Mei bowed respectfully. This punishment, issued by Holy Maiden Zhu herself, was far heavier than any an ordinary Sect Elder could provide. It was a public declaration that Xu Sheng had crossed the line, punished not for his defeat, but for the vileness of his Dao. This punishment also effectively isolated Xu Sheng, ensuring he could not carry out any foul plans within the Thousand Heavens Sect.

  However, Ling'er emboldened herself to speak. "Holy Maiden Zhu, is this punishment not... is it not too lenient for what he did to Xu Sheng's Dao?"

  Zhu Qinglan turned, her light grey gaze radiating cold wisdom. "You do not understand. Punishing him within the Thousand Heavens Sect is what matters most. If he holds a grudge, he will act outside, and that will draw the attention of the Ancient Zhu Clan. I have bound his hands within."

  She then picked up the Guide to Heaven and Earth Formations, opening it with a graceful and careful movement. Her gaze fell upon an ancient tracking formation, a technique capable of tracing a person’s spiritual trail across thousands of miles, even in the remote Ancient Wasteland. She looked toward the small statue on the table—that Devil Life Talisman—and let out a subtle spiritual sigh.

  "I do not trust that wild Devil," Zhu Qinglan murmured, her voice audible only to the wind. "But his little talisman... is a promise. I will carve it, Ling'er. I will carve the tracking formation and send it to the Divine Stone Mine. If he dares to die before completing the Ancient Clan's mission, I will personally drag his soul back for punishment."

  This was a retribution most cold and personal. Not to save him out of love, but to save him from death out of obligation. She would not allow that wild Devil to nullify the promise he had claimed in public. Ling'er and Mei looked at each other. They knew their Holy Maiden Zhu had now stepped onto a new Path—a Path bound by Karma, colored by grudge, and led by cold arrogance.

  On the other side, at the silent Heaven Sword Peak, Zhi Xuan was preparing whatever supplies he would take for this journey. He lacked neither high-grade spiritual stones nor artifacts to protect him. Only one thing was needed: a disguise. Not just in name, but in his appearance.

  "This mission is too dangerous if I use my identity," Zhi Xuan murmured, standing to face a collection of shelves on the wall of the Cultivation Cave, which contained sect techniques he had never had the chance to touch. "A disguise... that is paramount."

  He glanced at the lowest shelf, beneath a pile of unpromising techniques. There lay a dark-colored hood, which perhaps was only commonly used by farmers in mortal villages. Yet he could feel a lingering spiritual trace there, as if the previous owner of Heaven Sword Peak had once conducted a secret mission and somehow left the hood here.

  With a smooth motion, Zhi Xuan reached out and pulled the tattered hood. It was made of coarse material, but once he held it, a subtle chill crept from the cloth, sending a sensation of numbness to his palm. The hood felt light; Zhi Xuan channeled his divine sense and traced the spiritual imprint.

  "Disguising the face within the same realm," Zhi Xuan murmured, nodding slowly as he understood the hood's utility. "Only if a Five Element cultivator catches me. Below the Five Elements, I will be completely obscured."

  Zhi Xuan then rotated his hand, and a calm yet thick Devil essence enveloped the hood. The essence did not provide energy; instead, it absorbed and neutralized fluctuations of spiritual aura. The hood, a hidden low-grade Soul Artifact, was the perfect disguise cloak for traversing the Ancient Wasteland.

  He glanced at his face in the bronze mirror hanging on the wall—a handsome face adorned with cold arrogance, black hair that was too striking among the white-clad sect disciples, and a Devil aura that was difficult to hide. This appearance would make it easy for him to find trouble.

  "Very well," Zhi Xuan whispered, a thin smile blooming once again on his lips. "If the identity of Zhi Xuan is too easy to trace, I will become a simple Wandering Devil. My appearance must match the Ancient Wasteland."

  Zhi Xuan pulled off his pitch-black robe that had been his trademark, replacing it with a plain and tattered grey robe, a remnant left behind in the Cultivation Cave. It was clothing that would make anyone who saw him think he was an ordinary wandering cultivator in the mortal realm, or perhaps even a spiritual slave. He did not shave his hair, but instead changed his hair tie to a loose one at the back, hiding most of his jet-black color beneath the tattered hood he had just found.

