From the ether, a celestial Ox manifested, its arrival shattering the icy path before them and sending shockwaves through the twelve figures surrounding Wang Lin.

A breathtaking vista unfolded, a tapestry worthy of immortalization upon canvas. A colossal, golden Ox stood defiant against the earth, ringed by twelve figures. Six of these, three on each side, pressed their hands, each with six fingers, against the Ox’s flank.

But their touch proved fatal. Each figure recoiled in agony, spewing forth crimson ichor as their hands, their very arms, disintegrated into a pulpy mess.

Before the Ox, three more, their palms pressed in an attempt to subdue it, exploded in a shower of blood mist, stumbling backward in disarray.

Above, three others, one driving a blade into the Ox’s very skull, were met with swift retribution. The blade shattered, and the Ox, with a violent shake of its head, sent them reeling, their own blood staining the snow.

Most wretched of all were the three shadowy forms that had lunged forward, perhaps seeking to possess Wang Lin. As the Ox materialized, its jaws opened in a gaping maw, and they were pulled inward by an irresistible force, devoured whole before they could even attempt their dark ritual.

With a thunderous roar, Wang Lin, within the Ox’s illusory form, wove arcane gestures and unleashed the celestial beast. It charged forward, overtaking the nine figures fleeing atop their melting ice dragon. The Ox struck, its impact rending the air with their agonized screams. Without pause, it continued its charge, smashing through the end of the long street and exploding in a cataclysmic burst.

The force unleashed was enough to shake the very foundations of the heavens, enough to bring the Eastern City crashing down. Yet, in its wake, only a blizzard arose, leaving the surrounding structures untouched, unyielding.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, and without a moment’s hesitation, he lunged toward the three who had evaded the Ox’s wrath. A murderous intent emanated from him as he dissolved into a swirling mist, engulfing the trio. Their screams were swallowed by the vortex as Wang Lin drained their essence, consuming their very souls. When the mist dissipated, it surged towards the remaining figures.

The six who had lost their fingers and arms retreated in horror, but the black mist was upon them in an instant, splitting into two tendrils that snared them all. Their screams joined the symphony of death as they were devoured.

From within the mist, a Bone Yin Blade materialized, its edge honed to the very fabric of reality. It cleaved the sky with a single stroke, severing the three wounded figures into six lifeless pieces, their souls drawn into the miasma below.

The wind howled through the street, a mournful dirge carried on the falling snow. The black mist, now swollen with stolen life, surged towards the nine figures encircling Hai Zi Tianzun.

They had witnessed the horrors that unfolded and abandoned their siege in a desperate retreat. But against the power of Wang Lin’s mist, their flight was futile. It overtook them in moments, enveloping them in a fatal embrace, leaving behind only nine skeletal remains.

Silence descended, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the crunch of bone underfoot. Wang Lin, once more in his mortal form, coalesced beside Hai Zi Tianzun. His face was ashen, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood that stained the pristine snow crimson.

“Go!” Wang Lin commanded, striding towards the end of the street.

Hai Zi Tianzun bit her lip, following close behind. The slaughter was beyond her comprehension, a storm of power she could scarcely participate in. Thirty souls had been unleashed upon them, each a Tianzun cultivator.

Yet, though Hai Zi Tianzun knew many, she could not recognize a single one of these attackers. They were strangers, their presence a mystery.

“They are not true Tianzun, but have been forcibly elevated! Their lives will be short,” Wang Lin explained, his voice grim. The souls he had consumed confirmed his suspicions. He had hoped to forge Divine Veins from them, but they were impure, tainted. It would take time to refine them, and even then, he could only hope to create a single vein.

From their memories, he knew they had bought their power with their lives, accepting a pact that would grant them but a single hour of glory.

Wang Lin possessed five Divine Veins, enough to create ninety-eight shadow selves at his peak. Another vein would significantly enhance his combat prowess.

“The hand of the Royal Preceptor is behind this. The four-sided sigil contained powers I have yet to fully unravel. I can only delay its effects, but if I cannot break this confinement, my power will be severely hampered!” Wang Lin continued, his pace quickening.

The memories he had gleaned from his victims were fractured, purposefully obscured.

“This place is locked down. I attempted to shatter the confinement with the celestial Ox, but it would not budge. Whoever laid this trap anticipated outside interference!

“Therefore, we cannot rely on Jiu Di Da Tianzun for rescue. If I were to orchestrate such a trap, I would make two preparations: a confinement to suppress all escaping energies and agents to distract Jiu Di Da Tianzun!

“Of course, that assumes that Jiu Di Da Tianzun did not set this trap himself, though my gut tells me otherwise. Whoever orchestrated this is likely here, awaiting the final, killing blow!” Wang Lin said, as he led Hai Zi Tianzun towards the end of the street.

