The Demon General shuddered, the demonic tides around him surging with renewed ferocity, swirling before him in a chaotic dance. In that instant, his vision narrowed, the entire world swallowed by the looming palm print!

Scarcely had it materialized than it descended, a celestial hammer falling from the heavens!

An overwhelming sense of defeat, of unavoidable annihilation, pierced his heart. It was a power against which there was no struggle, no resistance, not even the hope of escape. This palm was the very embodiment of the heavens, capable of extinguishing the world, of crushing all living things!

The dreadful premonition spiraled within him, causing his frame to tremble uncontrollably. Though the palm had yet to strike, its mere aura threatened to shatter his will to fight!

The Demon General roared, a desperate cry of defiance echoing in the face of oblivion. He lifted his gaze to the rapidly approaching hand, his battle spirit ablaze!

“Even if you are the heavens, I will fight! Even if you can destroy the world, I will fight! Though you crush all life, you cannot extinguish the fire in my heart!”

He rose to meet the doom hurtling toward him, his defiant roar resonating across the battlefield. The demonic tides obeyed his will, transforming into a legion of sea dragons, leaping toward the descending darkness.

The palm fell, and the Demon General’s battle spirit reached its apex. Yet, at the moment of impact, a mere breeze brushed his face. The palm passed through him, leaving him untouched, unchanged.

A look of bewildered surprise washed over his features, an expression rarely seen upon his hardened face. It was followed by a wave of cold sweat, the chilling aftermath of a brush with mortality.

“You… are already dead,” Wang Lin stated, descending from the sky to face the Demon General.

A complex mix of emotions twisted the Demon General’s face as he gazed at Wang Lin. A seed of confusion took root. “What sorcery is this?” he finally asked.

Wang Lin’s expression remained serene. “This art has no name.”

The Demon General considered this for a moment, his eyes narrowed. The demonic energy around him receded, drawn back into his body until it vanished completely. He fixed his gaze on Wang Lin. “You have not mastered this skill,” he declared.

Wang Lin remained unmoved. “You may try again.”

Doubt and uncertainty warred within the Demon General. Though he suspected the attack to be nothing more than an illusion, a phantom menace, suspicion was not certainty. He was loath to gamble with his life, to wager it on the slim chance that his fears were real.

The memory of that fleeting brush with oblivion still sent tremors through him.

“This is your ultimate technique then…,” the Demon General finally conceded after a long pause.

Wang Lin offered no explanation, for he knew that the more he explained, the more cracks would appear in his facade. It was the nature of illusion that it inspired doubt, but doubt could never become absolute knowledge.

So he remained silent, his gaze unwavering.

The Demon General sighed inwardly. He could not muster the courage to bet his life on the one sliver of truth hiding within a mountain of suspicion. If his doubts proved unfounded, it would mean death.

“Such a technique, wielded by one of his cultivation, must inflict a terrible backlash. Perhaps it would even destroy him. That is why he conjured only the illusion of the strike.” This explanation, though flimsy, was the only one the Demon General could cling to.

But the seed of doubt remained, merely suppressed by the weight of his fear.

“Where is Thirteen?” Wang Lin asked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“I require eighteen souls of sufficient strength to forge a powerful artifact. Your lackey, Thirteen, was to be among them, but he was to be the last. He has not yet been broken,” the Demon General replied, measuring his words. “You come to claim him. I will return him, for you are a commander. But the blood of my warriors you have spilled, and the destruction you wrought upon my city, cannot be so easily forgiven!”

Wang Lin’s expression remained unchanged. “What do you demand?”

“In three months, I must return to the Heavenly Demon Capital to render my accounts. There, a contest will be held amongst the Demon Generals. If you agree to aid me in that endeavor, I will forgo my vengeance for the deaths of my soldiers. Refuse, and even if I fall, you will find no refuge within the Heavenly Demon Domain!” The Demon General spoke with a newfound respect, a grudging acknowledgement of Wang Lin’s power.

In that moment, he saw Wang Lin as an equal. Even without the illusory palm strike, the mere fact that he had broken the Ten Shattering Fists and withstood the tide of the Demon Sea elevated Wang Lin’s status in the Demon General’s eyes.

“His cultivation is on par with my own. Were it not for my greater mastery of sorcery, this battle would have been arduous indeed!” The thought of sorcery brought to mind the terrifying palm strike, and the Demon General swiftly banished the notion that he was superior in that regard.

“What are my paltry skills compared to that? Perhaps only the Demon Emperor himself could withstand such an attack,” he muttered to himself.

Wang Lin considered the offer for a moment, then nodded.

The Demon General roared with laughter, sweeping away all lingering resentment with a single burst of mirth. “Good! From this day forth, you shall be my First Lieutenant, serving under the Left-Wing Demon General, Mo Lihai! Should I attain a position among the top three generals in the Capital, I shall petition the Demon Emperor himself to grant you a command!”

“Then you shall rule over a city, commanding ten thousand soldiers, a position far more advantageous than any outsider could hope for!” He gestured, and a black vortex appeared in the air before them.

