Chapter 323: The Demon Cult Lord

Slash—slash—

Fierce battle cries echoed across the entire peak of the Demon Cult.

Blood nearly pooled into streams, bodies falling one after another.

The thick stench of blood spread out, stimulating every brain, stirring emotions to frenzy and melting the threads of reason.

He Chong of Kunlun Sect transformed into a being of pure crimson flame, leaping into the ranks of the Demon Cult.

In an instant, the blue stone tiles melted into magma; where he passed, the flames clung like a malignant sore.

Even a single splashed ember that touched the skin would rapidly spread across the entire body, burning it to ash.

“Die, bald-headed monk!”

In a furious shout from a female demon cultist, a silver spear tore through the fire curtain and stabbed from behind He Chong.

The spearhead shot through the air trailing a comet-like white glow.

Without dodging, He Chong’s burning head was instantly pierced and exploded, blood spraying everywhere.

But then, before the stunned eyes of the Demon Cult, flames erupted from He Chong’s neck cavity.

The exploded head was instantly refilled with flame, reforming into flesh and blood.

In an instant, as if nothing had happened, he turned back with a mocking gaze.

“You’ve reached the First Transformation—surely you’ve heard of Kunlun Sect’s Ice-Fire Twin Supremes, who possess immortality?”

As his words faded, the blood that had sprayed from his exploded head instantly became countless tongues of flame.

Every cultist who touched the blood screamed in agony, then turned to ash within seconds; the stench of charred flesh mixed with sulfur filled the battlefield.

Far away, He Chong’s junior sister had transformed into a five-meter-tall being of pure ice, sprinting through the Demon Cult ranks.

Any cultist who entered within ten meters had their body rapidly frozen solid.

Demon cultists frozen mid-swing by the cold air became ice statues, then shattered into powder when struck by charging warriors.

Dozens of meters away, the figure of Guan Weiliang, the Kungtung Sect’s leader, had blurred beyond recognition.

That was an ultimate physical form vibrating tens of thousands of times per second, invincible and unbreakable.

Any blade, spear, sword, or halberd striking her shattered instantly; nothing could pierce her defense.

Nearby, some demon cultists silently collapsed, clutching throats spurting blood.

Along the winding path stained with blood, the Chan Master Xuanxu stood with solemn divine form.

Each swing of his gilded staff summoned a hurricane; three or five demon cult strongmen leaping up were slammed into the rock face by the gale, dark red fluid seeping from the shattered stone.

In this martial world, due to world suppression, every martial artist’s physical limit was nearly identical, with additional constraints on stamina.

In pure hand-to-hand combat, even a Grandmaster could not withstand the combined assault of dozens of Transcended Bodies.

But that was without invoking the Heart-Phase legacy.

With a Fourth Transformation legacy, as long as their Heart-Phase remained, these martial masters were invincible.

Under the ferocious assault of the righteous sects, they had stormed from the mountain’s base straight to its mid-slope.

“Something’s wrong…” Xuanxu Master withdrew to the righteous camp to recover his Qi, frowning: “We’ve smashed through every resistance, but all we’ve faced are low-level foes—only First or Second Transformation.”

“The Demon Cult’s Dharma Kings, Protectors, and Four Symbols Flag Masters haven’t shown themselves at all—they’re barely putting up token resistance.”

The Emei Yuduan Recluse appeared beside him: “They’re probably trying to exhaust our strength, preserving their best forces to decide the battle at the summit.”

“Regardless, today the Six Sects have come—today we wipe out the Demon Cult entirely,” said Zhang Yuanqiao of Wudang.

“But… has Fang Canshaoxia been found yet?” Xuanxu asked, frowning with concern.

Shortly after the Demon Purge Assembly ended last night, they received word from the Yanfeng Sect’s leader: Fang Can had vanished from his room, possibly captured, and still had no trace.

“Most likely the Demon Cult’s Qiankun Yi Qi Bag,” Zhang Yuanqiao frowned. “Fang Canshaoxia’s Shadow Divine Map was left at the scene.”

“The Qiankun Yi Qi Bag can only be used once every ten years. After engraving a target’s likeness and tossing the Shadow Divine Map inside, the target subconsciously senses it—once they answer a call, they’re pulled into the bag and swapped with the map.”

“Wei Yixiao has seen the young master’s face. Fang Canshaoxia, being new to the world, probably didn’t know the bag’s power—that’s how he got tricked.”

“Such demonic tactics! We’ve lost a great warrior—utterly unpredictable!” He Miao sighed.

…

Outside, Wei Yixiao scratched his head, staring at the deflated bag: “Did that kid even get in? Why’s the bag still so flat?”

“The Qiankun Yi Qi Bag contains its own space. Once the Shadow Divine Map is placed inside, if the target makes even a single sound within a day, he’ll be sucked in.”

“I’ve already felt something inside. Just wait half a day—the bag will auto-unseal, and I’ll drag him out.”

The Nun Who Won’t Speak chuckled: “Why are you so obsessed with this kid? You made me waste my once-in-a-decade chance to catch him?”

“The Lord will soon unleash his divine art and annihilate the enemy army.”

Wei Yixiao chuckled dryly: “You don’t know how annoying this kid is—I’m afraid you’ll all be so stunned when you see him you won’t be able to move, so I grabbed him to lock him up as a long-term blood slave.”

