Within the exquisitely crafted Imperial Palace of the Celestial Demon City, a soft laugh echoed through the halls.

“That imp, Mo Fei, dares to petition for a duel with Mo Lihai, using his war merits from the Fire Demon Territory as a leverage I cannot deny! The boy has spirit. Granted!”

“Your Majesty, should these two establish such a precedent, I fear other Demon Generals…” An aged voice echoed from within the palace.

“Should any others amass ten million battle merits, then so be it!”

“…As you command!”

Moments later, an elderly man emerged from the palace, a scroll clutched in his hand. He shook his head in quiet resignation before hurrying away.

With the Demon General Tournament drawing ever closer, a palpable tension hung over the Celestial Demon City. Scuffles and brawls erupted almost daily.

“It is but a game!” Wang Lin murmured, setting down his wineskin by the riverbank. His gaze was fixed on the overcast sky.

“A game in the eyes of the Demon Emperor.” From the Demon Emperor’s perspective, these outsiders slaughtering each other for a single, coveted prize – the position of Demon General – was the most exquisite entertainment. Wang Lin took a swig, his eyes clear and knowing. After a long moment, he rose and vanished into the twilight.

This was the seventh day. Only eight remained until the Demon General Tournament!

As dusk descended, the streets of the Celestial Demon City grew deserted, the oppressive atmosphere driving people indoors. A lone figure, clad in azure robes, strode purposefully towards the Mo Estate, barely a hundred paces away.

A greatsword was slung across his back. His steps were measured, his face devoid of emotion. With each stride towards the Mo Estate, a faint aura of immortal energy began to emanate from him.

Simultaneously, a suffocating pressure descended upon the entire Mo Estate.

Within the Mo Estate…

Mo Lihai was deep in secluded cultivation within a secret chamber. Seventeen miniature human effigies, no larger than a hand’s breadth, shimmered with an unsettling light, encircling him.

Waves of demonic energy pulsed from Mo Lihai’s body, interlinking with the effigies to create a perfect, self-sustaining cycle.

Suddenly, Mo Lihai’s eyes snapped open, his gaze piercing, as if capable of penetrating the chamber walls. He sensed the arrival of the azure-clad figure outside the estate.

The man outside chuckled softly, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. He continued his approach without hesitation. As he reached the gates of the Mo Estate, the massive doors imploded silently into a shower of splinters.

Two Mo Estate guards, caught in the blast, erupted in a spray of blood mist, their bodies flung far into the estate.

“From the Great Luo Sword Sect, Sword Disciple Twelve, Muyang, seeks an audience with Lord Mo Lihai!”

His voice, calm and measured, echoed across the courtyard. He stepped over the wreckage and advanced towards the secret chamber where Mo Lihai was secluded.

Countless soldiers and retainers surged forward to intercept him, but as he moved forward, any who ventured within ten paces of him simply collapsed, dissolving soundlessly into crimson mist.

The air was filled with the sickening thud of bodies. None could hinder his advance. Even the artificial mountains and elaborate structures crumbled like the gates had before them.

Then, a diminutive figure appeared before him. With a guttural roar, the figure planted its feet, unleashing its full demonic power in an attempt to withstand the advancing swordsman.

The disciple of the Great Luo Sword Sect merely shook his head and continued forward. With each step, the diminutive figure’s face grew paler, and his limbs trembled. He felt as though he were facing not a man, but a sword!

A blade of unimaginable sharpness!

The figure stumbled backward, retreating several paces until a hand settled firmly on his shoulder. He steadied himself and took a deep breath.

Three elderly men, their faces etched with years of experience, appeared behind him. They glared coldly at the approaching swordsman.

The Great Luo Sword Sect disciple smiled faintly, but his pace did not falter.

The three elders exchanged worried glances, preparing to unleash their powers, when a deep, resonant voice echoed from behind them.

“Who sent you?” The voice was filled with an undeniable authority. The three elders immediately stepped aside, revealing Mo Lihai’s imposing figure.

