of alarm crossed his gaze. With his profound cultivation and unwavering commitment to the Dao, what he had just endured felt like a trial by fire.

Recollection itself is not perilous, but to become utterly consumed by the past, unable to break free, is a grave danger. Ordinarily, Wang Lin would never have succumbed, but his recent brush with demonic influence, though suppressed and sealed, left a residue of malevolent intent lurking within. This subtle corruption was the insidious force that had resurrected the specters of his past.

Ancient lore speaks of outer demons that invade the mind. During moments of communion with the heavens, as a cultivator sought to grasp the essence of the Dao, these otherworldly fiends would manifest in countless forms, blending seamlessly with the void, elusive as shadows.

To be without form is, in another sense, to be omnipresent.

When an outer demon infiltrated a cultivator, it would ignite the inner fire of the Dao, burning the soul and stealing wisdom, corrupting the sacred art. Ancient cultivators regarded these entities with utmost dread, knowing that even a moment’s carelessness could lead to permanent spiritual contamination.

As the ancient era waned and the Cultivation Alliance rose, tales of outer demons gradually faded, replaced by systematic analysis and rational inquiry.

The very existence of outer demons was cast into doubt by the Alliance. They posited that “demonic intrusion” was, in fact, the result of inner demons taking root, clashing with one’s understanding of the Dao, creating a disharmony between inner and outer forces, disrupting the balance of Yin and Yang, and destabilizing the heart of the Dao, giving rise to illusory thoughts.

This was Wang Lin’s plight. The sudden, overwhelming urge to return to Suzaku was a manifestation of this inner struggle, a peak of dormant demonic intent. Had it continued unchecked, Wang Lin might have eventually regained control, but the time required could have been considerable.

The arrival of the demon soldiers, with their raw, untamed power, unexpectedly provided Wang Lin with a crucial opening. As their demonic energy surged through the tavern, the chaos briefly jolted his mind back to clarity. It was fleeting, yet sufficient for Wang Lin to seize the moment.

Without hesitation, he unleashed the demonic energy within his own demon crystal, channeling it swiftly through his meridians. This force collided with his existing celestial energy, creating a swirling vortex within his very being – a confluence of demonic and celestial power.

In the Demonic Spirit Land, demonic energy served as a surrogate for celestial jade for outsiders, able to augment their celestial power when properly integrated.

Wang Lin had been waiting for the right moment to initiate this fusion. As he did so, the demonic energy within him resonated with the ambient demonic energies outside, allowing him to absorb the demonic power of the six soldiers in an instant.

Though intricate in description, all of this occurred in a blink. Within the tavern, Thirteen, witnessing Wang Lin’s return to normalcy, breathed a sigh of relief. So long as Wang Lin stood, no challenge was insurmountable. He moved instantly to Wang Lin’s side, his cold eyes fixed on the demon soldiers within the tavern.

Tiger Roar, likewise relieved, banished his earlier apprehension. With a wave of his hand, he retrieved his Soul Banner and positioned himself alongside Wang Lin.

Meanwhile, the six demon soldiers, drained of their power, were weakened and aghast, their gazes fixed on Wang Lin, filled with terror and disbelief.

“Who are you?” the man with the somber countenance demanded, rising to his feet.

Wang Lin picked up an unopened flagon from the table. Without sparing the man a glance, he turned and strode towards the tavern’s exit. Thirteen retrieved some demon stones from his pouch, placing them on the table as payment before following Wang Lin.

Tiger Roar cast a derisive sneer at the demon soldiers before joining Wang Lin’s retinue.

The somber-faced man slammed his fist upon the table and roared, “Halt!” With a single stride, he unleashed a torrent of raw demonic power, engulfing the entire tavern in a palpable miasma of demonic energy.

This energy coalesced in the void, forming countless razor-sharp blades that hurtled towards Wang Lin and his companions.

Wang Lin whirled around, his eyes flashing with icy resolve. With a mere flick of his wrist, a strange wind materialized, instantly dissipating the onrushing blades of demonic energy.

“We will meet again,” Wang Lin declared, before exiting the tavern.

The somber-faced man’s expression hardened as he watched Wang Lin’s departing figure, lost in contemplation.

Leaving the tavern, Wang Lin bypassed all other distractions and swiftly returned to his chamber at the inn. He sat in the lotus position, channeling his celestial energy as he scoured his inner self.

His encounter with demonic influence in the tavern had instilled in him a sense of urgency. He had underestimated the insidious nature of the corrupting force. Now, with focus and determination, he sought out the subtle traces of demonic intent lurking within.

With each discovery, Wang Lin purged the corrupted essence. It was not until the morning of the second day, after countless revolutions of celestial energy through his meridians, that he was satisfied that every last vestige of demonic corruption had been eradicated. Only then did he exhale a breath of relief.

