The day waned swiftly, and after the hour of Gui Lin, six more duels amongst the demon generals concluded, with the fierce victory of the disciples of the Bi’e Mountain sect. Two of these contests saw demon generals without allies, and thus, the outcome was decided in a single, decisive battle. Xu Liguo, the mischievous spirit, had long since retreated to Wang Lin’s storage pouch.

The sword spirit maiden, perhaps weary of Xu Liguo’s persistent advances, vanished within her sword-like form, and did not emerge again.

Thus ended the first day of the demon general trials. As the veil of night descended, the demon generals emerged from the gates of the Heavenly Demon Sect and returned to their abodes.

This first round would stretch for seven to ten days. Fortunately, the victors were spared further trials, granting Wang Lin a brief respite.

The mortal skirmishes within the demon general competition held little interest for Wang Lin. He preferred not to bear witness to such slaughter, and instead, he indulged in the solace of music and wine by the riverside, maintaining a sense of detachment.

Moli Hai, however, was of a different spirit. He attended the battles in the imperial city each day, using his arcane arts to record the contests of those he deemed a threat to Wang Lin. These recordings he presented to Wang Lin each evening.

All his hopes, in truth, were now pinned upon Wang Lin.

These past few days, Wang Lin immersed himself in the melodies, seeking to touch upon his own Dao. He had listened to this music for some time, but he had always maintained a detached perspective, savoring the myriad flavors within each note.

As for Xu Liguo, ever since his encounter with the sword spirit maiden, he relentlessly pestered Wang Lin, begging to be released so he might woo the fair spirit.

On this particular day, the painted boat had not yet arrived. Wang Lin reclined upon the riverbank, gazing at the clouds that danced across the heavens. These clouds seemed to shift and change before his very eyes.

Mortals often likened clouds to ephemeral illusions. Yet, like the melodies of the zither, these clouds were not mere phantoms, but reflections of the heart. “If the heart is untroubled, then the clouds remain steadfast. If the heart is without stain, then the music fades,” Wang Lin mused, a hint of confusion clouding his gaze.

“Ascension… Ascension… How can one infuse one’s domain with the essence required for Ascension? At the Nascent Soul stage, one comprehends the domain. At the Spirit Transformation stage, one solidifies it. And at the Infant Soul stage, one merges the domain with the body. But even then, one is not yet ready for Ascension. I have long since merged my domain with my being, and my Dao heart was even perfected during Wan’er’s slumber.”

“Yet, one step remains elusive! What is this final step? Each cultivates their domain differently, thus giving rise to diverse paths. One cannot simply ask another for the answer. To know another’s path is not a boon, but a shackle. The path of the Dao must be trod alone, understood alone!”

The confusion in Wang Lin’s eyes deepened. Just then, Xu Liguo’s desperate, heart-wrenching cries echoed within his mind.

“Master, release me! The fair maiden has not seen me in ages, she must miss me dearly! Master, have you no compassion to separate me from this heaven-sent match? Master, let me out!”

Wang Lin furrowed his brow. Xu Liguo’s incessant prattle had become unbearable. He had severed his connection with the spirit a few days prior, finding peace for a short time. But the wily spirit had overcome the block and resumed his clamoring.

“Wang Lin, you separated me from my great beauty in the past, and now you seek to separate me from my little beauty! What is your motive? You are simply jealous! Yes, you are jealous that Xu Liguo is blessed with such amorous encounters!” Xu Liguo’s voice dripped with rage and boastfulness.

A cold glint flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes. Xu Liguo was loyal, but only as long as Wang Lin remained far stronger than him, and even if the spirit found a new master, that master could not be too powerful. Otherwise, Xu Liguo’s loyalty would vanish in an instant.

The ancient ancestor of the Giant Demon clan was a prime example. Had someone like Tian Yunzi, Ling Tianhou, or the Blood Ancestor captured him, Xu Liguo would have eagerly sold Wang Lin out in a heartbeat.

Besides this flaw, the demon also possessed another weakness: his insatiable lust. Whenever he encountered a woman, he became a different being entirely. Wang Lin had thought these past years had tempered his spirit, but it seemed he remained unchanged.

