From the distant horizon, a plume of dust ascended, so thick that even the heavens’ tears could not quell it. Within this swirling cloud, a countless host of妖兵 (Yāo Bīng – demon soldiers), clad in gleaming armor and wielding keen blades, rode upon war steeds, their hearts brimming with a chilling intent.

Amidst this fearsome army, a pavilion of ancient design floated serenely, moving in perfect unison with the marching ranks. Around this lofty structure, demon warriors with piercing gazes stood guard, flanking it on all sides.

Suddenly, a streak of vibrant light descended from the skies, hurtling towards the approaching army. Before this celestial arrow could draw near, a figure emerged from the floating pavilion. Clad in garments of unassuming style, he nonetheless exuded an aura of unmistakable authority.

A smile played upon his lips as he gazed upon the approaching radiance. “Brother Wang,” he called out, his voice echoing across the land, “welcome!”

The streak of light coalesced before the pavilion, revealing the form of Wang Lin. He regarded the figure who had stepped forth, betraying no surprise. Instead, he clasped his hands in greeting, saying, “Wang Lin greets the Demon Emperor.”

It was indeed the very youth with whom Wang Lin had once shared drinks and stories into the night. In those days, Wang Lin had sensed no demonic power within him, yet he carried an indefinable impression that the youth was no ordinary mortal.

Now, with the heightened perception of a nascent Soul Transformation cultivator, Wang Lin could discern the truth. Within the man’s dantian resided a demonic crystal, no larger than a fist. Though it radiated no visible power and appeared quite unremarkable, it drew Wang Lin’s deepest scrutiny.

As Wang Lin assessed the Demon Emperor, the man himself returned the gaze. “Brother Wang, there is no need for such formality,” he chuckled. “You are an emissary of the Ancestral Spirit, an honor that places us on equal footing. Call me by my ancestral name, Gǔ Yúnfēng. But I must admit to some curiosity… how did you know that I am the Demon Emperor?”

Wang Lin offered a subtle smile. “I merely suspected on that day,” he replied, “but upon meeting you again, my suspicions were confirmed.” As he spoke, a frantic mental plea erupted from within his storage bag, echoing with desperate entreaties.

“Master, oh greatest and most revered of masters! Can you bear to see two souls bound by destiny, separated by mere feet, yet doomed to pass each other by? Ten years, master, ten long years since I last beheld my little beauty!” Wang Lin frowned, swiftly tapping his storage bag. Xǔ Lìguó, the sword spirit trapped within, was ejected from the enchanted pouch.

Having learned from past transgressions, he wisely refrained from bringing the immortal sword along. Instead, he materialized as a disembodied spirit.

The moment he appeared, Xǔ Lìguó eagerly scanned his surroundings, seeking the Demon Emperor’s blade. His search proved fruitless, and a melancholic expression settled upon his features. “Alas,” he sighed, “is it truly my fate to be forever parted from my sweet blossom? Ten years gone, and I have lost her for all eternity!”

Though uncharacteristically eloquent, Xǔ Lìguó’s words only amplified Wang Lin’s unease. Bowing slightly towards the Demon Emperor, he explained, “Brother Gǔ, this is my sword spirit, Xǔ Lìguó. He seems to have… some misunderstanding with your imperial blade’s spirit…”

The Demon Emperor cast a glance at Xǔ Lìguó. “Fear not,” he replied with a wry smile. “I am well acquainted with this particular sword spirit, the very one who has tormented my niece these past ten years.”

As he spoke, he extended his hand, and the very fabric of the sky crackled and tore open. From the void, the Imperial Sword shimmered into existence.

“It’s you!!” The sword vibrated violently the moment it appeared, emitting a shrill, piercing cry. It lunged towards Xǔ Lìguó, unleashing a wave of searing energy.

Xǔ Lìguó’s despondency vanished in an instant. Remembering that his beloved’s master stood nearby, he suppressed his lecherous thoughts and feigned a look of lovesick longing. “My darling,” he cried, addressing the Imperial Sword, “ten years have passed! How your Xǔ Lord has yearned for you!” He scrambled to evade the oncoming blade.

