Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter 112: The Chaos Ruins

The lazy yet cruel and mocking words of the immortal in purple robes drifted through the air. The immortals behind him burst into laughter.

The old beggar closed his eyes, clearly sensing the overwhelming malice and pressure bearing down upon him.

"We obey the decree of the Heavenly Bureau," the ten immortals said in unison, bowing with mocking smiles before taking flight.

The immortal in purple robes wore a languid expression, yet his eyes were fixed on the old beggar with chilling intensity. The surging aura and crushing pressure of his Spirit Transformation realm bore down on the ragged, gaunt old man below. However, to his surprise, the old man seemed completely unaffected by the threat. As the ten immortals moved, the old man’s tightly clenched fists also stirred.

"Since I stand here, if you wish to kill, you must first pass through my fists."

The old beggar’s tone was calm, yet his words exploded like thunder in the ears of every immortal present.

"You seek death."

The purple-robed immortal’s previously languid face twisted with ferocious rage. As the most exalted and powerful official of the Great Xia’s Heavenly Bureau, this was the first time he had ever been so slighted. What angered him even more was that while the old beggar ignored his aura’s restraint, he could find no openings—because the fist posture of the tall old man below formed a circle, a circle without a single blind spot.

The old beggar hunched his back, took a step back, and slowly set his stance, his fists forming a defensive barrier. An invisible circle began to expand between heaven and earth.

"What is this?"

The ten immortals in mid-air felt their own energy being invisibly guided toward the old beggar, as if they had all fallen into a swirling vortex.

Suddenly, the purple-robed immortal, who had remained outside the fray, moved. He stepped through the air, shattering the invisible circle and charging in, his body wreathed in piercing, radiant light. He pressed toward the old beggar.

So what if there were no openings? He would simply shatter them until there were.

"You lot go kill the little one; I will handle the old one," he commanded coldly, his hands conjuring a massive, luminous palm several yards tall that lunged toward the old beggar.

The invisible circle broke, and the ten immortals immediately shot outward, desperate to escape the bizarre trap. But with a resounding "boom," the old beggar blocked the radiant palm with a single fist. After stepping back to dissipate the immense force, he reformed his circle, wiping the luminous palm into countless exploding sparks.

As the shattered light scattered, the broken circle reformed, enclosing the area once more. This time, however, the circle was not invisible; it was composed of those destructive, drifting points of light. Within the circle, six of the ten immortals had already fallen into the ruins; only four remained trapped—two of the Essence-Connecting realm, two of the Wheel-Sea realm, and, of course... one of the Spirit Transformation realm.

The purple-robed immortal’s gaze was so gloomy it seemed to freeze. The light on his body transformed into a thousand blades and swords, hacking at the old beggar, only to be twisted and guided away the moment they drew near, exploding into countless dissipating sparks. The once-invisible circle was now stained silver, growing brighter and brighter.

Blood seeped from the corners of the old beggar’s mouth, and the wrinkles on his already aged face deepened, yet the sharp, rounded energy of his fists continued to stack and rise.

"You have lingered in the Twelfth Floor of Martial Arts for years, building a profound foundation, allowing you to climb two steps at once when you entered the Five Viscera realm. But who do you think you are? You are at most equivalent to the early Spirit Transformation stage, yet you dare to strike at others while facing me."

"You will die quickly."

Feeling his majesty offended, the once-languid purple-robed immortal was now filled with cold rage and murderous intent. He looked at the old beggar as if he were already a corpse.

"And with me here, you will die much faster than you imagine."

A tiny flying sword radiating brilliant light suddenly emerged from the center of the purple-robed immortal’s brow. It rapidly expanded, transforming into a silver longsword brimming with spiritual energy. A dragon was coiled around the blade, its horns formidable and its movements agile and erratic.

The purple-robed immortal swung the sword. Beyond the brilliant light, the sound of a dragon’s roar filled the air. The sword-dragon detached itself, swimming through the surrounding radiance, its murderous intent hidden in the shadows.

"A mid-grade spirit sword? Someone from the Penglai Immortal Realm?" the old beggar asked, unable to stop himself.

In this world, spiritual artifacts were divided into four grades: low, mid, high, and supreme. Low and mid-grade artifacts could be found in the mortal realm, while high-grade artifacts were rare, and supreme immortal artifacts were likely held only by the great cultivation sects of Penglai. Facing an opponent with a spirit sword, the pressure on the old beggar grew even more immense. The other four immortals trapped in the circle also closed in.

