Teng Huayuan did not attack immediately.

  Doubt churned violently within him.

  Logically, he refused to believe Yun Che had reached the Nascent Soul stage. Yet everything before his eyes told him otherwise—the aura, the divine sense, the unmistakable mid–Nascent Soul pressure. Even that earlier teleportation was a technique only Nascent Soul cultivators could wield.

  If it were merely early Nascent Soul, he might have risked it.

  But mid-stage?

  That demanded caution.

  He locked his gaze on the figure in the air, sweeping it again and again with divine sense. No flaw. The pressure felt tangible—so real that even his own Nascent Soul trembled faintly.

  All eyes in Frost’s End Valley were fixed on the young man in the sky.

  No one noticed—

  Inside the valley passage, the formation flickered briefly.

  A figure stepped out silently and slipped into the icy shadows beside the corridor. Cold eyes pierced the darkness, fixed upon Teng Huayuan’s waist—

  Upon the black storage pouch.

  Upon the corner of the Soul-Locking Banner faintly visible at its mouth.

  Teng Huayuan remained focused on the “Yun Che” in the air. Though he sensed something slightly off about the bloodline curse’s fluctuation, he could not spare attention.

  He reached into his pouch and drew out the Soul-Locking Banner.

  With a twist of his wrist, a wailing soul was dragged from the flag.

  He crushed it.

  The spirit scattered—its youthful face visible for a fleeting instant before vanishing forever.

  The banner disappeared back into the pouch.

  At that moment—

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The sky darkened.

  Heavenly pressure descended once more.

  Black clouds blanketed the heavens.

  Even Teng Huayuan felt his heart tighten.

  Two massive hands tore open the clouds—

  A gigantic head emerged.

  It was the Netherworld Envoy who had appeared three months prior.

  His first glance landed on the “Yun Che” in the sky. A strange expression crossed his face. He muttered something and ignored it entirely.

  “Three months have passed. The Netherworld Battlefield—open!”

  Twin beams of black light shot from his eyes, spiraling into a vast luminous ring.

  All light vanished.

  The world turned pitch black.

  Only the rotating Nether ring remained.

  A stone stele was cast forth, shattering into ancient Nether glyphs that embedded into the ring.

  Across Zhao, all Nether-origin qi converged here.

  Azure mist surged from every direction, devoured by the ring.

  At its center, a thin membrane formed—nearly transparent.

  Beyond it—

  A desolate battlefield.

  Broken corpses. Ruined treasures. Drifting relics.

  Hidden in shadow, Yun Che did not look up.

  His gaze remained fixed on Teng Huayuan’s waist.

  He could almost hear the hundred souls howling within the banner.

  His fists clenched so tightly that blood ran down his palms.

  The sky’s upheaval disrupted his plan.

  Then—

  His eyes flickered.

  Calculation.

  A faint, predatory smile curved his lips.

  The giant above sliced his fingertip and flicked a drop of dark-golden blood onto the membrane.

  It dissolved instantly.

  The Netherworld Battlefield opened fully.

  Now.

  Yun Che activated the illusion pearl gifted by A’Mei—

  Thousand Illusion Transformation.

  Extreme-realm frost power surged into it.

  Even a sliver of the curse force binding Teng Huayuan was infused.

  “Now,” he murmured.

  The illusion in the sky moved.

  A colossal Azure frost dragon burst forth—

  As though Yun Che himself had transformed.

  The dragon roared.

  Frost rippled outward, crystallizing the air.

  Teng Huayuan’s expression changed completely.

  He was now fully convinced—

  Only mid–Nascent Soul power could produce such presence.

  The frost dragon lunged.

  Lightning-fast.

  Fangs bared.

  Killing wind roaring.

  Teng Huayuan retreated and spat blood mist.

  It transformed into massive blood-ice mosquitoes, swarming toward the dragon.

  He summoned the Soul-Locking Banner.

  The flag unfurled.

  Hundreds of tormented faces appeared, screaming in agony.

  With a sweep—

  Souls burst forth.

  Head-only spirits hurled themselves toward the dragon.

  In their eyes—

  Madness.

  Despair.

  A desire for death after endless torment.

  From afar, Lin Yi stroked his chin.

  “This soul banner is immature. Barely a hundred souls—far from minor completion.”

  Beside him, Pu Nanzi nodded respectfully.

  Lin Yi chuckled lightly.

  “In the fifth-grade cultivation nation Youxu Kingdom, the Soul Refining Sect’s supreme treasure contains over a billion souls. Forged over millennia.”

  But Teng Huayuan heard none of it.

  The souls engulfed the frost dragon—

  And passed straight through it.

  No resistance.

  No substance.

  Like piercing empty air.

  Teng Huayuan’s pupils shrank violently.

  Understanding dawned—

  Then exploded into fury.

  “You dare toy with me, brat?!”