Chapter 969: The Unknown Existence — What Is It Searching For?

The life aura of Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun completely vanished.

Not just here — within three breaths of his true body's death, the embryonic form of the Sword of Gold-Destroying's Karma of Gold, following the connection between the true body and the split souls, spread to every place.

In that instant, across the world, on the foreheads of seven human cultivators — one of whom was even a cultivator of Hun Yuan Fa Tian Du — and sixteen demon cultivators, a wisp of fresh-red blood-gold lines surfaced, icy and bone-chilling.

The Karma of Gold confirmed it again and again without error: these were lives formed from a wisp of Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun's split soul devouring others' divine souls, and many of them did not even know it themselves.

Then, these human and demon cultivators silently collapsed and died, their divine souls utterly destroyed.

So many deaths happening openly stirred panic and unease among the many cultivators nearby.

Many cultivators did not hesitate to report to the authorities, summoning cultivators of the Great Sun Sword Capital — these sword cultivators took on nearly all assassination missions in Master Tushan Master Tushan Zhongting, tracking down culprits and the like, cheap and good, low fees, high efficiency, and excellent service attitude.

It had to be this way, because Master Tushan Law did not allow them to kill people at will to train their swords, nor internal deathmatches.

If anyone happened to violate this, the Master Tushan Maid Corps would step forward and execute them.

In order to find opponents, the sword cultivators of the Great Sun Qingse Jianzong worried themselves white-haired; normally their frenzied sword-duels were restricted, so whenever a kill-mission conforming to Master Tushan Law appeared, every one of them had green eyes.

Fortunately, there were still some of these kill-missions.

Cultivators' great power belongs to themselves, and there is no central array-spirit computer constantly watching; layered on top of that is the influence of the Northern Plains' original social atmosphere, plus many old cultivators nearing the end of their lifespans falling into madness, and all manner of grudges and feuds, narrow-minded human and demon racial supremacists… and so on and so forth; while the Minor Thousand Worlds are basically stable, every year there are quite a few murder cases, involving Foundation Establishment, Jin Dan, Nascent Soul, and the like.

These were the work of the Great Sun Qingse Jianzong's sword cultivators.

They had set up a Commandant's Office specifically responsible for such matters.

Of course, these murder cases basically never reached Jiang Ding; in his eyes, everything was beautiful, cultivators were orderly and polite, everything was neat and tidy, and indeed that was the fact.

If one did not deliberately seek them out, all unpleasant matters would never appear in his life.

"Cleaning is done…"

Jiang Ding opened his eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Within the sensing of the Karma of Gold, no living being with a direct connection to Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun existed in this world.

The only slight surprise was that Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun had truly left no resurrection contingency — no split soul or the like — on that sixty-year-old little centipede called Jia Jin, as if he had simply forgotten.

It seemed that, cold and ruthless as Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun was, he too had affection for his offspring.

Jiang Ding reached out with a beckoning motion, and a golden-green centipede carapace flew before him.

Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun had burned everything — flesh, blood, and divine soul all turned to ash — and the only thing left was this golden-green carapace, a fifth-grade upper-quality heaven-and-earth treasure, which could be refined into armor, star-fortress cannon barrels, engine bulkheads, and the like, added as a biological material in smelting to enhance star-fortress performance — quite valuable.

"A fifth-grade upper-quality great demon's husk, concentrated essence, should be worth over a trillion low-grade spirit stones…"

Jiang Ding made an estimate.

His divine sense swept back and forth across this carapace, confirming repeatedly, and finally he broke off a human-height section of centipede limb.

This was Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun's storage treasure.

"He was the overlord of the Southern Frontier after all, the money can't be short, right…"

Jiang Ding happily held it in his hand and played with it: "Friend Friend Baizu, rest assured, this ill-gotten wealth, after deducting my appearance fee, I will take out five percent and donate it to the billions of human and demon lives in the Southern Frontier, to help them recover from their difficult lives — consider it your atonement."

He released a wisp of fine divine sense and sword intent, landing on the limb's restriction.

He had no plan to open the storage treasure now — it was, after all, a Soul Transformation restriction, and would take at least half a year to one or two years; he was just probing the bottom of it first.

"This restriction is quite crude."

Jiang Ding took one look and felt steady.

Crack~

Just as he was about to study it carefully, this centipede limb flashed with spiritual light, revealing a wisp of faint spiritual-energy fluctuation; the storage treasure's restriction actually opened on its own, and from within emerged a complex and indescribable quasi-divine-sense wave that spread out in all directions.

"This…"

Jiang Ding was stunned for a moment, then his expression immediately grew solemn.

He stared at the limb, saying nothing.

A clump of brown, withered flesh and blood.

It unhurriedly flew out from Bai Zu Canghai Tianjun's storage limb, producing a murky fluctuation that spread in all directions, searching for something.

"Ten thousand years… this little centipede is dead…"

"…Not found…"

This clump of withered flesh and blood murmured, seeming like a life, yet like a treasure, executing some unfinished spell.

"…Attach to a living being… search…"

It chanted on, possessing some method to determine the most powerfully potential being nearby, unwilling to change hosts frequently.

Quickly, it locked onto its target.

Unhurriedly, it flew toward Jiang Ding's brow.

It was clearly right before one's eyes, yet seemed illusory, drifting in another space, wobbling as it flew, seeming as if it might fall at any moment; but anyone witnessing this scene had a strange premonition that it would surely appear on the brow, unchangeable as destiny.

"Above Soul Transformation…"

Jiang Ding's heart trembled, his hair standing on end.

He thought nothing of it, and immediately

was about to have his divine sense contact the broken sword tip and leave this place.

As he was now, facing a Void Refinement cultivator meant certain death!

Not just facing the Void Refinement true body, but any Void Refinement technique, any spell, any divine-sense attack — all would be utterly useless!

Hum!

Just at this moment, on Jiang Ding's brow, a city mark of azure-blue luster surfaced, rippling outward in ring after ring of ripples; his entire person became hazy, seeming about to vanish, carrying him away.

The Immortal Gate's Mo Facheng Yin!

At the same time, wisps of azure-blue electromagnetic light — light containing unknown power — fell upon that clump of withered flesh and blood.

That clump of withered flesh and blood paused, stopping in midair.

"…Human…"

That kind of subtle and complex god-soul-like fluctuation appeared once more.

It scanned the youth before it, sensing the radiance between his brows.

Then, it silently departed and vanished without a trace.

"What is this?"

Jiang Ding's heart pounded wildly. He forcibly suppressed the instinct to flee at the broken sword's tip, along with the fear in his heart.

Alongside the fear, accompanied by the light hum of the Taiqing Flying Sword, his sea of consciousness grew ever colder, stripping away the influence of emotion and becoming as precise as a machine.

This world was very important, involving the path of Refining Void, and even the path beyond Refining Void. Unless he was in a situation of certain death, he truly was unwilling to give it up.

Jiang Ding hung stiffly in the air.

For a long while, it was just like this — no movement, no departure, lost in thought, his expression shifting unpredictably.

Several months passed in a flash.

That clump of withered flesh and blood did not appear again; it truly had left, and even the related memories gradually grew blurry, as if it were merely an illusion.

Only within the sword-song of the Taiqing Flying Sword could he recall it once more.