Chapter 72: Slaying a Nascent Soul Cultivator for Sport

Twelve blossoms of lamp flames were arranged according to the twelve Heavenly Stems, absorbing an endless torrent of yin energy, venomous fire, and miasma. The flames flickered, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, swaying in the gloom. Within each, one could vaguely sense the nascent forms of twelve demon gods taking shape.

Chen Yang nodded with satisfaction. Though these could not compare to the peerless, flawless demon gods forged step by step from the bones of gods and devils—those invisible and formless deities—these were but quickly-made, disposable remnants. Still, for the foes he now faced, they were more than enough. He was not contending with the likes of Emei’s Qi Xuming, nor any Arhat or Celestial. For his purposes, even these inferior creations would suffice.

With a wave of his hand, the Supreme Spirit Banner appeared out of thin air. The Supreme Spirit Banner—or rather, the Supreme Demon Banner—had already become the vessel for his primordial spirit. Having severed all demonic nature, he had refined it into his second demon soul.

The connection between gods and demons was like lightning—instantaneous, transcending even the boundaries of worlds. A single thought was enough for it to manifest, splitting into countless forms. There was no question of true body or avatar, for in the mysteries of the demonic path, all was illusion, all was real.

Leaving the Supreme Spirit Banner to guard the twelve Demon God Lamp Blossoms, he let them continue to absorb the miasma and foul energies, growing ever more powerful.

As soon as he broke through the earth’s crust, Chen Yang immediately sensed something amiss. The miasma in the world had grown much denser. Yuan Tu, born of innate slaughter, made him especially sensitive to such changes as its master.

“Let’s return to the Fengyang Clan,” he said.

Zhong Shenxiu nodded in agreement. The two of them, light coursing between them, sped back toward the Fengyang territory.

It had taken Chen Yang little more than three months to craft the Twelve Celestial Demon God Lamps. On the surface, little had changed within the Fengyang Clan, but as they traveled, Chen Yang detected subtle oddities.

The entire territory of the Fengyang Clan had shrunk—not in the ordinary sense, but as if the entire space had contracted inward.

“The current Fuxi Emperor likely won’t survive the final heavenly tribulation, and perhaps won’t even attempt it,” Chen Yang mused. The redeployment of the clan’s core strength, and this spatial change, made it clear: the Fuxi Clan would not sit and await destruction. Instead, they were preparing to strike first.

It was only natural. The Fuxi of the Spirit Realm, inheritors of the path of the Grand Sovereign, would never leave the fate of their people to the will of Heaven or the hands of others.

Yet such designs could not be concealed. If the Fuxi intended to attack, their foes would hardly sit idle. No wonder the miasma of the world had suddenly thickened. Their enemies, too, must be making feverish preparations, bracing to weather the last and most violent storm of the Fuxi Emperor.

Perhaps their foes were likewise preparing to strike. Now, it was simply a matter of who was better prepared, who showed fewer flaws, whose strength could be united the fastest.

“My disciple, it’s almost time for you to forge your primordial spirit, is it not?”

As their light descended, Chen Yang chuckled.

Zhong Shenxiu looked slightly startled but merely nodded, saying nothing more.

Chen Yang did not return to his own courtyard but went directly to seek out the old man Feng who oversaw the ancestral temple.

The old man sat beneath the idol of Fuxi, carving wood with a knife. Though the scene was not quite as before, the purpose was unchanged—to seek understanding of the god Fuxi.

The ancestral temple was not a place to be entered lightly. It was one of the few locations within the Fengyang Clan that was regularly patrolled.

Chen Yang led Zhong Shenxiu straight in. Immediately, several Fengyang cultivators, clad in black armor and armed with long spears, stepped forward to intercept them.

“How dare you!” they shouted. “Anyone trespassing in the ancestral temple dies without mercy! Stand down at once!”

Chen Yang didn’t even spare them a glance. With a casual sweep of his sleeve, he sent them all flying aside, then smiled at the old man Feng.

“I intend to seek out a Grand Ascendant and slay him for sport. Do you have any recommendations for a worthy opponent?”

The old man’s hand jerked in surprise, and his knife slipped, scraping his hand. Yet his hand was unscathed; instead, the knife’s edge was instantly dulled. Tossing the blade aside, he waved at the Fengyang warriors to withdraw.