“We’ve been closest in the Holy Cult—I’ll let you play with him for a few days.”

The Bat King’s words earned only a smiling shake of the head from the Nun Who Won’t Speak.

Meanwhile, in a realm of utter darkness.

No up or down, no left or right—like the primordial chaos before heaven and earth took form.

Fang Can’s body floated in this chaotic void…

Snoring loudly??

No gravity, no sense of time, no air—but the boy’s expression was utterly serene.

Do what belongs to the moment.

At night, after a good night’s pleasure, you sleep soundly—that’s what health means.

Since mysteriously arriving in this space last night, Fang Can had simply fallen asleep here.

Honestly, sleeping while floating in space was a first for him—novel experience.

As for getting out? Fang Can, utterly relaxed, planned to think about it after waking up.

Why strain yourself for no pay? No danger here? Of course keep sleeping.

At this moment, even the boy’s sleeping posture radiated total relaxation.

Limbs naturally spread, no discomfort despite the complete absence of air.

Several miles away, watching smoke rise from the peak, a middle-aged woman clad in armor, her expression fierce, plucked a blade of wild grass from between her teeth.

“Pah!” She spat out the pulp and barked: “All troops, surround the base of the Demon Cult mountain!”

“No matter if they’re righteous or demonic—anyone coming down the mountain, leave none alive!”

“Martial heroes break the law!” The fierce woman sneered:

“From today, I ride through the Jianghu! Let those so-called heroes learn what ‘All under heaven belongs to the Emperor’ truly means!”

At her command, the ten-thousand-strong army fell silent and surged toward the mountain’s base.

Every sound was suppressed to near silence; they crossed miles without a whisper, encircling the mountain’s foot.

The righteous sects, unaware of the events below, were now blinded by bloodlust.

With Fourth Transformation warriors leading the charge, they had pushed to the summit, losing only a hundred men among the corpses of fallen demon cultists.

Now, the strongest forces of both righteous and demonic sides finally met atop the peak.

Over ten thousand warriors gathered on the mountain summit.

Due to overcrowding, most stood along the pathways to avoid congestion.

Waiting only for a command to charge, to drench the peak in blood.

On the cloud-capped summit, Xuanxu’s eyes burned with fury as he studied the demon cultists before him.

As expected, every top-tier demon cultist waited here.

Compared to the Six Sects’ eight Grandmasters, the demon cult had far fewer high-level masters.

The Four Symbols Flag Masters were only Third Transformation; only four Dharma Kings had appeared, and one deputy commander remained missing.

“Demon cult witch, now that the Six Sects have ascended together, your end has come,” said the Emei Yuduan Recluse, sword coldly raised.

Zhang Yuanqiao of Wudang added: “Surrender now—we’ll only execute the ringleaders. Resist, and you die!”

“Where’s your deputy commander, Yang Xiao? Why isn’t he here? Did he flee and hide?”

“Fuck your father!” Wei Yixiao sneered, laughing: “Ha ha ha! Today isn’t the Holy Cult’s end—it’s the death date of you self-righteous hypocrites!”

“You think we let you climb so easily for what? To trap you,” sneered Xie Xun, the Golden Lion King. “So we can annihilate you all at once!”

The righteous sects merely laughed in return, dismissing the taunts as the desperate cries of the doomed.

Even the demon cultists now looked like mourners, resigned to death, ready to drag as many as possible down with them.

Crack—crack—

As both sides exchanged insults, a faint, brittle sound came from behind the demon cult’s Grandmasters.

A few righteous warriors sensed something wrong; the noise gradually faded.

Then, the previously missing Deputy Commander Yang Xiao appeared in snow-white robes, slowly pushing a wooden wheelchair forward.

The creak of the wheels over broken flagstones drew every eye.

Seated in the chair was an ancient crone, her gray-white hair a tangled mess covering her face, her wrinkled visage clouded with unfocused eyes, drool soaking her chest.

Her withered, curled frame was wrapped in a loose black robe, like a candle flickering in the wind.

The moment their eyes fell upon the old woman, the leaders of the major sects paled: “Dongfang Wuji!”

At his words, silence fell again; all eyes turned to the crone in the wheelchair.

This woman was Dongfang Wuji—the one who shattered two thousand six hundred armors with a single breath over ten years ago!!

Wasn’t this woman already dead?

Shockwaves surged through every heart—demon cultists included.

No one had expected to see the legendary Demon Cult Lord here.

What struck them as even more bizarre was that Dongfang Wuji now bore no trace of the legendary master’s aura.

His emaciated, feeble body slumped in the wheelchair, his head tilted slightly, eyes dull and fixed ahead, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.

This was no demon sect patriarch of fearsome might—he looked more like an incapacitated, lonely old man.

Had his face not remained nearly unchanged from over a decade ago, not even the leaders of the sects would have dared to recognize him.

The Nun Who Seeks to Sever sighed coldly: “Why drag out this dying old man now? Are you trying to scare us off?”

“Even if Dongfang Wuji has not yet died, he likely has only a few days left.”

“With this broken body, how long can he possibly hold out against us—even if he still draws breath?”

(End of Chapter)