However, Xu Liguo was innately cowardly. He would not dare speak to Wang Lin in such a manner without some hidden advantage. It seemed Xu Liguo had concealed much during their journey from Vermillion Bird Star.

The cold glint in Wang Lin’s eyes intensified.

Oblivious to Wang Lin’s inner turmoil, Xu Liguo continued his tirade.

“Wang Lin, after you captured my great beauty, I thought you had some grand purpose for her. But what happened? Pah! My poor, pitiable beauty became nothing more than a tool for your illicit affair with that little vixen, Willow Eyebrows! You—”

“Enough,” Wang Lin said flatly.

“Enough? It is not enough! Release me so I may seek my little beauty! Only then will it be enough!” Xu Liguo’s voice faltered slightly. He sensed that some of his words had struck a nerve in the heart of the demon king. But the thought of the magical techniques he had learned recently emboldened him once more.

He was about to continue his rant when Wang Lin slapped his storage pouch. The immortal sword immediately flew forth, and Xu Liguo cheered. In an instant, he materialized from within the blade.

A dense fog of black energy coalesced into Xu Liguo’s form. He cackled lecherously, preparing to depart for the imperial city. At that moment, the cold glint in Wang Lin’s eyes intensified. He reached out and grasped the immortal sword.

A touch upon the blade sent tremors through the metal. Xu Liguo froze and screamed, “Wang Lin, what are you doing?!” Wang Lin cast a frigid gaze upon Xu Liguo. That single look washed over the spirit like a bucket of ice, instantly sobering him.

Wang Lin’s gaze conjured up images of the time when he was forged into a demon, and the terrors of the past hundreds of years flooded his mind.

“This is a demon king! He is capable of anything! He slaughtered the entire Teng family, and countless lives on Vermillion Bird Star! I… I…” Xu Liguo stammered.

“Ma… Master…” Xu Liguo hastily adopted a look of obsequious servility.

Wang Lin continued to stare coldly at Xu Liguo. The more he did so, the more frightened Xu Liguo became, for Wang Lin’s past deeds of carnage flooded his mind.
“I bestow upon thee the body of a demonic spirit, elevating thee to the rank of Sword Spirit, and further gifting thee with a celestial blade to safeguard thy essence.” Wang Lin’s voice, though even, sent shivers of dread down Xu Liguo’s ethereal spine.

“Now, I retract my gifts!” With a swift stroke of his left hand upon the celestial sword, a piercing shriek echoed from Xu Liguo as his spectral form convulsed. In an instant, Wang Lin severed the bond between the spirit and the enchanted steel.

Xu Liguo dissolved into a swirling mist of shadows. In the fleeting moment before the severing, he recognized a chilling aura, a killing intent unseen for centuries!

“By the abyss! It truly is killing intent! This cursed star intends to end me!” Xu Liguo’s shriek pierced the air as he desperately sought escape. Not since his service to Wang Lin during the battle with the Gigantic Devil Clan’s elder had he felt this icy presence, a constant companion of his earlier existence.

“A tiger remains a tiger,” Xu Liguo mused bitterly, recalling an old adage from his homeland. “No matter how tamed, it can never truly become a kitten.”

As Xu Liguo prepared to flee, Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with a glacial light. Instantly, arcane seals materialized around Xu Liguo’s form. The spirit cried out as his essence shimmered, transforming into the shape of a sword. A tempest of raw sword energy erupted, shattering Wang Lin’s binding seals and propelling him towards the distant horizon.

Wang Lin’s gaze narrowed, a faint smile playing upon his lips. Xu Liguo had concealed much, for such a transformation was unheard of on Suzaku Star.

At that moment, violent thuds echoed from within Wang Lin’s storage bag, as if something within were thrashing wildly. With a swift gesture, Wang Lin reinforced the seals upon the bag. He then fixed his gaze upon Xu Liguo’s fleeing form and uttered a low, resonant command, “Return to me!” As his voice carried, the hidden restraint within Xu Liguo’s essence flared to life.

A distant wail echoed across the land, quickly fading into the distance. Wang Lin’s eyes grew colder.

