Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Eighty-Three: The Demon Eye

That was a curvature no human body could ever achieve.

In the faint torchlight reflected by the snowy night, a figure still half-buried in the snow arched at an unnatural angle, its upturned face pressed close to the man nearest to him.

The other three men stood frozen with terror, rooted to the spot, unable to move as they stared at that horrifying scene.

A sharp crack rang out, startlingly clear in the silence, and then vivid blood splattered across the snow.

With a heavy thud, the bearded man’s eyes widened in abject fear. He clutched his throat desperately and toppled backward, staring skyward as he fell.

The remaining men’s bodies quivered violently. Their eyes fixed on the grotesque figure, they began to inch, ever so slowly, backward.

That strange silhouette slowly twisted its body, turning its back to the three men, its face pressed to the ground as it stared at the corpse that was already beginning to freeze in the snow.

A guttural, bestial growl rumbled through the silent night.

His back to the others, the figure’s body trembled minutely, as if he were struggling fiercely to suppress something.

But still, inch by inch, he began to turn his head toward the group, at a monstrous angle, revealing a face smeared with fresh blood and a pair of eyes glowing crimson in the darkness.

With a sudden crash, the snow piled atop the figure exploded outward. He leapt high from the snow in a manner utterly unnatural for any human.

“Run!”

“It’s a monster!”

The three men screamed in terror, spinning and dashing toward the woods in separate directions.

The figure landed in the snow, all fours braced, and then sprang again, a black streak racing forward. In an instant, it overtook one man, knocking him to the ground and dragging a long, crimson trail across the snow.

Without pause, the figure reversed its momentum and bounded backward, overtaking the second man in several swift leaps. The unlucky man managed only a strangled scream before he, too, was brought down.

The third man took advantage of the chaos to dart into the woods. Yet he felt a crushing, suffocating pressure bearing down on him from behind. A shadow was vaulting swiftly from tree to tree, and in a flash, it had overtaken him, blocking his path.

He stopped, paralyzed by terror. On a tree ahead, that beast-like figure crouched with its back arched, those demonic crimson eyes coldly fixed on him from the shadows flickering with torchlight.

An oppressive force blanketed the entire woods, just as Li Han and his companions had felt when they encountered Ye Mingke in the Forest of Mist.

The man was frozen, unable to move. The demonic gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat, then the figure suddenly sprang from the tree toward him.

Again, crimson droplets spattered across the snow.

The figure no longer glanced at the three men. Its twisted body still trembled, as if forever resisting some internal force. It left the three behind, their fates uncertain, and turned away, leaping up into the trees.

Demonic crimson eyes darted through the dark, snowy forest.

From time to time, sharp, anguished screams echoed through that blood-soaked and eldritch night.

…

“Once we cross this mountain, the southern side is Canglan County City. Beyond that, at the southern shore, lies Mount Canglan.”

In the tranquil firelight, a woman carrying a greatsword spoke again to the old beggar. Her gaze was resolute and bright, brimming with hope.

The old beggar leaned against a cedar, absently picking at his toes as if he hadn’t heard her. After a long silence, he finally replied.

“You want to slay that Immortal of Lingchen alone. I will not intervene.”

“Very well,” the sword-bearing woman nodded gravely.

“Very well?” The old beggar suddenly let out a crazed laugh, his voice twisting with derision, “Very well? Have you truly not realized that I’ve been trying to talk you out of this all along?”

“You’re barely a beginner among the Xiantian martial artists—how do you expect to kill an Immortal at the Tongyuan level? Do you think you’re a Valkyrie?”

“I am not. But if I can, if I must, I’ll try.” The woman’s gaze remained bright and unwavering in the firelight as she looked at the old, irate man.

“I am but a mistake. My sword-heart is broken. I am nothing but a sinner, a failure. Why would you stake yourself on someone like me?”

The beggar’s gaze dropped, no longer meeting her stubbornly youthful face, his voice weary and sorrowful.

“My father was not in the wrong. He is no criminal—he is a hero of this world.”

The woman with the greatsword looked at him, her eyes full of stubborn resolve.

“I will prove it to the world. And even if I can’t, I believe someone out there can.”

“Are you talking about that prophecy? Those are just legends. Even I have ceased to believe them, and sometimes I think they were nothing but nonsense I spouted in my youth to deceive those brave souls who followed me to their deaths.”

“People—lie to enough others, and in the end, you fool yourself too, until you hit an insurmountable wall and wake to realize it was only a dream.”