Mo Lihai’s gaze was like burning coals as he scrutinized the young swordsman. His aura was now far more potent than it had been when he faced Wang Lin in the Ancient Demon City.

The Great Luo Sword Sect disciple’s eyes flashed, and he finally halted. “Demon General Mo Fei!” he declared.

Mo Lihai frowned. “What is it?”

“On behalf of Lord Mo Fei, I deliver a challenge to General Mo!” The man replied smoothly, gesturing with his right hand. A golden flash materialized before Mo Lihai.

Mo Lihai’s face darkened as he stared at the gilded invitation.

Upon it was a single word: WAR!

“Three days hence, outside the Ancient Dao Pavilion!” With that, the disciple of the Great Luo Sword Sect turned to leave.

But as soon as he turned, his body froze. A torrent of power surged through him, far exceeding the level he had displayed upon entering the estate.

His eyes blazed, locking onto a lean figure standing a hundred paces away. “Disciple Seven of the Violet Sect, Wang Lin!” he growled.

Mo Lihai, only now aware of Wang Lin’s presence, felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Wang Lin did not even glance at the swordsman, but continued to walk forward. His pace was slow, yet it stoked a burning anger in the disciple of the Great Luo Sword Sect.

“Rumor has it that Disciple Seven of the Violet Sect is arrogant beyond measure. Today, I see that rumor is true!” the swordsman sneered.

Wang Lin seemed deaf to the taunt, and continued to advance. The swordsman’s aura intensified, locking onto Wang Lin like a drawn blade.

Just as his power reached its peak, Wang Lin simply brushed past him, never faltering, never acknowledging his existence.
The warrior of the Da Luo Sword Sect paused, his surprise quickly twisting into incandescent rage. He whirled, fixing Wang Lin’s retreating back with a furious gaze. “Wang Lin! Did you hear me, cur?” he roared, his voice laced with scorn.

Wang Lin, paying him no heed, continued his steady stride towards his dwelling.

A flash of cold steel flickered in the swordsman’s eyes. As one of the twelve Sword Scions of Da Luo, his standing on Tian Yun Star was akin to the Seven Stars of Tian Yun – a figure of renowned prowess. Yet, this upstart dared to disregard him! With a snort of disdain, the man blurred forward, materializing before Wang Lin in a gust of wind. “Wang–” he began, his tone edged with frost.

Before he could utter another syllable, Wang Lin raised his gaze, his expression serene. “A cultivator so easily roused to wrath? Your millennia of training are a profound disappointment.”

Had Tian Yunzi himself spoken such words, the Da Luo swordsman would have received them with humility. But to hear them from this…this *nobody* was an unbearable affront. He chuckled, a chilling sound, his eyes hardening to chips of ice. “I shall see for myself what fruit your own millennia have borne!”

“Give way,” Wang Lin intoned, shaking his head in weary resignation.

The Da Luo warrior exploded with laughter. With a swift hand gesture, arcane symbols bloomed in the air, conjuring a torrent of sword-qi that erupted from his very being. One became two, two became four, and in a heartbeat, sixty-four shimmering blades of pure energy hurtled towards Wang Lin.

Wang Lin remained unmoved, his expression unchanging. He didn’t even deign to acknowledge the approaching storm. In that instant, the Mark of Living Genesis shimmered upon his form, a subtle aura that pulsed with ancient power. As the sword-qi struck, it was not met with resistance, but utter dissolution. The energy simply flickered and vanished.

“Is that all? It seems your millennia have not only disappointed, but have been utterly wasted,” Wang Lin remarked, his voice laced with an almost imperceptible weariness.

The Da Luo swordsman’s face paled, disbelief flooding his features. While these sixty-four blades were not his most potent attack, to deflect them with such casual ease shattered his composure.

*What sorcery is this?!* he thought frantically. *He employed no artifacts, yet my sword-qi crumbled upon contact! Not even Longzi, the mightiest of the Sword Scions, could accomplish such a feat!*

Wang Lin shook his head once more, and continued his forward progress.

