Chapter 384: Can't Even Take Ten Minutes

Looking ahead, the main road is wide and straight, but far away; the side path, though winding, is a shortcut.

To lift the seal as quickly as possible, Pu Jinfeng chooses the side path.

The side path twists and dips, and from a distance there is no traveler ahead or behind; it feels cold and tranquil.

A few dozen steps ahead, a young man leaps down from a withered tree; he wears black clothes underneath a white cloak, a bamboo hat on his head, and cradles a blue sword in his arms.

"Little friend, I told you this seal was placed by a friend; following me is futile."

"Why are you here?" Pu Jinfeng frowned.

"Then why are you here?" the man laughed, retorting.

"Hey, stop asking around and answer my young master first, or else..." Chen Ying stepped forward, raising the sword in his hand toward him.

"Or what?" the man in the white cloak sized up Chen Ying, then asked with a smile.

"I'll kill you." Chen Ying's eyes flashed with ferocity, his hand gripping a jet‑black sword as he leaned slightly forward; for him, everything can be solved by killing.

"Hahaha, you're so young yet you speak so boldly; your killing aura is strong, but I wonder how powerful you truly are." The man glanced at Chen Ying's sword, kept his stance, and said nonchalantly.

"Heh." A wicked smile curled at Chen Ying's mouth; dark red energy swirled around him, his sword humming like a beast grinding its teeth, as blood‑thirsty as its master.

"What is this..." the man squinted at the sword in Chen Ying's hand—a completely black blade adorned only with a few blood‑red rubies.

Chen Ying flashed behind the man, swinging the hilt of his sword at him; the man leapt up, drew his own sword, and they clashed, their scabbards sparking brilliantly.

"Why don't you draw your sword?"

"My sword is drawn only for the young master," Chen Ying replied.

"This is a Guarding Sword, but beneath its scabbard lie countless restless souls, turning it into a blood‑thirsty cursed sheath," the man said, looking at the scabbard.

"Don't worry, I'll let your blood sacrifice to my scabbard," Chen Ying sneered at him.

"Hahaha, at such a young age you've already climbed forty‑nine steps, making you a standout among youths, but kill me? You're still green. If you don't believe me, go ahead and give it your all; I haven't stretched my limbs in ages," the man said, his scabbard emitting Sword Qi as he sheathed his sword, stepped back, and kept his distance.

Chen Ying opened his Power Eye to see clearly, instantly entered the Power Realm, and saw the man perched on the sixty‑fifth step, laughing wildly and carefree, looking down at Chen Ying, who stood on the fifty‑fifth step.

The power ladder—whether human strength or primordial energy—each has its own rung.

This is a typical duel of skilled cultivators: first compare the ladder, then compare strength. Pu Jinfeng found it all tedious; why bother with comparisons when they could just start fighting? A capital's Power Eye shielding Barrier would be better.

"I still underestimated you," the man smiled.

"Hmph, that's you overestimating yourself—go die." Chen Ying's eyes turned blood‑red, a blood‑colored aura spreading around him, continuously expanding and Devouring everything nearby, giving the impression of a death god's arrival. The scabbard in his hand glowed crimson, eager as if to say, I need the nourishment of blood; I want to kill.

"It seems if I don't act now, I'll truly meet my end," the man laughed, his gaze now resolute, cyan light surrounding him. He calmly tore a strip of cloth from his body, tightly wrapped the scabbard and hilt together, then grasped it, the tip of the scabbard pointing toward the ground.

Chen Ying gave a cold smile, a blood‑red cross appearing on his forehead; a finger lay horizontally across the hilt, then the sword halted at the center. He crossed his index fingers, then his middle fingers, then crossed all five fingers, turning his palm toward the man. The sword returned to his hand; he gently stroked the scabbard and swung the sword as if drawing a cross formation.

"Is this forbidden cultivation power, Cross Asura?" the man showed a hint of surprise, a cold sweat forming, then laughed, "Interesting."

The scenery around the man became completely blurred, and another scene slowly appeared before his eyes.

The sky was dyed blood‑red; the ground was littered with all manner of rotting corpses exposing eerie white bones—baby skeletons in disarray, young people missing arms or legs, elderly with mouths slightly open and stiff fingers reaching forward, half‑naked women in tattered clothes, men whose lower bodies were a bloody blur, soldiers kneeling on one knee with countless arrows stuck behind them, and couples whose fingertips lingered together in reluctant parting...

The filthy, bloody killing aura spread throughout the air, causing the man with the bamboo hat's vision to blur. He hurriedly channeled power into his eyes; his eyes flashed with a clear light, and clumps of black gas collided wildly in the sky.

The baby's mournful wail echoed vividly; a handsome young man had his arms and legs cut off, blood streaming nonstop, his voice painfully crying, "It hurts so much...!" The sword lay nearby.

The elderly lay on a sickbed, face pallid, dry and feeble mouth slightly open, his voice sounding as if squeezed from his throat, hoarsely calling, "Water, I need water, I don't want to die..." The sword hung high above.

The woman desperately resisted three hideous black shadows assaulting her, clutching her own clothes tightly, hair disheveled, tears streaming down her face, crying out, "Help… don't… beasts… let me go…" The sword lay in an inconspicuous corner.