Being a spiritual form, Xǔ Lìguó struggled to avoid the razor-sharp energy.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, His presence was cold. Xǔ Lìguó may be a sword spirit, but he was *his* sword spirit. He could treat him as he pleased, but he would not allow an outsider to do so.

As the Imperial Sword prepared to strike again, and the Demon Emperor made no move to intervene, Wang Lin’s expression darkened. With a flick of his sleeve, he conjured a swirling wind, causing the sword’s menacing aura to falter.

“That aura… it’s you! You are that loathsome food!! Aha, you are in league with him!” A spectral image of a young woman flickered into existence on the Imperial Sword. She glared at Wang Lin and Xǔ Lìguó with furious eyes. Without hesitation, she channeled the sword’s power, and the air shimmered with countless blades of pure energy, all converging upon Wang Lin.

Wang Lin frowned, his composure unfazed. His cultivation had reached Soul Transformation stage now, a realm far beyond his previous nascent Soul status. Though he had once regarded the Imperial Sword with caution, his current power rendered it insignificant.

With a cold snort, he unleashed a shockwave that shattered every blade of energy. As the Imperial Sword prepared to attack again, the Demon Emperor seized it firmly in his grasp.

“Brother Wang, forgive my niece’s impish nature,” the Demon Emperor said. “She is but a sword spirit, though not one born of the blade. She is the daughter of a dear friend, transformed into a spectral essence by tragic circumstances. To me, she is as my own child, and I cannot tolerate lewd advances towards her!” As he spoke, his gaze swept over Xǔ Lìguó, causing the sword spirit to cower as if about to shatter.

Wang Lin subtly tensed. In that fleeting moment, the Demon Emperor’s demonic crystal had unleashed a torrent of power, rivaling that of a late-stage Soul Transformation cultivator.

With a darkening countenance, Wang Lin seized Xǔ Lìguó, banished him to his storage bag, and then cupped his hands. “Forgive me for this display, Brother Gǔ. I came here to ask after the whereabouts of the Demon General, Mò Fēi.”

The Demon Emperor inwardly sighed. He had not wished for such a strained encounter with Wang Lin, but he could not stand idly by while another insulted his niece.

The sword spirit may have disguised his desire well, but the naked lust in his eyes was plain to see. With a final inward sigh, the Demon Emperor said, “Brother Wang, Mò Fēi has been promoted to Vice-Commander. He now leads the left-wing infantry alongside the Heavenly Commander, and they are currently laying siege to the Fire-Demon Pine Wave City.”

He paused briefly. “As an emissary of the Ancestral Spirit, I have already announced your arrival, which should aid you in your endeavors. Take this jade token. Treat it as my presence. If any dare to disrespect you, you may command the Heavenly Commander to execute them!” With these words, Gǔ Yúnfēng presented a white jade token to Wang Lin.
The jade slip thrummed with a unique, unsettling demonic energy, one nigh impossible to replicate.

Wang Lin, his face a mask of composure, accepted the offered artifact. “My thanks,” he stated, clasping his hands in a brief bow before turning. He strode away, a figure soon swallowed by the vast expanse of the heavens.

Gu Yunfeng watched Wang Lin’s receding form, shaking his head with a sigh only he could hear. “Wang Lin,” he murmured to himself, “from the moment your ears drank in those mournful notes, I knew we trod the same path. I desire no enmity between us. Consider this offering a gesture of goodwill, and I hope you understand its true purpose.”

Even as he teleported, Xu Liguo’s voice, a rasping whisper, invaded Wang Lin’s very soul.

“Master, that delectable morsel of a maiden…”

“Silence! Speak no more of it!” Wang Lin’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He squeezed the jade slip in his hand before tucking it away within his storage bag. His sharp mind, honed by the Demon Emperor’s own teachings, understood the undercurrents, the unspoken meanings.

