The air around the perimeter of Tianshi Town was heavy, not with humidity, but with a crushing, invisible pressure. It was the weight of a god waking up from a slumber that should have been eternal.
Xu Zifeng's face had drained of all color, leaving him looking like a paper doll trembling in a gale. He stared at the hulking figure of Jiang Dao, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and terror.
"Gang Leader Jiang," Xu stammered, his voice cracking. "We... we wouldn't dare ask you to fight the Evil God head-on. That would be suicide. We only hope—no, we beg—that you can rescue our Master. Please. We won't let your efforts go unrewarded. We can pay."
Jiang Dao looked down at the trembling disciple, his expression unreadable. He shook his head slowly, a gesture that sent a fresh wave of panic through Xu Zifeng.
"You're kidding yourself, Xu," Jiang Dao said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate in the ground. "Friends or not, payment is irrelevant if I'm dead. The situation has changed. I have absolutely no confidence in dealing with an entity like that. Even if I don't engage it directly—even if I just step into its domain—I can't guarantee I'll walk back out."
Jiang Dao wasn't a coward, but he wasn't a fool either. Since he had achieved success in the Martial Dao, he had crushed demons and spirits alike, but he had never stood toe-to-toe with a true Evil God. The massive, shifting aurora of light and shadow distorting the sky above the small town was enough to tell him that the power gap was not a canyon, but an abyss.
Jiang Dao was reckless, yes. But he knew the difference between bravery and walking into a meat grinder.
"Gang Leader Jiang, listen," Xu Zifeng pressed, desperation sharpening his wits. "The Evil God's true form is bound by the laws of heaven and earth. It cannot physically descend into our reality. What you see is a projection of its will, a phantom body formed by absorbing the despair of sentient beings. Structurally, it is no different from an Evil Spirit. With your strength, breaching its domain is possible."
Jiang Dao's interest piqued. " Just like an Evil Spirit?"
"Exactly," Xu insisted. "And Tianshi Mountain isn't defenseless. We have restrictive arrays and Sacred Artifacts suppressing the area. Our Elders and the Celestial Master are currently in a stalemate with the entity. When we escaped, we felt the shockwaves of the Holy Artifacts clashing with the Yin energy. If you act now, while its attention is divided, you can suppress it."
Xu took a breath, playing his final emotional card. "If the Evil God fully revives, Tianshi Mountain won't be the only casualty. It will poison the land for hundreds of miles. Countless lives will be buried in that corruption. Please, Gang Leader Jiang. Save us."
Jiang Dao frowned. He detested this feeling—the sticky, cloying sensation of moral kidnapping.
"Xu, cut the bleeding heart act," Jiang Dao said flatly. "You mentioned a reward. Let's focus on that. I have Sacred Artifacts. I have Destiny Divine Artifacts. What could a crumbling sect possibly offer that I don't already possess?"
Xu Zifeng choked on his words. He had assumed the "friendship" angle would work, but Jiang Dao was a creature of transaction. But the fact that Jiang Dao was asking meant the door was open.
"Tianshi Divine Water," Xu blurted out. "It's a secret of our sect. It cleanses the eyes. Once washed with it, you develop Tianshi Divine Eyes. You become immune to all illusions, and your vision is enhanced tenfold, imbued with divine power. I… I will take responsibility on behalf of my Master. I will gift this to you."
"Divine Water, huh?" Jiang Dao let out a short, cynical laugh. "Sounds precious. And that's the problem, Xu. I've read enough stories and seen enough of the world to know how this ends. I save your Master, and suddenly, the 'reward' you promised becomes too valuable to give to an outsider. People turn ruthless when profit is on the line."
Xu Zifeng looked like he might cry. He was a junior disciple; his promises held no political weight.
"Gang Leader Jiang!"
The voice came from Zhao Ziling, the female disciple standing beside Xu. She stepped forward, her face flushed with a frantic resolve. "I pledge myself and my senior brother to you! If we save the sect and they refuse to pay, we will serve you as slaves. Ox and horse, servant and maid, without a single complaint."
Xu Zifeng whipped his head around, horrified. "Ziling, are you insane?"
Jiang Dao raised an eyebrow, looking at the girl.
"I have no choice!" she snapped at Xu, though her eyes were on the ground. "Unless you want the old man to die?"
Xu Zifeng let out a bitter, exasperated laugh, but the desperation of the moment forced his hand. He fumbled in his robes and pulled out a tattered, ancient scroll made of animal skin. It looked thick, greasy with age, and incredibly tough.
