As Wang Lin approached, a sigh of relief escaped the old man’s lips, a glint of deliverance flickering in his eyes.

“Fellow Daoist Wang,” he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation, “let us parley! Ask what you will, and I swear upon my very essence to answer truthfully, withholding not a single shred of knowledge!”

The diminutive elder was caught in an inescapable predicament. His cultivation was no match for Wang Lin’s, nor were his treasured artifacts. Attempting to flee, he found that Wang Lin, without even lifting a finger directly, unleashed two items of arcane power that nearly drove him to madness.

The flying sword, though formidable in its imperviousness, possessed no extraordinary offensive might. Yet, its unyielding nature was a torment in itself. No spell, no divine ability could so much as scratch its surface. Were he not in a desperate flight for his life, he would have seized the blade and subjected it to meticulous study.

But compared to the flying sword, it was the scythe-shaped blade, eerie and unpredictable, that truly struck terror into his heart, forcing him to abandon all resistance.

In the elder’s eyes, the curved blade resembled an ancient demon god of reaping souls. Its speed was unnerving, for it clung to his brow, a constant specter of death. The sensation was akin to being held in the grip of an invisible hand, a hand that could, with the slightest pressure, end his existence.

Thus, the desperate elder dared not flee. He stood transfixed, awaiting Wang Lin’s arrival, caught in the agonizing standoff between the hovering sword and the looming scythe.

A bitter brew churned within the old man. He regretted ever venturing to this forsaken planet with Shi Fang, a decision that had led him to cross paths with such a calamitous star.

The fate of Shi Fang was now irrelevant; his sole concern was self-preservation.

Wang Lin fixed his gaze upon the elder, spectral wisps of gray energy swirling across his right hand. His voice, flat and devoid of emotion, cut through the air. “Years ago, when the Sword Saint returned from the Immortal Realm, did anything out of the ordinary occur? I shall only ask once. Hesitation, death! An inadequate answer, death! A divergence from Shi Fang’s account, death!”

The elder started, but without a moment’s hesitation, he blurted out, “When the Sword Saint returned, a terrifying sword spirit came tearing through the heavens, pursuing him relentlessly! They fought for days until, at last, the sword spirit shattered. A third of its essence was sealed away by the Sword Saint, suppressed deep within the Eastern Sea Demon Spirit Gate!”

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intensifying. “The Eastern Sea Demon Spirit Gate… what mysteries lie within?”

The elder, fearing for his life, hastened to reply, “The Eastern Sea Demon Spirit Gate is one of the three forbidden zones of the planet Tianyun. Its control rotates every ten thousand years, and currently, it falls under the dominion of my Grand Luo Sword Sect.”

“Ancient demons dwell within its depths, and the gate opens every five thousand years. When it does, sects from across Tianyun send disciples to capture these ancient demons.”

“But the capturing of demons is secondary. The true purpose of the Eastern Sea Demon Spirit Gate is a trial, a bloody trial, fraught with deadly peril! The fewer who emerge, the greater the rewards. These rewards are granted in the instant of emergence, a mystical ‘Demon Spirit Consecration!'” The elder’s eyes flickered with avarice as he uttered these words.

“Demon Spirit Consecration?” Wang Lin’s voice rumbled.

“Yes! This consecration can forcibly elevate a cultivator’s cultivation base to a higher realm! If one receives the consecration at the moment of Ascendancy, the perilous threshold will be lowered to its minimum, infinitely increasing the chance of success.”

“Of course, even for those who have already achieved Ascendancy, the Demon Spirit Consecration offers further advancement. With the cultivation base of a late-stage Ascendant, one might even take that final step, stepping into the dualistic realms of Yin-Yang and Illusion-Reality, achieving immortality and an eternal lifespan!”

“Thus, the opening of the Demon Spirit Gate every five thousand years is a monumental event on Tianyun, drawing participants from far and wide. But the gate is rife with dangers, and to gain, one must sacrifice. Only the most exceptional dare to enter.”

“And legend has it, that if a single soul emerges triumphant, they will receive a reward of unprecedented value, a complete, lower-grade Immortal Art, never before seen within the Demon Spirit Gate!”

Wang Lin fell silent, his eyes flickering with inscrutable thoughts. He subtly signaled Xu Liguo, who, sensing his master’s intent, unleashed a spectral glow from the scythe. In an instant, the blade pierced the elder’s skull, exiting through the back of his head.

The elder staggered, spewing a mouthful of blood, his eyes dimming. He pointed a trembling finger at Wang Lin, and then collapsed into stillness on the ground, his life extinguished.

Wang Lin summoned the curved blade and the sword back into his storage pouch. With a flicker of motion, he vanished from the scene.

