Chapter 325: The Human Tendency to Compare

Feng Xue's appearance seemed to give Yamasachi-Orochi a target; a crimson water column erupted from its mouth. Though it appeared merely water, it was infused with complex aspirations—Long Wang, multi-headed serpent, Yamasachi-Orochi, Ketsu-shin, flood, and deadly poison—so that even a single drop would cause the body to rot away.

Fortunately, Feng Xue had once been a web novel writer in his past life, and Yamasachi-Orochi was a mandatory boss in Nihon, so he had anticipated this. Calmly, he recited the Anti-Toxin Spell; as his cultivation energy surged, Seeing Mo Ying transported him dozens of meters away.

To Yamasachi-Orochi, this was only half a body-length, yet enough to evade the eight intersecting water columns. It wasn't that he showed off by refusing to retreat farther—he simply feared that if he fled too far, the serpent would charge straight at him again, triggering the question: "Why does it target you and not others?"

"Feng Daofriend, beware! Your previous thunder art threatened it—it now regards you as a higher priority than fulfilling its obsession!" (Note ①)

As Feng Xue wrestled with how to avoid this problem, the voice of the Mo Yu Xuan owner reached him. To Feng Xue, it was as if a pillow had been placed right into his lap—and he finally understood the oracle's meaning: rely on orthodox cultivators.

He immediately said:

"Perfect. I'll draw its attention—everyone else, prepare your spells!"

With that, Feng Xue slipped one hand into his pocket, pulled out a jade talisman from the Hu Tian Bag, channeled his cultivation energy into it, extended his free hand into a sword finger, and transformed into a blue-green blade of light that shot skyward.

Player-system spells, no matter their actual power, always had top-tier visual flair. This technique of turning into a sword of light was especially high-class, so much so that the assembled cultivators overlooked the fact that it was, in truth, even slower than spirit-riding flight (letting a spirit ghost carry you).

The blade of light rose and began circling Yamasachi-Orochi's head; each serpent head, fused with dragon traits—now sprouting dragon horns and whiskers—looked especially grotesque.

Though the Japanese merely created a big firework, in this year of Jiachen, as Yisi had just begun, Yamasachi-Orochi's emergence perfectly matched the year-end transition symbol of "replacing the dragon with the serpent." It had also absorbed the accumulated aspirations of the Long Wang Temple for years. If left unchecked, it might truly break free from its Japanese body and differentiate into a new form, like Xiao Lingdang.

This Yamasachi-Orochi, already closer to a spirit ghost, naturally possessed some subjective agency—and it refused to let this chance at transformation slip away. But the Long Wang Temple contained no true Long Wang spirit; swallowing the accumulated aspirations of believers was clearly insufficient.

But Gidora's appearance gave it another path—a far better vessel for its transformation into a dragon, one fused with serpent, dragon, calamity, destruction, and countless other imagery.

It must eat it!

It had to eat it!

The rust-red, flesh-rotting hue on Yamasachi-Orochi's body began to surge and coalesce, finally turning its longest tail into a crimson iron color. With a violent lash, it became a blade gleaming with metallic luster, stabbing straight toward Feng Xue's blade of light.

Feng Xue had trained this sword-flight skill countless times in the game world. He spun the blade of light, skimming past the serpent's tail and redirecting elsewhere, while trying—as in many animations—to lure Yamasachi-Orochi into attacking repeatedly, entangling its heads and tails.

Yet though Yamasachi-Orochi appeared a giant serpent, it was in truth a coalescence of water and aspirations—formless matter. When attacking, it was as solid as steel, but when it twisted and knotted, the water merely surged and restored itself to normal.

"Cheating!"

Feng Xue rolled his eyes but did not engage directly. Instead, he flew figure-eights around the serpent's tail, nudging it slightly away from the altar array—yet never beyond attack range.

After several minutes of this skirmish, Feng Xue himself felt no significant drain on his cultivation energy, but the cultivators below began to worry.

"Feng Daofriend has not yet entered the Dao. Using this sword-flight technique must drain him severely. Friends, we must end this quickly!"

"Then let's use the relay method!"

One cultivator nodded and immediately began setting up his altar.

The relay method was typically used only in large-scale ritual feasts for blessings. It wasn't that it could only be used for blessings—it was simply that in combat, there was rarely time to arrange so many cultivators to cast spells in sequence.

But now, Feng Xue had drawn the hatred perfectly, allowing these cultivators to finally deploy this ritual technique—normally reserved for ceremonial display—into actual battle.

Streams of cultivation energy flowed through the altars, transforming into spells—but these spells were incomplete. As soon as they were released, they scattered. Yet the instant the first spell dispersed, the next cultivator took up the ritual, continuing the uncompleted spell, blending his own cultivation energy into it.

Through this chain of relayed efforts, each cultivator could infuse their own signature spell techniques into the growing whole. As the process continued, the total cultivation energy within the spell grew stronger.

They had no time to coordinate rituals, but since their target was a spirit ghost or demon god, they based their framework on the foundational rites of the Soul-Sealing Spell and the Demon-Subduing Spell, each adding their own knowledge to it.

This was a ritual demanding sharp improvisation and deep spell comprehension. Those present were either independent cultivators who held their ground in Gangdu—a land dominated by major sects—or orthodox masters who had rushed over from the Sending-Away-Poverty Ritual. Each possessed unique techniques, and their determination and endurance were astonishing.

As the city's ritual array expanded, more and more cultivators arrived. Seeing the scene, they understood what was happening and eagerly joined in.

One added a touch to suppress ghosts, another added exorcism energy. Seeing nothing useful to add, some simply compressed and purified the energy.

As is well known, human competitiveness is etched into DNA—especially among those present, all of whom were prominent figures. As the spell passed from hand to hand, its nature changed. As the saying goes: "In literature, no first; in martial arts, no second." In the Cultivation Realm, which prized lineage, this ritual—testing not just spell understanding but the depth of one's heritage—could not afford to pass unchanged. If no variation appeared during your turn, you'd be mocked!

But this wasn't because the cultivators had forgotten Feng Xue. On the contrary, it was precisely this competitiveness, this desire to showcase their own abilities, that granted the chaotic composite spell the true power of "collective strength"—not some random mixture clumsily stirred and falsely called a fusion.

As the spell's luminous aura swelled, Feng Xue, even while flying, felt sweat pouring down his body—

"Do you guys even know what the hell you're crafting?"

(End of Chapter)