"If our lives aren't enough collateral," Xu said, offering the scroll, "take this. It's a secret technique I found wandering the world. I haven't been able to use it—the requirements are too harsh—but you… I've seen your true form. This is meant for someone like you."
Jiang Dao took the scroll. The texture was strange, like leather cured in iron filings. The title at the top was written in a jagged, aggressive script: [Dragon Blood Body Tempering Secret Technique].
"Body tempering?" Jiang Dao's eyes gleamed.
"I don't know its origin," Xu admitted. "But it requires gathering rare materials. I give it to you freely."
Jiang Dao scanned the dense text, nodding slowly. "Fine. I'll take the scroll. As for the slavery nonsense, forget it. We are friends, after all. I'm not a monster. If there were no danger, I'd help for free. But since I might die, taking a little insurance isn't excessive, is it?"
"Not at all!" the two disciples cried in unison, relief washing over them like rain.
"One question," Jiang Dao said, gesturing to their blood-soaked clothes. "You look like you went through a grinder to get here."
"The Evil God," Xu explained grimly. "When one revives, it acts as a beacon. Evil Spirits and monsters are drawn to its frequency. The escape was… difficult. Even the town at the foot of the mountain is overrun."
"Is that so?" Jiang Dao murmured. To him, an infestation of monsters wasn't a deterrent; it was an all-you-can-eat buffet for his cultivation method.
"Go to Qianyuan City and heal," Jiang Dao commanded. "I'm going in. If I can't solve it, don't blame me."
With a blur of motion, Jiang Dao vanished, leaving only a gust of wind.
Xu and Zhao collapsed against a tree, breathing hard.
"I hope that monster can save Master," Zhao Ziling whispered.
Xu clamped a hand over her mouth, his eyes bulging. "Shut up! He might still hear you!"
But as the silence returned, Xu frowned, staring at the spot where Jiang Dao had vanished. His mind replayed the image of the Gang Leader's silhouette.
"Ziling," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Did you see what was hanging at his waist?"
"See what?"
"A copper gong. And a copper hammer."
Zhao Ziling froze. The blood drained from her face again. "The Night Watchman?"
"Exactly," Xu breathed, terror warring with awe. "The Executioners of the Night. How is that possible?"
The fog inside Tianshi Town was not merely weather; it was a living, breathing malaise. It was thick enough to chew, a wall of gray that swallowed light and sound.
Yet, silence was not the problem. It was what lived in the silence. Faint, giggling laughter of children drifted from nowhere, circling the listeners. Sharp, agonizing screams punctuated the quiet, sounding like tearing metal.
The Prince of Great Yu, dressed in a soiled purple robe and wearing a crown that felt too heavy, walked through the gloom. His face was a mask of thunder.
He had been trapped here for a week.
The revival of the Evil God had turned the town into a labyrinth of non-Euclidean geometry. No matter which direction they walked, they looped back. An invisible predator was toying with them, picking off his elite strategists one by one. Four were dead.
"How much energy is left in the Sacred Artifact?" the Prince demanded, his voice cold.
"Two days, Your Highness," a strategist replied.
"Keep killing," the Prince ordered, his eyes devoid of humanity. "If we can't find the exit, we will carve one. Blood sacrifice the entire town if you have to. Feed the artifact. I want a path."
Boom!
A shockwave ripped through the fog. A massive restaurant nearby exploded into flames. But the fire wasn't orange; it turned a deep, coagulated crimson, radiating a sickening coldness rather than heat.
"The Blood Torture Killing Sword," a strategist noted. "The Ancestor of Corpse Demon Mountain is ahead."
"Let's move."
The Prince led his group toward the red flames. They used their own artifact to shatter illusions, stepping over the threshold of a thick, grey wall and into a nightmare.
The scenery shifted instantly. The town was gone, replaced by a graveyard of ruins that felt stitched onto reality like a skin graft. Standing amidst the rubble were two monstrosities—the Corpse Demon Ancestors. They had abandoned their human disguises, standing tall in bone-white scales and coarse black fur, their claws sharp enough to slice the wind.
Hovering above them was a scarlet sword, dripping with light.
"The domain is merging fiction with reality," one Demon Ancestor growled. He turned his red eyes toward the newcomers.
"Prince," the monster rasped. "You're trapped too."
"The Evil God discriminates against no one," the Prince said, stepping into the circle of monsters. "It is time to ally. Humanity is finished. The Night Watchmen will fall, and the commoners will never rise. We are the only ones who matter."