The Da Luo swordsman involuntarily recoiled, stepping back. He drew a deep breath, his right hand instinctively reaching for the greatsword sheathed upon his back.

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed. He fixed the man with a chilling stare. “Begone. You come bearing a challenge, and I will not stain my hands with your blood today.”

“You, a mere nascent soul late-stage perfection, your cultivation equal to mine! Though your tricks may be potent, you cannot hope to withstand the force of my blade!” the Da Luo swordsman snarled, abandoning all pretense. In a fluid motion, he drew his greatsword.

The heavens cracked asunder with a thunderous roar, as a colossal blade of amethyst surged into existence above them. The air thrummed with raw, untamed sword-qi, the very ground trembling beneath its weight. An intricate rune adorned the blade’s surface.

From within that sigil, a spectral beast manifested – a gigantic ram wreathed in violet energy. Its eyes burned with savage fury, its very presence emanating an aura of bestial savagery. It merged with the blade, infusing it with terrifying power.

“Slaughter-Ram Sword Rend!” the swordsman bellowed, unleashing his full celestial power. His right hand descended in a swift, decisive arc, and the colossal blade followed suit, roaring towards Wang Lin with unimaginable force.

Mo Li Hai’s face paled, and he staggered backwards, his companions scrambling to retreat hundreds of feet away.

The greatsword crashed down like a bolt of divine wrath, the air exploding in a deafening cascade of thunder.

Wang Lin’s expression remained unchanged. He shook his head, a gesture of profound disappointment. The blade possessed considerable power, especially with the soul of the ram bound within. But the man before him was incapable of unleashing its full potential.

“You waste a magnificent weapon,” Wang Lin murmured. And as the greatsword descended, in a moment that defied comprehension, in a display that etched itself into the swordsman’s very soul, Wang Lin raised his right hand…and seized the blade.

As his fingers closed around the amethyst steel, the Mark of Living Genesis flared into blinding brilliance, a thousand runes of ancient power erupting across his hand. A cacophony of roars erupted from the blade, the ram spirit within thrashing and howling, desperate to escape Wang Lin’s grasp. But Wang Lin’s hand, like the grip of an ancient god, remained unyielding, impervious to the beast’s frantic struggles.

The Ram Soul’s tormented cries echoed through the air, its eyes burning with defiant rage. It lunged forward, its ethereal jaws snapping towards Wang Lin’s face, as though it could devour his very essence.

Though a spirit formed from pure energy, its attack sent a chilling gust of wind through the spectators, a visceral sensation of impending doom.

“Abomination, how dare you!” Wang Lin’s voice thundered, his gaze hardening into obsidian steel. Scarlet light pulsed within his eyes, and the unbridled essence of slaughter erupted from his very being, piercing the Ram Soul’s ephemeral form.

The Ram Soul shrieked in agony, its spectral body shattering under the onslaught of bloodlust. It dissolved into shimmering motes of light, retreating back into the blade. The greatsword fell still, its struggles ceased, its defiance extinguished.

Wang Lin’s actions echoed a similar feat performed by Tian Yunzi in his youth, when a mere touch shattered the beast soul trapped within the God-Slaying Chariot!

Mo Li Hai stared, speechless, his eyes wide with awe and fear. He gazed at Wang Lin with a mixture of emotions he could scarcely comprehend.

*In three short months, he has ascended to such heights…* he thought, stunned. *Even the Vice-Captain is no match for him. Today, he subdued a terrible sword-soul with utter ease! Had he possessed such power three months ago, I would have been utterly vanquished!*

The Da Luo Sword Scion, his face ashen, staggered backwards, coughing up a mouthful of blood. To have his spirit weapon seized and subdued was a grievous wound to his very soul.

