Chapter 461: Three Saints Battle the Peng Demon King, the Ancient Ancestor of the Abyssal Sea

“Peng Lao San!”

Niu Wang roared to the heavens, the soundwave shaking loose stones tumbling down.

He swung his Iron-Clad Staff without holding back, smashing it straight at Peng Wang.

That strike sent winds and sand whipping backward; Peng Wang crossed his spear to block, but was driven back a hundred zhang, his feet carving furrows into the earth.

“Big brother hasn’t changed a bit.”

Shituo Wang grinned, shouldering his great blade and charging forward, “But how could a fight be complete without me?”

His blade slashed horizontally; the blade-light skimmed the ground, cleaving a straight fissure through the volcanic rock.

Just as Peng Wang had shrugged off Niu Wang’s strike, Shituo Wang’s blade arrived at his waist.

He flicked his Devouring Demon Spear upward, the tip tapping the blade’s edge, and malevolent energy slithered along the blade toward Shituo Wang’s arm.

Shituo Wang hastily blocked with magic power—he’d seen how deadly that malevolence could be on Niu Wang.

On the other side, Jiao Wang struck from behind Shituo Wang, now appearing behind Peng Wang.

His long halberd pierced the air, turning water vapor into a black tide that suppressed the demonic aura on the Devouring Demon Spear.

Jiao Wang cultivated the Water Meridian Art; this volcanic land was unfavorable to him, yet he pushed his magic power to its limit, thrusting the halberd at an unexpected angle.

Peng Wang spread his black feathers, twisted his body, evaded the halberd, and spun back to stab Jiao Wang’s throat.

“That’s just like you.”

Jiao Wang sneered, crossed his halberd, and stepped half a pace back with the momentum.

And at that moment, Niu Wang’s Iron-Clad Staff came again.

The Three Great Saints surrounded Peng Wang, showing not an ounce of brotherly mercy.

When they swore brotherhood on Huaguo Mountain, they drank from the same jar, boasting how they’d one day turn heaven and earth upside down.

Now they met again—past bonds dissolved, leaving only the killing intent on blades, spears, and staffs.

Peng Wang moved with blinding speed; a flap of his black feathers let him slip from the trio’s encirclement, but Niu Wang’s strikes carried crushing force, Jiao Wang clung like a parasite, and Shituo Wang charged recklessly, hacking without pause.

The three forced Peng Wang into a tight circle around a volcanic crater, inching closer with every move.

The demons of Yishi Palace stirred to aid him, but Su Chen stood atop the clouds, raising a hand and pressing down.

The Chaos Bell hung beside him, its shadow heavy, yellow-and-black qi cascading into a curtain.

“Who moves, dies.”

One sentence silenced all the demons of Yishi Palace.

They had seen the Chaos Bell freeze time and space, and they had watched Peng Wang fail to save Hong Haier just moments ago.

Now that the Chaos Bell had appeared, the great demons swallowed hard—none dared test the edge of this primordial treasure.

Above, crimson clouds churned with the battle of Niu Wang and the others, yet Su Chen did not intervene.

Peng Wang deserved death, but not by his hand.

Niu Wang’s son had been kidnapped, betrayed by a former brother—this debt must be settled by them alone, for true satisfaction.

Still, Su Chen did not lower his guard; he kept watch on the surroundings, alert for Kun Peng’s sudden appearance.

“Kun Peng.” Su Chen looked up, his voice echoing across Flame Mountain.

“You wanted to kill me? I’m here.”

But there was no reply.

Su Chen spoke again: “Are you, the ancient Demon Master, only brave enough to send your disciples to die?”

Far away, Peng Wang heard this, and his grip on the spear faltered for half a beat.

Niu Wang seized the opening—his Iron-Clad Staff came crashing down, shattering Peng Wang’s shoulder armor and forcing half his body to buckle.

“Distracted while fighting Old Niu?”

Niu Wang laughed bitterly, “Your master’s too cowardly to show up—today, I’ll send you on your way!”

Peng Wang spat blood; demonic light flared violently along his black feathers, and he broke free from the trio’s encirclement, retreating dozens of zhang.

He held the Devouring Demon Spear before him, its tip flickering with black light—whether it was his own or another’s, no one could tell.

“You don’t understand.”

Peng Wang’s voice was hoarse, “What my master plans—how could you, mere mountain demons, comprehend?”

Jiao Wang planted his halberd in the ground and sneered, “Understand? We understand too well. Win, and it’s the future of the demon race; lose, and it’s ‘another plan.’”

Shituo Wang swung his great blade: “Brother, stop talking—I’m afraid if I hear two more words, this bird’ll call himself the savior of the demon race.”

Peng Wang’s chest heaved; demonic runes on the Devouring Demon Spear blazed with light as he braced for defense.

Su Chen frowned beside him—Peng Wang alone couldn’t possibly stand against Niu Wang and the other two. His disciple was already on death’s door—why hadn’t Kun Peng appeared yet?

