Chapter Thirteen: Words Fail, Battle Begins

Judging by the actions of the two newcomers, it was clear that both were formidable cultivators. The young woman clad in a translucent green veil, in particular, radiated spiritual energy, her cultivation likely not inferior to his own. In her hands she held a flute that exuded a chilling aura; with his discerning eye, he knew at once that this was no ordinary instrument—most likely a divine weapon of the gods.

Even the seemingly less remarkable youth in white beside her was not to be underestimated. There was a sharp and fierce sword aura about him that belied his apparent level, and the ancient sword in his grip struck him as uncannily familiar.

For a long moment, both sides stood in silent tension. In the end, it was Ling Yan, bold and confident in her skill, who broke the silence.

“Ancestor Huihe,” she called out, “years ago, you were sealed in the Wilds of Cangwu. How is it that you have managed to escape?”

A cold laugh escaped from Ancestor Huihe. “Did you really think that the trifling barrier of the War God Fanxian could imprison all the saintly beings of the Demon Clan?”

Baimu retorted with biting sarcasm, “Are you truly mightier than the Demon Emperor Niqin? If even he could not break through the barrier, how could a mere crane spirit such as yourself have escaped? Such boastful words!”

He deliberately emphasized the words “crane spirit,” intending to provoke Huihe. If the demon lost his composure, the two of them might seize the opportunity to join forces and rid the world of a great evil.

“Insolent brat!” thundered Ancestor Huihe, his rage barely contained. “When I bestrode the world, you were but a babe at your mother’s breast! How dare you insult the name of the Grey-Robed Ancestor? Beware, lest I crush you to dust in an instant!”

“Baimu, do not be rash!” Ling Yan, cautious, pulled her indignant companion behind her, feigning composure as she pressed on, “You may be a peerless force in the Savage Realm, but even you could not break through the War God Fanxian’s barrier. Stop pretending to be weak before me—out with the truth!”

“Who do you think you are, that I should answer just because you ask?” Huihe sneered, sweeping his gaze over them before focusing on the corpse of Mengmo. “I, Ancestor Huihe, am not without appreciation for talent. Considering your youth and skill, I have no wish to take your lives today. If you know what’s good for you, leave at once. Otherwise, do not blame me for showing no mercy with the full might of my ten thousand years’ cultivation!”

“Don’t you wish to avenge Mengmo?” Ling Yan was genuinely surprised by Huihe’s words. When she was a child, her uncle, the Immortal Lord Wusheng, had spoken of this fiend. She had heard tales of his cruelty and narrow-mindedness, his blood-stained hands. Yet now, he was unexpectedly willing to let her and Baimu go—truly unforeseen.

Baimu, standing behind Ling Yan, felt something else entirely. He recalled the earlier ambush he had launched against Mengmo and Huihe—a casual swipe of his sword, made without any real knowledge of swordsmanship, had been easily countered by Huihe, but not without effort. By rights, with nearly ten thousand years of cultivation, Huihe should have had no trouble fending off the feeble moves of a novice like Baimu, or even the full power of the Azure Dragon Sword. Killing him should have been all but impossible.

Reflecting on Huihe’s earlier embarrassment, and his current evasive, conciliatory attitude, Baimu could draw only one conclusion: since escaping Cangwu, Huihe’s power had been greatly diminished.

That would also explain his soul-stealing cultivation methods.

Quick-witted as ever, Baimu leaned in and whispered urgently, “Ling Yan, I think this crane demon’s power hasn’t fully returned. Otherwise, with his temper, he’d never let us go so easily. If we don’t finish him tonight, we’ll surely face his vengeance in the future!”

Could it be? Though she trusted Baimu above all others, Ling Yan still harbored doubts. If his judgment was wrong, their lives would be in grave danger, and her quest for the Demon-Transforming Bottle could be lost for good.

Seeing her hesitation, Baimu pressed on, “Trust me—there’s definitely something wrong. With his strength, he’d never let us get away with killing Mengmo unless something was amiss!”

“My master once told me: if you don’t root out the weeds, they’ll grow again with the spring breeze. If we can rid the Wilds of Cangwu of this demon general, it would be a great act of merit!”

Very well. Stirred by his words, a heroic resolve to rid the world of evil welled up in Ling Yan’s heart. Had her divine father not sent her to the mortal realm to seek the Demon-Transforming Bottle precisely to suppress such demons?

She stepped forward and challenged Huihe Ancestor in a loud, clear voice, “For one of your stature, a terror of the Savage Realm, to fall so low as to hide in these desolate mountains, murdering and stealing souls to rebuild your power—was it that the War God Fanxian’s barrier injured you during your escape from Cangwu?”

Huihe’s face stiffened at her words, inwardly cursing his luck. Where had these two troublesome youngsters come from?

But he dared not show weakness. In the Savage Realm, only the strong survive. If he revealed any vulnerability, these two would only grow bolder, and should they join forces, they might destroy his core, stripping him of what little power he had left—an end worse than death.

With this in mind, Huihe forced a chilling laugh, his bluster masking his fear. “Enough pointless chatter! Either leave at once, or come at me together. I, Ancestor Huihe, have dominated the Savage Realm for millennia—do you think I’ll let the likes of you run amok before me?”

“What now?” Ling Yan, seeing no fear in him, began to doubt Baimu’s analysis.

Leave it to me! Baimu stepped out from behind Ling Yan, raising the Azure Dragon Sword before his chest with a calm smile. “It’s said that Ancestor Huihe’s demonic arts are unrivaled, and that even a siege by the ancient gods could not defeat you. Since fate has brought us together tonight, allow me to ask for your guidance—a humble disciple learning from a master.”

He flashed a grin, then, with a swift motion, the cold gleam of the Azure Dragon Sword swept through the moonlight, casting a myriad of shimmering sword shadows. With the roar of a primordial dragon, the sword aura surged toward Huihe, fierce and unstoppable, as though to devour him whole.

“Ignorant brat! courting death!” Huihe roared in fury, though inwardly he was deeply unsettled. The last time this youth had ambushed him, the sword aura had been difficult enough to withstand—now, with this determined, full-strength attack, the sword’s force was even more terrifying, as if one blow might take his life.