  "I do not mean to be arrogant toward the Heavens," Zhi Xuan murmured, looking back at his reflection in the bronze mirror. "But I am still too handsome even in this disguise."

  The joke he always told himself—that he was too handsome—now felt even more ridiculous. However, that arrogance was his shield. His outward appearance was now a perfect contrast: a tattered grey robe, a loose hair tie, and a low-grade Soul Artifact hood that hid the contours of his face and silenced his aura fluctuations. Only his sapphire eyes, radiating a cold sharpness that could not be hidden, betrayed his true identity.

  "Wandering Devil," Zhi Xuan whispered, testing his new name. "No Thousand Heavens Sect, no Holy Maiden Zhu. Only a wanderer seeking fortune, or perhaps, seeking true slaughter."

  In his Sea of Consciousness, the Three Ages Divine Furnace spun with a calm resonance. Inside, Xiao Die’s cocoon was now almost bursting with life energy. Zhi Xuan knew he had to leave before the Thousand Feather Moth was born. Xiao Die’s birth would create a massive spiritual phenomenon, and he did not wish to draw attention as he sneaked out.

  He checked his storage bag. High-grade spiritual stones, Divine Stones for cultivation, and of course, the Spiritual Map Scroll he had just taken from Zhu Qinglan. The map showed the Divine Stone Mine located in a region of the Middle Continent near the border of the Ancient Wasteland, a territory full of demonic creatures, vile sects, and the ruins of fallen Great Emperors' Tombs. A perfect location to forge the Heavenly-Blood Body Law.

  He took a long sigh, inhaling the cold air of Heaven Sword Peak for the last time. The air felt peaceful and cold, a luxury he would not find in the Ancient Wasteland. He was prepared to leave this peace, trading silence for vileness, trading elegance for blood.

  WHUSHH!

  His divine sense swirled to carve the Cosmic Step Rune. He could not use flying runes or any other Thousand Heavens Sect travel methods; they would be too conspicuous. The Cosmic Step, serving as a replacement for the Seven Star Boat, was the fastest and most hidden method. In an instant, the sword aura on Heaven Sword Peak vibrated subtly, and the black-grey shadow vanished, leaving behind a deeper and more meaningful silence.

  Zhi Xuan’s next appearance was not at the gates of the Thousand Heavens Sect, but in a thick wilderness, dozens of miles from the sect’s formation fence. He stepped out of the shadows, the Tattered Hood covering most of his face, and the tattered grey robe making him look like a speck of dust in the middle of a dark forest.

  He wasted no time. After verifying that he was beyond the spiritual detection range of the Thousand Heavens Sect, he immediately sped forward, relying on the instincts and speed of the Cosmic Step, which was the advantage of Consciousness Transformation.

  His journey to the border of the Middle Continent would take time, a wandering that had to be conducted with caution. He moved like a ghost, ignoring the small sects and mortal towns he passed. Every step was a meditation. On the third day of wandering, he stopped at a small town, needing to buy herbs and formation talismans.

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  Zhi Xuan stepped calmly; the town appeared enveloped by a fairly barren desert, yet with some clinging vegetation. There, there was no entrance gate to the town, only several horse carriages and mortals or cultivators using hoods to ward off the heat.

  This small town was known as Flint Stone City, a stopover for wanderers heading to the harsher regions of the Middle Continent. The air felt hot and dry, filled with the smell of dust and sweat, a piercing contrast to the scent of ice lotus and sword essence at the Thousand Heavens Sect.

  Zhi Xuan walked with a slow and steady pace, his aura dead beneath the Tattered Hood, making him look like nothing more than a struggling Blood Transformation cultivator. He did not seek luxury, only necessities. His steps brought him to a busy market, where cultivators from Blood Transformation to several Consciousness Transformations mingled, whispering about spiritual stone prices and the locations of the latest ruins.

  In a corner of the market, he saw a small stall selling herbs. The stall owner was an old woman with a face full of wrinkles, her eyes sharp and filled with the wisdom gained from living in the harsh mortal world. Her spiritual aura felt weak, not detectable as being in any realm, but her gaze felt penetrating.

