Chapter Thirty: The Shura Clan of the Underworld

At night, Yang Wenhao, having just consumed a small segment of wild ginseng, sat cross-legged on his bed, refining its essence. When he first acquired the system, it presented him with a choice: one cultivation method promised rapid progress, while the other was slow but, once mastered, would allow him to challenge those of higher realms without fear. In the end, Yang Wenhao chose the latter, the Path of Heaven technique.

Had he chosen the swifter method, he suspected he would not still be at the fourth level of Qi Refinement. Yet, slowness had its merits; he could feel the spiritual energy within him far surpassing that of an ordinary fourth-level practitioner. Once he broke through and consolidated his foundation, surpassing his peers would not be difficult.

The path of Qi Refinement was merely the beginning; many greater realms awaited beyond. Only by cultivating to the end, transcending tribulations to ascend, could one be called a true immortal. At present, he was merely a cultivator, worlds apart from what it meant to be an immortal.

Suddenly, a surge of sinister energy slipped into the room. It seemed to be searching for something, and upon encountering Yang Wenhao's pure spiritual energy, it immediately darted into his body.

Though Yang Wenhao’s brows furrowed in his meditative state, he gave no other sign.

“Young man... young man...” A deep, ancient voice echoed in Yang Wenhao’s ears.

He hastily ceased his cultivation and opened his eyes, looking toward the source of the voice. Not far from him stood an elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in resplendent white robes, his kind face exuding benevolence.

Yang Wenhao’s first reaction was vigilance—anyone who could enter his room so silently demanded caution.

The old man stroked his white beard and spoke, “Young man, I see extraordinary potential in your bones and am much taken with you. I wish to take you as my disciple. What do you say?”

“Take me as your disciple?” Yang Wenhao found it oddly unreal. “Are you... an immortal?”

The old man’s appearance did indeed match Yang Wenhao’s image of an immortal.

The old man replied coolly, “You’re more perceptive than I expected.”

Yang Wenhao eyed him curiously. “Senior, do you not know that I am already cultivating an immortal technique?”

“You...” For a fleeting moment, surprise flashed in the old man’s eyes, but he quickly masked it and smiled gently. “All the better, then. Since you are already on the path of the immortals, it would be ideal for you to become my disciple. Will you accept?”

That brief flicker of emotion did not escape Yang Wenhao’s notice. He sneered inwardly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I must decline.”

“Why?” The old man was clearly bewildered by Yang Wenhao’s refusal. The pursuit of immortality was the dream of countless people—who would ever refuse?

Just as Yang Wenhao was about to answer, the system’s voice sounded in his mind.

“Ding... Host has triggered a temporary mission: Execute the Remnant Soul of the Asura Clan from the Netherworld, Shaquan. Mission reward: 500 points.”

“Mission description: The Asura Clan, one of the myriad races of the Netherworld, is known for belligerence, suspicion, and jealousy. The men are hideous, the women remarkably beautiful.”

“The Asura Clan of the Netherworld?” Yang Wenhao’s brow furrowed; things were clearly more complicated than they seemed.

He turned his gaze to the old man in white. Such a kindly face—could it really belong to one of those supposedly hideous Asura males?

As a member of the Asura Clan, even a random individual would easily be able to slaughter Yang Wenhao. But according to the system, this old man was but a remnant soul.

If he was only a remnant soul, his strength was less than a tenth of his peak.

To be cautious, Yang Wenhao smiled coolly and addressed the old man. “Senior, I have a question. If you can answer it for me, I will agree to become your disciple.”

“Truly?” A flash of delight crossed the old man’s eyes, though he quickly suppressed it and coughed lightly. “Since you address me as senior, I shall answer your question.”

“Please come closer, so I may speak clearly,” Yang Wenhao said.

Oblivious to Yang Wenhao’s true intent, the old man, still basking in his joy, stepped closer without suspicion.

As the old man approached, Yang Wenhao feigned readiness to ask his question—but in a sudden motion, he drew his sword, gathered his true energy upon it, and slashed at the old man.

If the old man did not dodge, this blow would have cut him in two—a fatal strike.

Yet, as a member of the Asura Clan, even as a remnant soul, he had some skill. Seeing Yang Wenhao’s attack, the old man was shocked. In that instant, he understood escape was impossible.

There was only one way left: to sacrifice a part to save the whole.

A flash of sword light, and Yang Wenhao severed the old man’s arm with a single stroke.

“Hmm...” Yang Wenhao was slightly surprised at the old man’s decisiveness in abandoning his arm to save his life.

The severed arm instantly dissolved into dust.

“You little wretch, you dare toy with me!” The old man no longer hid his true nature, his face contorted with fury as he glared at Yang Wenhao.

Yang Wenhao pointed his sword at the old man, his gaze icy. “Hmph... For a mere remnant soul of the Asura Clan to think you could be my master? How laughable.”

“How did you...” The old man’s rage turned to shock as Yang Wenhao exposed his identity.

“Curious how I know who you are?” Yang Wenhao sneered. “I’ll tell you after your soul is utterly destroyed.”

At these words, the old man was even more enraged. “You dare!”

A person possesses three souls and six spirits, all tied to the body. If the body dies but the souls remain, one can be reincarnated. The same applies to the Asura Clan—so long as the soul endures, rebirth is possible. But to have both soul and spirit scattered is to lose even the chance to reincarnate.

No wonder the old man was so furious at Yang Wenhao’s threat.

“Whether I dare or not, you’ll see soon enough.”

Sword in hand, Yang Wenhao launched himself at the old man.

Had the old man retained his peak strength, Yang Wenhao would have died a thousand times over. But with his power lost, Yang Wenhao had nothing to fear.

Under Yang Wenhao’s pure immortal energy, the old man had no chance. Seizing a moment of error, Yang Wenhao struck, severing the old man in two—and, fearing the remnant soul might still linger, delivered several more sword blows to ensure its utter destruction.