The clash, far less crowded than the last, spared the land a wider devastation. Its wrath consumed a mere few hundred leagues.

Tens of thousands of leagues distant, upon a mist-shrouded prairie, where tangled weeds clung to damp earth, a stone pulsed with an ethereal light. From it materialized the figure of Wang Lin.

The heavens above were a canvas of dim twilight, veiled by the ceaseless mist. For days, a gentle rain had fallen, blending with the vapor to create a cloying humidity.

Stooping to retrieve the spatial stone, tucking it away within his storage, Wang Lin cast a gaze towards the distant battle, his eyes gleaming with a cold light.

“The spatial stone, upon arrival, deposits one at the same location. A peril indeed. Use it sparingly, only in the direst need.”

With a ripple beneath his feet, Wang Lin vanished, reappearing leagues away from the fray, less than a thousand from the chaotic symphony of clashing powers. Here, he could faintly sense the waves of mystic energies, the chilling breath of death itself.

Great battles always claimed countless lives, a grim reality that weary Wang Lin. He had no love for this conflict, felt no kinship with either side, no burning desire to proclaim, “I am a cultivator! A battle is a worthy end!”

He sought only to fulfill the three tasks Old Azure Bull had set, to repay the kindness of the Great Soul Sect. Such was the nature of Wang Lin: duty before all.

“To engage in a full confrontation with Emptiness Tribulant cultivators is ill-advised… unless, perhaps, I could prey upon one already wounded.” A glint flashed in Wang Lin’s eyes. He transformed into a wisp of smoke, blending into the fog and hurtling towards the heart of the battle.

As he drew nearer, the magic intensified, the stench of death grew thick, and the din of war echoed louder, the clash of steel and the thunder of spells ringing through the air.

“This battlefield… a veritable harvest of souls for the cultivation of Swift Divinity!” So close now, Wang Lin plunged into the carnage. The air thrummed with spells, the screams of men and beasts, a kaleidoscope of arcane lights blinding the senses.

From the original six or seven thousand warriors, less than four thousand remained, their eyes bloodshot, engaged in a desperate dance of death. Wang Lin glided through the melee, observing the deaths of Green Devil Continent soldiers, the deaths of Sky Bull Continent soldiers, but offered no aid.

He cared nothing for this squabble. To him, Sky Bull and Green Devil were two sides of the same tarnished coin, neither worthy of his intervention.

Swift as a shadow, he flew deeper into the battlefield, pausing suddenly, his gaze drawn to the right. There, cloaked in mist, two warriors clashed. One, a Sky Bull elder with thinning gray hair, was clearly losing, pressed back by a Green Devil elder, a man of considerable power, his attacks ruthless and unyielding.

“It is he!” Wang Lin recognized the graying elder from their encounter on the Vast Sky Prairie.

The old warrior was battered, pale, and bloodied, yet his resolve remained unbroken.

For a moment, Wang Lin considered the scene, then vanished.

The Green Devil cultivator, his face a mask of triumph, bellowed as he pressed his attack, spectral figures flanking him.

“You’ve eluded me long enough! Die now!” The figures roared, coalescing into streaks of light aimed at the Sky Bull elder.

A sigh escaped the old warrior’s lips. He had come to terms with his fate, seen too many comrades fall in this bloody conflict. Now, his own end was near.

A wave of sadness washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by acceptance. He would not surrender meekly. A flash of defiance ignited in his eyes. He would detonate his life force!

This was the final act of a loyal Sky Bull warrior, a parting gift to his homeland!

“I was born on Sky Bull Continent, my strength drawn from its land and spirit. I return it now, without regret!” The elder’s eyes were calm as he ceased his retreat, bracing for self-destruction. But then, his pupils constricted. A figure had appeared between him and his attacker.

A figure cloaked in white, with hair as white as snow.

Wang Lin had arrived silently, unseen. With a casual flick of his wrist, the air roared. The mist churned, and the spectral figures of the Green Devil cultivator shattered.