Within the vortex, stars glimmered and swirled. Mo Lihai reached into the void, his finger extinguishing one of the stars. From the dissolving constellation, the form of Thirteen coalesced, flying from the vortex to land at Wang Lin’s feet.

Mo Lihai’s words were carefully chosen, meant to appease Wang Lin and entice him to fight with all his might. By surrendering Thirteen without demands, he sought to project an image of honorable intentions, strengthening the bonds of trust between them.

But all this was predicated upon the strength he had witnessed in Wang Lin, and, most especially, the power of that terrifying, unspoken art.

Despite his doubts, he dared not gamble on the chance that it was real. And the more cunning a mind, the more hesitant it would be to risk all upon an uncertain fate.

The Demon General had risen to great heights, and though his exterior might appear coarse, he was far from foolish. Indeed, his cunning was in no way inferior to Wang Lin’s own.
“Three moons hence, I shall return!” Wang Lin’s divine sense swept over Thirteen, finding him unharmed, merely slumbering. With a gesture, his right hand plucked at the void, stirring up arcane energies. “Ten…?” He muttered, a question lingering in the air. Then, with deliberate strides, he walked into the empty expanse, vanishing beyond the edge of the world.

The Demon General, hands clasped behind his back, gazed at the heavens. After a long moment of silence, he shook his head, a hint of resignation in the movement. Nearby, five elders, their cultivation akin to late-stage Nascent Soul cultivators, hurried forth. They had witnessed the recent clash, and their hearts still trembled with awe and disbelief.

Only now, with Wang Lin’s departure, did their spirits begin to settle.

“General,” one of the elders rumbled, his voice deep, “that man’s palm technique seemed but illusion. Were the Grand General to strike, we could surely capture him!”

The Demon General remained unmoved. “Even knowing there’s a chance it was a mere bluff, I cannot risk the gamble! If he commands only illusory power, yet can still give me pause, he is cunning indeed! To weave truth and falsehood so skillfully… this man is not to be underestimated.

“Furthermore,” the Demon General continued, his gaze distant, “A year ago, when he shattered my Tenth Collapse Fist intent, he used a secret art to cleave through the Seventh Collapse with a single word. Now, a year hence, his cultivation has surged! He disappeared with Commander Yao, yet returns alone. There are secrets hidden within that… but such matters are of no concern to me.”

These words, spoken as much to himself as to the elders, hung heavy in the air.

The five elders remained silent, joining the Demon General in gazing at the spot in the sky where Wang Lin had disappeared. A complex web of emotions wove itself within their hearts.

Meanwhile, Wang Lin’s divine sense spread wide, scouring the Ancient Demon City for the Black Gaol. With a flicker, he materialized outside its entrance, carrying the unconscious Thirteen.

The Black Gaol lay deep beneath the city, protected by ancient arrays. While its depths were impenetrable, the outer levels posed no challenge to Wang Lin.

Tiger Roar, being of lesser import, would not be imprisoned in the deepest chambers. Wang Lin’s divine sense found no trace of him. With a silent sigh, he vanished once more.

His journey was swift, his speed multiplied by his advancement to the peak of late-stage Nascent Soul. Even burdened with Thirteen, it took but a short time to return from the Ancient Demon City to the Soul Refining Tribe.

A ripple of spatial displacement announced Wang Lin’s arrival mere leagues from the Soul Refining Tribe. Before him, the tribal lands lay in sight.

Though the Soul Refining Tribe had not expanded its territory in the past year, its people had diligently pursued their cultivation. Their influence extended across ten leagues.

Above this boundary, a dense shroud of black mist choked the sky. Within its depths, spectral souls darted to and fro, their mournful cries echoing through the air.

The tribesmen, long accustomed to this constant lamentation, paid it no heed. The more piercing the wails, the greater the number of trapped souls!

Within the tribe’s boundaries, almost every member practiced their craft. Soul banners fluttered before them, releasing souls that soared into the black mist above, only to return, replenished, to their banners.

Wang Lin stepped forward, moving with blinding speed toward the tribe. A smile played on his lips. Even from this distance, he sensed more than a dozen individuals concealed in the shadows, vigilant watchdogs guarding their territory.

He knew most of them by name. Their duty was to protect the tribe from outside threats. Within a hundred leagues, hundreds more stood guard.

With unwavering strides, Wang Lin approached the tribal boundary. A hundred paces from the edge, he stopped, a gust of wind rising behind him, blowing forward to herald his arrival.

No sooner had he halted than one of the sentinels spotted him. Shock turned to elation in an instant.

“Ancestor!” The cry of joy shattered the silence, waking many from their meditative state. In a heartbeat, almost every tribesman rose to their feet.

Ouyang Hua, transformed into a wisp of black mist, erupted from the tribe, halting a dozen paces before Wang Lin, his face alight with reverence. “We welcome the Ancestor’s return!”

At the same moment, the entire tribe knelt as one, their voices rising in unison: “We welcome the Ancestor’s return!”