"Agreed," the Demon Ancestor sneered. "The Old Celestial Master wants to martyr himself? Let him. Tianshi Mountain chose to be stupid. We will not die with them."
"Let's find the others," the Prince said, a cruel smile touching his lips. "And cut our way out."
On the eastern perimeter, the fog stood like a cliff face.
Jiang Dao stood before it, his black robes billowing. He could feel the pulse of the town—a heartbeat of corruption.
He wasn't alone.
Hundreds of meters away, a group of cultivators stood debating. Jiang Dao recognized them immediately: The Divine Martial Sect. Daoist Priest Qingsong was there, looking anxious, but the group was led by the beautiful, icy middle-aged woman Jiang Dao had encountered in Yellow Wind Valley.
He drifted closer, silent as a ghost, listening to their hushed voices.
"Four or five Sacred Artifacts are active," Qingsong was saying. "If they combined, they could hold the Evil God back. But..."
"There is no 'but'," the woman cut in, her voice smooth and venomous. "Whether it's Tianshi Mountain or the Royal Clans, they are unstable variables. Let them grind each other to dust. That is their contribution to the Dynasty."
"But if the Evil God spreads..." an elder worried.
"Not our problem," she replied. "Our mission is the Prince and the Divine Water. The Night Watchmen have surfaced; chaos is inevitable. The order from above is clear: eliminate the Watchmen. Do not pick the wrong side."
Jiang Dao had heard enough. He landed softly behind them.
"Daoist Priest Qingsong," he said. "Long time no see."
The group spun around. Qingsong's eyes went wide. "Brother Jiang Liu?"
The middle-aged woman narrowed her eyes. "You? You're still alive?"
"Should I not be?" Jiang Dao asked, his tone light.
"It matters not," she said, composing herself. "Since you are here, you can enter with us. We are going in to... take a look."
"Honored," Jiang Dao lied, smiling.
The woman began barking orders, splitting the group. She assigned Jiang Dao to her team. She raised her hand, revealing a small, crimson spear tip. As she pumped spiritual energy into it, the air warped. It was a Sacred Artifact, humming with a frequency that made teeth ache.
She stepped toward the fog. Jiang Dao didn't move.
She stopped and turned, annoyed. "Why aren't you moving?"
"I was just wondering," Jiang Dao said, his voice taking on a thoughtful, conversational tone. "How do you wake these things up? Do you use blood sacrifices, like the others?"
The woman scoffed. "How else? If you don't feed the hungry ghost inside, how do you use its power?"
"Right," Jiang Dao nodded. "And when the power fades inside the town... will you feed it more people?"
"You ask too many questions," she snapped. "Follow me. Now."
Jiang Dao stood his ground. A wind kicked up, lifting his heavy black hair, revealing eyes that had gone utterly dead and flat.
"No," he said softly. "I've thought about it. I think I'll just kill you all instead."
The silence that followed was absolute.
"Excuse me?" the woman hissed, her eyes turning to ice.
"Jiang Liu, you..." Qingsong gasped.
"You seek death," the woman declared. "I was going to wait until we were inside to dispose of you, but since you're eager, die now!"
She didn't hesitate. The crimson spear tip in her palm screamed.
Whoosh!
It vanished. It moved faster than sight, tearing through the fabric of space, a streak of red lightning aiming directly for Jiang Dao's heart. The pressure was immense; the air around them detonated, exploding outward in a shockwave of sonic booms.
It was a strike meant to kill gods.
Rumble!
The dust settled.
Jiang Dao had not moved a single inch.
His arm was raised. His hand, now swollen to a monstrous, grotesque size, was clamped shut in front of his chest.
Caught firmly between his five fingers was the crimson spear tip. It buzzed and writhed like a trapped hornet, unleashing waves of devastating energy, but Jiang Dao's grip was absolute iron.
"This is a revived Sacred Artifact?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice now a rasping growl.
Heat began to pour off him. The air shimmered and distorted, the temperature spiking twenty degrees in a heartbeat. He looked at the woman through the haze of heat, his eyes burning.
"It doesn't seem like much," he said, tightening his grip until the artifact groaned. "So why... did you have to sacrifice so many people for this?"
The woman's jaw dropped. The elders froze. They stared at the man who had just caught a nuclear bomb with his bare hand, their minds unable to process the impossibility of what they were seeing.
This wasn't a martial artist. This was a monster.