"Penglai, Penglai—to hell with Penglai! The East Sea Immortal Realm doesn't just have Penglai, and sword cultivators don't all come from there!" the purple-robed immortal roared, enraged by the mention of Penglai. "Ignorant old fool, this is my Fangzhang Immortal Island! Our arts are peerless; how could we be inferior to Penglai?"

In his fury, the light on the purple-robed immortal surged, and the four closing immortals unleashed various spiritual spells. Amidst the scattering light, the dormant sword-dragon circled above the old beggar’s back and suddenly lunged, its jaws snapping toward his skull.

Already struggling to hold his own against the purple-robed immortal, the old beggar shifted his stance again. The circle filled with silver light began to rotate, and the scattered sparks moved with it.

"Boom!" "Boom!"

The clashing of various energies wove together around the old beggar. Amidst the tidal waves of spiritual power, his gaunt face grew paler, and the blood at his lips turned a deeper crimson. He was struggling immensely, yet he refused to fall. However, the light contained within the massive circle in the sky had reached a blinding peak, and cracks began to spread across it.

...

Dust, heavy snow, and thick smoke turned the ruins under the snowy night into a realm of chaos. Ye Mingke searched frantically among the debris, treading over broken ground and leaping across the dark red sea of hellfire below. But he had no time.

Above the ruins where he stood, a sun descended. It was an immortal of the Wheel-Sea realm.

His luck was not good. The Wheel-Sea realm was the lowest level of cultivation among those present, but only seven days ago, he could not even defeat a cultivator of the Meridian-Opening realm. If one went back another day, he had never killed a man, nor had he ever truly fought a cultivator. The time left for him to grow was far too short, and the enemies emerged in an endless, increasingly powerful stream.

How many times could he evade them?

Moments after Ye Mingke sensed the immortal, a pale blue halo spread through the dim, chaotic ruins. The old beggar had once told him that such a halo was produced when a cultivator mastered their spiritual power to a point of saturation. Within that halo was the cultivator’s "Spirit Domain," the area where they could directly manipulate spiritual energy. Depending on their affinity for the energy and their cultivation level, they could perceive their surroundings through this domain.

It was somewhat like Ye Mingke’s "Spirit Eye," but according to the old beggar, most cultivators could only achieve a hazy, tactile sense. It was far inferior to Ye Mingke’s Spirit Eye, which could merge his consciousness into the spiritual energy, making every wisp feel like an extension of his own body—rich and precise.

The Wheel-Sea cultivator, wearing a sword crown and carrying a massive longsword, stepped into the ruins. He moved with unhurried strides through the pitch-black night. After a few steps, his dark brows arched, and he glanced to his left.

"Is that the so-called 'Human Emperor Body' from the intelligence report? Is he dead?"

The cultivator swung his right hand, shattering a pile of rubble. Dust billowed into the air. He frowned and took two steps back, but after the sound of the falling rocks, there was no movement in the thick dust.

He took two more steps, but before his third could land, a black shadow suddenly lunged from the rubble. The longsword cultivator’s aura faltered, but he did not panic. He swung his right palm like a claw, and pale blue water-attributed spiritual energy coalesced into ice shards, striking at the shadow.

"Clang!"

The claw struck the black shadow, sparking fire, and the ice shards shattered upon impact. The shadow fell heavily, dissipating the force of the blow, but from beneath it, a second shadow suddenly darted out.

"Clang!"

The first shadow hit the ground with a metallic ring, while the second shadow closed in on the longsword cultivator, almost face-to-face. The cultivator felt a blur of motion, and a pair of murderous, blood-red eyes stared into his own.

It was Ye Mingke, who had suddenly lunged out, using his sword box as cover. The longsword cultivator, who thought he had been cautious enough, didn't even have the chance to draw the blade from his back.

"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"

The sound of fists was dense and loud, like firecrackers. He managed only to block and land a few blows, but the black shadow—which had curled into a ball before suddenly exploding outward—landed dozens of strikes in a split second. Fists glowing with faint energy smashed through his defensive hands and shattered his hastily formed ice armor, sending him flying backward, coughing up blood.

Ye Mingke landed, paused, and vomited a mouthful of blood as well, the liquid mixed with shards of ice. Although the Wheel-Sea cultivator had only managed to land a few counter-strikes, the surging spiritual power of the Wheel-Sea realm was incomparable to the Meridian-Opening realm. A bone-chilling, massive cold had surged into his heart meridians, and it was only because his blood had once again become as hot as fire that he survived.

Ye Mingke stomped the ground and charged again, hoping to kill the Wheel-Sea cultivator while he was still reeling from the heavy blow. However, his charge was suddenly forced to twist in mid-air, as countless razor-sharp earth spikes erupted from the ground in front of him and beneath his feet.

His violent momentum was far too great to stop.