He could not fathom how Wang Lin had become so powerful. Had he known the truth, he would never have dared to approach him alone. He gritted his teeth, his right hand touching his brow in a desperate gesture. Taking a ragged breath, he steeled himself, his eyes hardening with grim resolve. His final gambit rested in a fragment of sword-qi granted to him by his master, Ling Tianhou!
The spectral blades numbered twelve, one for each warrior. They were their ultimate safeguard, a power not to be unleashed lightly, for to do so in this perilous realm of the Demon Spirits would make the remaining four centuries an agonizing trial.

But to withhold them now was to risk never escaping.

“Go!” Wang Lin commanded, his gaze meeting Mo Yang’s for a fleeting moment.

Mo Yang, taken aback, hesitated.

“I bear no ancient grudge against the Great Luo Sword Sect. Only your persistent provocation forced my hand today. Deliver this message to the Twelve Swords of your Sect: Within this Demon Spirit land, I desire no enmity with them.” With a flick of his wrist, Wang Lin cast the greatsword towards Mo Yang, then strode past him, heading back towards his dwelling.

His departing figure left Mo Yang utterly bewildered. Having narrowly avoided unleashing his last, desperate defense in their recent duel, this unexpected reprieve filled him with disbelief.

He inhaled deeply, catching the hurled sword. After a quick search, he found no deception within, and he watched Wang Lin retreat in utter bafflement.

“Your words, I shall relay!” Mo Yang vowed, launching himself into the sky, fleeing the Mo estate with haste.

A thousand fathoms away, his pace slowed, but his senses remained alert, constantly monitoring Wang Lin. Yet, the man made no move, seemingly content to let him go.

“Wang Lin, this humiliation shall be repaid a hundredfold! Though your magic is potent, next time, I will bring Senior Brother Si and others to overwhelm you. I refuse to believe you can remain so composed then! Ha! Had Venerable Greed Wolf not departed for the Fire Demon Prefecture, a single strike from him would have ensured your demise!” A flicker of malice gleamed in Mo Yang’s eyes. He glared back at the Mo estate before spinning about and continuing his quick escape.

The further he traveled, the more he relaxed, the memory of their battle still fresh in his mind, filling him with apprehension.

“This Wang Lin is formidable! But if I were to unleash the Sword Breath gifted by my master, he would stand no chance!” A cold smile touched Mo Yang’s lips.

But then, without warning, a shadowy vapor leaked from the greatsword strapped to his back, tendrils of spectral smoke, writhing like serpents, snaking toward his head.

An overwhelming sense of dread gripped Mo Yang, but before he could react, the vaporous threads struck, plunging into his skull.

Too swift, too close – Mo Yang barely registered the danger before a guttural cry escaped his lips, and he plummeted from the sky. As he fell, his flesh withered, a piercing shriek tearing through the air.

His very spirit was unable to escape. The vapor, upon entering, immediately formed into spectral brands, severing the connection between his soul and flesh. Simultaneously, it devoured his essence, his blood and qi, feeding itself and fortifying its hold.

He slammed into the ground, eyes wide in horror, a mummified corpse. His last thought was of the sword – he had inspected it carefully, his very soul connected to it. How could this vapor have remained hidden within?

Before his lifeless form, space twisted, and Wang Lin materialized. With a swift motion, he tapped several points on Mo Yang’s corpse, then seized it, vanished.

Back in Wang Lin’s chamber at the Mo estate, he stepped from the void, releasing the body. It landed on the floor with a dull thud. Wang Lin, his face grim, reached into his pouch, and a banner of forbidden magic unfurled, filling the room with a dark, swirling mist laced with countless shimmering runes of power.

Having secured the room, he sat, deep inhales, and exhales, his gaze piercing, rested on Mo Yang’s corpse.

His expression was unreadable, a mask of contemplation. After a time, his fingers moved, forming a mystic seal, and his voice dropped into a low, droning chant. A spectral flame flickered into existence between his hands.

His fingers danced in the air, weaving a tapestry of intricate gestures. “Consume!” he spoke with soft fury.

The flame drifted towards the corpse, engulfing it in its ethereal glow. A series of crackling, popping sounds echoed through the room as the body began to dissolve at an alarming rate.

