Yun Che’s sword was faster than thought.

  At the very instant the three late–Foundation Establishment cultivators were about to crush their Soul Slips, the Netherblack Sword had already transformed into a phantom shadow, stabbing straight toward the ashen-faced cultivator holding Yun Che’s Soul Slip.

  The moment the sword moved, Extreme Frost Power erupted.

  The frozen ground of Frostfall Valley shattered inch by inch. Dead trees around them exploded into icy crystals, and even the drifting frost mist in the air condensed into countless fine ice needles. Several nearby Nether Human Puppets froze mid-motion, Azure ice crystals rapidly spreading across their bodies.

  The ashen-faced cultivator retreated in terror. There was no time to crush the Soul Slip—he could only frantically activate his protective aura. But even in his wildest dreams, he never imagined—

  The black sword vanished into thin air three feet before him.

  In the next instant, the sword tip was already pressed against his throat.

  “Pshhk.”

  The sound of penetration was as soft as tearing silk. The cultivator’s eyes widened as he clutched his gushing dark-red throat and slowly collapsed to his knees. Until death, he never understood how that sword strike had ignored spatial distance itself.

  Yun Che’s figure flickered like a ghost. He seized the Soul Slip and stored it away. The entire process took less than a breath.

  At the same moment, the other two late–Foundation Establishment cultivators crushed their Soul Slips.

  “Crack!” “Crack!”

  Two Azure jade slips shattered simultaneously. The soul threads sealed within them mixed with a strange dark-red powder and detonated, forming two waves of pink mist that surged outward like a tide.

  The instant the mist touched the ice coffins surrounding the Nether Human Puppets—

  “Scrrrch… scrrrch…”

  Shrill scraping sounds echoed from within the coffins, as if countless fingernails were clawing madly at the walls. The puppets’ trembling bodies convulsed violently, Azure soul flames igniting deep within their eye sockets.

  Even more bizarre, all remaining disciples of the Nether Sepulcher—except Du Ling—froze in place like marionettes. Their eyes rolled back, dark-red blood seeping from their seven orifices.

  Du Ling’s expression changed drastically. He shouted, “Retreat! The blood sacrifice is out of control!”

  Without hesitation, he and the other two cultivators turned and charged toward the location where the Nether Gate had vanished, where faint spatial fluctuations still lingered. They formed seals in rapid succession, forcibly tearing open a temporary rift. In a flash, the three disappeared.

  Yun Che had already retreated a hundred zhang the instant the mist exploded. Now standing atop an icy mound, he coldly observed the carnage unfolding below.

  Boom—!!

  The first ice coffin exploded.

  A desiccated corpse covered in black fur, with blade-like fingernails, burst out. Azure soul fire burned within its eye sockets. It turned toward the nearest frozen disciple, a rasping sound escaping its throat.

  In the next moment, it pounced.

  Its withered claws clamped onto the disciple’s head, nostrils flaring as it inhaled violently. The body of the early–Foundation Establishment disciple visibly shriveled, strands of pale essence forcibly extracted from his seven orifices and drawn into the corpse.

  As the essence flowed in, the corpse’s shriveled muscles inflated as if filled with air. The black fur fell away, its skin turning deathly pale. In mere moments, it became identical to the disciple it had devoured.

  But it wasn’t over.

  The corpse—or rather, the newly born Nether Human Puppet—opened its mouth again. A wisp of pale-yellow soul energy drifted from the remains and was swallowed whole.

  Crack.

  Its bones exploded with sound as its aura skyrocketed—mid Foundation Establishment, late stage, Pseudo-Core!

  It twisted its newly formed neck. Azure soul fire swept across the remaining frozen disciples, a twisted, inhuman grin stretching across its face.

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  Then the second coffin exploded. The third. One after another—seventeen coffins in total.

  Seventeen Nether Human Puppets burst free, repeating the process as they lunged toward their respective “masters” or the nearest Nether Sepulcher disciples.

  Devouring. Transformation. Soul consumption. Ascension.

  Screams echoed nonstop. Amid flying flesh and blood, seventeen newly born puppets with Pseudo-Core–level auras appeared in the valley. After consuming their hosts, they all turned in unison, Azure soul flames locking onto the only remaining “living being” in the field—

  Yun Che.

  More precisely, onto the perfectly pure Nine Nether Frost Power surging from his body, fully ignited by sword intent.

  That was the blood sacrifice ritual’s predesignated ultimate blood lure.

  Roar—!!!

  Seventeen Pseudo-Core Nether Human Puppets howled in unison, transforming into seventeen afterimages as they charged at Yun Che like starving ghosts.

  Yun Che’s gaze was icy, devoid of fear.

  He had long sensed the abnormalities of these so-called “fellow disciples.” When handing over his soul thread, he had hidden a seed of Extreme Frost Power within the blood bead. Now, awakened by his sword intent, it became the catalyst that triggered the puppets’ rampage—

  And also the opening move of his counterattack.

  “You want my life?”

