The bloody silhouette thrashed violently, impaled through the mouth by Jiang Dao's massive palm. It was a grotesque display of futility. The creature's limbs flailed, desperate and wild, its fingers clawing at Jiang Dao's skin with enough force to generate sparks and the sizzling stench of burning flesh. Yet, against the ironclad durability of Jiang Dao's physique, the creature might as well have been scratching at a mountain face.
"Who do you think you are?" Jiang Dao's voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the arm that held the creature aloft. "You show up out of nowhere, intent on killing me? Well, here we are. Go ahead. Kill me. Let's see how you manage it."
His eyes were cold, devoid of mercy, reflecting the terrifying reality of a predator toying with prey. "Why is it that every demon, ghost, and monster in this world thinks they have the right to pronounce my death sentence?"
Boom!
Jiang Dao's arm convulsed with a sudden, violent tremor. A torrent of Fire Poison Gang Qi and Heavenly Demon Evil Qi surged from his meridians, flooding into the bloody figure's body like molten lead. The creature's muffled screams escalated into an ear-piercing shriek, the sound of a soul being boiled alive within its own vessel.
With a brutal jerk of his hands, Jiang Dao ripped outward. There was a wet, sickening pop, and the creature's body detonated.
Flesh and bone vaporized, leaving behind only a suit of crimson armor that spun through the air. It crashed into the dirt yards away with a heavy, dull clang.
Jiang Dao strode toward it, the ground trembling slightly under his weight. He bent down, his hand—large as a dustpan and radiating heat—snatching the armor from the dust. He brought it close, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the artifact.
"An Evil Spirit?" he mused aloud, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone. "Was that a spirit piloting this shell just now?"
He tapped the metal surface. "Hey. I know you're in there. Can you hear me?"
Deep within the crimson plate, an ancient Evil Spirit huddled in the metaphysical corners of the artifact's internal dimension. It was trembling, wrapped in a shroud of bloody light, consumed by a terror it had not felt in eons. It wanted to scream, to tear its own consciousness apart just to escape.
What is this monster?
The thought raced through the spirit's mind, bordering on madness. Damn that Tuoba Xiongtian! What kind of abomination did he provoke? I was instantly annihilated! One strike!
"Curse you! I need blood! I need sustenance!" the spirit shrieked within its sealed void. "It is hateful—hateful! I have been sealed for countless years. That is the only reason he could overpower me! Tuoba Xiongtian, you useless fool, your death means nothing, but why didn't you sacrifice your clan? If you had fed me your entire family, I would have had the power to kill him!"
The spirit's screeches were piercing, filled with the impotent rage of a fallen god. However, outside the artifact, the silence of the night remained unbroken.
A Sacred Artifact contained a self-enclosed dimension. No matter how hysterical the entity inside became, the sound could not breach the barrier to the physical world. Jiang Dao heard nothing but the wind.
He turned the bloody armor over in his hands, frowning slightly. He was certain the entity he had just crushed was a projection from this armor. It had appeared briefly, only to be forced back into its shell by his brute force.
"I wonder," Jiang Dao whispered, a glint of greed flickering in his eyes, "if this Sacred Artifact has a surprise in store for me."
The Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw had already tempered his flesh, forcing his Wind and Thunder Poison Sand Palm to evolve into the terrifying Heavenly Demon Poison Sand Palm. Could this blood armor do the same? Could it trigger a mutation in his Extreme Dao Heavenly Demon Body?
And then there was the Spirit Slaughtering Mountain Splitting Axe.
If he could drain the malicious Qi—the concentrated essence of evil—from all these Sacred Artifacts, the heights he could reach would be unimaginable.
Making up his mind, Jiang Dao shoved the blood-colored armor and the heavy axe into the back of his waistband. He straightened up, his gaze sweeping across the terrified remnants of the Tuoba clan. His eyes flashed with cruelty, like lightning tearing through a storm.
"If you don't cut the weeds by the roots," he quoted softly, "they grow back in the spring breeze."
