Chapter 113

A cry that seemed to come from the distant past cut through the raucous howls of the demon horde, startlingly clear.

To the crowd, it was as if a sliver of light had appeared—a crimson sun descending into the dark clouds, searing and radiant.

Blazing feathered wings, nearly staining half the sky red. A vermilion bird wreathed in fire spread its wings, diving with a sweep that sent several Flying Heavens tumbling. Then, as lightly as a sparrow alighting on a branch, it perched atop the barrier, flicking its tail feathers with elegant disdain. It coiled there, its flames scorching the demons' bodies.

Yue Changge raised an eyebrow at the sight. "Immortal Yun, so you remember to come back."

While the vermilion bird tangled with the demons above, Yun Shuchen and Qing Zhouxue seized the opening and stepped across the barrier.

Elder Yun's figure was hardly imposing—delicate, even frail—but as she strolled forward, unhurried and unruffled, her calm steps inexplicably steadied many a racing heart.

Xuanchengzi stared upward with a grim face, his few wispy beard hairs practically trembling with anxiety, nearly plucked out by his own fingers. Even Yun Shuchen's arrival wouldn't change much—it only made his hand pause mid-tug.

The fire Yun Shuchen commanded was the purest of flames. The vermilion bird's blaze incinerated everything to ash. Even the Demonic Race, naturally hardy of body, found their bones trapped within, charring black and brittle until they snapped at the slightest touch and vanished in the unquenchable burn.

She glanced up at the vermilion bird, then lowered her gaze to sweep over the silent Taichu Sect disciples.

She couldn't be bothered with how Lingxu Sect's disciples behaved, but she mentally tallied the Taichu Sect disciples sent here—each one was among the most favored by the elders of their respective peaks.

They were likely to inherit their peaks' leadership in the future. In other words, they were the new hope of Taichu Sect.

Viewed through that lens, Yun Shuchen found these children—utterly lacking.

In the sect's training grounds, they put on a decent show, but now, facing the Demonic Race, they retracted their claws, their fangs receded, leaving only a cowering eagerness to bolt at any moment.

Like this... it clearly wouldn't do.

Yun Shuchen lifted her eyes to Qing Zhouxue, then smiled faintly and said in a low voice, "Give your fellow disciples a surprise."

With that, she lifted a corner of the barrier with lightning speed. A Flying Heaven squeezed painfully through, its back still aflame with burning fire. The blazing flames enraged it thoroughly; its six eyes were nearly blood-red, as if on the verge of bursting.

The disciples inside the barrier panicked. Xuanchengzi and the other elders exchanged glances, watching Elder Yun with some tension, unsure of her intent, and began forming seals to counter the enemy.

Martial Aunt Yue seemed to be watching for entertainment; her hand rested on the flute at her waist, but she made no move to act.

The sharper disciples—Lin Xunzhen, for instance—had been uneasy at heart, but on glimpsing the expressions of the two elders, she realized things were likely under control, so she maintained her composure and even reached out to steady Bai Su beside her.

As the Flying Heaven landed, it loomed like a mountain, its visage hideous and terrifying. The weasel demon they had once exorcised paled in comparison—almost handsome, a mere dwarf before a giant.

Ruan Mingzhu's upbringing was somewhat akin to the Demonic Race's, or rather, when fear struck, her first instinct wasn't to flee but to attack.

As the Flying Heaven staggered toward her, she remembered Yue Changge's words, shut her eyes, and with a single swing of her blade, struck at the void where the central head would be.

The flames of her blade merely singed a wisp of hair. The next instant, before her slash could land fully, she had to hurriedly retreat, scrambling ungracefully as the Flying Heaven's broad wing nearly sliced her in half.

Such actions only enraged the demon further. As it spread its wings to take off, a lithe water dragon suddenly coiled upward, threading through one of its armpits, wrapping around several times, binding it tight.

A heavy thud.

Yun Shuchen controlled the spell to suppress the Flying Heaven, the dragon's body twisting, thinning and stretching into a rope, tying it up like a trussed pig.

"Again."

Yun Shuchen gestured for Ruan Mingzhu to come over.

Ruan Mingzhu froze. "Martial Aunt?"

Yun Shuchen merely looked at her with a gentle smile. "Go on, that slash of yours didn't land just now."

Ruan Mingzhu met her eyes, furrowed her brow slightly, bit her lower lip, then turned to look at the demon baring its fangs and snarling. She stepped closer to its massive form, gripping her blade. A stench of blood seeped from its fangs, sickeningly rank.

She had once fought that weasel demon to the death, and now she felt a flicker of familiar thrill. Gritting her teeth, she poured spiritual energy into her blade until it vibrated with a resonant hum.

She leaped upward. Blade rose and fell—blood sprayed, and a head rolled away with a thud.

The disciples around instinctively stepped back half a pace. At that moment, the demon's body surged in size, wings spreading nearly flat, feathers stiffening like blades.

Ruan Mingzhu couldn't dodge in time. Blood splattered across her face, and she tumbled into the gore. The Flying Heaven's roar nearly deafened her.

"Tell them, how did it feel?" Yun Shuchen asked again.