Three incense sticks’ worth of time passed before the supposedly deceased elder’s eyes snapped open. The wound upon his brow writhed grotesquely, and then began to knit together.

He gasped for air, his features gaunt and haggard. Glancing back at the empty space behind him, he muttered, “To think you could kill me, Wang Lin? I cultivated the Threefold Spirit Art, which bestows three lives upon me. Never did I expect to expend the last one today! When I return to the Grand Luo Sword Sect, I will devise a means to ensure your agonizing demise, and avenge this humiliation!”

His eyes gleaming with malice, he hastened away.

But just as he moved, two streaks of gray energy erupted from the mountain forest, silently and impossibly fast.

The elder’s face contorted in shock. Without a moment’s hesitation, he cried out, “Disperse!”

The single word unleashed a wave of air distortions, a chaotic ripple meant to intercept the incoming energy.

Simultaneously, the elder lunged backward, half of his form phasing into the void, attempting to teleport away. But he was too late!

The two wisps of gray energy disregarded the distortions, slicing through them as though they were mere illusions. Like berserk chains, they plunged into the elder’s body.
The ancient one paled, a wretched smile twisting his lips. He felt them, the twin tendrils of grey mist, spinning wildly within his soul. With each revolution, a sliver of his life force was extinguished.

Deep within the blighted Northlands, Wang Lin walked between worlds, a swirling aura of grey clinging to him. At times thick and choking, at others thin and fleeting, it danced around him. But it was upon the fingertips of his right hand that the mist truly writhed, a vortex of swirling grey, forever slipping between his skin.

He was walking when he paused, his gaze snapping back, a cruel smile etching itself onto his face.

Moments later, a thick coil of grey smoke materialized before him, born from the shadowed forests behind. It coalesced into a sphere of dull smoke, hovering silently.

Wang Lin stared at the grey orb. His right hand shot out, seizing it in a grip of pure will. When he opened his hand once more, the sphere was gone, vanished without a trace.

Like a wraith, he moved. His form blurred, becoming a cloud of grey, rushing forward into the deepest, darkest reaches of the Northlands.

“Time is a cruel master. The Eastern Sea Demon Gate…it is the perfect place to hone my Slaughtering Immortal Art! That is one reason for this journey.”

“Venerable Zhou Yi was kind to me, and I, Wang Lin, repay all debts. He is imprisoned within the Demon Gate by the Sword Saint. I must do all within my power to free him. This is the second reason.”

“My master, Tian Yunzi, guides his actions by the tides of destiny. He would not send me without purpose. If I defy him, I would work against the very fate of the world and find no purchase within the Tian Yun sect. This is the third reason.”

“And perhaps, within the Demon Gate, I will find opportunity for acquiring more metal essence. Should my Heavenly Defiance reach its peak, it would greatly aid Wan’er, perhaps even awaken her.” Wang Lin touched his brow, a flicker of tender longing in his eyes.

The thought of Li Muwan brought a warmth to his icy heart. She was the only one who had truly walked with him, crossed the stars with him.

“Wan’er…” Wang Lin sighed, the sound lost on the wind. Then, he became the mist and vanished.

Deeper into the Northlands, the more fearsome the beasts that lurked within, some even matching the power of Ascendant cultivators. Even within thirty thousand leagues, a great many of them exist.

For the past ten days, the Northlands had been choked with grey mist, rising from the very earth, stealing life from all it touched.

Yet, this fog never breached the thirty-thousand league mark, and so, the beasts paid it little heed. It lasted only a few days, and the grey mist had vanished. It caused no great upheaval.

Ten days passed, leaving only six until the opening of the Eastern Sea Demon Gate. And then, Wang Lin stepped out of the desolate heart of the Northlands.

He seemed even more deadly than before, his eyes burning with a cold, hidden light. The mist swirled about his right hand, dancing between his fingers in a frenzied ballet, emitting a soft, whispering sound.

The sound was infused with a strange power, drawing the mind of any who heard it, against their will.

“The Slaughtering Immortal Art… it is nearly mastered!” Wang Lin’s voice was calm as he gazed at the sky.

“To convert life force into a Brand of Life… it is difficult. This massacre has yielded but three.”

Upon his brow, a grey rune appeared, simple in design yet radiating raw life force. It spread, tendrils of light racing across his skin, until, in an instant, his entire body was covered.

Then, again and again, the symbol appeared until three such runes, each brimming with stolen life, clung to his being.

He studied his body, then drew a finger across his palm, like a sword. A grating sound echoed, but his skin was unbroken.

“The Eastern Sea…” Wang Lin lifted his head, his eyes firm.