Chapter 137: The Dance of Demonic Chaos

The golden core of Yue Dongming was far too precious to waste. The two of them sped toward the distant mountain peak, their minds taut with tension, ready at any moment to repel an ambush.

The sun blazed overhead as they flew for the time it takes to burn an incense stick. Clouds swirled around, and the snow-capped Chessboard Peak loomed far on the horizon—visible, yet seemingly forever out of reach.

“This isn’t good. It’s a labyrinth!” Chen Yuxi suddenly halted, eyes scanning their surroundings with heightened vigilance.

“What’s wrong, senior sister?” Lin Feng transmitted his voice.

“Don’t you sense something off here?” Chen Yuxi’s gaze flickered as she also transmitted her thoughts. “Someone has laid down a powerful formation with divine mastery. No matter how long we take, we’ll never reach Chessboard Peak. We’re just going in circles.”

“No wonder no demonic experts have appeared, and there’s no sound of battle from the peak. So that’s how it is!”

Masters of Daoism can cast all manner of formations to alter the natural environment and trap foes within them. Among the demonic cultivators, there are equally rare experts who specialize in formations and the five elements, capable of crafting illusions so lifelike they confound enemies. This is far more challenging than ordinary Daoist techniques.

Breaking such a formation hinges on locating its core, but in this vast, meticulously crafted illusion that stretches over thousands of miles, finding its secret is like searching for a needle in a haystack. More importantly, whether the one who set the formation lies in wait nearby is unknown.

Both frowned deeply.

Suddenly, Lin Feng glanced downward and swung his sword with all his might. A roar erupted! Sword energy rippled through the air in waves, but the tremendous power dissipated inexplicably into thin air.

Indeed, it was a formidable formation, capable of ensnaring two golden core stage experts. The pair exchanged astonished glances.

“I refuse to believe this…” Lin Feng leapt down, sword slashing into the dense mountain forest below, much to his senior sister’s alarm.

“Hey!” Chen Yuxi’s heart skipped a beat as she followed swiftly on her sword.

“Boom!” Leaves and branches flew as a hundred-year-old pine tree was cleaved in two, splitting apart with a creak that made teeth ache before crashing down.

“This isn’t an illusion! Senior sister, look—the first sword I just struck landed right there…” Lin Feng pointed to the chaotic forest behind them, then scanned the surroundings, a sudden joy lighting his face.

“I understand now!” They both exclaimed, exchanging smiles.

The burning pine forest still smoldered tens of miles behind them—they hadn’t gone far at all. Chessboard Peak was just a hundred or so miles ahead.

All the evidence pointed to one conclusion: the formation was set in the sky. Anyone flying on a sword would inevitably fall into the illusion. It was undoubtedly a trap laid by demonic cultivators! Ordinary travelers would not enter the formation, but all cultivators who fly naturally would.

“Senior sister, let’s move along the treetops!”

Like agile monkeys, the two stepped lightly atop the vast pine forest, their movements swift and graceful as they vanished toward the distant horizon.

Chessboard Peak grew ever nearer. The snow at the summit reflected the sunlight with a dazzling brilliance, piercing through the mist. From mid-mountain upward, a magnificent, flowing cloud cover obscured the true form of the peak.

This mountain’s grandeur and peril rivaled the four great peaks of Qiyun Mountain.

As they pressed onward, suddenly a terrifying sword light burst from the summit, slicing through the layered clouds. Thunder rumbled as ancient glaciers shattered under this earth-shaking strike, crashing into the valley below with deafening explosions. A chilling aura radiated outward in all directions.

At the same moment, the sky was suffused with a blood-red mist. The clouds took on a crimson hue, faint Buddhist chants drifting through the air, accompanied by the deep tolling of bells.

“It’s the Immortal Slayer Sword Technique! Master is battling them! And the monks of Putuo Temple— that blood mist, could it be the Sword Demon Tong Yu?” Lin Feng observed carefully as they flew closer to the mountaintop spectacle.

The shattered glacier snow tumbled wildly from the peak. Countless sword energies and blade lights pierced the mist, coloring the sky in brilliant hues. Explosions erupted ceaselessly, light and sound tearing through the heavens, shaking the entire mountain.

