The viperous Teng Yun proved to be remarkably quick-witted. He spoke with a voice thick with sorrow, his face a mask of injured innocence. Though his words were few, he deftly plugged every conceivable loophole.

A lesser soul, undoubtedly, would have fallen prey to his cunning deceit.

Wang Lin regarded Teng Yun with a chilling gaze, then turned and strode forward. Teng Yun’s face paled, and he retreated several paces, his eyes fixed on Wang Lin. *“His armor…it’s a bleak and unsettling thing. And I cannot discern his cultivation. Is he a cultivator, or a beast of this desolate place? Even should his power be great, he will surely meet his end within ten paces of that corpse. The emanating golden light will be his undoing. Then shall I seize the treasure for myself, and the armor too shall be mine!”*

Teng Yun’s heart thrummed with cold triumph, though his face portrayed a mixture of concealed fury and hesitant restraint.

Wang Lin took a step, crossing the ten-pace threshold. Instantly, a golden radiance erupted from the corpse of the Rat Zodiac. The light coalesced into a thousand golden needles, thrusting outwards with blinding speed.

Joy flickered in Teng Yun’s eyes, a hint of smug victory upon his lips. But then, he gasped, the triumphant glint vanishing in an instant.

From within Wang Lin’s helm, a frigid light emanated. He swept his hand, and the golden needles were scattered like dust before a gale. Wang Lin, having tasted the sword Qi of Xiao Twelve, moved with deliberate calm, approaching the Rat’s remains.

His effortless advance struck Teng Yun as terrifying. Sensing impending doom, he turned to flee. But a cold snort pierced the air, freezing him in place.

Teng Yun shuddered, a primal fear gripping his heart. To flee, he felt, would be a sentence of death. The shadow of oblivion descended upon him.

“Have you no further use for your brother’s corpse?” Wang Lin squatted, not turning back.

Teng Yun’s face contorted. “Venerable one! Take it, I beseech thee. I would not harbor the slightest resentment. My brother, may his soul rest, was a wretch from birth. That his death might serve a great figure such as yourself is a blessing he could never have earned in life! Even were he alive, and knew of your interest, he would, without hesitation, take his own life! Such was his selflessness!”

His words were a desperate scramble, born of abject terror.

Wang Lin’s gaze rested upon the Rat’s brow, where the golden light emanated.

With unwavering focus, Wang Lin struck. The Rat’s head separated from its body, seized by Wang Lin in the air. He opened his mouth and unleashed a surge of Primordial Spirit Fire.

The colorless flames enveloped the Rat’s head, consuming it in a blazing inferno.

Teng Yun, witnessing this, trembled anew. *“I am doomed! I am doomed! This man wields Primordial Spirit Fire! He is no simple beast, but a merciless cultivator, one who defiles even the dead! I have witnessed too much. I can only pray he does not silence me to protect his secrets…”*

Wang Lin watched as the Rat’s head was reduced to ash. His eyes flashed, and he released another surge of Primordial Spirit Qi. The head vanished, leaving only a glimmering golden mote.

Taking a deep breath, Wang Lin grasped the mote, swallowing it whole.

He kicked the headless body towards Teng Yun. “Your brother’s husk. Return it to the earth. May he find some measure of peace.”

Teng Yun’s face was ashen, but relief bloomed in his eyes. He stumbled forward, catching the corpse. “Aye, thank you, venerable one, thank you.” He cradled the body and fled.

Only when he had reached the distance of dozens of *li* did he pause, his body drenched in cold sweat. He regarded the headless corpse and spat, his heart filled with loathing. He cast it aside. With a wave of his hand, a swirling cloud of darkness arose, enveloping the corpse. In an instant, bones and flesh alike were devoured.

“It was this damned corpse that nearly cost me my life! But this cultivator, though powerful, seems somewhat dull of wit. He truly believed that dog was my brother!” Teng Yun spat again, then glanced back, his fear lingering. He turned and vanished into the wilderness.

He knew not that if Wang Lin had truly believed him to be the Rat’s brother, his fate would have been far more grim.

Having consumed the sword Qi of Ling Tianhou, Wang Lin sank slowly into the earth, disappearing into the depths. There, he sat in meditation, preparing to master his new acquisition.

The sword Qi of Ling Tianhou demanded a period of refinement, lest it remain an unruly and unusable power.

As he descended, Wang Lin sensed another source of sword Qi not far away. He reached out through the earth, seizing it. The errant sword Qi thrashed, taking the form of a massive rat beast, snarling at Wang Lin.

Wang Lin chuckled softly. Releasing the aura of his Nascent Soul cultivation, he quelled the rat beast.

Before him materialized a simple, ancient sword, adorned with the image of a black rat, its dark eyes fixed upon Wang Lin.

“The Sword of the Rat,” Wang Lin murmured, a smile playing on his lips. When he slew the Rat Zodiac, he had been consumed by madness, casting the sword aside without a thought. He had lamented its loss, but now it had returned to him, along with the unexpected bonus of Ling Tianhou’s sword Qi.

