Chapter Forty-Three: The Sword Cultivator

The two corpse puppets of the Old Demon of the Corpse Mountain were both exceptionally impressive: the female puppet possessed an alluring beauty, lying motionless as if in peaceful slumber, while the male puppet had sharply defined features and striking good looks—had he not been refined into a corpse puppet, he too would surely have grown into a prodigy of the cultivation world. At the sight of such wondrous creations, many cultivators found their interest piqued, and unsavory thoughts crept unbidden into their minds.

“Fellow Daoist Xu, the three of us have all brought out treasures. As the host, you mustn’t be stingy!” The Old Demon of the Corpse Mountain grinned maliciously at Xuan Qizi.

“Hmph!” Xuan Qizi snorted coldly. “Since this is a battle of life and death, it would be shameful to hold back. In the fourth level of my sect’s Library Pavilion, there is a secret art for attacking the soul, brought from the Left Hand Domain by the founding ancestor of the Form-Transmutation Sect. It is said to have originated from a mighty cultivator of the Integration stage, and it is also my own renowned secret art. However, this technique is extremely profound—even I have grasped only the barest surface.”

The Old Demon regarded him with suspicion. “Are you certain? This is your sect’s core secret—are you truly willing to let disciples from other sects view it?”

Even Wei Changyuan and Da Xi wore doubtful expressions. They both knew Xuan Qizi was not exaggerating: there was indeed such a powerful soul secret art, but that it originated from an Integration-stage cultivator—that was unexpected.

Xuan Qizi let out a chilling laugh. “Of course, it’s not without restrictions. I’ll allow only half an hour for comprehension; how much one can glean depends entirely on talent. Moreover, are you so sure your Yin Corpse Sect disciples will even get this opportunity? Oh, and I should add: this secret art is protected by a restriction. It can only be grasped through personal insight and cannot be taught to others—should one attempt to transmit it, the original memory will be automatically erased. Leaking it is impossible.”

“That’s acceptable. Now, let us agree on the rules for this competition,” said the Old Demon. “I’ve brought three groups—early, middle, and late Foundation Establishment.”

Da Xi nodded. “There are three arenas here on the Martial Stage. But how shall the rewards be divided? My Golden-eyed Beast’s essence blood can be split into three portions, but what about the pills, corpse puppets, and secret art?”

Wei Changyuan stroked his beard. “That’s easily settled. Divide your beast blood into three, and let the winners of the early, middle, and late Foundation Establishment arenas each take a share according to a two:three:four ratio. The corpse puppets are of limited use to late Foundation disciples, so give them to the early-stage winner. My pills are most useful to those at the late stage, who are on the verge of breakthrough. As for the secret art, grant it to the mid-stage victor. Of course, after the competition, the three winners may choose their prizes freely among the three.”

Xuan Qizi nodded his agreement. Da Xi did likewise. The Old Demon, however, chuckled slyly. “Let’s add another rule: after victory, the winners of the early and middle stages may challenge the others. Should they succeed, they may claim all of the loser’s rewards.”

At these words, the other three became immediately alert, their divine senses sweeping swiftly over the fifteen Foundation disciples brought by the Yin Corpse Sect, only to be intercepted by the Old Demon.

“My friends, what’s the hurry? I was merely speaking in hypotheticals. Who’s to say you don’t have disciples capable of challenging across stages? I never said I brought such a prodigy myself.” The Old Demon’s sinister smile made the truth plain: clearly, his camp concealed a genius capable of such feats.

Xuan Qizi cast a glance at the fifteen from the Yin Corpse Sect and said, “Very well, let the competition begin. The rules are simple: arena defense, one-on-one duel; whoever touches the ground loses. After each battle, there will be a day’s rest before the next round. The defeated may not compete again. When, within a quarter hour, none take the stage, the contest ends!”

It was a straightforward defense format: since each match allowed for full recovery, there was no risk of attrition battles draining a contestant’s strength. The Songshan Sword Pavilion acted first, with three sword cultivators seizing the three arenas—a sword cultivator of the inner school at the second Foundation level, an outer sword cultivator at the sixth, and another at the peak of Foundation Establishment.

As the main killing force in the world of cultivation, sword cultivators were intimidating from the very start; some of the lesser disciples from the Form-Transmutation Sect shrank back, unwilling to take the stage and risk their lives.

“Sword cultivator Han Yuan, Foundation Establishment second level—who dares accept my challenge?”

“Sword cultivator Han Fa, Foundation Establishment sixth level—who dares accept my challenge?”

“Sword cultivator Han Qiong, Foundation Establishment peak—who dares accept my challenge?”

Their shared surname “Han” was not their family name but a Daoist title; all disciples of this generation bore the “Han” character, bestowed by the sect as their wandering name. Only after making a name for themselves would their true identities become known. The Form-Transmutation Sect had no such custom, lacking the deep heritage for it. After all, the Songshan Sword Pavilion here was only a branch—its main lineage was a true powerhouse!

The atmosphere on the Martial Stage grew heavy. This was not a friendly spar, but a battle of life and death. Even if someone died, Xuan Qizi and the others would not intervene—stepping onto the stage unprepared for death was courting disaster.

Sword cultivators were different; their path was strewn with blood and bone, and none among them had not faced mortal peril. They craved combat, for only through battle could they become stronger.

At this moment, Zhou Xuanhong stood with Luo Tuan and the others, appearing somewhat nervous, as if daunted by the prospect of battle. Yet inside, his heart trembled not from fear, but from a thrill of anticipation.

