Dustin’s words — “You are demons, not immortals” — cracked like thunder through the decadent and eerie halls of the so-called Immortal Palace of Penglai.
The moment the words left his lips, the grand hall’s temperature seemed to plunge to freezing. Even the spiritual mist rising from the wine pools froze in mid-air for an instant.
The men and women who had been indulging in pleasure stiffened as if their throats had been clamped shut. Terror seized them; they shrank back, not daring to breathe too loudly.
The delicate man’s fingers froze upon the strings of his zither.
The enchanting smile on the peerless woman’s face hardened into an icy mask.
Even Ao Kun, ever languid and detached, finally let a clear flicker of anger cross his deep eyes.
The struggle of an ant could be amusing to watch — but an ant daring to mock and deny the heavens?
That was an affront to divine authority.
“Insolent fool!”
The robed man was the first to erupt. He hurled his jade wine cup to the ground, shattering it with a crack as liquor splashed across the jade floor.
He rose sharply, his loose robe billowing though there was no wind. The playful smirk he always wore was gone, replaced by a venomous snarl.
“A mere mortal swordsman — fortunate enough to stumble upon a few opportunities — dares to spew blasphemy here and defile this sacred immortal ground?
Today, I shall show you what true Daoist power means!”
Dustin’s earlier words — “a den of filth” and “a lair of demons” — had pierced straight through his pride. Even worse, the boy had accurately pointed out their reliance on the power of the Void Dragon, laying bare the corruption beneath their polished façade.
Ao Kun did not stop him. He merely reclined again on his seat, his cold gaze fixed on the scene — silent permission for the attack.
The delicate man and the beautiful woman also watched coolly from the side. They were curious to see how long the youth who had broken so many trials and sealed the dragon puppets could last under Qing Mu’s full might.
The robed man — Qing Mu — formed rapid hand seals, chanting under his breath. A thick green aura flared around him, carrying not the vitality of nature but a warped fusion of life and death.
Though he had once cultivated the Wood Path, his long exposure to the dragon’s tainted blood had twisted his art into something dark and sinister.
“Spirits of ten thousand woods — heed my command! Strangle this wretch!”
He thrust his seal toward the side of the hall, where rare spiritual flowers and luminous trees grew as decoration.
At once, those peaceful plants went mad — vines thick as serpents shot out wildly, bristling with barbed thorns as they lashed toward Dustin.
Leaves hardened into countless wooden spears, raining down like a storm, while an invisible miasma of decay spread forth, trying to corrode Dustin’s life force.
Though his breath was still unstable, Dustin’s eyes remained razor-sharp.
He flicked his sword once — not unleashing a grand technique, but moving like the wind, weaving through the sea of vines and spears. Each thrust of his blade struck precisely at a vine’s joint or a spear’s weak point.
Ch-ch-ch!
Azure light flashed as sword-qi streaked through the air.
The crazed vines were sliced apart, the wooden spears shredded into splinters.
Dustin’s sword was fast, precise, ruthless — imbued with the will to sever deceit and purge evil.
Qing Mu’s overwhelming wood arts unraveled before him like a carcass dissected by a master butcher, with minimal effort and maximum effect.
“Hmph! Some skill indeed. Then try this!”
Seeing his first assault fail, Qing Mu snorted coldly and changed his seals. The green glow around him flared, streaked now with filth-black smoke.
“Spirit of the Yimu, arise — heed the call of the yin!”
He slammed a palm upon the floor. From the cracks of the white-jade tiles, countless twisted, half-transparent shadows shrieked their way out.
They were Wood Fiend Spirits — abominations formed from corrupted plant souls and the resentful remnants of cultivators who had perished here, all fused by the dragon’s miasma!
Though they lacked physical form, they attacked directly at the soul. Their piercing wails clawed at the mind as they surged forward in a tide of darkness — even the light dimmed where they passed.
At the same time, Qing Mu flicked his sleeve. Three dark talismans shot out, exploding into smoke that solidified into three corpses wearing ancient official robes. Their skin was blue-black, nails long and purple — black-fur corpses, refined and strengthened by dragon blood!
Thick corpse-qi radiated from them as they darted forward with inhuman speed, striking in concert with the soul-devouring fiends — physical and spiritual attacks intertwined.
“Be careful! That’s soul-ensnaring Yin sound — and corpse puppets!”
Margaret gasped, hastily shielding herself with inner energy to block the wailing assault.
Dustin, faced with this combined onslaught of body and spirit, did not flinch.
He raised two fingers of his left hand to his brow, releasing a ripple of pure, water-like spiritual light. It spread outward gently yet powerfully, dissolving much of the maddening wail — like a spring breeze sweeping away dark clouds.
At the same moment, his right hand drew the sword in a graceful, mysterious arc.
“Xuanqing Exorcism — Thunder Chant to Banish Souls!”
Faint violet lightning danced along the blade.
As the sword swung, a low, majestic peal of thunder resounded — not a sound of the physical world, but a soul-piercing sword intent!
“Aaargh—!!”
The Wood Fiend Spirits struck by the thunderous sword will shrieked like ice meeting fire, dissolving instantly into mist.
The rest turned thin and translucent, no longer able to threaten him.
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