A sharp crack shattered the quiet of the desert night.
A scorpion the size of a clenched fist was hurled from the sand, caught in the beak of the Crane Fairy. With one vicious peck, it was dead—its shell crushed. She tossed it into the fire, where it hissed and smoked, releasing a foul stench into the cool air.
The Crane Fairy chirped gleefully and went back to digging, scratching through the sand for more prey. One by one, monstrous desert scorpions—venomous, glistening, and thick as a child's arm—were plucked out and tossed into the flames.
By night, these creatures ruled the dunes. They drank dew, hunted small beasts, and could kill a grown man with a single sting. But the disciples of Yuhua Sect were unfazed. Their enchanted robes kept insects, serpents, and venomous things at bay, their protective runes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Fang Han sat unmoving by the fire, his breathing steady, his mind immersed in the Primordial Spirit Technique. Since learning it the day before, he had sensed—instinctively—that this was true cultivation. This was the key to unlocking divine power.
Whenever he had a moment, he turned inward, exploring the rhythm of his body, tracing the pulse of life through his bones and organs. Though far from mastery, he could already sense a growing clarity—his flesh felt cleaner, lighter, almost translucent, like crystal being polished from within.
Only his brain remained shrouded in darkness—a sealed gate of power that refused to open. He could feel that this was where the divine path began, yet it resisted him, locked tight.
Nearby, Liu Kang and Princess Hong Yi were also cross-legged in meditation, their bodies calm, their spirits circulating. Despite the desert's thirst, the disciples conjured water sigils—Purity Charms and True Water Talismans—to cleanse their robes and refresh their skin. Without such magic, even a Divine Transformation expert would wilt under the desert's cruelty.
Silence reigned. Each disciple focused on their own practice, the stillness heavy and absolute—like the air before a storm.
Then, the wind shifted.
A hollow moan swept through the dunes, bending the flames until they sputtered and nearly died.
Awooo... awooo...
The eerie cries echoed across the wasteland—wolf-like, mournful, and full of bloodthirst.
"What is that?"
Fang Han's heart clenched. An inexplicable fear crawled through him. He opened his eyes—just as Yuan Jiankong, the tenth-ranked inner disciple, rose to his feet. Mo Shijie followed, along with several other inner disciples and members of the Da De royal entourage.
Liu Kang and Princess Hong Yi stood as well.
Overhead, their spirit cranes shrieked and launched into the sky. The Crane Fairy's voice rang from Fang Han's beast token:
"Fang Han, danger! Enemies are closing in—I'm taking to the air!"
True to her instincts, the crane vanished into the night, leaving her human companions behind.
"Enemies?" Fang Han muttered, standing.
In the distance, dark shapes rippled over the dunes. The sound of hooves rolled closer—deep, rhythmic, relentless. As he focused his spirit through his eyes, the figures came into view: hundreds of men in scaled armor, riding white camels, bows and scimitars gleaming in the moonlight.
Each mount was a White Dragon Camel—swift and powerful, said to run as smoothly as a ship on calm waters.
"So the desert bandits are real after all," Fang Han murmured. He had heard tales—murderers who drank human blood, raided caravans, and ground children into wine for their twisted rituals. The stench of bloodlust around them confirmed it—these were monsters in human skin.
And worse—among them moved creatures with twisted horns and scaled skin: demons. The same kind Fang Han had fought in his entrance trial.
So that's what they are… demonkin from the underworld.
Then came the whistle of death.
A rain of arrows blotted out the stars. The bandits had halted five hundred paces away, firing in volleys that filled the night sky with steel.
The disciples scattered or raised barriers, the sound of clashing arrows filling the air. The cranes above shrieked and wheeled higher to escape the storm.
Moonlight.
Sand.
Arrows.
Bloodlust.
A savage desert tableau unfolded.
"Damn it!"
Fang Han drew the Demon-Slaying Sword, its edge flashing silver. He spun it in a tight circle, deflecting the nearest arrows. Others thudded harmlessly against his enchanted robe, the silk gleaming faintly as it absorbed the blows.
Even so, the sheer impact made his skin ache beneath the fabric. Only his iron-trained muscles saved him from bruising.
"Back to back!" shouted Liu Kang.
He and Princess Hong Yi closed ranks with Fang Han, blades weaving arcs of light. Her swordsmanship was exquisite—precise enough to slice a fly's wing midair. With her defensive movements and the protection of their robes, they weathered the storm.
Then—lightning split the darkness.
A single beam of silver tore through the night, sweeping across the horizon. The entire volley of arrows vanished in an instant, vaporized by its brilliance.
Hundreds of meters away, the front line of bandits convulsed—their armor shattered, their torsos cleaved cleanly in half. Blood fountained skyward, organs spilling into the sand.
The stench of iron filled the air.
Shhhk—shhhk—shhhk!
Dozens of corpses fell from their camels.
"The Silver Serpent Sword," Fang Han thought grimly. "Yuan Jiankong's strike is terrifying. Stronger even than the Spiritwind Sword. I wouldn't stand a chance… not yet."
He narrowed his eyes. Still, if I could use the Jiao Burial Diagram to capture that sword one day… perhaps.
A manic laugh cut through the carnage.
"Hahaha! Yuan Jiankong, one of Yuhua Sect's ten prodigies! That Silver Serpent Sword—tempered in serpent blood and red copper—barely shy of a treasure artifact! You've slaughtered so many of my Red Dust Demon Sect's disciples with it. And now you've come all this way into my desert? Perfect!"
A flash of pink light burst from the dunes.
A rose-colored sword clashed with Yuan Jiankong's in midair. Silver and pink dragons spiraled through the sky, their collision throwing out waves of cutting wind.
Then both swords recoiled, returning to their masters.
The sand bandits scattered, forming a wide battle formation that curved like a twin-headed serpent. From its center rose a young man in flowing pink robes, his skin pale as jade, his eyes glimmering with seductive malice.
"The Red Dust Demon Sect's Crimson Prince," someone whispered.
Yuan Jiankong's expression hardened. Mo Shijie and the others tensed, hands drifting toward their weapons. The air thickened with killing intent.
"So that's him," Fang Han thought. "The one with a Yin-Yang Longevity Pill on his head."
The Crimson Prince smiled languidly, his gaze sweeping the crowd. He didn't even glance at the men—his eyes lingered instead on Mo Shijie and the two Da De princesses, his look stripping them bare in the firelight.
"Yuhua Sect puts a bounty on me—one Yin-Yang Longevity Pill to whoever kills the Crimson Prince. A pill refined by your own sect master from his immortal blood essence! Tempting, isn't it? I almost feel like killing myself for it."
His voice dripped with mockery.
Mo Shijie stepped forward, her tone cool and sharp as a blade.
"You think you've trapped us here, but we lured you out. You've been dancing in our palm all along."
The Crimson Prince chuckled.
"Oh, I knew about your plan—the sword formation, the ambush, the precious little spirit artifacts you brought. Did you really think the Red Dust Demon Sect doesn't have ears in your ranks? I simply turned your trap around."
He raised a hand.
"Come, my ten generals."
The dunes erupted.
Ten colossal shadows rose into the moonlight—towering figures with black wings unfurled, each one a nightmarish fusion of man and beast.
They hovered for a moment, wings beating, before descending behind the Crimson Prince in perfect formation.
Mo Shijie's face went pale.
"The Flying Yasha… demon generals!"