“As I suspected, this demon spirit, Xu Liguo, would not disobey so readily if he did not possess some means to resist my restraints.” Wang Lin stepped forward, each stride covering a hundred lengths.

Though Xu Liguo had somehow resisted the psychic bond, he could not sever the connection entirely. Through this thread, Wang Lin could hunt him.

Xu Liguo fled with frantic abandon. Being a spirit, now further empowered as a Sword Spirit, his speed far exceeded his former limits. Fear lent him wings as he raced like a wraith.

“Cursed star! I rendered service worthy of songs! Yet you seek to end me on a whim? Is it merely because I desired a fair maiden? Or because of a few insignificant secrets? Or because I planned to one day steal away with the Celestial Sword and Little Black?” Xu Liguo sighed, knowing now the true reason for Wang Lin’s wrath.

Ever since his first contact with the Little Black blade, the two spirits had shared countless secrets. He had learned much of the blade’s ancient lore and, with its aid, had subtly weakened Wang Lin’s binding seals.

Xu Liguo, ever cautious, had only dared weaken the seals during Wang Lin’s fiercest battles, ensuring his efforts remained undetected.

He had reveled in his cunning, but had underestimated Wang Lin’s distrust and cunning. He had been exposed.

“Alas, had I known…” Xu Liguo lamented, continuing his frantic flight. He was swift, and soon passed beyond the gates of Sky Demon City. As he cleared the walls, he cast one mournful glance back towards the capital.

“Farewell, my beloved. If I should ever return, I shall seek you out!” Even in the face of death, he thought only of his mortal love, forgetting the mournful spirit of Little Black blade. He turned to flee, but suddenly stopped, his face contorted in a mixture of surprise and forced cheer. “M-Master! Your speed is… impressive! Your cultivation has grown immensely! Truly, you are worthy to be the master of Xu Liguo! I…”

Ten paces before him stood Wang Lin, his face a mask of icy indifference.

“You possess remarkable audacity,” Wang Lin intoned softly.

Xu Liguo trembled, immediately dropping to his knees, beating his chest, and lamenting, “Master, I was wrong! Truly wrong! I shall never dare to do such a thing again!”

As he spoke, the seals on Wang Lin’s storage bag shattered. A bolt of black energy surged forth, defying Wang Lin’s will and launching itself outwards.

With unimaginable speed, the black energy streaked directly towards Wang Lin.

Had Wang Lin’s cultivation remained at the Infant Soul stage, such an attack at such close range would have been unavoidable. Even now, at the peak of the Late stage, evasion would prove difficult.

But Wang Lin did not even glance at the incoming darkness. This time, he would fully subdue the black scimitar.

The Mark of Life erupted around him. The black energy struck against it, producing a metallic clang, and the black scimitar was repelled.

Wang Lin tried to seize it with two fingers, but the scimitar evaded his grasp with a violent shriek. It looped back around, preparing to strike his brow with renewed ferocity.
The air crackled with unseen energies as Wang Lin wove a tapestry of arcane seals with deft fingers. Each gesture birthed a shimmering glyph, and one by one, they coalesced in the air, forming a restrictive array, though incomplete.

A vital piece was missing, an anchor point residing within the very mind of Xu Liguo!

Wang Lin’s earlier attempts at control, though augmented with his own lifeblood, paled in comparison to this refined art. With the full suite of seals unleashed, Xu Liguo, against his will, was drawn inexorably towards the shimmering trap.

The curved blade, a sentient weapon known as Little Black, whined in protest, yearning to intervene. But Wang Lin, with a swift stride, stood as an impassable bulwark. Forced to evade his advance, the blade faltered, granting the seals their opportunity. Xu Liguo watched, wide-eyed, as the arcane glyphs dissolved into his essence. A shudder wracked him, followed by a return to his sycophantic facade. “Master,” he simpered, “now that the seals are in place, surely you can forgive this one transgression. I swear, I’ll never stray again.”

Ignoring the obsequious spirit, Wang Lin reached for the struggling curved blade.