  Zhi Xuan approached. On the tattered wooden table, ordinary-looking herbs were piled, but Zhi Xuan’s sapphire eyes, tempered by Ruo Xianxue’s knowledge, saw through the decay and plainness. Among the crowd of ordinary herbs, several Cold Blood Lotus roots and a few strands of Earth Spirit Grass were hidden—middle-tier herbs that could be used to strengthen blood and calm strained meridians.

  "Young wandering master," the old woman greeted, her voice hoarse yet friendly. "What do you seek in this harsh market? Rare herbs, or just herbs to heal mortal wounds?"

  Zhi Xuan bowed slightly, a gesture of politeness he rarely gave, but necessary in this disguise. He pointed to a bundle of ordinary-looking Earth Spirit Grass. "I am only looking for a little spiritual peace. This journey feels too heavy."

  The old woman smiled, a smile that showed the loss of several teeth but radiated an aura of honesty. "The journey is always heavy, young master. But for those seeking the Dao, peace must be sought in the middle of the storm, not inside a bottle."

  Zhi Xuan was silent for a moment. Those words, though full of double meanings, carried an implicit weight. He let out a long sigh. "I would like two bundles of Earth Spirit Grass and that Cold Blood Lotus root."

  The old woman stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "You have good eyes, young master. That Cold Blood Lotus is not an herb easily used. The price is ten middle-grade spiritual stones."

  Zhi Xuan nodded, without lingering. He pulled his storage bag and took out ten shimmering middle-grade spiritual stones. After the old woman handed over the herbs with a deft motion, she suddenly whispered, her voice very low.

  "Your path leads to something dangerous, young master," the old woman whispered, without changing her facial expression. "If the Heavens allow, may I know the young master's name?"

  Zhi Xuan was spiritually startled, but he showed no physical reaction. The tattered hood had hidden his aura, but he could not hide his instincts. He looked into the old woman's eyes, eyes that seemed to see into his Sea of Consciousness.

  "Zhang Shui," Zhi Xuan replied calmly, clasping his hands, his tone cold and full of vigilance. "The Great Path is full of danger, Senior."

  "Zhang Shui," the old woman repeated, her voice like rustling sand, letting the name float in the hot and dry air. She nodded slowly, the wrinkles on her face deepening, as if every line was a trace of the destiny she had witnessed. "A calm name, but the aura around you, Young Master Zhang, is stained with blood yet to be spilled. Your path is not just full of danger; it is a Path you carve atop Tombs. This old one has lived long on the edge of the Ancient Wasteland, and I know the scent of a cruel destiny."

  She asked for no further payment, offered no harsh warning; only a naked and honest statement. Zhi Xuan, behind the Tattered Hood, felt his spiritual hair stand on end. This woman was no ordinary cultivator. She had no detectable essence fluctuations.

  "Every Great Path, in the end, is built from ashes," Zhi Xuan replied calmly, gripping the herbs in his hand tightly. The cold smile hidden behind the hood was sharp. He would not let himself be intimidated. "If I must carve my Dao with vileness, let the Heavens decide."

  Zhi Xuan waved his hand and the spiritual herbs immediately floated into his storage bag. Zhi Xuan turned his gaze back to the old woman; he could use this to find deeper and more helpful information for his journey.

  "Senior, if this junior may ask," Zhi Xuan said carefully, glancing around for a moment before leaning in closer. "Is there any news or word about the path leading to the Divine Stone Mine?"

  The old woman smiled thinly, a small hoarse laugh escaping her dry lips. That smile felt like a validation of Zhi Xuan’s cold arrogance, acknowledging the brutal truth in his sentence. Her sharp eyes swept the busy market, as if she were scanning every shadow that might be listening. She then leaned forward slightly over the tattered table, leaving a very intimate distance between them.

  "The Divine Stone Mine, Young Master Zhang, is not a place you seek to carve a peaceful Dao," the old woman whispered, her voice now feeling like the murmur of wind inside ancient ruins. "It is a Mine inherited from ancient times, where slaves or mortals are forced to experience life and death situations to mine divine stones. You can probably guess it, Young Master Zhang. The scent of blood, suffering, and thousands of restless spirits gather."