The man faced six women with fangs and claws, continually retreating; terrified, he wet his pants, fell hard onto the ground, trembling as he shouted, "Don't come closer, don't kill me, I didn't intend to betray you, I didn't mean to kill you, I didn't deliberately deceive you, I didn't intend to use you, I didn't purposely swindle you of that rescue money, I didn't purposefully do anything to your mother or sister..." The sword lay hidden in the grass.

The soldier wielded a Long Spear, discarded the flag he once prized, serving country and people with unwavering loyalty. His body bore countless scars, he had earned innumerable battle honors and repeated glories—truly a man whose achievements eclipsed his lord. He always believed his emperor trusted him, yet never expected to die at the hands of the very emperor he served. It was tragic and pitiful; tears glimmered in his eyes, his smile bitter and mocking. He knelt on one knee toward the distant emperor, and behind him, countless soldiers, upon a hidden command, unleashed a volley of ten thousand arrows. The general's sword in his hand was this very sword.

This is a pair of young lovers who considered themselves celestial companions, their twin swords united, invincible under heaven, vowing to slay all evil demons and heretics. One day they each changed their hearts, arguing over who would betray first, and drew swords against each other—death versus death—ultimately both were wounded. From the mist emerged a pair of intimately moving men and women, who turned out to be the new loves each had been longing for. It turned out they were members of the Demon Sect; the young lovers realized they had been tricked.

The Demon Sect man and woman fought the young lovers; the lovers were outmatched, beaten to the point of spitting blood onto the ground, while the Demon Sect pair each siphoned their power. Knowing death was inevitable, they only wished to hold each other's hands, you and me...

In an instant the illusion vanished, revealing a cute baby that occasionally exposed skeletal whiteness; the handsome young man twisted his face, his right arm missing, a thin thread of blood trailing.

The elderly man, face full of wrinkles and sickly, breathed rapidly, his stiff blackened fingers constantly reaching forward; the woman wore tattered clothes, hair disheveled, giggling foolishly, occasionally flashing a seductive expression.

The man arched his orchid‑shaped finger high, bent his waist, lifted his head, and stared ahead with a strangely terrifying smile.

The young lovers: the man bore a woman's face, the woman bore a man's face; they pressed close together, you and me, heedless of others.

Their names, in order, are Chi Zi, Zheng Mao, Mu Lao, Su Ying, Lu Sheng, Yong Shuang, and Luo Yue.

The last person, with a normal appearance and no obvious physical abnormality, wore a tattered silver armor, his young face resolute; he is Qi Hu. Before his death he was a country's lieutenant general; now he is the head of the Eleven Asura Formation.

The others stood still; Chi Zi was the first to emit a hoarse laugh‑cry, darting back and forth around the swordsman as if testing attacks.

The swordsman's blade glowed fiercely, his whole body radiating cyan Sword Qi; he closed his eyes, his heart as still as water, then suddenly opened them, thrusting a sword that pierced Chi Zi's heart. Chi Zi let out a ferocious, sharp laugh, his body sliding backward out of the sword, as if the previous strike had little effect on him.

Suddenly a shout rang out, "Chen Ying!"

"Aren't you his young master? Why did you also come in?" the swordsman asked, looking at the sullen Pu Jinfeng.

Chi Zi's mouth curved into a huge arc, his eyes suddenly widened, black voids the size of a bronze bell, and he lunged at Pu Jinfeng. The swordsman's toe tapped, his Long Sword swung, and Chi Zi was blasted several dozen steps away by Sword Qi.

Chi Zi, looking aggrieved, flew into Su Ying's embrace; Su Ying tossed him into the air, conjuring a thick hemp rope in her hand, pulling it taut, then lunging at the swordsman. The rope, like a venomous snake, sought to coil around his neck.

The swordsman held his sword upright; the lotus‑leaf pattern on the blade became increasingly distinct.

The Clear Lotus Sword emitted cyan sword mist around it, forming a mass that surged toward the rope, which twisted into a dead knot. Su Ying suddenly lifted her head, a hint of allure in her expression, her steps floating, appearing and disappearing as she approached them.

When she was a few steps away from them, she slowed her pace, her eyes alluring, beckoning the swordsman with her index finger.

Her voice was gentle and alluring, with temptation: "Do you like me? Want to be with me?"

The swordsman gave a sarcastic smile, a sword slashing from her eyes to her waist; she vanished in an illusion, and at the moment of disappearance she reappeared among the seven, as usual.

Lu Sheng was about to act when he froze instantly; his master Chen Ying stood nearby, face cold, holding a Tai Beast.

Chen Ying murmured, "Young master, may you find many blessings."

Pu Jinfeng slightly frowned and said, "Sir, what should we do?"

The swordsman thought for a moment and said, "Hide behind me."

"That's rather troublesome; perhaps you could lift my seal now, and reseal it later, so you won't be distracted during the fight,"

"You make sense; if I were alone without restraint, I would surely win."

"Please, sir," Pu Jinfeng said, his tone bearing a hint of respect.

"This seal is unique to White Tiger Mountain, and it was placed personally by the leader; the one who tied the bell must untie it, little friend..." the swordsman said with a troubled expression, turning his face away, unwilling to stare at him.

Pu Jinfeng said warmly, "Alright, I understand," then announced loudly, "Since this gentleman cannot lift the seal, we won't waste time. Chen Ying, let's go."

"I'm afraid that's not possible; the Cross Shura, the Sword Spirit has manifested, it's hard to retrieve the sword."