The fighters atop the peak—heroes of both the righteous and demonic paths—were at least golden core cultivators. Otherwise, in such a massive battle, a single sword energy from a nascent soul stage master could slaughter an earth foundation stage disciple.

Suddenly, a mournful Buddhist chant echoed, and celestial beams of light radiated from the sky. A distant yet rapidly approaching chant filled the heavens. The cloud and sword energies scattered in retreat as a massive golden radiance ascended.

Just as the two at the foot of the mountain prepared to cheer for this Buddhist power, a dragon’s roar resounded from the peak. On the opposite side of the golden light, thick black smoke surged suddenly, like ink spilled across the sky, occupying half the heavens, threatening to engulf the golden glow.

“I wonder if our senior brothers are up there. Senior sister, judging by this situation, we can only ascend after the glacier fully collapses.”

“We can’t wait any longer. They set that illusion trap. If any injured comrades accidentally enter it, panic will trap them inside. Let’s go—through the mountain and underground.”

Chen Yuxi’s delicate face turned cold. Grabbing Lin Feng’s hand, she formed her fingers into a sword shape and slashed repeatedly, chanting: “Heavenly stems and five elements: Chen, Xu, Wei, Ji! Through mountain and earth, metals and stones yield!”

A pale yellow glow enveloped them, crashing straight into the mountain wall. With a soft sound, like fish entering water, their bodies merged into the hard, iron-like rock. Riding the mountain’s contours, they swiftly ascended, soon reaching the summit.

Before them, the scene opened wide—indeed, nearly a hundred masters were locked in fierce combat!

To the east sky, led by Ji Hongyun and the Sword Demon Tong Yu, a dozen demonic cultivators, dressed in varied attire, clashed fiercely with members of the Hundred Flowers Sect, Putuo Temple, and other righteous sects. Among them were notable figures from Tianzhu Peak and Junzi Peak, such as Feng Yiyuan.

Treasure swords and artifacts collided violently, sword and blade energies flashing everywhere. Thunder and explosions intertwined with fire and lightning, as if the apocalypse had descended.

These demonic cultivators were all sect leaders of the Wanmo Sect, on par with the legendary Red-Haired Ancestor Pei Zan. Each had trained for decades or even centuries. Without late-stage golden core cultivation, none could claim the title of Ancestor. Their treasured swords and flying weapons were honed over decades, instruments of unparalleled cruelty that had slain countless righteous and demonic cultivators alike.

The villains’ viciousness was unmatched. Gathering together, their power magnified exponentially. Though fifty or sixty righteous cultivators fought in groups of three or four, encircling and battling, danger was constant and casualties heavy.

Cangbailang, Qian Cai, and Feng Yiyuan fought Ji Hongyun fiercely. Chi Lian’s golden blade, the Five-Colored Coin Seal, and the Ziyang Sword all displayed their might. Ji Hongyun wielded twin sun and moon rings—one offensive, one defensive—resulting in a stalemate where neither side could gain the upper hand.

The four heads of Putuo Temple’s various halls—Ling Chi, Ling Tan, Ling Chen, and Ling Jie—battled the Sword Demon Tong Yu with their divine Buddhist powers. Chanting the Infinite Heart Sutra and invoking Buddhist mantras, they stood atop nine-tiered white lotus platforms, deploying spells such as the Demon-Sealing Sword, Vajra Treasure Pestle, Crimson Cloud Banner, and Seven-Colored Alms Bowl.

The battlefield was awash in dazzling lights and treasures. Lotus seals bloomed everywhere, countering the blood-red formations of the Ziche River. Countless sword lights flashed, accompanied by thunderous explosions.

The vice sect leader of the Heavenly Mountain Sword Sect, He Zhibai, donned in starlit feather robes and wielding twelve golden swords, joined forces with a woman in white robes, her hair pinned high with phoenix ornaments, wielding the Emperor’s Rain Sword.

Together, they surrounded Zhang Zhaotian, head of the Wanmo Sect’s Hidden Kill Hall. The woman was He Zhibai’s partner, Wang Lanqiu, the cherished daughter of Wang Qinghao, leader of the White Cloud Sword Sect. The couple’s coordination was flawless.