“Ling Tianhou, Sword Saint… What will be your expression when I, Wang Lin, gather all twelve Swords of the Zodiac?” With a sweep, Wang Lin grabbed the Rat Sword, branded it with his spiritual essence, and cast it into his storage bag.

The Swords of the Zodiac were no ordinary weapons. Even in the hands of one as powerful as the Rat Zodiac, their true potential remained dormant. But in the hands of Wang Lin, they would become something far more potent.

In the depths below the Rat’s resting place, Wang Lin spent a month in refinement, finally subduing the sword Qi, claiming it as his own. Unlike the sword Qi of the Goat Zodiac, which he had merely stored within his body for later use, this power had been fully integrated, becoming a part of his very being.
The wisp of sword-qi, gifted by the Sword Saint Zishu, had become putty in Wang Lin’s hands. He could, with a mere thought, divide it into ten shimmering strands, each carrying a fraction of its original might. Conversely, he could weave these tendrils back together, unleashing the full, earth-shattering power of the Lingtian Marquis’s own blade!

This newfound control rendered the sword-qi infinitely more versatile, elevating it to a realm beyond its previous, rudimentary form. Most of the Sword Kin of the Twelve Houses could only discharge their qi in a single, unyielding blast, unable to command its ebb and flow.

Wang Lin’s mastery stemmed from his cultivation, now reaching the nascent heights of the Ascendant Soul stage. Moreover, the Lingtian Marquis, in his benevolence, had purged the qi of his own divine sense, ensuring its disciple could wield it with ease. In essence, the qi had become an unclaimed treasure.

This act alone spoke volumes. Lingtian Marquis’s dedication to his students dwarfed even that of Tian Yunzi. The Marquis bestowed potent power, while Tian Yunzi offered only a paltry trinket for self-preservation. The Marquis would send the Star Plunderer, Tanlang, into the Demon Spirit Land to safeguard his own; Tian Yunzi would never.

This disparity was woven into the very fabric of their respective philosophies. Lingtian Marquis embraced the Way of Tyranny, a path of fierce possessiveness, where all that belonged to him was sacrosanct, inviolable to outsiders. His disciples were under his personal protection, a principle that, despite the Sword Sect’s reputation for ruthlessness, fostered unwavering loyalty amongst its ranks. Yet, this very protection, this unwavering shield, hindered the rise of true paragons. The fledgling falcon, coddled and shielded, rarely becomes a soaring eagle.

Tian Yunzi, on the other hand, followed the Way of Heavenly Fortune, yielding to fate’s capricious winds. He was the epitome of the obedient cultivator, allowing his disciples to rise or fall according to the whims of destiny, rarely interfering with the natural order.

Ironically, this detached approach had forged a legion of formidable disciples. The Seven Fated Ones alone were titans of power, not to mention the countless others who had emerged, hardened and tempered in the fires of life and death.

During Wang Lin’s month-long seclusion beneath the earth, a cataclysmic event unfolded within the Demon Spirit Land, driving almost every foreign cultivator from their sanctuaries, converging on the Fire Demon Prefecture and the Sky Demon Prefecture.

The Sky Demon Prefecture, with a war host of thirty million, had declared open war upon the Fire Demon Prefecture!

While skirmishes and feuds were commonplace in the Demon Spirit Land, a full-scale war between two entire prefectures was a rare and terrifying spectacle. Even the periodic influx of cultivators, occurring every five thousand years, only triggered localized conflicts, never the kind of existential struggle now erupting.

The balance of power between the nine Sky Demon Prefectures was teetering, threatening to unleash a chain reaction of unimaginable consequences.

For cultivators, however, this was an unprecedented opportunity, a chance to amass war merit with unparalleled speed.

The Sky Demon Prefecture mobilized its eight Demon Generals and their respective lieutenants, including the newly appointed Mo Li Hai and the ascendant First Demon General, Mo Fei. At the head of the host marched none other than the Sky Demon Emperor himself!

The army, divided into three massive columns, surged into the Fire Demon Prefecture, converging upon the Fire Demon capital.

The very day Wang Lin emerged from his subterranean retreat, the Sky Demon legions set foot upon Fire Demon soil.

The moment he breathed the air, Wang Lin sensed the oppressive miasma of war. It was not the aura of a single warrior, but the collective bloodlust of tens of millions, a force so potent it darkened the very heavens.

The azure sky was swallowed by a pallid gloom, and a chilling rain began to fall.

Wang Lin gazed upwards, a thoughtful frown etching his features. “The Ancient Demon acts with decisive haste. Perhaps his patience has finally worn thin. This requires… caution.” He paused. “But this war is not my concern. My priority is the remaining Sword Saint disciples. I must claim the ten remaining strands of sword-qi, refine them with the boundless essence of slaughter. Only then will I have a true foothold in this forsaken land!

“And the hidden grotto… it bears further exploration. Who knows what treasures might yet lie within!” Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with ambition. He took a step forward, vanishing into the mists. “The Sword Saint disciples… two stood beside Mo Fei that day. They are my targets. But that Mo Fei… there is something unsettling about him. He is the spitting image of the black-haired prisoner I saw in the Imperial Dungeon. There is a mystery there.” Wang Lin’s form flickered through the landscape, his mind racing.