The White-Robed Youth stared fixedly at the skull remnants before him as they slowly dissipated, his chest heaving violently, cold sweat running down his temples and cheeks.
Those two Soul Wraith Puppets from the Late Golden Core were each capable of tearing him to pieces. If not for the Nascent Soul talisman his master had bestowed upon him, he would already be dead.
“Finally… it’s over.”
He let out a long breath, then his gaze fell on a faint bluish barrier ahead, and his pupils shrank abruptly.
“Damn it! When did another barrier appear here?”
He muttered under his breath, his brows knitted into a tight frown.
If this barrier had not suddenly risen to block his path, he would not have been forced to waste that life-saving talisman. That talisman had been refined by his master over decades of toil; it was the only one of its kind, gone once used.
But he had no time to lament—beyond the barrier lay the only way out.
He drew a deep breath and rapidly formed hand seals. A phantom formation rose behind him, directing its power at the barrier, the formation’s center converging with frenzied spiritual light.
In an instant, a white light sword about three meters long condensed into being. The blade hummed and trembled, radiating an extremely fierce sword intent.
“Break it!”
He shouted, the white light sword suddenly slashing down, striking the barrier with brutal force.
They collided, magical power spraying in all directions. The barrier instantly sprouted countless cracks, webbing outward like a spider’s net.
“This might work!”
A flash of hope crossed the White-Robed Youth’s face. He changed his hand seals again, the sword preparing for a second strike.
At that moment,
a terrifying pressure that made his soul tremble descended from the sky with no warning.
His expression changed violently, every hair on his body standing on end. The pressure felt tangible, weighing his shoulders down and making each breath difficult.
He barely had time to turn; by instinct he jerked his head up.
Above him, a mass of dark cyan mist had appeared without his noticing. The fog rolled soundlessly, blending with the night as if it had risen from the abyss of Jiuyou itself, a cloud of death.
Within the mist, a broad figure slowly took shape.
First came a pair of withered pale hands, then a partial face shrouded in the fog. The face was as thin as dried wood, skin slightly wrinkled, and a pair of murky, aged eyes looked down at him with supreme indifference.
The gaze was cold, as if staring at an insignificant ant.
The White-Robed Youth froze, cold sweat soaking his hands. He recognized the face—indeed, few in the Abyssal Sea cultivation world would not.
The founder of Soul Wraith Island, Jiuyou!
“Se… senior…”
His voice trembled, and his feet involuntarily took a step back. The white light sword, obedient to his will, spun about in panic, held horizontally before him with the tip pointing toward the mist above, as if that could somehow give him a sliver of safety.
Jiuyou’s gaze lingered on him only briefly.
In that instant the White-Robed Youth felt his spirit laid bare, an icy chill running from head to toe. He felt that with a single thought from Jiuyou, his soul might shatter.
This was not illusion, but the instinctive fear brought on by a crushing gap in cultivation.
Jiuyou’s eyes slid past him, fixing on the formation phantom and the white light sword behind him. His expression tightened, and he spoke in a hoarse voice.
“This sword formation, this aura… are you the disciple of the Old Ghost of Baiyuan?”
The voice was dry and low, like rusted iron scraping, yet carried unquestionable authority.
The youth swallowed, his heart pounding while his mind raced.
He forced down his fear, forcing out a respectful tone that nevertheless trembled.
“Se… senior recognizes my master? My master is Master Baiyuan of Baiyuan City. Although Baiyuan City belongs to the Heaven and Earth Alliance, the Heaven and Earth Alliance and the Demonic Path Alliance are not mortal enemies. If the senior is willing to let me leave…”
Before he could finish,
Jiuyou’s eyes grew icier.
Not anger, not ferocity, but pure indifference, as if listening to the buzzing of an unimportant insect.
“You talk too much.”
He raised his hand slightly.
From the mist, countless cyan iron chains shot out like spirit-serpents, carrying a bone-chilling cold and shrieking like death, sweeping toward the White-Robed Youth in an overwhelming tide.
His pupils contracted, his soul recoiling.
He had never expected that upon learning his master was a Nascent Soul cultivator, Jiuyou would show no hesitation and strike to kill at once!
“Senior, spare me!”
He screamed miserably, frantically forming seals. The white light sword lunged to meet the onslaught, its blade swelling into a massive three-meter greatsword that swept horizontally, trying to sever the chains.
Clang, clang!
Chains clashed with sword light, sparks flying. The youth’s Nascent Soul talisman exerted its limited power; only by exhausting all its energy could he barely cut through seven or eight chains.