His expression hardened into stone. "Don't blame me for being ruthless. Put yourselves in my shoes. If your patriarch had killed me, he wouldn't have spared a single dog in the Jiang household."
Boom!
The air exploded as Jiang Dao launched himself forward. He moved like a tiger descending a mountain, a beast unchained. A terrifying aura of malice rolled off him in waves, suffocating the area as he began the slaughter.
To him, these Spirit Removers were parasites. Keeping them alive was a liability. Even if they didn't seek revenge, they would continue to tyrannize the common people. Logically, morally, and pragmatically, they had to be erased.
Pu, pu, pu, pu!
"Ah!"
"Help me!"
"You... you monster! You'll die a horrible death!"
The screams were short-lived. Blood mist bloomed like gruesome flowers in the night air. These Spirit Removers, who had spent their lives lording over ordinary humans, were reduced to weak sheep before a wolf. They died miserably, their bodies exploding upon contact, torn limb from limb by raw, overwhelming power.
The Tuoba family, a clan that had stood for centuries, was facing an extinction event.
Half an hour later, the screaming had stopped.
Jiang Dao stood amidst the ruin, his breathing steady. His body had retracted to its normal size, and he had already changed into a fresh, clean set of robes. His face was a mask of calm, betraying nothing of the massacre he had just committed. He began to leisurely loot the sprawling headquarters.
A clan of Spirit Removers with hundreds of years of history was bound to be obscenely wealthy.
Several hours later, Jiang Dao emerged carrying a massive bundle. It was stuffed to the bursting point with silver and gold banknotes. Not content with just currency, he had commandeered a carriage, loading it high with gold bars, jewelry, and antiques—each piece worth a king's ransom.
As he prepared to leave, he cast one last look at the compound. With a flick of his hand, he ignited a fire. The flames roared to life, hungry and bright, consuming the legacy of the Tuoba family.
"The Spirit Remover Tuoba family," Jiang Dao murmured to the flames, "is now history."
With this, he considered the debt to Qin Qingqing paid. The Congenital Supreme Sacred Art she had gifted him was well worth the eradication of her enemies.
"Hiyah!"
He cracked the whip, and the carriage rumbled forward, disappearing into the darkness.
The Anyang Xie family was nearly a thousand miles away. Jiang Dao couldn't be bothered to make the trek. He had already killed their patriarch and elders; the rest were undoubtedly scattering like rats. They wouldn't dare wait for him.
However, there was one loose end: The Corpse Dao Sect.
They hadn't participated in the siege, which meant they might be ignorant of the day's events. They might still be in their lair.
Jiang Dao turned the carriage. He would drive through the night.
Hours later, under the pale, sickly light of the moon.
Jiang Dao arrived at a chaotic mass grave. It was a landscape of desolation—broken tombstones jutting out of the earth like rotted teeth, withered locust trees grasping at the sky, and flocks of crows circling overhead, their caws sounding like mocking laughter.
In the center of this grim vista stood a gray-white building. It was dilapidated, with gates hanging wide open, revealing a messy interior.
Jiang Dao searched the premises thoroughly, his brow furrowing deeper with every empty room he found. He returned to the courtyard, frustrated.
"Did the entire Corpse Dao Sect flee?" he wondered aloud. "Or do I have the wrong location?"
He scanned the gray building again. The interrogation of the Tuoba disciples had been thorough; this should be the place.
His eyes caught something on the ground—a scattered pile of books. He bent down, flipping through the pages. They were records, logs of the Corpse Dao Sect's history and experiments.
"They ran," Jiang Dao concluded, dropping the book. "In a hurry, too, to leave this behind."
His gaze turned icy, piercing the gloom. "If you're going to run, you'd better run all the way out of the Great Ye Empire. If I ever hear a whisper of you lingering in these lands... I will hunt you down."
Boom!
He released his Fire Poison Field. The air shimmered with heat as a blazing inferno materialized, enveloping the surrounding structures. The dry, rotted wood of the sect's headquarters caught instantly, turning the valley into a sea of fire.