Before him floated three dark, flocculent spheres – the remnants of the demonic influence he had purged from his body.

“This demonic essence, it is a pity to discard. If wielded with precision, it could corrupt the Dao of others, defying all defenses!” Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed with insight. He reached out and grasped the three spheres, storing them within his storage pouch.

“The seven-day interval draws near. The demon general mentioned that someone would escort me to the military camp…” Wang Lin mused, his thoughts interrupted by a stirring at the door. He looked up.

Moments later, Thirteen’s voice echoed from beyond the door. “Grandmaster, someone seeks an audience!”

Wang Lin remained impassive, responding simply, “Enter!”

The door swung open, revealing Thirteen and Tiger Roar escorting a newcomer. The man was perhaps forty years of age, clad in dark attire, with a gaunt face. As he crossed the threshold, a wave of chilling air filled the room.
From the instant he stepped across the threshold of the chamber, the eyes of the attending officer were fixed upon Wang Lin, who sat cross-legged upon the bed. The officer, a minion of the demon generals, sized him up before bowing respectfully. “Greetings, Commander Wang! I am a scribe in service to the esteemed Demon General. I am charged with escorting you to your legion’s encampment. But first, might I see the token of your authority?”

Wang Lin’s right hand dipped into his storage satchel, and in a flash, a bronze token appeared. He cast it forward.

The scribe caught the token, scrutinized it carefully, and nodded. He returned the token, then bit his finger, drawing a sigil in the air with his own blood. Instantly, a crimson array shimmered into being before him, a complex pattern yet one that held a discernible order to Wang Lin’s keen eyes.

“A teleportation array,” Wang Lin murmured, reclaiming his token.

The scribe glanced up. “Indeed, Commander Wang. You possess a discerning eye. This is a teleportation array, though quite unlike those favored by the cultivators. This one, you see, was crafted by the Demon Emperor himself, for the purpose of pinpoint transit.”

With that, he strode forward and vanished into the crimson glyph.

Within the chamber now stood only Wang Lin, Thirteen, and Hu Pao. Thirteen, resolve etched upon his face, stepped forward into the array without hesitation. He had pledged his life to the protection of his liege, and he would test the unknown dangers of this transit first.

Wang Lin, observing Thirteen’s dedication, nodded inwardly. He rose and followed his stalwart protector into the crimson portal.

Hu Pao muttered a curse, then dutifully followed Wang Lin.

The moment Wang Lin emerged on the other side of the array, a deafening roar, perfectly synchronized, erupted from all around, a wave of thunderous sound that threatened to crush the spirit.

Thirteen, stepping forth first, staggered backward, his face paling under the onslaught of noise. His previous wounds were aggravated, and the cacophony sent his blood churning. A crimson gout spewed from his lips.

Hu Pao, though unwounded, was less resilient. His ears rang, and his demonic energy faltered, swirling uncontrollably within his veins. His face drained of color. Were it not for the presence of his master, and the shame of faltering, he would have sunk to his knees to regain control. But the more he resisted, the more chaotic his energy became.

Then, a wave of gentle energy washed over him, and instantly, Hu Pao’s demonic energy calmed, as if encountering a venerable ancestor. It realigned swiftly within his veins, returning to its natural flow.

Wang Lin withdrew his hand from Hu Pao’s shoulder. He stepped forward, and a surge of immortal power flowed into Thirteen, coursing through his flesh and blood. The assassin felt lightness return to his limbs, and his injuries began to mend. Wang Lin surveyed the surroundings. They stood within a military camp built of black stone, stretching for leagues. Beyond the encampment rose a colossal wall, tens of spans high, thrumming with the power of demonic enchantments.

Wang Lin stood at the very heart of the camp. A hundred paces away, legions of demon soldiers in black armor stood ramrod straight, each wreathed in an aura of dark energy, like infernal deities.

Formed into disciplined squares of a thousand, ten such units ringed the space around Wang Lin, their presence exuding an oppressive air of disciplined menace.

The killing intent of ten thousand warriors was beyond reckoning. Each possessed demonic power beyond thirty years, and some wielded powers many times greater.

Moreover, these were veterans of countless campaigns, their hands stained with the lives of untold foes. Their killing intent had seeped into their very bones.

The air crackled with this lethal force, a profound and unnerving silence descending.

Ten thousand pairs of eyes fixed upon Wang Lin, each gaze a concentrated point of homicidal focus, each look akin to a blade poised to strike.

Wang Lin, standing at the epicenter of this tempest of killing intent, remained unfazed. He returned the scrutiny of ten thousand soldiers with a gaze of his own, cold and unwavering.