Across the land, the Sky Demon Prefecture’s left flank, a legion of ten million demon soldiers, marched with earth-shattering force. The very ground trembled as if struck by a thousand celestial hammers. Leading the charge were the three marshals, Sky, Cosmos, and Wasteland, with their deputies, Flood, Abyss, and Earth, overseeing the vast, brutal tide heading directly for the borders of Fire Demon Prefecture and the city of Pine Echo.

The three marshals, each astride a monstrous beast of war, rode at the heart of their forces.

Silence hung heavy between them, a palpable tension that pressed down upon the land, an omen carried upon the wind as the demon army advanced relentlessly toward Pine Echo.

On the army’s right flank, Deputy Marshal Mo Fei, clad in full battle armor, sat upon a scaled, Kirin-like creature, his gaze impassive. Behind him, clinging to the Kirin’s tail, stood a middle-aged man. His eyes were closed, a greatsword strapped to his back. He swayed gently with the Kirin’s movements, radiating an aura of serene, almost ethereal wisdom.

Suddenly, the heavens ripped asunder with a deafening roar, a thunderclap that threatened to drown out even the murderous intent of the ten million demons. Within the heart of that thunder, a figure materialized, standing defiant against the sky!

He was clad in obsidian armor, a veritable demon lord descended from the infernal realms, his very being radiating waves of dark, swirling magic.

His arrival did not go unnoticed.

It was Wang Lin. His eyes flashed with icy intent. With a single stride forward, he transformed into a living meteor, hurtling through the air like a star fallen to earth.

He uttered no words, but unleashed a torrent of spiritual power that instantly locked onto Mo Fei on the right flank! Mo Fei returned the gaze, his face a mask of cold indifference. Behind him, the middle-aged swordsman, who had been lost in contemplation, opened his eyes, revealing depths of ancient, unknowable power.

Swift as a viper’s strike, Wang Lin rode the crest of thunder, an echoing boom resonating with each impossible step. He cleaved through countless ranks of demon soldiers. Ignoring the bloodlust of the massive army. Slaying requires dominance, a swift, decisive stroke. To announce himself, to flaunt the Demon Emperor’s seal, would only offer the Grand Luo Sword Sect acolyte time to prepare his celestial sword techniques.

“By order of the Demon Emperor!” Wang Lin roared, his voice shaking the very foundations of the world. “I come to seize Deputy Marshal Mo Fei! All others, stand aside!” With a flick of his wrist, the Demon Emperor’s jade slip was launched, a blinding streak of light aimed directly at the surprised marshals, Cosmos and Wasteland.

All this transpired in the blink of an eye. As the River Styx swept over the land, Wang Lin vanished in a blur of motion, the faintest of echoes lingering in the air. In the instant before he disappeared, his right index finger shot forward!

The Finger of Extinction!

The killing intent screamed towards Mo Fei! But as it drew near, it abruptly shattered, dissipating into nothingness. Mo Fei was startled, but his expression quickly turned grave as demonic energy erupted from within him, forming an invisible shield around him.

The middle-aged swordsman was just as surprised!

That fleeting moment of hesitation sealed his doom.

Wang Lin materialized beside him, his fingertip a conduit of pure, devastating force. The demonic aura that clung to his armor coalesced into a roaring inferno, the embodiment of destructive power.

This finger strike was perfection. Untouchable. The swordsman’s eyes widened in terror. In a desperate bid for survival, he teleported away, preparing to unleash the fabled sword techniques of the Sky Lord. But then, the River Styx surged from the earth itself, its ethereal waters spreading across the heavens. Samsara manifested, and the unseen force washed over everything, stilling the world itself. All of creation seemed to pause, captivated by the haunting spectacle.

In that frozen moment, a golden light flickered at the swordsman’s brow. And then, Wang Lin’s fingertip struck its mark.

The touch of oblivion.

Head in hand, Wang Lin snatched up the swordsman’s great sword and vanished.

A dance of death, as clean and precise as a whisper.