Chapter Sixty-Three: Terror! The Sword Demon Tong Yu!

“Was that a gu worm just now? I remember seeing someone in Autumn Pond use a gu worm to dispel poison—it crawled in through the mouth and out the nostrils. The illness was cured, but that person vomited for three days and didn’t dare eat.” Zuo Qingcheng smacked his lips.

“Hmph, that's a petty trick. This Yin Silkworm of mine is one of only two or three pairs in the world. As long as the deceased's mind isn’t ruined and they haven’t practiced our Absolute Poison Valley’s methods, all their memories can be replayed exactly. This is the Soul-Searching Gu Technique—even a Golden Immortal won’t be immune.” Nie Xuan said proudly from atop his horse.

“That’s perfect! Next time we catch a leader, Brother Nie can use this technique again and thoroughly investigate their origins so we can be prepared.” Lin Feng clapped his hands.

Everyone’s faces fell. If another pursuit occurred, would any of them survive to escape?

Emerging from the woods of Changyang Slope, the group sighed in relief. Looking back, the mountains were blue beneath the sky, their earlier tension swept away.

All of a sudden, Lin Feng and Nie Xuan’s expressions changed drastically, a chill like ice crawling down their spines, an infinite dread rising from within!

The seven steeds abruptly halted, stamping anxiously and neighing low. The black stallion’s hair bristled, its gaze fixed on the distant horizon, roaring.

What could inspire such deep terror in everyone? Even when five assassins emerged from the woods, the horses didn’t cower like this. What dreadful thing was approaching?

Not only did their backs freeze, but even the flow of blood seemed to slow. Everyone felt dizzy, their souls slipping from their bodies, a wave of submission rising in their hearts, impossible to resist!

Suddenly, everything turned blood-red—the sky, the earth, the forests, hills, horses, companions—all dyed in crimson.

Within the boundless blood, a phantom figure gathered from the edge of heaven, every crimson shade converging like ten thousand blades toward a single point, tearing through the firmament and condensing in an instant!

The pressure vanished abruptly, blood flowed back into their bodies, the sky was blue again, the grass and trees fresh. It felt like rebirth!

The group awoke in terror and looked to the sky. There, a graceful figure stood proudly atop a sword—a man with silver hair, a single red gleam between his brows, dressed in a dazzling golden robe, exquisite white boots, standing in midair, exuding the oppressive weight of a mountain.

He was evenly built, with sharp sword-like brows mirroring the red gleam between them, giving him an inexplicable aura of sinister charm. His cheeks were pale as snow, his nose straight, lips thin, eyes deep as the sea—no one dared look for long.

Beneath his feet, the blood-red giant sword radiated waves of demonic energy; even unmoving, it seemed to contain the might of thunder. The air around it shattered repeatedly, shockwaves rolling like tides.

Threads of immense blood and sword energy seeped from its sharp blade.

An overwhelming terror!

“This man’s aura is fierce—his strength at least matches masters like Zhou Kuigang or Fang Xiaotian. No, even Zhou Kuigang never had such presence. Is he a Core Formation expert, or an Infant Demon master? We’re doomed this time…” Lin Feng was stunned, his gaze swept over the man, and his soul trembled, his blood roiling out of control.

Suddenly, the string of glazed Buddhist beads at his chest emitted a cold aura, suppressing the rampant blood energy, and his mind calmed quickly.

“Hm, there’s blood energy everywhere here. Did you just kill someone?” The man’s voice rang out, gentle yet clear, laced with an irresistible force. In every heart echoed the command, “Answer him, obey him.”

A question, almost tender, yet brimming with such power!

“Senior, we did kill someone, but they deserved it. In broad daylight, they ambushed us here on Changyang Slope, seeking our lives and fortune—we had no choice!” Nie Xuan lifted his head, his face ghastly pale, his gaze bloodthirsty and fierce. Lin Feng had never seen him like this.

“Oh? Which sect are you from? And who are these others?” The man’s tone was calm, each word falling like pearls.

From Lin Feng’s angle, he saw sweat pour from Nie Xuan’s face, the invisible pressure pinning him motionless.

“Disciple Nie Xuan, under the Poison King of Absolute Poison Valley. These are friends from Bamboo Garden Manor…” As Nie Xuan spoke, Lin Feng clearly saw his chest heave violently.