With a deep sigh, the old beggar leaned even more wearily against the tree, eyes closing in a haze of exhaustion.

Just then, the woman with the greatsword suddenly turned alertly toward the woods ahead. Faint, anguished screams echoed from not far away, chilling the quiet snowy night.

She stared into the darkness for a time, then suddenly caught sight of a brilliant flash of sword-light in the distance.

“It seems there are ghosts in the forest,” she said to the old beggar, her gaze bright.

“And it seems an immortal is slaying them as well.”

“This world truly grows livelier by the day,” the old beggar murmured, opening his clouded eyes to peer ahead.

“Let’s go have a look. In today’s world, immortals are unworthy of the name, and ghosts—perhaps they are the newcomers now, just like us.”

With that, he slowly rose and shuffled toward the forest, the sword-bearing woman naturally following behind.

…

Under the shroud of snow and darkness, the forest throbbed with uneasy tremors.

Those crimson, demonic eyes darted through the woods, killing both man and beast, leaving streaks of blood on snow and branch whenever they paused.

A stag, driven mad by some unseen force, dashed through the snowy woods, only to be tackled by a shadow leaping from the side.

A heavy scent of blood slowly spread through the snow-laden night.

The shadow feasting on flesh and blood suddenly froze. Those crimson eyes lifted, fixed unerringly on a patch of darkness ahead, as a wave of murderous intent swept out.

Suddenly, a dazzling sword-light blazed from that darkness—a fiery spirit-sword, radiant and resplendent, erupted into the snow-clad night.

And behind the blazing spirit-sword stood a man of imposing stature, every muscle taut, his face grave, clad in ornate robes.

Such was Yi Eleven. If only he could capture this so-called Human Emperor’s Vessel, he would gain as much merit as he risked following his elder brother’s perilous plan.

Yet if he died, and Second Brother captured the Human Emperor’s Vessel, there would be one less person to share the reward.

Yi Six was already regretting letting Yi Eleven’s provocations draw him into tracking this monster alone through the mountains.

Yi Eleven claimed he was not bloodthirsty, yet the trail of carnage along the way left Yi Six’s heart pounding with fear.

Can such a creature even be called human?

But now, retreat was no longer an option—he could feel the monster’s killing intent locked onto him. To turn his back on such a foe would be even more dangerous.

Those blood-red eyes and Yi Eleven faced off in the darkness of the woods.

Though afraid, Yi Six had not yet lost hope. He could sense that the monster was still grievously wounded, and besides, his own Da Jing level far surpassed that of Yi Fifteen.

Body-tempering at Da Jing was divided into Initial, Middle, and Peak Realms, corresponding to the power of three, six, and nine elephants.

Though he had only reached the Initial Realm, he still possessed the strength of three elephants—far beyond the fragile-bodied Yi Fifteen, still at the Spirit Orifice stage.

There was no need to fear a creature that relied only on brute force.

He gripped his spirit-sword tightly, eyes fixed on those crimson orbs, silently reciting words of courage.

At the same time, he unleashed his spiritual pressure as a cultivator, hoping to subdue the monstrous youth before him.

The feral youth abandoned the stag, his red eyes locked on Yi Six as he circled warily, their auras probing each other for weaknesses.

Yi Six did not blink, not daring to relax even for an instant.

Just as the two were locked in a battle of wills, two faint shadows watched them from the darkness between the trees.

As Yi Six had surmised, the feral youth was still heavily wounded and seemed fearful of spiritual pressure, slowly retreating as he circled.

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, than the youth suddenly sprang like a wildcat into the trees, turning to flee.

“He can’t defeat me. If I capture him now, most of the credit will be mine.”

The situation changed in an instant. Greed flared like wildfire in Yi Six’s heart, and he stepped forward instinctively. But just then, the youth twisted in midair, launching himself straight at Yi Six, bloodstained hand outstretched.

Caught off guard, Yi Six had no time to retreat, only managing to raise his spirit-sword defensively.

A razor-sharp sound, a thunderous crash—the bloodstained hand scraped across the sword and still left gashes on Yi Six’s face, while the brute-force youth slammed straight into the sword.

Off-balance and unable to channel his strength, Yi Six was sent flying backward, staring into the cold, violent eyes of the youth, his breath caught in his throat.

Wide-eyed, he dared not be careless any longer, determined to give the monster no chance.

The young brute tried to pounce again, but suddenly rolled aside—the next instant, a torrent of blazing fire abruptly surged up before him, cutting off his advance in the dark, snowy night.