Forbidden Realm

Those inside the gambling hall cursing Gao Jin were, of course, oblivious to Chu Liang. As someone who stood in mortal opposition to the vice of gambling, he considered such dens of deceit—the ruin of countless families—the perfect place to earn his keep.

By the time Chu Liang returned the fattened Wealth Gu to Madam Gu and relayed the information to Yun Chaoxian, the evening was drawing in.

Yun Chaoxian was genuinely astonished to see Chu Liang had brought back news.
"Wangshan Pavilion? The demon envoy is there?"
"Most likely. I can't say for certain," Chu Liang replied.

Earlier, when his Soul Sound Technique had failed, Yun Chaoxian had resigned himself to defeat. He hadn't expected Chu Liang to deduce and uncover clues through sheer investigation and reasoning.

"My friend Chu, I have always considered myself a man of great intellect, but today I must admit—when it comes to wit, you have the edge over me," he said earnestly.

Faced with those sincere, clear eyes, Chu Liang was momentarily torn between amusement and regret. After a pause, he said, "This is only the cultist's base in Kaoshan City. We're not sure if the demon envoy is there. Let's take a look first."

"Very well." Yun Chaoxian stood up abruptly and declared, "The southern cultists are insidious and wicked, bringing harm to many. Even if they're not connected to the demons, they should be eradicated!"

Chu Liang nodded in agreement. This upright man possessed a justice that was beyond reproach—in all things but intellect, perhaps, he was admirable.

Without further delay, the two set off. Yun Chaoxian donned his coat, hefted his great halberd, and strode at the fore.

The city gates had been sealed and patrols were strict, leaving the streets nearly deserted. Wangshan Pavilion, nominally a trading place for medicine merchants, had already closed down due to recent unrest.

Nightfall brought silence.

"Don't act rashly," Chu Liang cautioned. "We don't want to startle the enemy. I'll investigate first—if anything happens, I'll call for you."

With that, he vaulted lightly onto the second-floor terrace.

Truth be told, Yun Chaoxian's skills made him the better scout, but... best not.

The terrace was broad and empty. Chu Liang cautiously spread his spiritual sense, keeping it within thirty feet, and edged toward the wall. Remembering his encounter with the Soul Collector, he advanced only after confirming each segment was clear.

Beyond the wall lay a vast, empty chamber. Sensing no presence, Chu Liang was about to call Yun Chaoxian to join him when his vision suddenly blurred.

Dizziness.

A spiritual assault?

He retained a sliver of clarity and instantly bit his tongue, leaping aside.

Bang!

A nine-foot-tall skeletal giant erupted from where he had just stood, jaws gaping wide as it snapped at empty air.

Before him now stood a strangely dressed figure in black. With a flick of his hand, the skeleton shrank into a fist-sized skull and fell into his palm.

There was more than one. Another shadow emerged to the left, drawing a small blade. He sliced his own arm, staining the knife with blood, and hurled it at Chu Liang.

Whoosh!

The blade sliced through the air. Chu Liang dodged, but the knife veered toward him, almost as if it had eyes of its own.

Chu Liang raised his hand, summoning his flying sword. In a flash, his Hundred Swords Technique blossomed—a shield of sword shadows shredded the flying knife, its fragments clattering to the ground.

"Withdraw," came a hoarse voice from somewhere unseen.

When Chu Liang looked again, the two sinister figures had vanished as if they had never been.

Cultists.

That word, laden with menace, rose unbidden in his mind.

He glanced down. Yun Chaoxian had not followed, which could only mean he'd encountered his own foes below.

Clearly, Wangshan Pavilion was heavily guarded; their intrusion had been noticed immediately.

Just then, a hunched, lean old man in black ascended onto the terrace.

"Heh... young man..." The old man's steps were slow but steady. "I heard the demon envoy mention you—how you used a devastating sword technique to slay the Tiger King, a fifth-level fiend. You must be a prodigy from one of the immortal sects."

Chu Liang regarded him silently.

It was no surprise that news of Tiger King's death had leaked—lesser demons must have witnessed it.

But if they mistook him for one of those peerless geniuses and had prepared special traps, that would be a grave misunderstanding.

Chu Liang scanned left and right, already plotting his escape. For now, he felt calm—ready, if necessary, to summon his beloved master.

"I'm just a fourth-tier black cultist," the old man went on.

Chu Liang couldn't help but sneer inwardly.

How modest of you.

I'm but a humble third-tier cultivator myself.

"But since I've come to deal with you, rest assured, I have my reasons." The old man smiled again, then raised his hand and sliced open his left index finger, writing something in the air as if in prayer.

Whoosh—

A sudden gust arose, the world seeming to fall silent and apart.

"With this sorcery, I have slain many cultivators beyond my own level. To die here is no shame for you," the old man declared, his voice suddenly sharp.

"Forbidden Law Zone!"

Bang!

The air thickened instantly. Chu Liang found even breathing more difficult.

The Forbidden Law Zone...

This was a famed spell, reputed to rival immortal arts within its bounds. It created a field where all supernatural powers and magical artifacts were rendered inert.

"Well? Finding it hard to use your powers?" the old man asked as he advanced.

Chu Liang tried channeling his energy, but his spiritual sense simply faded away.

"Indeed," he replied for the first time.

"No matter how brilliant or gifted you are, within this forbidden zone, you are helpless—a mere mortal," the old man said, satisfaction in his tone. "That's why I chose to deal with you, not that brute who practices martial arts."

"Perhaps you're stronger, but you're a frail cultivator," he said with a laugh.

"Frail?" Chu Liang regarded himself. He was lean, a slender youth to be sure.

But...

"We black cultists grew up fighting tigers and leopards, running through mountains and forests! Even ordinary warriors are no match for us!"

With a shout, the old man threw off his black robe, revealing sturdy short garments and two sharp blades in his hands.

Truth be told, for his age, his muscles were impressively well-built—impossible to tell while he was cloaked.

At that moment, four more black-clad figures appeared at the terrace corners—the ones who had withdrawn earlier—now closing in with weapons drawn, clearly to block any escape.

Within the forbidden zone, all arts were sealed.

Even their own sorcery was useless, so they were prepared for hand-to-hand combat.

It seemed this was not their first time hunting down experts in this way.

Yet as the old man eyed Chu Liang, he felt something amiss.

This slight, frail youth, stripped of his most relied-upon powers, showed no fear—only a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Was he... smiling?

Still trying to act calm, the old man scoffed and barked, "Kill!"

Bang! He lunged, body as agile as a panther.

And then—

Chu Liang vanished before his eyes.

What?

Confused, the old cultist suddenly felt a searing pain at the back of his head.

Pain—unimaginable, excruciating pain.

It was... the pain of death.