Little Black, nimble as a viper, attempted to slip away. But a frigid glint ignited in Wang Lin’s eyes as he uttered a word that echoed with death: “Carnage!”

In that instant, a torrent of grey mist, thick and suffocating, erupted from the mark between Wang Lin’s brows. Over three thousand strands of pure, distilled slaughter lashed out, engulfing the defiant blade.

So swift was Little Black that it nearly pierced the swirling shroud, seeking escape in a fleeting gap. But as it breached the barrier, Wang Lin’s fingertip materialized before it, delivering a flick that sent the blade spinning back into the heart of the deadly aura.

“Congeal!” Wang Lin commanded, his voice ringing with authority.

The tendrils of carnage compressed, shrinking into a pulsing orb, within which the desperate clang of steel against unyielding force echoed. Little Black was trapped, its attempts at freedom futile.

Turning his back on the imprisoned blade, Wang Lin fixed his gaze, cold as a winter’s moon, upon Xu Liguo.

The cowardly spirit trembled, forcing a foolish grin. “Master? What is thy will? Shall I, perhaps, attempt to reason with Little Black, to ensure his future obedience?”

“Do you know,” Wang Lin intoned, his gaze unwavering, “why I forbade you from seeking the Sword Spirit?”

Xu Liguo nodded vigorously, “Of course, Master, I understand!” Though in his heart, he grumbled, “Clearly, he seeks to keep me from my beloved. I wager he desires the little beauty for himself. Alas, poor Xu Liguo, eternally dashing, yet cursed with the peril of cuckoldry!”

“The Heavenly Demon City teems with powerful cultivators. Do you truly believe your presence would go unnoticed? Should you be discovered, your power is insufficient. You would be captured, your mind stripped away, and you would become but a tool, a spirit-bound treasure. Do you not comprehend, Xu Liguo?” Wang Lin’s voice, like the toll of a mighty bell, reverberated within the spirit’s soul.

Xu Liguo staggered, a flicker of understanding dawning. “Surely, I would not be discovered… would I?” He felt a tremor of fear, Wang Lin’s words striking a chord of grim possibility. He recalled the twisted curiosity of the Ancient Demon Ancestor.

“Yet,” a treacherous voice whispered within him, “to be captured by the little beauty’s master… that would be a blessing. A chance to finally know her embrace…” But such thoughts he dared not utter aloud.

Wang Lin’s gaze, sharp and piercing, seemed to dissect his very soul. Xu Liguo, mortified, yet defiantly maintained eye contact, clinging to a desperate strategy. *Hold strong, you craven fool! The more you fear, the more you must brazen it out!*

“You have learned much from the spirit of that curved blade,” Wang Lin said, his tone measured.

Xu Liguo blinked, then, without hesitation, recited every skill he had gleaned from Little Black, from the ability to mask his aura to the method of merging with a blade, enhancing its power.

As he spoke, he watched Wang Lin’s face, his every word laced with trepidation, a feeling unfamiliar for centuries.

When Xu Liguo finished, Wang Lin reached towards the sphere of condensed carnage. The internal clamor had ceased. As his hand touched the swirling aura, the strands of deadly power flowed back into his flesh, leaving only a handful to restrain the blade.

With but a few hundred strands remaining, the curved blade, with a desperate burst of energy, unleashed a wave of razor-sharp qi. But the tendrils of carnage slowed its assault.

Wang Lin, prepared, snatched the attack with two fingers, crushing it utterly. Within his grip, the black blade thrashed wildly. Wang Lin spat forth a breath of his primordial spirit, bathing the blade in its essence. His eyes crackled with arcane energy. He had no time for a prolonged ritual. He would force the subjugation, even at the cost of damaging the blade’s spirit. He branded it with his own spiritual imprint, a mark of eternal domination.

With a flick of his wrist, he flung the blade into the air, where it echoed with a mournful, rebellious whine.

Then, retrieving his own immortal sword, Wang Lin tossed it to Xu Liguo, who seized it with ecstatic relief, fleeing into its embrace.

Blade and sword soared in tandem. Little Black, seeing Xu Liguo safe, hesitated. Though it loathed Wang Lin, its loyalty to Xu Liguo proved stronger, and it remained at their side.