Suddenly, three figures materialized from the swirling snow ahead, floating in the air, their eyes fixed upon Wang Lin. With a surge of power, they transformed into streaks of light, hurtling towards them.

Even before they arrived, the power they emanated was close to that of a Leap Tianzun.

Behind them, two figures in black robes emerged from the blizzard. These two possessed the full might of Leap Tianzun, their gazes cold and calculating. Raising their right hands, they summoned a dark gale that transformed into two colossal black serpents, their scales shimmering in the snow-swept light as they towered over the long street.
“Soulforged Envoys!” Wang Lin breathed, recognition etching his face.

“These two are unfamiliar. Amongst the Ascended Reverents, I’ve seen the lineage scrolls in the Purple Sun Sect. Of the forty-eight, none wield Soulforged armor. These two… they must have been elevated to Ascended strength by some dark art, and gifted with Soulblades!”

“In this Ancestral City, only the Immortal Emperor possesses such power!”

A chilling glint ignited in Wang Lin’s eyes. He halted, his left hand rising to shove Hai Zi, the Reverent Sea, aside.

“Hai Zi, fall back. They will not harm you. This battle is mine, and yours to observe.”

“Wang Lin…” Hai Zi’s face was etched with worry, words of protest bubbling up, but with a sweep of Wang Lin’s left hand, she was forced back dozens of paces, helpless to watch as Wang Lin, like a moth drawn to a raging fire, surged towards the five figures ahead!

Three clad in white, two in black, they were streaks of color hurtling towards him.

The wind howled through the snow-swept streets, littered with broken stones. The blizzard intensified, its mournful cries carrying the promise of death. Six figures, poised to unleash the second, mad chapter of this bloody contest.

“Kill!” Wang Lin roared, his eyes blazing red as he launched himself forward, the Bone-Occult Blade manifesting in his right hand, a blur of bone and shadows against the storm.

There was no elegance in this dance of death. The three white-robed figures unleashed but two techniques. First, they harnessed the raging blizzard, twisting the wind and snow into a cyclopean vortex that threatened to swallow Wang Lin whole!

Second, they embraced oblivion.

Deafening detonations ripped through the air as Wang Lin sliced through the tempestuous vortex. Faced with the self-immolating bodies of the white-clad figures, he raised his right hand and thrust it forward.

Ninety-nine Spirit Brand Seals, ninety-two of them authentic, coalesced into a wave of raw power, crashing against the suicidal force of the triple explosion.

The earth-shattering impact failed to break the binding spell that gripped this place. Wang Lin surged past the blast, only to be met by the two black-robed figures, their forms wreathed in coiling, shadowy serpents. The three collided in the heart of the ravaged street.

The clash echoed like thunder. The black-robed warriors coughed blood, one exploding in a shower of gore, the other cleft in two by a single, crimson line across his brow.

Wang Lin staggered forward ten paces, his right hand, now wielding the shattered Bone-Occult Blade as a crutch, sinking into the snow. A gout of blood splattered on the white expanse, hissing and evaporating into steam.

As Wang Lin leaned on the broken blade, a hand materialized from the swirling snow behind him. It appeared without sound or warning, a ghostly appendage reaching to strike Wang Lin at the base of his skull.

The attack carried a subtle wrongness, as if the hand should not exist, yet manifested with the uncanny certainty of a Great Venerable manipulating creation.

The hand plunged forward, but moments before striking Wang Lin’s head, Wang Lin twisted his body and swung the shattered Bone-Occult Blade with all his might. Blade met hand in a shower of sparks!

Cracks spiderwebbed across the remaining fragments of the Bone-Occult Blade, and then, with a final shudder, it shattered completely. Reflected in the scattered shards, Wang Lin’s face was an emotionless mask. He had anticipated this. He had prepared for it. As the shards flew apart, golden light erupted from Wang Lin’s eyes!

The light, emanating from his strongest avatar, hidden in the void. He had resisted calling upon it, waiting for this moment, for this hidden attacker!

It was this assassin who had woven the quadrangular pattern that suppressed Wang Lin’s power!

As the golden light flooded forth, the binding spell around Wang Lin shattered like thin ice. His full power returned in an instant. The fragments of the Bone-Occult Blade, illuminated by the golden light, began to arrange themselves in a pattern!

Wang Lin’s mastery of the Forbidden Source was complete. Formations were his to command.

Using the shattered blade as material, refracting the golden light of his avatar, Wang Lin wove a small, localized formation. Then, his left hand rose, mirroring the attack. He met the ethereal finger with his own, the gold meeting nothingness.