Horror flooded the Green Devil’s face. His magic could be broken, but not so effortlessly. Only one explanation sufficed:

His opponent was an Emptiness Profound cultivator, at the very least!

Panic seized him. Without hesitation, he turned to flee.

Wang Lin snorted, stepping forward. He appeared instantly before the Green Devil, who had only just begun his escape. With a single, crushing blow, Wang Lin slammed his palm onto the man’s skull.

The cultivator’s body exploded, his flesh scattering like broken glass. His soul, caught in Wang Lin’s grip, was ripped from the wreckage, sealed with a barrage of arcane sigils, and pressed against his chest.

The soul vanished, leaving behind a vortex within Wang Lin’s body, a crude version of the divine meridian promised by the Swift Divinity Art.

The entire sequence unfolded in mere moments. The Sky Bull elder stood frozen, staring at Wang Lin’s receding form. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“He is the Great Soul Sect elder!” The old man had seen Wang Lin in the underground palace. He recognized him instantly, though the elder was struck by Wang Lin’s distant, cold nature and the icy aura he emanated. It evoked a sense of familiarity, as if he had met him before, long ago.

Wang Lin moved through the mist, seeking out the conflict between the Emptiness Tribulant cultivators. Along the way, he struck down any Emptiness Profound cultivator he encountered, claiming their souls to strengthen his divine meridian.

He began to discern the principle behind the Swift Divinity Art. By repeatedly sealing souls of a certain caliber, he forged them into a vortex. When this vortex spun, his speed would be greatly enhanced.

The more souls he sealed, and the more powerful they were, the faster the vortex would spin. In turn, his power would surge accordingly.

But the process was not without its limits. Wang Lin approached the fringe of the main conflict. He had sealed nine souls, and could seal no more. No second meridian would form.

The Swift Divinity Art had alluded to this. Now, through experience, Wang Lin fully understood. To forge a second meridian, he needed a more potent soul.

He could, like Xu Decai, begin by sealing Emptiness Nirvana cultivators. But this would diminish the effect. Already, his single vortex, created from Emptiness Profound souls, was stronger than Xu Decai’s four combined.

A hint of the potential, at least.

“Emptiness Tribulant souls should allow me to forge a second meridian, but those are scarce on this battlefield.” Wang Lin narrowed his eyes, peering into the raging battle beyond.

He frowned.

“They are too evenly matched to be easily injured. And those Green Devil warriors seem to have taken some sort of potion that helps them resist the mist and boosts their strength. I should search for Emptiness Tribulant cultivators elsewhere.” Wang Lin turned to leave, but then stopped. A change swept over him, and he shot forward with all speed.

Moments after Wang Lin leapt out of harm’s way, a beam of green light struck the spot he had occupied. The land buckled, and the air shook. The mist itself seemed to writhe and fray.

The blow sent Wang Lin flying backward. Had he not been so alert, he would have been severely wounded.

Without turning, a prickling sensation crawling over his skin, he sensed that his presence had been noticed. He sensed that he was being targeted. He vanished into the air, attempting to meld with the fabric of space.

“Suppress!” A chilling voice echoed in his mind. The world solidified around him, and he could not disappear.

“An Emptiness Tribulant cultivator!” Wang Lin ground his teeth. Abandoning his attempt to merge with the world, he summoned his Mosquito King, leaping upon its back and fleeing.

Behind him, Zhang, the elder from Green Devil Continent who had been dueling with Lu Wenran and other Sky Bull cultivators, broke off from his fight. Fixing his eyes on Wang Lin, Zhang gave chase.

“I, Zhang Daozong, have been waiting for you for days! Now I will bring you back to appease the sect master! You killed Liu Zhiyuan!”

Wang Lin did not speak. With the speed of the Mosquito King, he flew miles. But Zhang was even faster, closing the gap to just a few hundred feet!