Rolling his eyes, the old man said, “Slay a Grand Ascendant for sport? Do you take them for livestock?”

Chen Yang only laughed, offering no further explanation.

The old man’s expression turned serious. “Are you truly confident?”

“Mere chickens and dogs, nothing worth mentioning,” Chen Yang replied, his tone so arrogant it would have been considered madness from anyone else. But the old man had witnessed Chen Yang’s methods before; though his spiritual power was unremarkable, his supernatural abilities were utterly uncanny—things he’d never even heard of, much less seen.

“Try the Horned Demon Clan—Fantuo the Ancestral Saint,” the old man suggested after a moment’s thought.

Chen Yang smiled. “Excellent. The title ‘Ancestral Saint’ is already at odds with me. Clearly, he’s fated for disaster.”

What kind of reasoning was that? The man was called ‘Ancestral Saint’ and that alone was a provocation? The old man rolled his eyes again. “Is the child going with you?”

Before Chen Yang could reply, Zhong Shenxiu nodded. “Naturally.”

“So be it! You’re a stubborn one. I won’t try to dissuade you. Wait here.” With that, the old man entered the temple. He soon returned, carrying a golden talisman, which he pressed into Zhong Shenxiu’s hands.

“Your master is reckless. Don’t follow him into folly. If things go awry, activate this Great Translocation Talisman at once. Don’t worry about your master.”

Zhong Shenxiu tried to refuse instinctively, but Chen Yang said with a laugh, “The old man worries too much, but a gift from an elder should not be declined. Keep it.”

At his master’s word, Zhong Shenxiu accepted the talisman and thanked the old man.

After inquiring about the Horned Demon Clan and this Fantuo Ancestral Saint, Chen Yang and Zhong Shenxiu took their leave.

Once they had departed from the Fengyang Clan, Zhong Shenxiu finally asked, “When will I be ready to forge my primordial spirit?”

Chen Yang wanted to slay a Grand Ascendant for sport, and Zhong Shenxiu, truth be told, was tempted as well. But his realm was still being refined and tempered; if he could forge his primordial spirit, with its divine power and spiritual energy, perhaps it would not be impossible.

“There’s no time like the present,” Chen Yang replied, fully understanding his disciple’s thoughts. With a hearty laugh, he expelled a mouthful of his own meticulously refined Primal Immortal Qi. Then, using his primordial spirit to draw in all manner of primal energies, he condensed them in an instant into a true Primal Immortal Pill.

Zhong Shenxiu, his fortune welling up from within, gave a low cry. All his accumulated spiritual power and sword-light immortal qi rose from his crown, forming a waterfall of immortal energy filled with talismanic sword-light.

The waterfall of sword-light enveloped the immortal pill. The innate Primal Qi perfectly transformed into his own spiritual power, as if he had cultivated it himself.

With Chen Yang’s immortal pill to aid him, the sword technique—which hardly required any accumulation of spiritual power—instantly broke through to grand completion. The immortal light stretched rapidly, then suddenly broke free of the body’s confines, transforming into a vast river of sword qi.

“Countless tribulations and hardships are nothing; with a single sword, I cleave open the road to immortality!”

Within the river of sword qi, innumerable talismanic sword-lights crisscrossed, shattering space wherever they passed, slaughter energy surging to the heavens.

The river of sword qi swept a full circle, chilling all of creation, then finally contracted, once more assuming human form as primordial spirit fused with flesh.

“Thank you, Master.”

Chen Yang nodded, observing as myriad sword-lights circled his disciple’s form. Smiling, he said, “With your current power, you’re still not quite ready to slay a Grand Ascendant, but killing an Integration cultivator is well within your reach. Yet remember, though the primordial spirit is mighty, it is the foundation of immortality, not a weapon for magical duels. Here—this is one of the seven sword embryos I once forged as your master. I shall gift you one, to serve as the vessel for your primordial spirit.”

His disciple had already forged his own path. The cultivation method of Shu Mountain, which relied on refining flying swords, could still be used, but for Zhong Shenxiu, it had become a hindrance.

Chen Yang was curious to see what kind of flying sword would result from his disciple refining it with his own sword technique.