Or, to be precise, at Xu Liguo’s side.

Within the immortal sword, Xu Liguo glanced at the black blade, a smugness creeping into his thoughts. *The master couldn’t tame Little Black, but I, with a mere beckon, have made him my minion. Truly, my charisma is unmatched!* He relished the thought, *Let the master be powerful. He can never rival my charm!*

*And my suppleness!* he added. *And my way with women!*

He glanced at Wang Lin, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and triumph. *He may be powerful, but he is nothing compared to me.*
Wang Lin tapped his pouch, and Xu Liguo was immediately swept away by a fairy sword, flying into its depths. His curved blade followed close behind. Just as Xu Liguo was about to vanish entirely, he halted, gazing back towards the distant Imperial City. A sigh escaped his lips. “…Just you wait, you wretched woman. Your Xu-brother is back, and I’m not leaving until I’ve taken you away with me! I won’t leave Tian Yao City without you!”

Within the Imperial City’s Sword Pavilion, the serpentine Imperial Sword shuddered, taking the form of a young maiden. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, snarling, “Don’t let me see that wretched, shameless Sword Spirit again! If I do, even if I disobey the Emperor’s command, I’ll break free and cleave him in two!”

Having collected his weapons, Wang Lin returned to Hong City. Night fell, marking the passing of another day. He soared towards the Mo residence.

As he flew, his brow furrowed, and he stopped abruptly, his voice low and dangerous, “What is it?”

Along the long street, a group of figures emerged in the distance. They were a mix of men and women, all with cultivations above the Infant Transformation stage, some even in the middle or later stages.

Wang Lin remained impassive, observing the approaching cultivators in silence. He sensed no malice from them, only a deep sorrow and resentment.

From the group, a man in white robes stepped forward. He was handsome and open-faced. He bowed to Wang Lin and said, “Daoist Wang’s name has preceded him ever since the days of Tian Yun Star. The battle against the demon generals has filled us with admiration.”

Wang Lin scanned the group, understanding dawning in his mind. He returned the bow. “You flatter me.”

The white-robed man sighed. “I am the Young Master of the Jade Sword Sect. We were unwillingly drawn into the battle against the demon generals. Your valor a few days ago was a stark wake-up call. In this demon-ruled land, the lives of us cultivators are worth less than ants. The demon generals are not allowed to die, and those who slay them must pay with their own lives. In the end, only we cultivators perish, becoming mere entertainment for these savage natives!”

Wang Lin remained silent, his expression contemplative.

“This,” the white-robed man continued, pointing to another figure, “is the assistant of the demon general Ao Di!”

A middle-aged man in a Daoist robe stepped forward, bowing respectfully to Wang Lin. “Daoist Wang, Ao Di’s death was a wake-up call for me as well. The merits of war in this demon realm are weighty, but of what use are they if we do not live to enjoy them?”

The white-robed man sighed again. “To be playthings for the demon tribes is not the path for those who cultivate. We, my fellow Daoists, are preparing to leave Tian Yao City. Today, we bid farewell to Daoist Wang! Farewell!” With that, he took a deep breath, leaped into the air, and transformed into a streak of light, soaring into the heavens.

One by one, the other cultivators followed suit, offering their farewells to Wang Lin before becoming streaks of light and vanishing into the horizon.

Wang Lin stood silently, watching the departing cultivators, lost in thought.

A cultivator is one who defies the heavens, one who possesses pride! To bow before power is to abandon the very essence of defiance, leaving only subservience to fate!

But the word “defiance” has other meanings. These cultivators are not defying, but evading!

True defiance is to evade neither heaven nor earth, neither fate nor the laws of the Dao, but to act in defiance even within obedience!

A cultivator without his own Dao is no cultivator at all! Wang Lin turned and began to walk, not fly. His shadow stretched long beneath the moonlight.

To cultivate is to defy heaven and possess one’s own Dao! Wang Lin walked slowly, as if the street stretched on for eternity.

After what seemed like an age, the Mo residence came into view. In the darkness, the lanterns outside the mansion cast a soft, gentle light, like a beacon in the gloom. Wang Lin paused, gazing at them.