  Yun Che slowly tightened his grip on the sword hilt. The Netherblack Sword slid out another two inches.

  “Then let’s see… who becomes whose nourishment first.”

  Deep within the scabbard, the newly awakened ancient will seemed to sense something, letting out a pleased hum.

  Yun Che did not retreat—he advanced instead, his body transforming into an Azure afterimage as he charged toward the first three puppets.

  Clang—!!

  The black sword fully left its scabbard.

  There was no light on the blade—only pure black, a black that devoured all light. As the sword cut through the air, it made no sound at all, yet space itself subtly twisted in its wake.

  The first puppet tore forward with clawed hands, deathly miasma coiling around its fingertips. Yun Che sidestepped, the black sword slashing diagonally upward.

  Slash.

  Both arms were severed at the wrists. No blood spilled—only rapidly spreading Azure ice crystals. The puppet’s body froze inch by inch before exploding into a cloud of icy dust.

  The second and third puppets attacked from both sides. Yun Che shifted his stance, the sword drawing a perfect arc before him.

  “Nether Sword Domain: Frost Ring.”

  The arc expanded into an Azure ice ring that swept outward. The two puppets froze upon contact, ice crystals engulfing them in an instant before they shattered into fragments.

  But more puppets closed in.

  Though devoid of intelligence, their combat instincts were terrifying. Their attacks came from vicious angles, death qi, icy malice, and corrupted blood flooding the battlefield.

  Yun Che’s sword flowed like a dragon as he weaved through the encirclement. Each strike felled a puppet, Extreme Frost Power reducing them to ice dust. Yet his face gradually paled—the combined strain of Extreme Frost Power and the ferocious soul within the scabbard was immense.

  “I can’t drag this out…”

  His gaze flicked toward the valley entrance. Faint spiritual fluctuations could be felt—others were approaching.

  His thoughts raced. With a powerful swing, he forced four puppets back, then slapped his chest with his left hand, activating the Heavenly Nether Pearl.

  Buzz—

  The stone bead radiated dark light. The flow of time inside it shifted drastically—one breath outside, ten breaths within.

  Yun Che’s consciousness plunged inside, frantically deducing a way out, while his sword arm continued to move on instinct, barely holding the encirclement at bay.

  Three breaths later, his eyes flashed.

  “Found it—the core lies in the soul flame at the brow!”

  The sword style shifted abruptly. Abandoning brute force, the black sword split into countless fine sword threads that darted like fish, precisely piercing each puppet’s brow.

  Puff. Puff. Puff.

  As the threads entered, the Azure soul flames extinguished instantly. The puppets froze, then collapsed like marionettes with severed strings.

  Nine of the seventeen Pseudo-Core puppets fell in moments.

  The remaining eight grew even more frenzied, but Yun Che had already grasped their weakness. The sword threads formed a tightening net.

  Just then—

  Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

  Three figures flew in from the valley entrance—the same cultivators from the Three Sects who had been pursuing earlier.

  At their head was a young woman in snow-white sword robes. She swept her gaze over the carnage, then fixed her eyes on Yun Che, her voice cold.

  “A heretic of the Nether Sepulcher? Using fellow disciples in blood sacrifices to refine puppets… you deserve death.”

  Behind her, two male cultivators activated their artifacts simultaneously—one an ice-crystal longsword, the other a blazing mystic fire wheel. Both radiated late–Foundation Establishment auras.

  Yun Che’s expression darkened.

  Eight puppets ahead. Three enemies behind.

  A dead end.

  …

  At the same time, in the far northern reaches of the Northern Domain, outside an ancient town buried beneath wind and snow.

  Two figures walked through the snow.

  On the left was an old man in black robes, gaunt and withered. Killing intent flared with every blink, a thick stench of blood surrounding him—it was Teng Huayuan.

  On the right stood a white-haired Daoist with an immortal bearing, holding an ancient bronze mirror etched with stars. His fingers moved in constant calculation, brows tightly furrowed.

  “Daoist Xuanming, have you found it?” Teng Huayuan asked hoarsely, barely suppressing his rage.

  Xuanming slowly shook his head. “Fellow Daoist Teng, you know neither the enemy’s name nor appearance. With only a vague resonance from a bloodline curse… even if I exhaust my lifespan, pinpointing them is nearly impossible.”

  Blood light flashed in Teng Huayuan’s eyes. “Daoist Xuanming, I invited you out with the Cold Abyss Token as payment—not to hear the word ‘difficult.’ As long as you can find that bastard’s kin… any demand you make, I will fulfill.”

  Xuanming fell silent for a long time before sighing. “Very well. I will attempt the Star-Reversal Fate Technique once more… but Fellow Daoist Teng, grievances have their source. I urge you to reduce needless slaughter.”

  He bit his fingertip and traced a blood sigil across the mirror.

  Starlight erupted from its surface, reflecting countless fragmented visions.

  Teng Huayuan stared unblinkingly at the mirror, his withered fingers creaking as they clenched.

  “Li’er… your great-grandfather will make that killer pay in blood.”