The man froze for a moment, then shook his head with a bitter smile, clearly assuming Yun Che was unwilling to tell the truth. He slapped his storage bag and tossed out a Cold Abyss Token, then turned and called out loudly:

  “Profound Ice Sword Sect withdraws from the struggle for the Cold Abyss Tokens. When the valley opens, we will leave.”

  With that, he led his group southwest, vanishing quickly into the icy mist.

  With someone taking the lead, the other sects that had already lost their tokens stepped forward as well. In front of Yun Che, they opened their disciples’ storage bags to show they concealed nothing, then dispersed.

  Soon, only two sects remained.

  Hehuan Sect.

  Wufeng Valley.

  The leading female cultivator of Hehuan Sect hesitated and did not immediately hand over her token. Her gaze flickered toward Wufeng Valley.

  Its leader was a gaunt old man nearing seventy. His eyes were restrained but sharp; his aura was solid and dense—clearly at the False Core stage, just one step from forming a true Golden Core.

  He stared at Yun Che, then let out a harsh laugh.

  “Little brat, I should thank you for gathering all the tokens for me.”

  He brushed his sleeve lazily, eyes full of disdain.

  “Leave the tokens and scram.”

  A flash of delight crossed the Hehuan cultivator’s face. She whispered to her disciples and quietly retreated with them.

  Yun Che ignored them.

  He only looked at the old man.

  At his arrogance.

  At his contempt.

  At the twisted pride on his face.

  “False Core,” Yun Che repeated softly.

  The old man mistook it for fear and laughed louder.

  “Good that you know! I’m in a good mood today. I’ll spare your life—”

  Before he finished—

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Yun Che raised his hand.

  A cyan-Azure crystal floated up, grain-sized, faintly glowing.

  The old man stared, then burst into laughter.

  “That tiny thing? Foundation Establishment trash—”

  He flipped his hand. A three-inch black umbrella appeared, engraved with countless golden flames that pulsed with terrifying heat.

  “Wufeng Valley’s supreme treasure—Heavenly Thunder Windfire Umbrella!” the Hehuan woman gasped, retreating dozens of zhang.

  Even Wufeng Valley’s disciples withdrew—some as far as three hundred zhang.

  The old man held the umbrella proudly.

  “With this treasure, even late Foundation Establishment cultivators turn to ash. You—”

  Yun Che pointed.

  The crystal drifted forward.

  Slowly.

  Slow enough for the umbrella to open.

  Whoosh—

  Golden light burst forth. Wind roared. The golden flames peeled off the umbrella, forming a sea of fire that swept toward the crystal.

  Heat surged skyward.

  Ice fog evaporated; the frozen ground melted.

  Yun Che advanced instead of retreating, grabbed the stunned Li Han, and sped backward.

  His fingers clenched lightly.

  “Detonate.”

  The crystal entered the sea of fire.

  A point of cyan light ignited.

  Then—

  The world fell silent.

  An Azure ring erupted outward.

  This was not an explosion—

  It was the complete release of Extremity.

  Wind—once formless—

  Froze.

  The raging currents solidified midair, shattering into countless Azure crystals that rained down.

  Flame—meant to burn all—

  Froze.

  Each golden blaze, still burning, was sealed inside ice crystal. Every shard preserved a flame within—forever burning, forever stilled.

  As for the Heavenly Thunder Windfire Umbrella—

  It froze half-open, encased entirely in Azure crystal. The golden flames within still flickered—yet emitted no heat.

  Then came Wufeng Valley.

  The False Core elder retained his sneer.

  He never had time to show fear.

  He froze mid-gesture.

  Behind him, seventeen disciples—

  Even the one who had retreated the farthest—

  All became ice statues.

  Expressions varied.

  Confusion was universal.

  Within three hundred zhang—

  No living soul remained.

  All life extinguished.

  A forbidden zone.

  Li Han stood with mouth open, mind blank.

  He looked at the statues.

  At the flames sealed in ice.

  At the frozen umbrella.

  Then at Yun Che.

  The silent outer disciple from years ago.

  Now standing amid Azure crystal ruin, calm beyond terror.

  Li Han understood.

  That boy had died.

  Died in the blood of Coldwater Town.

  Died with a hundred ancestral souls.

  What stood here now—

  Was something else.

  Five hundred zhang away, Hehuan Sect stood frozen in shock.

  They had retreated just in time.

  None dared move.

  Because they felt it—

  His gaze.

  Yun Che turned.

  Across five hundred zhang of ice mist, his cold eyes fell upon the Hehuan leader.

  Her face drained white.

  She placed her token carefully on the ground.

  Before retreating—

  Yun Che spoke.

  “How many tokens in total?”

  “Seven… seven,” she stammered.

  He calculated.

  He now had four.

  Three more remained.

  He remembered Ye Zizai’s words before teleportation.

  Remembered Li Han’s warning.

  “Qualification for the Nether Battlefield,” he asked, “how many?”

  She trembled.

  “Three! There are seven tokens total—but if more than three remain when the Nether passage opens, Zhao Kingdom loses qualification! So only three sects may win!”

  Yun Che nodded.

  She nearly sighed in relief—

  Until he continued:

  “The remaining three—”

  Her heart nearly stopped.

  She clenched her teeth.

  “Fellow Daoist! I know the location of one of them!”

  “If you spare me—”

  She met his deathly eyes.

  “I will tell you everything.”