Though small, the light illuminated the plaque of the Mo residence.

A night breeze stirred, causing the lanterns to sway, their candles flickering, but the light remained steadfast.

Wang Lin stood silently in the darkness, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. But it was incomplete, fleeting. He felt as if he had grasped something, but in the next instant, it was gone.

A profound transformation was taking root within Wang Lin, slowly and silently.

Time passed, and the darkness was gradually dispelled by the rising sun. The blackness receded from Wang Lin’s vision like a departing tide.

In that instant, a flash of lightning illuminated his mind. He heard melodies echoing in his ears, and he felt as if he had attained enlightenment.

Darkness is swept away by sunlight. Is that not a form of defiance? That defiance is the key to my advancement to the Soul Transformation stage! A vague understanding bloomed in Wang Lin’s mind, a seed taking root.

An unusual light appeared in Wang Lin’s eyes. He did not return to the Mo residence but instead turned and left. He sat by the riverbank, like an old monk in meditation. Though the music had ceased, its echoes still lingered in his heart.

The music is without feeling, yet contains a sorrowful heart. That becomes tragic music. This is not defiance, different than my previous understanding. But why do I hear a hint of defiance within its echoes?

At midday, the sun shone warmly upon the land. The painted boat approached, and the young man from the other day was once again standing beside the woman playing the zither. This time, his gaze fell upon Wang Lin from afar.

The music floated on the breeze, and the young man, holding a wine cup, raised it slightly to Wang Lin.

Wang Lin picked up his wine gourd, touched it in return, and took a drink. The young man shook his head, gesturing to the front of the boat, not taking a single sip of his own wine.

Wang Lin smiled. Though ordinary in appearance, the young man possessed a certain carefree air. After a moment’s hesitation, Wang Lin flickered, walked across the surface of the water, and landed on the bow of the boat.

The woman playing the zither, unaware of the new arrival, continued to play her sorrowful music.

The young man smiled, drained his cup in one gulp, and sat down to one side.

Wang Lin also sat down, drinking from his gourd, listening to the music up close, and gazing at the woman’s jade-like fingers.
The three ferrymen remained silent. The youth, Qing Nian, offered Wang Lin passage, his lips curved in a perpetual, enigmatic smile. Wang Lin, in turn, felt little need for conversation. The music, you see, had taken hold. Any words would be but unwelcome noise against its bewitching melody.

As the final note faded, the painted boat glided along the river, carrying Wang Lin away. One day dissolved into the next as he sat, listening. When their wine ran low, servants emerged from the boat’s depths to replenish their cups.

Twilight descended, and the riverbanks flickered with ethereal blooms of light. Even the painted boat glowed with a gentle luminescence, a spectacle of beauty in the gathering darkness.

When the painted boat returned to the spot where Wang Lin had first embarked, he rose, clasped his hands in a gesture of farewell to Qing Nian, and prepared to take to the wind.

But then, the ferryman who had been silent all this while spoke, his voice soft, “Brother, the music seemed to stir something within you.”

Wang Lin paused. “It brought to mind a lost friend.”

Qing Nian downed his wine in one gulp, a hint of bitterness in his expression. “I understand. Only those with hearts tethered to the world can be moved so deeply. You and I, brother, are but mere mortals.”

As they spoke, the maiden at the lyre trembled, her music faltering ever so slightly.

Qing Nian continued, “If you have no pressing matters, brother, perhaps you would join me in drinking until dawn, and listen to the enchanting melodies of Ming Fei?”

Wang Lin considered this for a moment, his eyes meeting Qing Nian’s. “Very well.”

Qing Nian smiled, refilling their cups. “I’ve watched you for many days by the river. Though you were present, your spirit seemed elsewhere, like a traveler merely passing through.”

Wang Lin drank deeply, shaking his head. “A mortal’s folly. If I am a traveler, then it is but an illusion. Are you not the same? Your soul may reside on this boat, but where has your body truly wandered?”

Qing Nian regarded him with a searching gaze. “My home has become overrun by boisterous guests. My spirit seeks the tranquility found here.”