Ruan Mingzhu snapped back to herself, lifting her head from a pool of blood, blinking. "It... it was pretty easy. This thing looks tough, but if you really strike hard, it's not as solid as you'd think."

The water dragon slithered upward, then suddenly surged forward, coiling tighter still.

Under the crowd's astonished gaze, the demon's body shattered and broke apart, cut into several large chunks. Even along with its severed head, it dissolved into a wisp of black smoke and scattered, leaving not even ash behind.

Yun Shuchen's wrist rose slightly, her slender fingers tapping lightly, then falling.

In that careless motion, she wielded life and death.

Qing Zhouxue had been quietly watching her master all along. When the acrid stench of blood reached her nose, she frowned slightly but didn't look away.

The way she cast spells was still so beautiful.

As she remembered seeing as a child—that exquisite, perfect balance suspended at her fingertips.

Even though the demon army was invading Lingxu Sect and she should focus her mind, Qing Zhouxue couldn't help but recall the shock of first seeing Yun Shuchen cast magic when she was a naive mortal child. That faint stir, after all these years, now rippled gently in her heart.

Other disciples seemed to share a similar sentiment. Such seemingly delicate spells could break down such a giant beast—perhaps the Demonic Race wasn't as formidable as imagined.

Was it because Elder Yun's cultivation was so high that it came easily? But their fellow disciple Ruan Mingzhu had also tried, and that hideous demon wasn't beyond their power to break—just needed a bit of wit and sharp timing.

The hearts of the Taichu Sect disciples seemed steadier, and a clear voice rang out from the crowd, "What's there to fear? With two great powers of the sect here, and the esteemed elders of Lingxu Sect, how could we lose?"

Just then, the vermilion bird's flames pierced the last Flying Heaven's heart. It burned from within to ash and tumbled off the barrier.

The sky cleared, golden light shining.

Yun Shuchen glanced again at the Taichu Sect disciples, now standing properly aligned, their morale no longer low. This was starting to look like a proper orthodox sect.

Another commotion rose beyond the barrier.

A horse trotted in, but it bore no flesh or blood—only stark white bones like jade spikes. Seated on its back was a young woman in black robes, holding a silver spear, her face hidden behind an intricately patterned mask.

Yet from the glimpse of her chin and lips, one could tell she was a rare beauty.

She was merely the vanguard; behind her, an oppressive host followed—a surging mass of bone horses and black-clad riders.

Yun Shuchen looked up and, sure enough, spotted in the center the woman with the most lavish and intricate attire, also masked. Under the golden light, the ring on her finger cast a faint, cold gleam.

Yun Shuchen studied her carefully, then lowered her gaze in disinterest, raising a hand to examine her own fingertips.

Not Tang Wuyue.

Perhaps a general of Jialuo Palace, or another of her female descendants. Yun Shuchen didn't recognize her.

The current Demon Lord was indeed as proud and arrogant as she'd always thought—deigning not to act personally even against this small Lingxu Sect, believing they could be easily obliterated.

She snorted softly, as if in cold laughter.

The great battle was imminent.

Lingxu Sect's barrier, already battered by the Flying Heavens' assaults, was on the verge of collapse. A few bone horses charged once more, their bones scattering, and the barrier finally shattered completely.

The disciples of the immortal sect stood in strict formation, every spiritual sword drawn in unison.

Amid the chaos, Yun Shuchen didn't move. Qing Zhouxue stayed close to her, sword drawn in defense. "Master, don't stand here."

"It's fine." Yun Shuchen flicked away a wisp of demonic aura with her sleeve, frowning as she assessed the situation. The Taichu Sect disciples were few after all; the main brunt was borne by Lingxu Sect.

They were a small sect, their cultivation barely passable, and against the battle-bred Demonic Race, they struggled greatly.

Yun Shuchen waited silently. When the demons were about to breach Lingxu Sect's main hall, the crimson vermilion bird dove down, toppling half the opposing forces and pushing the frontline back several zhang.

The opposing commander—the lavishly attired woman in black—remained unmoved, simply observing the small fry before her. But her gaze followed the vermilion bird's flames, tilting her head slightly, her eyes landing, as if by instinct, on Yun Shuchen and Qing Zhouxue's position.

She stared, seeming to freeze for a moment. Then she frowned, and suddenly dismounted, her form flickering like a phantom as she headed straight for Yun Shuchen—

Qing Zhouxue had been vigilantly watching her surroundings. Her long sword rose in that instant, swirling countless snowflakes into a shield, deflecting most of the force for herself and her master.

The demonic woman's cultivation was deep, clearly her senior. Without pulling her strike, she broke through Qing Zhouxue's barrier.

Just as she found this white-robed girl a nuisance and wanted to deal with her with a single palm strike, a water screen as thin as a cicada's wing sprang up before her, repelling her with a jolt.

Yun Shuchen held her hand, looking at the newcomer, her eyes frosty.

The silver mask fell away, and the woman didn't bother to retrieve it, meeting Yun Shuchen's gaze directly. She was momentarily stunned and lost.

A long moment passed.

"...You're still alive?"