Jiang Dao leaped away, leaving the purification of fire behind him.
In a valley dozens of miles away, a convoy of ghost horses and carriages sped through the darkness. The drivers were not men, but reanimated corpses, their movements stiff and silent.
A figure descended from the sky—an elder of the Corpse Dao Sect. He landed breathlessly beside the lead carriage.
"Sect Master!" the elder gasped. "You were right. It's a good thing we left when we did. Someone broke into the headquarters."
From within the carriage, a voice emerged—hoarse, sinister, and dry as old parchment. "I knew it. The moment Tuoba Xiongtian and Xie Linghao fell, I knew that monster would come for us."
"But who is he?" the elder asked, his voice trembling with genuine horror. "Tuoba Xiongtian wielded a Sacred Artifact and still died? And the Palace Master of the Spirit Child Palace... killed by the same hand?"
"I do not know his origins," the Sect Master replied, his eyes glowing with a spectral green light in the darkness of the carriage. "All I know is that the Southern Region is no longer safe for us. But he has made a grave error. He has taken the Spirit Slaughtering Mountain Splitting Axe."
The Sect Master's voice dropped an octave, dripping with malice. "That axe was borrowed from the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains. They are tyrannical, possessive, and unforgiving. They will come for it. And when they do, that monster will learn the meaning of fear."
"Yes," the elder agreed quickly, relieved. "If the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains make a move, he won't stand a chance. Evil grinds evil. Hopefully, they destroy each other."
The convoy rumbled on, dissolving into a mist of shadows as they vanished into the canyon, running for their lives.
Two days later. Qianyuan City.
The city was alive with noise, the rhythm of daily life restoring itself with surprising speed.
The Lieyan Gang—the Flame Gang—was now the undisputed power in the region. Without the constraints of their rivals and under the leadership of Right Guardian Xiang An and Yan Wushuang, they were absorbing pugilists from all over the realm. The territories of the fallen Black Tiger Gang were annexed, and their former captains were tripping over themselves to pledge allegiance.
Jiang Dao's display of power had been absolute. It left a psychological scar on the criminal underworld that effectively erased any thought of rebellion.
While the gang expanded, Jiang Dao retreated into seclusion.
The massacre had been profitable. The number of Evil Spirits and monsters he had slain was beyond counting, but the System kept score.
In the quiet of his chamber, Jiang Dao pulled up the interface that only he could see. At the bottom of the glowing panel, a new line of text brought a rare smile to his face.
Modifiable Attempts: 28
Twenty-eight chances to rewrite the laws of his own body.
He focused his mind, staring at the martial arts listed on the panel. It was time to push past his limits.
"Modify," he commanded mentally.
Whoosh!
The text blurred. The characters representing his mastery danced and shifted.
The Congenital Fire Demon Gang jumped from 330 years of cultivation to a staggering 630 years.
The Heavenly Demon Poison Sand Palm skyrocketed from 30 years to 330 years.
Hoo!
The reaction was instantaneous. Three terrifying energies—extreme heat, lethal poison, and crushing malice—exploded within his core. It felt less like energy and more like a physical invasion. The power surged through his limbs and bones like a tidal wave, grinding against his skeleton.
Pain racked his body, the sensation of his meridians being stretched to their breaking point. It felt as though a steamroller were crushing him from the inside out.
Gritting his teeth, Jiang Dao circulated his Regimen Art. The balancing technique worked frantically to tame the chaotic storm, slowly settling the heat, poison, and malice into a stable, albeit high-pressure, equilibrium. The stinging pain faded, replaced by a sensation of fullness—a feeling that he was a vessel filled to the absolute brim, threatening to burst.
"Congenital Fire Demon Gang... Heavenly Demon Poison Sand Palm..." Jiang Dao panted, sweat evaporating off his skin instantly. "Too domineering. Too aggressive."
But as the power settled, a familiar problem resurfaced.
His meridians were full. Again.