But there were far more than a hundred chains. The moment some snapped, many more surged from the fog, endless and unceasing.
One chain coiled around his ankle.
He stiffened as his cultivation stalled. Then a second, a third, a fourth… scores of chains climbed his limbs like venomous snakes, binding him tightly until his bones creaked.
He struggled wildly, pouring all his spiritual power toward breaking free, but cyan flames clinging to the chains burned through the skin into his meridians. The pain forced him to scream.
“Ah—!”
Jiuyou watched without expression, not even glancing down further.
He had already calculated this.
If the youth’s master had been a mid or late Nascent Soul, he might have hesitated. But the Old Ghost of Baiyuan? He was only Early Nascent Soul like Jiuyou, while Jiuyou himself was at the peak of the early stage. By cultivation, Jiuyou held the advantage; by strength, he was superior. What cause for concern remained?
Moreover, this White-Robed Youth had trespassed on Coldwind Island, slain Jiuyou’s island elder who guarded it, stolen Coldwind Wood, and destroyed Jiuyou’s two Soul Wraith Puppets of Late Golden Core. That debt could not be cleared even if Baiyuan’s old ghost personally came.
The youth’s screams faded to nothing.
Jiuyou, tired of wasting time, shifted position and appeared before him. His gaunt hand closed over the youth’s skull, and he began to apply the Soul-Snatching Secret Technique.
After a moment, Jiuyou released his grip. The White-Robed Youth’s body slumped to the ground like a discarded rag.
“A core disciple of Baiyuan City—no wonder he had a talisman.”
Jiuyou murmured, flicking out a tuft of cyan flame that consumed the corpse completely, leaving not so much as ashes.
Having finished, Jiuyou did not rush away. He closed his eyes to digest the memories obtained from the soul-snatch.
This youth’s mission had not been aimed at Jiuyou—just a few wandering cultivators who stumbled upon Coldwind Island and greedily coveted its abundant spiritual materials. No faction backed them, and no one knew the island belonged to Jiuyou.
“Foolish and overconfident.”
Jiuyou snorted coldly, and dismissed the thought.
He only wished to find a quiet place to cultivate. The souls of those three Golden Core juniors could be dismissed, but the essence of the eighth-rank beast Frostshell Tortoise still required careful refinement to be fully assimilated.
Jiuyou flew back to the fractured mountain where the Frostshell Tortoise had been broken open and landed within. With a wave of his hand, dense mist poured from his body like invisible hands, stacking the scattered rock and restoring the stone platform.
He tapped the platform, reactivating the hidden grand formation. The temporary trapping array outside slowly dissolved and was replaced by another wavering, illusory ripple barrier.
From an outsider’s view, Coldwind Island had vanished, leaving only a calm sea. Unless a Nascent Soul cultivator passed overhead, even a peak Golden Core cultivator could not detect so much as a trace with divine sense.
When all was arranged, Jiuyou sat cross-legged on the restored stone platform, patted his storage pouch, and took out the frost-aligned beast pill from the Frostshell Tortoise.
The moment the beast pill appeared, the air around them plunged into unbearable cold.
Jiuyou remained unaffected, his eyes showing a sliver of anticipation. He dug a small pit in the soil before him and buried the beast pill within.
As the pill sank into the earth, frost immediately crystallized across the surrounding ground.
He then retrieved the Coldwind Wood the three Golden Core cultivators had stolen from their storage pouches, and together with the remaining Coldwind Wood on the island, he planted them into the frostbound soil.
In an instant, frost spread outward from the cavern like an advancing tide, as if intent on freezing the entire island into an ice sculpture.
Jiuyou drew out the Little Green Bottle from his pouch. With fingertip control of his spiritual power, he carefully pulled a drop of green liquid from the bottle, diluted it with a bucket of spirit fluid, then evenly sprinkled the mixture over the Coldwind Wood.
The diluted green liquid was quickly absorbed as it touched the wood. He could clearly feel that as the Coldwind Wood drank it in, the surrounding chill intensified by several degrees.
“Haha, wonderful!”
Jiuyou laughed heartily, the sound echoing over the whole island.
He then pressed a hand against the ground, and the Nether Capital Gate flared into being before him. A chorus of howls swept the island again, and skeletons rose one after another until, in the blink of an eye, they covered the entire island. Their strengths varied, from Qi Refinement to Golden Core.
When everything was complete, Jiuyou stroked his slightly twitching right eye, settled comfortably in the depth of the cavern, placed the Little Green Bottle where moonlight could touch it, closed his eyes, and began refining the essence of the Frostshell Tortoise.