Chapter 261: The Death of Kang Wuhen

The short-haired youth's skin surfaced with countless gray-white runes, which then writhed like living things and drilled into the seven orifices of the Fan Body.

The short-haired youth, once expressionless, suddenly contorted his face as the cyan flames in his eye sockets began to flicker strangely, growing larger and smaller.

"Fan Body, I am here—return at once!" Kang Wuhen ceased his incantation, eyes wide, and roared.

This roar carried a secret art within it, causing the nearby void to hum.

The cyan flames in the short-haired Fan Body's eye sockets solidified, instantly forming distinct black-and-white pupils; for the first time, a hint of confusion appeared on its face.

Seeing this, Kang Wuhen's expression turned grave. He bit his fingertip, flicked his wrist, and flung a drop of essence blood toward the Fan Body, which made no move to evade—it vanished instantly into its brow.

The next instant, a complex crimson Sanskrit symbol appeared on the short-haired Fan Body's brow. Its eyes locked onto Kang Wuhen, and its lips moved slightly, uttering: "Master."

The voice was hoarse and stiff.

"It's done."

Hearing this, Kang Wuhen rejoiced. He flickered forward, reached out, and pressed his still-dripping fingertip toward the crimson Sanskrit symbol on the Fan Body's brow.

With this secret art, he would forge a pact with the Fan Body's spirit and fully subdue it.

The old monk at the entrance, witnessing this, also showed delight, his hands clenching tightly without realizing it.

"Wrong. Die."

At that moment, the short-haired Fan Body's face, once filled with confusion, twisted into a monstrous snarl.

Kang Wuhen gasped, recoiled his body, and tried to shoot backward—but it was too late.

The short-haired Fan Body took one giant step forward. A chorus of cracking bones echoed from within, and its body instantly swelled more than double in size. Its arms blurred forward, transforming into two steel pillars that seized Kang Wuhen's upper torso and crushed it against its chest.

"Save me!"

"Quickly, save me!"

Kang Wuhen struggled desperately, screaming for help toward the old monk at the entrance.

The old monk, seeing this, darkened in expression—but stood frozen in place.

At the same moment, the Fan Body tightened its arms.

"Crack."

Under the monstrous force, Kang Wuhen's upper body exploded outward, bursting into a spray of blood and flesh.

"Thud."

The short-haired Fan Body loosened its grip, and Kang Wuhen's mangled corpse fell to the ground.

Yet strangely, not a single drop of filth or blood stained the Fan Body's bare copper-hued skin. Its eyes, emotionless, swept toward the old monk, then its thighs shifted, and it strode forward.

"No… failure… angered… it…"

A faint, stuttering voice suddenly reached the old monk's ears.

"No failure. On the contrary, we are now one step from success," the old monk replied coldly, forming a hand seal.

A low hum resonated from within the Fan Body.

The crimson Sanskrit symbol on its brow flashed once, then its skin erupted with countless gray-white runes, rapidly coalescing into thick chains of inscribed runes that bound the Fan Body tightly.

The short-haired Fan Body's massive form stiffened in place, but it growled low and strained its arms—its rune chains flared violently, then shattered.

In that brief delay, the old monk chanted again and pointed a finger at the ground behind the Fan Body.

"Boom."

Kang Wuhen's mutilated corpse exploded once more; a dense spray of blood, as if guided by invisible hands, twisted into countless blood threads that rapidly wove into a vast blood net, sweeping toward the short-haired Fan Body.

"Sizzle."

As the net touched the Fan Body's surface, white smoke rose, and the blood threads sank into its body and vanished.

The gray-white rune chains on the Fan Body's skin turned blood-red. The broken runes instantly repaired themselves, binding the Fan Body once more.

"Wrong. Not Master."

The Fan Body's face grew even more monstrous; veins bulged on its forehead as it roared like thunder. A chorus of Sanskrit chants echoed from within, and golden Sanskrit runes surfaced across its skin, causing its body to swell again.

The crimson rune chains stretched thin, vibrating with a low hum.

Seeing this, the old monk did not hesitate—he tore off one of Yuan Tong's arms and hurled it to the ground.

Blood spurted from Yuan Tong's severed arm.

With a scream, Yuan Tong suddenly awoke from unconsciousness, writhing in agony—but had no strength left.

The old monk ignored him entirely, chanted again, and swept his sleeve.

The blood spurting from Yuan Tong's shoulder transformed into a stream of blood arrows, all striking the Fan Body.

"Puff. Puff." The blood arrows vanished into the Fan Body's massive frame.

Yet strangely, the Fan Body, which had been snarling and struggling violently, now showed confusion once more on its face. It whispered "Master," its struggles slowed, the Sanskrit chants ceased, and the golden runes faded rapidly.

"True… it's done."

The faint voice returned to the old monk's ear, clearly filled with joy.

"One step remains. But with the essence blood I preserved from years ago, it should be enough."

The old monk replied gravely, flipped his hand, and a small black vial appeared in his palm. He hurled it toward the Fan Body and pointed at it with a single finger.

A sharp crack.

The black vial, hovering above the Fan Body, shattered. A large mass of black-red essence blood fell and sank into the Fan Body's crown.

The crimson Sanskrit symbol on the Fan Body's brow expanded several times, nearly obscuring half its face.

The short-haired Fan Body ceased all struggle.

Only then did the old monk's face break into a flicker of excitement. A ripple appeared in the air beside him, and a hazy black shadow materialized.

At this moment, both fixed their gazes on the massive bronze door.

…

At the very moment the Fan Body's form ceased struggling.

Far away, Wang Yu stared in shock at the black iron box that had flown from his storage bag.

The box emitted a violent hum and radiated waves of heat.

"Sizzle."

The talismans glued to the box's surface ignited into flame and burned away; the lid flipped open, and a fist-sized white orb shot out.

Within the orb's center, a faint elliptical stone pulsed, growing and shrinking irregularly.

"Whoosh." The white orb trembled and shot away at incredible speed.

"Wind and Fire Wheel."

Without hesitation, Wang Yu activated the technique. Cyan and crimson runes flared beneath his feet, and his body shot forward as a streak of cyan-crimson crystal light.

"Snap."

Seven or eight zhang ahead, Wang Yu's form suddenly materialized in midair, snatching the fleeing white orb.