“A man with a home, then,” Wang Lin murmured.

“And you, brother? Do you not have a home?” Qing Nian countered.

“I do, but it is far, far away…” Wang Lin’s mind drifted to the valley on Vermillion Bird Star.

“And are there others there?” Qing Nian inquired.

“No, not anymore. And you?” Wang Lin asked, taking another swig from the wine flask.

“I have a niece, a mischievous imp, beset by a bothersome suitor of late.” He chuckled at this.

They spoke little more, content to sit on the deck, bathed in moonlight, listening to the lyre’s song, and savoring the wine.

The deep hours of night gave way to dawn, a pale light gradually illuminating the land.

Ming Fei had long since retired, but the two men remained motionless. The music may have ceased, but other, more subtle melodies filled the air.

Wang Lin retrieved the wine flask, offered a gesture of respect to Qing Nian, and rose. With a single step, he took to the wind, his form vanishing into the morning mist.

In the Imperial City, the first round of the Demon General Trials had concluded. Of the hundreds of warriors, only forty-eight remained, the others either defeated or disqualified by a loss and a win.

This first round, spanning several days, left only one Demon General, Ao Di, grievously wounded. But the cultivators… their losses were far more severe.

For this was, at its heart, a brutal competition between mortals!

The disciples of the Great Luo Sect, in particular, showed little restraint. Against the Demon Generals, they held back. But against their fellow cultivators, they were merciless, eager to demonstrate their power.

The morning sun swept across the vast plaza of the Imperial City. The stands, packed with spectators, were more crowded than ever. The battles to come would be the true test, and those who had survived were no ordinary warriors.

Forty-eight Demon Generals emerged from the Heavenly Demon Gate, their combined battle lust coalescing into something akin to a primeval beast, unleashed as the doors swung open.

At the plaza’s center, a golden-armored warrior stood impassive, his eyes scanning the entrants one by one. When he saw Wang Lin, he snorted in contempt.

In his eyes, this mere mortal dared to wound a Demon General within the Demon Spirit Lands. This alone warranted his execution ten, even a hundred times!

“Here, in the Demon Spirit Lands, these so-called cultivators are nothing but thieves, seeking the legacy of the Ancient Demons. Their deaths are of little consequence. But to harm a Demon General is an unforgivable sin!” The golden-armored warrior held Wang Lin in utter disdain, his heart filled with murderous intent.

Wang Lin met his gaze with a chilling stare. His cultivation of the Slaughter Immortal Art made him keenly aware of the man’s animosity. As the Demon Generals and their allies completed their entrance, the Heavenly Demon Gate rumbled shut. The golden-armored warrior pointed to the massive demon drum beside him.

“By order of the Emperor,” he announced, his voice ringing with authority, “the second round will be different. It is not a battle, but a test of strength. You must strike this war drum!”

A wave of surprise rippled through the Demon Generals, quickly replaced by fervent anticipation.

Even Mo Li Hai visibly trembled, his eyes shining with a newfound zeal.

Whispers spread throughout the crowd. “The War Demon Drum! It is our Heavenly Demon Prefecture’s most revered treasure, second only to the Dragon Pool! It is usually reserved for when a Vice Marshal is promoted to Marshal!”

“The Demon General Trials have never changed before. Why now?…Perhaps rumors of selecting two Vice Marshals are not unfounded after all!”

“They say that all the Marshals of Heavenly Demon Prefecture strike this drum upon their ascension. But it is difficult to rouse its voice. Only Lord Sky Marshal has managed fifteen strikes!”

The buzz of speculation was unprecedented. Even Wang Lin’s victory over Ao Di had not generated such excitement.

The golden-armored warrior silenced the crowd with a thunderous roar. Though he himself was puzzled by the Emperor’s decree, he continued, “This drum was crafted by the first Emperor of Heavenly Demon Prefecture, from the hide of an Ancient Demon. Those with insufficient blood essence will collapse before they can even strike it. Three strikes mark a strong warrior, six a true prodigy! Few of you will manage more than three.”

“The ten strongest will advance to the next round!”

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