The corpse was already desiccated, its lifeblood drained by the spectral vapor. As it burned, a foul odor filled the chamber, but Wang Lin was oblivious, his eyes glued to the corpse within the flames.

During their battle, Mo Yang’s final gesture, a touch to his brow, had triggered a powerful wave of danger within Wang Lin!

Such a sensation had been rare since he had purified his killing intent. Even cultivators at the peak of the Ascendant stage could not trigger such a thing, such an invasive feeling had torn through his three thousand protective life imprints, and reached into his very soul.

The sensation brought him face to face with death, Wang Lin acted to diffuse the tense situation. In his eyes, this man would have not used his technique had he not been desperate.

Mo Yang’s flesh melted away, revealing his spirit, covered by a shifting mesh of gray marks, glimmers of dark energy flashed.

Mo Yang’s soul was motionless in the ethereal fire, Wang Lin studied the specter. In an instant, his eyes narrowed. He stared at the space between Mo Yang’s spirit, there was a line, the color of deep ice, flicker.

If one looked close enough, the line seemed to mimic the shape of a sword, a miniature form of destruction.

At the sight of the blue line, Wang Lin was shaken. For a moment, he was faced with the very presence of Sword Saint Ling Tianhou.

“Ling Tianhou!!” Wang Lin gasped, his eyes like stone.

“Years ago, outside the gate of the East Sea Spirit Demon World, before any of the Luo Sword Sect disciples, Ling Tianhou offered sword energy to protect the lives of his Twelve disciples.”
“The cerulean thread, ’tis the sword-essence itself! No wonder it felt as the touch of Death, poised to rend my Mark of Life asunder!” Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed with a resolute fire.

“This sword-essence, revealed to me, is now mine by right of sight!”

He closed his eyes, placing his hands upon his knees. From the crown of his head, celestial radiance burst forth as his Astral Soul departed its corporeal vessel. Upon the Astral Soul, a tapestry of Life-Marks, woven like impregnable armor, stood guard against the unseen.

His Astral Soul, now free, gazed upon the fading spirit of Mo Yang. After a moment of contemplation, his eyes flashed, and he exhaled a breath of Astral Flame, infusing it into the Netherfire. At once, the Netherfire surged, its intensity growing tenfold.

Stream after stream of Astral Flame poured from Wang Lin’s ethereal lips.

Mo Yang’s spirit writhed in agony, yearning to break free, but the Life-Marks that bound him held fast, imprisoning him within their spectral embrace.

Wang Lin’s Astral Soul, wreathed in prudence, carefully controlled the refining flames, lest they provoke the wrath of the sword-essence. Instead, he meticulously devoured Mo Yang’s spirit, consuming it bit by bit, refining him into nothingness.

This ordeal stretched across several days. Even with Wang Lin’s formidable power, the constant focus, the ceaseless outpouring of Astral Flame, took its toll. His Astral Soul dimmed, and weariness etched itself upon his spectral face.

Yet, his eyes burned brighter with each passing moment.

On the dawn of the fourth day, Mo Yang’s spirit, utterly consumed by the refining fires, finally shattered. It dissolved into motes of crystalline light, and amidst them, the cerulean thread flickered once, then hung motionless in the air.

Wang Lin’s Astral Soul inhaled, drawing the crystalline essence of Mo Yang into its being, rapidly replenishing the energy expended over the past days. With this done, his Astral Soul hesitated, casting a wary glance at the inert cerulean thread.

After a long moment of contemplation, Wang Lin gritted his teeth, abandoning all hesitation. He swallowed the thread whole!

In that instant, his Astral Soul convulsed violently. Its connection to his physical form began to fray and unravel. Forewarned of this danger, Wang Lin had remained close to his body. With a desperate surge of will, he forced himself back into his corporeal form, re-entering it just as the last thread of connection threatened to snap.

Wang Lin sat motionless, a statue of flesh and bone. Three days passed in this fashion. As dusk painted the heavens on the third day, Wang Lin opened his eyes. Within their depths, a serene stillness mingled with a light of blinding power.