“So, you’re the Poison King’s prized pupil. Don’t you recognize me?” The man in golden robes smiled slyly, waving his hand as all the pressure dissipated. Everyone felt instantly relieved, as if shedding heavy armor.

Nie Xuan relaxed, exhaled deeply, wiped his sweat, and replied respectfully, “This disciple is dull and failed to recognize Senior. Please forgive me!”

“Never mind. If you don’t know me, you’ve at least heard of the Blood-Drinking Sword, haven’t you?” The man’s lips curled in amusement.

“Blood… Blood-Drinking Sword!” Nie Xuan stared at the crimson flying sword, his mouth agape, “You—Senior, Sword Demon Senior!”

“Heh… Remember, next time you see your master, have him prepare Nine-Curve Brew. It’s been nearly seventy years since I tasted his fine wine…” The Sword Demon spoke softly, then turned to Lin Feng with a smile: “So the old monk’s relic ended up with you. Fate, it seems…”

With just that sentence, the Sword Demon’s aura shifted. Lin Feng felt the world invert, blood rushing to his head, and crimson returned to his vision. His throat tasted of iron, and he vomited blood.

“Senior, please show mercy!” Nie Xuan saw Lin Feng spew blood and cried out anxiously.

“Good and evil cannot coexist. Didn’t your master teach you that?” The Sword Demon’s voice was mild but tinged with anger. Nie Xuan, unable to withstand the pressure, also spat blood like Lin Feng.

“Enough! As a senior of the Demon Path, are you so shortsighted? There are villains in the righteous path and good men among demons. You can’t distinguish right from wrong—how can you so arbitrarily decide the fate of others?” Lin Feng gathered his focus and spoke coldly.

The group was shocked—defying this demon, Lin Feng had no hope of survival. Yet unexpectedly, the Sword Demon tilted his neck and pointed at Nie Xuan. “Heh… tell me, am I good or evil? And what about him?”

“Brother Nie is a good man, you—at most, a sinister and eccentric one. Neither good nor evil!” Lin Feng’s tone sharpened. With death inevitable, only a gamble could yield hope.

“Interesting. Sinister and eccentric—that suits me well. You’re absolutely right. Seeking death is easy, then—I’ll grant your wish!”

The Sword Demon suddenly pointed; a blood-red wave shot straight at Lin Feng, brimming with endless sword intent and murderous energy, tearing the air, impossibly fast!

Bang! Blood splattered, sword energy pierced Lin Feng’s body, sending him flying as if struck by a Sky-Splitting Arrow, his body soaring then crashing heavily to the ground.

“Lin Feng!” “Brother Lin!” the group cried out.

“Heh… remember to tell your master…” As the Sword Demon spoke, man and sword transformed into a rainbow streak across the sky, the oppressive aura vanishing completely.

Nie Xuan and Zuo Qingcheng were drenched with sweat, their clothes soaked through. The others were unharmed but pale and trembling with fear.

“Hurry, check on Brother Lin!” Ye Ziyin urged urgently.

“I’m fine.” Lin Feng struggled to his feet, waving weakly.

The Sword Demon’s strike pierced his abdomen, injuring his organs but sparing his life. With his skill, it was clear he had shown mercy.

“This grudge will be repaid one day!” Lin Feng gazed at the sky, his eyes calm, a dangerous glint flickering deep within.

Tong Yu, the Sword Demon, was infamous a hundred years ago. His Blood-Drinking Sword consumed countless lives, his cultivation methods sinister and strange, his power built atop mountains of corpses.

When instructing their disciples, the seventy-six lords of the Ten Thousand Demon Heavens often said: “No matter what arts you practice, never follow the Sword Demon’s path—digging your own grave and offending the entire world. Not even the Demon Sovereign could save you then.”

It was said that fifty years ago, the three great masters of Floating Tuo Temple—Zhikong, Zhishan, and Zhiyuan—joined forces by the Yi River to ambush Tong Yu, shattering his core and casting him into the depths. The demon vanished, ending countless grudges.

“Why does the Demon Path always persist like ants, never dying out?” Lin Feng listened as Nie Xuan recounted the man’s history, and this question formed in his heart.

Fifty miles ahead lay Zhennan Pass. It was midday. The group advanced several miles, ate lunch, rested for half an hour, then pressed onward toward the mighty gate.

(The overdue character has finally appeared.)