He had hit the ceiling of what his current biology could contain. Unless his physical body underwent a fundamental metamorphosis, he was stuck.
He exhaled a breath of air that was visibly hot and laced with toxic particulates. He glanced at the panel.
Modifiable Attempts: 18
Strength: 28
Speed: 24
Spirit: 3.0
"To break the limits of flesh and blood, ordinary martial arts are useless," Jiang Dao muttered. "I need something stronger. I need the Sacred Artifacts."
His gaze fell upon the three items laid out before him: the Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw, the Spirit Slaughtering Mountain Splitting Axe, and the Blood Demon Armor.
"Don't let me down," he whispered.
He reached out, his hand burning with internal fire, and stroked the Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw.
The artifact trembled.
It wasn't a vibration of power; it was a shiver of fear. The Evil Spirit inside remembered. It remembered Jiang Dao draining 60% of its essence previously.
"Damn you!" the spirit screamed from within the void. "You want to eat me again? I won't let you! I won't! Let me out if you have the guts, you parasite!"
Jiang Dao watched the claw tremble with fascination. He couldn't hear the voice, but he could see the fear.
"Can you hear me?" he asked casually, picking up the claw.
The artifact went instantly still. The spirit inside froze, terrified that any movement would betray its presence.
Jiang Dao frowned. "Deaf?"
He shrugged. "Let's test it."
He didn't ask again. Instead, he summoned his Fire Poison Internal Qi and shoved it violently into the claw.
For the spirit inside, it was like the atmosphere had suddenly ignited. An indescribable, dry heat flooded its dimension. It scrambled backward into the furthest corner of its prison. It wasn't that the fire could destroy it instantly, but it was repulsive—like acid to skin.
But as the spirit retreated, Jiang Dao pushed harder. He flooded the claw with his energy, turning the internal dimension into an oven.
"Get out! Get away from me!" the spirit shrieked, hurling balls of Yin Qi at the invading fire.
But this was exactly what Jiang Dao wanted.
As the Yin Qi collided with his energy, he didn't deflect it—he consumed it. The cold, malicious energy flowed back into his body, a refreshing stream of ice water cooling his overheated meridians. It was ecstasy.
"More," Jiang Dao whispered.
He treated the Sacred Artifact like a sponge, squeezing it with his Internal Qi, wringing every drop of essence out of it.
The spirit screamed in rage and terror, sounding less like an ancient demon and more like a bullied child, but there was no escape.
For two days, Jiang Dao sat there, feeding.
By the end of the second day, the Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw had lost its luster. It looked dull, gray, like a piece of cheap, rotten jade found in a gutter.
"All gone?"
Jiang Dao withdrew his energy, exhaling a long plume of steam. He looked at his hands.
They were monstrous.
His palms had widened, the skin turning a deep crimson. His fingers ended in pitch-black talons that gleamed with the unholy trinity of poison, fire, and malice. They looked like dragon claws, ancient and terrifying. He flexed them, the air humming around the sharp tips.
"The Palm has evolved again," he noted with satisfaction.
If he unleashed his full transformation now, he would be a nightmare incarnate. But for daily life, this was... inconvenient.
He focused, compressing the malicious energy. Slowly, painfully, the talons retracted. The crimson faded. His hands returned to a semblance of humanity, though they remained unnaturally large and thick.
Jiang Dao tossed the dull claw onto the table.
"Don't tell me I sucked a Sacred Artifact dry that easily?"
He poked it. "Hey. You still in there?"
Inside, the Evil Spirit lay on the floor of its dimension, translucent and fading. It was panting, shivering, too terrified to even curse. Jiang Dao had devoured 90% of its source. If he took any more, the spirit would fall into an eternal slumber—a fate indistinguishable from death.
It stayed silent, praying the monster would lose interest.
Jiang Dao shrugged, tossing the claw into his storage pile alongside the Axe and the Armor.
"Probably just needs to recharge," he decided. "I'll let it rest for a few days. Then... I'll squeeze it again."
He smiled, closing his eyes to digest his new power. The harvest had been good.