Then, the sky above Flame Mountain suddenly split open.

Cracks tore across the void; black seawater poured from beyond the heavens, carrying the frigid chill of the Northern Abyss, crushing down upon Flame Mountain.

Crimson magma met black water—white mist rose a thousand zhang.

Ice clashed with fire; the heavens rang with piercing shrieks, the hissing steam making the flesh crawl.

Niu Wang’s demon soldiers and officers retreated in panic; even the demons of Yishi Palace lost their formation.

Su Chen swept his sleeve, dispersing the mist, but the entire world reeked of foul salt and brine.

From the black water, an old man stepped forth, walking on the waves.

He wore deep-blue scaled armor, tall and gaunt, his face grim and cruel, his eyes like abyssal seas.

With each step, the black water beneath his feet froze into ice; the aura of a mid-stage Peerless Saint crushed all directions.

Niu Wang and the other two were forced to halt their assault by the pressure.

Peng Wang spread his wings and retreated, landing behind the old man, bowing his head: “I pay my respects, Old Ancestor of the Abyssal Sea.”

Su Chen looked at the newcomer, his brow relaxing.

So that’s it—Kun Peng didn’t come, but sent a worthy elder.

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor ignored Peng Wang; his cold eyes locked directly onto Su Chen.

“Su Chen.” The Old Ancestor’s gaze brimmed with murderous intent. “I’ve searched for you for many years.”

Su Chen raised an eyebrow. “Do we know each other?”

“No.”

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor raised his hand; a spectral image of a Devouring Sea Demon-Kun emerged from the black water, its colossal fish-form coiling in midair, blotting out half of Flame Mountain.

“But you killed the descendant I cherished most.”

Su Chen’s mind flashed back to old events in the Northern Continent.

Long ago, when he and Monkey King journeyed to Lingxu, to avenge Mi Hou Wang and Yu Rong Wang, he had slain a Devouring Sea Demon-Kun and seized a primordial spiritual treasure—the Northern Abyss Devouring Sea Cauldron.

That cauldron had been sealed within the Nine Demon Tower ever since, for as a possession with an owner, it resisted complete subjugation.

Now it seemed the true owner had arrived.

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor said: “The Northern Abyss Devouring Sea Cauldron was my spiritual treasure for severing my shadow-self. You killed my kin, stole my tool for severing—today, I will kill you.”

Su Chen understood.

“So that broken cauldron was yours.”

Inside the Nine Demon Tower, the Northern Abyss Devouring Sea Cauldron stirred, emitting a low, resonant hum, eager to break free and return to its master.

The tower’s demonic runes flared, crushing the cauldron back into submission.

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor sensed his severed-shadow treasure—he roared: “Return the cauldron, and I’ll leave you a whole corpse.”

Su Chen smiled.

“Are all of you from Yishi Palace so arrogant? To beg, you must lower your head. You act like this—the cauldron won’t come back to you.”

Su Chen stepped forward, his blue robe flaring; his 365 acupoints trembled faintly, and chaotic qi flowed through his flesh and bones.

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor was mid-stage Peerless Saint.

Perfect. Since completing the Chaos Nine Turns, Su Chen had never faced an opponent whose physical cultivation matched his own.

This Abyssal Sea was the perfect whetstone.

Su Chen raised his hand—the Divine Axe of Gui Xu materialized in his palm.

“I don’t care for that cauldron, but it’s my spoils. If you want it, come take it yourself.”

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor laughed bitterly, fury boiling into mirth; black water reversed upward, and the spectral Devouring Sea Demon-Kun opened its jaws, swallowing the clouds above Flame Mountain.

“You brat—you think the Chaos Bell protects you enough to look down on the Three Realms?”

Su Chen shook his head.

“I won’t need the Bell to kill you.”

At these words, even Peng Wang lifted his head.

Without the Chaos Bell?

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor was a mid-stage Peerless Saint, the ancient patriarch of the Devouring Sea Demon-Kun clan, his Northern Abyss Devouring Sea Art perfected to the extreme—he could swallow entire seas with one breath.

How could Su Chen possibly fight him without the Chaos Bell?

The Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor’s laughter cut off.

“Good. Good. Good.”

With those three words, black water surged into the sky; the icy sea aura cooled Flame Mountain’s heat by several degrees.

The old man spat out a deep-blue pearl.

No larger than a fist, yet it carried the weight to subdue all four seas; within it, waves thundered in layers, and countless sea-eyes spun faintly visible.

The moment it appeared, all surrounding black water bowed toward the pearl; even the earth veins of Flame Mountain trembled.

This was the Abyssal Sea Old Ancestor’s other inferior primordial spiritual treasure—the Devouring Sea Pearl.

The Deep Sea Ancestor raised a finger; the deep-blue pearl became a meteor, dragging ten thousand hectares of northern darkness water straight toward Su Chen’s face.

“Today, the Ancestor shall crush you into pulp with this Flood-Subduing Pearl!”