He coveted the Golden-eyed Beast’s essence blood, which would greatly expand his soul power and possibly awaken a spiritual eye—a vital boon for someone as cunning as himself. He was also keenly interested in entering the fourth level of the Library Pavilion, not only for the soul secret art but, more importantly, to gain a breakthrough understanding of Xu Yuchi, the Xu clan’s ancestor. There was certainly a great secret hidden within the fourth level, possibly concerning Xu Yuchi’s fate—a matter crucial to determining life or death.

Zhou Xuanhong was no stranger to combat. Even during the Qi Refining stage, he had slain opponents two levels above him through his masterful control of the instant between life and death. Yet now, at merely the first level of Foundation Establishment, he had no hope of defeating, let alone challenging, someone like Han Yuan, who could likely kill him within ten moves.

All those present were their sects’ most formidable prodigies; their opponents could only be others of similar caliber. Ordinary cultivators stepping onto the stage would be nothing but stepping stones, cut down in the cross-level duels.

Direct confrontation was not Zhou Xuanhong’s style, nor would he be so foolish; but after some thought, he devised a plan.

“So, I’ll have to step up after all. Xu Yuchi—are you truly dead?”

The fighting began in earnest. Since Luo Tuan and Li Li had their sights set on the Yin Corpse Sect, they made no move against the Sword Pavilion’s cultivators for now. Instead, a late-Foundation disciple from the Yin Corpse Sect leaped onto the stage. Though sword cultivators were formidable, other sects might also harbor outstanding talents.

The challenger was a middle-aged, hunchbacked man, carrying a coffin shrouded in black mist. He hurled the coffin onto the arena with a tremendous crash, then swiftly crawled inside and pulled the lid shut.

A few Qi Refining disciples, unfamiliar with the Yin Corpse Sect’s methods, asked, “Why did he get into his own coffin?”

A more experienced cultivator explained, “This is standard practice for the Yin Corpse Sect. These coffins are vast inside, filled with countless corpse puppets, and incredibly resilient. Depending on the opponent, they assemble the most effective puppet combination.”

Meanwhile, the sword cultivator wasted no time, wielding his spirit sword and unleashing a torrent of sword energy. Countless blades howled through the air with each swing.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sword energy struck the coffin with terrifying force, but its surface was covered with dense defensive talismans, forming layers of shimmering barriers that withstood the assault.

Sword cultivators were well accustomed to fighting the Yin Corpse Sect and knew the resilience of these coffins. Calmly, he maintained his distance and continued his attacks, whittling down the talismanic defenses. It seemed only a matter of time before the coffin broke.

“My, my, don’t be so hasty! Can’t you let me finish preparing?” An eerie voice echoed from within the coffin. A crack opened and chilling black mist poured out, as a five-colored claw pushed the lid aside.

Howls, roars, screeches, and murderous shouts erupted as countless dark figures burst forth, followed by a middle-aged man wielding two multicolored claws.

Just as the black shadows surged out, Han Qiong, ever vigilant, shouted, “Sword Array: Falling Rain!”

With his cry, a myriad of array markings spread out from the coffin’s center, brimming with murderous intent that surged over the coffin like a tide. A beam of light enveloped the coffin, and from its apex, hundreds of semi-ethereal swords of energy and spirit power rained down like a storm, pinning the shadows to the arena and annihilating them all.

Standing atop the coffin, the middle-aged man shook his head in resignation. “Sword cultivators really are terrifying. I’d hoped to use my corpse puppets to tie you down while attacking from behind, but with your experience, you must have suffered at the hands of my sect before.”

Han Qiong said nothing; in such duels, sword cultivators rarely wasted words, lest their foes use the time to prepare a deadly move. Their best option was to strike with thunderous force and end the battle decisively.

“Kill!” Han Qiong gripped his sword with one hand, moving at lightning speed around the coffin, relentlessly chipping away at the talismanic defenses with his physical strength alone, conserving his spirit power and foiling any attempt at a battle of attrition.

“You sword cultivators are dreadfully dull. Very well, let’s see how a corpse puppet refined with the Ghost Sect’s soul-crafting art fares in battle!” With that, the middle-aged man slapped the coffin, and a skinny corpse puppet leaped out, darting from the protection of the coffin as a black blur—its speed only slightly less than Han Qiong’s.

“Heh heh heh, it seems this one’s strength has greatly increased. Come, let us have a proper fight!” The man’s twin claws began to rapidly gather the five elements, unleashing spell after spell at Han Qiong. Each color corresponded to an element: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. His arms had been fused from the limbs of five beasts skilled in their respective elements, merged with his own flesh by the Yin Corpse Sect’s arts. This not only gave him elemental affinity but also allowed him to combine elements—wood begets fire, fire begets earth, earth begets metal, metal begets water, water begets wood, all in harmonious sequence.

Meanwhile, Han Qiong was being held at bay by the swift, uncanny corpse puppet, which seemed to possess an intelligence unknown to lesser puppets, successfully tying him down.

“Ha ha ha! So this is all a sword cultivator can do? Earth-spike technique, fireball technique, water arrow technique, wood-vine technique, metal-sword technique!” With his puppet’s help and the magical might of his claws, the middle-aged man seized the advantage. This was the way to handle a sword cultivator: never let them close, exhaust them from a distance, then finish with a final, overwhelming strike.