  "Spiritual slaves and mortals forced to mine," Zhi Xuan repeated, his voice remaining calm behind the Tattered Hood, but within his Sea of Consciousness, he felt a cold disgust. He came from a mortal background filled with love and warmth in the past, yet the image of thousands of people suffering in a mine to extract Divine Stones, only for the wealth of cultivators, felt repulsive. "Which path, Senior, draws the least attention?"

  The old woman smiled again, a smile this time filled with a cruel pity. "Which path draws the least attention? In the world of cultivation, Young Master Zhang, even the wind has eyes. But for the Ancient Wasteland, you must seek the path only traversed by those who do not care if you live or die."

  The old woman raised her gaze, waving her hand toward the southeast where the desert seemed endless, yet behind it lay a faint expanse of a large lake that felt like a seed of life in the middle of the hot desert life.

  "You must seek the path through the Central Desert Lake," the old woman whispered, her tone now deepening, carrying resonance of fatigue and wisdom that crossed ages. "There, you will find a bald man named Tu Yan; come to him and say the Waterless Blue Lake, you will get what you want."

  The old woman then returned to a cross-legged position, her sharp eyes once again scanning the busy market, as if the intimate conversation had never happened. Her hood shifted slightly, revealing a spiritual aura that was completely empty, an anomaly that could only be seen by Zhi Xuan’s eyes sharpened by Devil Law.

  The spiritual Zhi Xuan nodded, his gesture sharp and calculated. "Thank you for the guidance, Senior. Your help, though selfless, will be remembered by Zhang Shui."

  He did not wait for an answer. With a smooth flick of his wrist, he walked back across the market, his steps now feeling more steady, as if he had obtained a map far more valuable than the scroll given by Zhu Qinglan.

  Tu Yan. The Waterless Blue Lake. That password felt ancient and loaded with meaning, a code indicating that the man named Tu Yan was no ordinary wanderer in the Central Desert Lake.

  Zhi Xuan left Flint Stone City as quickly as he had entered. He did not care about the curious stares that might be directed at the grey-hooded cultivator carrying a dead aura. Within a short time, he was back in the thick wilderness, carving the cosmic step rune once again, directing his way toward the southeast.

  WHISSS!

  In the middle of the dense forest, Zhi Xuan felt rough and corrupt essence fluctuations—three Blood Transformation cultivators, with shameless bandit auras, were ambushing a mortal path. They were looking for slaves or belongings they could plunder. They were perfect fertilizer.

  Zhi Xuan did not need to attack. He let his cold arrogance lead him, stepping onto the ambushed path, the Tattered Hood covering his face. He intentionally walked slowly, his body radiating an early-stage Blood Transformation aura.

  "Hey, wanderer! Stop!" roared one of the bandits, a burly man with an axe enveloped in rusted essence. "Hand over your storage bag, and we will let you leave intact!"

  Zhi Xuan stopped, his back to them. A hoarse, cold laugh came from behind his tattered hood, a laugh that sounded more like the rubbing of bones than a humorous laugh.

  "Intact?" Zhi Xuan hissed, his voice hoarse and cold. "I seek destruction, not intactness."

  In a split second, before the bandits could swing their weapons, Zhi Xuan turned. He used only his bare hands. With a steady stance, he swung his leg and evaded the weapon swings, then a moment later, he swung his hand to meet the bandit.

  BLARR!

  The Heavenly-Blood Body Law, still in its first rune stage in his Sea of Consciousness, seeped into his fist. Zhi Xuan’s fist radiated a bleak black light, not essence, but pure Slaughter Will. His first punch hit the nearest bandit's chest, and the result was brutal.

  The bandit exploded into blood dust, leaving neither flesh nor essence. From that blood dust, strands of blood began to flow and directed toward Zhi Xuan’s hand. Zhi Xuan felt a cold and sharp sensation beneath his skin—the first Slaughter Seal was being carved. The pain was immense, but it was a purifying pain, a pain that gave strength.

  "This feeling," Zhi Xuan sighed, his voice sounding like finding something new and intoxicating, stretching out both hands and closing his eyes. "This is the will of slaughter."