Divine Will Battles the Golden Core

The half-page golden scroll danced through the air, shimmering with clear radiance, and Chu Liang followed closely behind.

Finding Song Qingyi was a simple matter: all he needed was to erase Lin Bei’s name from the half-page golden scroll and write Song Qingyi’s name upon it with his true energy.

Yet, upon truly wielding this magical artifact, Chu Liang realized something new. To seek someone’s whereabouts, it was not enough to know their name; the seeker must also conjure a precise image of their form in their mind, so as to allow the invisible connection to take hold. Upon reflection, it made sense—otherwise, with so many people sharing identical names, the task would become insurmountable.

The half-page golden scroll soared out of the city. Dawn was just breaking, casting an eerie gloom over the surroundings. Soon, it led him to a riverside shack, where Chu Liang stopped in his tracks.

He crouched low, eyes fixed on the tightly shuttered hut. A sense of dread pervaded the place; the wind carried a faint, metallic scent—blood.

Something was very wrong.

He did not rush forward, but crept closer, extending his spiritual sense ahead to probe silently.

For an adept at the Spiritual Intent stage, opening one's spiritual sense is akin to gaining new eyes and ears, seeing things with greater clarity than mere sight could offer. Now that he had advanced to the mid-stage of Spiritual Intent, his spiritual sense had grown longer and more refined.

But the instant his spiritual sense entered the hut, he saw its strange interior: a sinister formation, a mysterious figure in black robes, and Song Qingyi under control.

At that very moment, he detected a faint, hidden surge of dark energy.

Danger.

Chu Liang was immediately alert. The enemy had prepared defenses, wary of spiritual probing.

But it was already too late.

The black-robed man inside the hut suddenly turned his head, his gaze sharp as starlight.

Whoosh—

Chu Liang, outside the hut, sprang to flee.

With a bang, the hut's door burst open, and a ghostly figure shot out, flickering through remnants of shadow, appearing right behind Chu Liang.

Feeling the cold, chilling wind at the back of his head, Chu Liang’s mind sounded the alarm. Seeing no way to escape, he instantly drew his sword and spun to stab at his pursuer!

Hiss—

White sword light surged, more powerful than before, but the black-robed man seemed to ignore it. With two fingers of his left hand, he pierced through the torrent of sword energy unscathed, and pinched Chu Liang's blade.

Snap.

The sword light extinguished instantly, unable to move further.

Chu Liang called out, "Watch my fingers!"

His left hand formed a seal, a cold star glimmered at his fingertip, and he thrust at the black-robed man.

But as the black-robed man raised his hand to meet the attack, a sudden flash of red shot out from Chu Liang’s sleeve.

The Demon Binding Rope!

His “watch my fingers” was merely a distraction. Chu Liang knew his opponent was at least at the early Core Formation stage; he stood no chance in a direct fight, and so sought to catch him off guard.

Alas, in the face of overwhelming power, such tricks were worthless.

The black-robed man flipped his hand, catching the Demon Binding Rope in his palm. Meanwhile, a bony ghost hand emerged from his chest and seized Chu Liang's throat.

A second ghost hand appeared, holding a long, shadowy nail, which it drove into Chu Liang’s chest—

Hiss—

The Soul-Piercing Spike.

"Ugh!" The instant it struck, Chu Liang felt himself plunged into an icy abyss. His limbs and bones went rigid.

In but a moment, he was utterly subdued—no escape, no resistance, powerless.

A battle of Spiritual Intent against Core Formation, a crushing defeat.

In that instant, he understood deeply the gulf between the third and fourth realms—an unbridgeable chasm. The notion of challenging a higher realm was pure fantasy.

The black-robed man let out a strange laugh, turned back into the hut, and tossed Chu Liang to the ground.

"Heh heh, you came to rescue her?" He glanced at Chu Liang, then at Song Qingyi. "A bonus—two Spiritual Intent souls. This trip was well worth it..."

"Chu...Chu Liang..." Song Qingyi struggled to call his name, tears welling in her eyes. Because she had cried for help, another life had been lost.

Chu Liang, however, remained calm. Though thrown to the ground, he tried with all his might to writhe free of the Soul-Piercing Spike’s restraint, but it was to little avail. With all his strength, he managed only to turn halfway.

"Give up. You won’t break free," the black-robed man said, watching his struggle with a mocking smile. "Once I absorb her into the Netherworld Tome, you’re next. Then your souls can lie side by side—never lonely."

He looked out at the sky, his face growing serious as he prepared to activate the formation.

Those who walk the demonic path are always cautious, for they cannot show themselves openly. So they craft defenses—like the trap that triggers at the touch of spiritual sense—as vital survival techniques.

He could easily handle these two Spiritual Intent cultivators, but he knew more would follow, so he must complete the soul-capturing ritual and leave quickly.

Without another word, he raised his hand, changing seals. Instantly, all the black candles erupted in tall, sinister flames, gathering in midair and forming a shadowy portal.

"Come, my treasure..."

With cold, mad eyes, he looked at Song Qingyi and slowly raised his hand.

"Half-man, half-woman!" At that moment, Chu Liang suddenly cursed aloud.

His cultivation was higher than Song Qingyi’s; though he could not fully break free from the Soul-Piercing Spike, he could speak more fluidly.

The black-robed man's body stiffened, shot Chu Liang a glance, and ignored him, continuing to reach for Song Qingyi.

"Rotten backside!" Chu Liang spat another insult.

"Hmm?" The black-robed man glared again, frowned, but did not respond.

He’d deal with him soon enough—why bother with the dead?

"Your mother’s dead."

"I’m your father."

"You villain, knife fodder, not a soul for forty miles, wolf spawn—did your parents marry their own kin? In your past life, you must have done evil, digging graves and ending family lines, so this life you’re doomed to die young and childless..."

Chu Liang’s face was placid, his gaze indifferent, yet he spewed a torrent of abuse at the black-robed man, elegant face, vulgar tongue.

At first, the black-robed man ignored him, but soon he trembled with rage, pointing a quivering finger at Chu Liang. "You—what sect are you from, that you’re so uncivilized?"

"My father’s from Mount Shu," Chu Liang replied, breezy as a cloud.

"Fine, fine." The black-robed man laughed in fury. "Do you think death will spare you pain? I shall capture your soul whole, place it in the Netherworld Tome, and torment it with ghost fire and shadow blades for forty-nine days. Let’s see if you’re still so stubborn then!"

He raised his hand toward Chu Liang.

"No!" Song Qingyi screamed with all her strength, tears streaming down her face.

Chu Liang met death with an uncanny calm.

Snap.

As the black-robed man’s seal reached him, the black jade tome shot out a beam of dark light, enveloping Chu Liang’s body.

A luminous shadow was pulled from Chu Liang and drawn into the portal of shadowy fire. The black jade tome blazed with power.

Whoosh—

When the light faded, Chu Liang’s eyes were hollow, utterly devoid of spirit—he had become a soulless shell.