The twelve golden swords formed a dazzling sword formation, fiercely defending. Wang Lanqiu unleashed the Emperor’s Violent Rain Sword Technique, pressing the attack relentlessly.

Despite Zhang Zhaotian’s cunning stealth and shadow techniques, he was forced into open combat. With a wave of his hand, he unleashed over a thousand dark needles forged from golden crow jujube seeds—the Golden Darkness Shuttles—which exploded into thick smoke.

Masters from the righteous sects such as Master Wudao of Tanmen Academy, Master Kumu of Great Compassion Hall, and Pure Yang Zhenren of Hunyuan Sect also fought bravely.

Among the Wanmo Sect’s experts were the Poison King of the Deadly Poison Valley, the heads of the Blood Blade Hall and Thunder Fire Hall, as well as the chiefs of the Soul Transfer Cave and Death Spirit Cave.

The Poison King alone slew two righteous cultivators in a blink. Any sword or flying weapon that touched the purple mist surrounding him became uncontrollable, like infected with a plague, falling into ruin.

His gourd-shaped treasure occasionally released swarms of venomous insects and monstrous mosquitoes. They relentlessly bit righteous cultivators, sapping their spiritual power, forcing them to withdraw and meditate on the peak to detoxify and recover.

Lin Feng noticed dozens of people meditating on a distant platform, their faces pale—some gravely injured, others heavily poisoned. Four guards stood watch vigilantly to prevent surprise attacks from demonic cultivators.

Though the eastern battle was chaotic and brutal, the two glanced briefly before turning their attention to the west, where the true masters of the highest order were dueling.

Four figures dominated this confrontation, their sword energy, killing intent, Buddhist light, and force filling the western sky. The surging qi waves forbade anyone from approaching.

Among them were naturally the top warriors of Tianzhu Peak and Putuo Temple—Yan Dongjue and the wise monk Zhiyuan—along with two others of even more fearful aura: a boy and an incomparable beauty.

The boy, with jade-like complexion and delicate features, his nose sharp as if carved, wore a purple-red martial robe. Above his head hovered a blood dragon phantom, its aura soaring to the heavens. He bore no other weapons. With a casual gesture, he unleashed a torrent of ten thousand demonic shadow fists—dark and overwhelming. His demonic cultivation had clearly reached a stage of returning to the primal essence.

Opposing him was the radiant-faced Zhiyuan, with large ears and a rotund belly, draped in a golden mulberry leaf kasaya. His palms were empty as he sat cross-legged upon a sixteenth-tier golden lotus platform, chanting sutras with closed eyes.

Behind him stood a golden-bodied Bodhisattva statue, majestic and solemn, wearing a five-Buddha crown, seated half-upright on a lotus throne. In its left hand, it held a white lotus with a wish-fulfilling pearl, radiating yellow light; the right hand formed the gesture of granting wishes.

Golden light and white lotus blossoms spread forth, countering the boy’s demonic energy. Both appeared calm, no sword energy or killing intent visible, yet the danger was immense—they were engaged in a fierce spiritual power duel, where even the slightest misstep meant utter defeat.

Within a hundred yards of their battle, the intermingling of Buddhist light and demonic aura kept all at bay. Even Yan Dongjue and the exquisite woman maintained a distance of hundreds of yards, clashing swords from afar.

The woman exuded noble grace, serene and composed, dressed in pink silk garments trimmed with teardrop jewels. Her sword blazed like flowing fire. Each strike unleashed a deluge of sword energy and fiery rain, engulfing an area dozens of yards wide, like a volcanic eruption.

Wave after wave of sword energy swept through the space between them, turning the sky into a torrent of multicolored light. The air trembled as if the gates of hell had opened, yet the flames never extinguished.

During their duel, their outer manifestations—their second souls—also materialized in the heavens, glaring fiercely at each other before renewing their combat. These specters were identical to their true forms but even more vivid and lifelike, perfectly expressing the fury within their hearts.

“Master’s cultivation has broken through again!” Lin Feng watched the terrifying scene, his heart surging with emotion.