The group of torch-bearing Nightshades spotted Fang Han and Fang Qingxue almost simultaneously. A chorus of shrill, guttural screeches tore through the air as they hurled their torches aside, gripping their steel forks and leaping forward—each movement like a swarm of monstrous locusts closing in on prey.
Their leaps were astonishing—three, even four men high, covering thirty or forty paces in a single bound. They couldn't quite fly like the Winged Nightshades, but their power was monstrous nonetheless. Even most cultivators of the Divine Valor Realm could not match such speed and agility.
"Ten… eleven… twelve of them," Fang Han counted silently, his eyes narrowing. "Twelve Nightshades—each as strong as a Divine Valor expert. Fortunately, their fighting technique is crude. Plenty of openings to exploit."
He straightened his stance, sword flashing up in a sharp arc. Instead of retreating, he surged forward—charging straight into the pack.
That was the key difference between demons and men: the Nightshades were raw power incarnate, their strength unmatched—but their combat skills were blunt, unrefined. For a human martial artist with precision and adaptability, that imbalance could turn the tide.
"Hahaha! Two humans! And a woman!" one of the Nightshades barked in its gravelly voice, a horrifying grin splitting its scarred face. "The man we'll eat—the woman, we'll take to the Overlord!"
Their language was guttural yet disturbingly familiar—fragments of ancient human tongues twisted by time and malice. These were not mere beasts; they were intelligent, organized predators, descendants of a civilization that had long merged with the abyss.
A Nightshade lunged first, its fork thrusting like a spear. The strike could have skewered a bull clean through.
Clang!
Fang Han met it head-on—one foot snapping out in a lightning-fast Kui Star Kick, his heel smashing the steel fork aside. Using the rebound force, he spun and thrust his sword in a streak of silver light. The blade slipped through the creature's eye and drove deep into its skull.
The Nightshade screamed—a deafening, primal roar—then stumbled backward and plunged into a subterranean river. Blood frothed to the surface before the current swept the corpse away.
Fang Han didn't pause. He shifted, his body blurring into motion as several more forks stabbed where he had just stood. The strikes hit the stone floor with explosive force—any one of them could have impaled him if he'd been a heartbeat slower.
"Kill him!"
"Where's the woman?"
"She was right behind him!"
"Forget her! Take the man first!"
The Nightshades roared and surged forward. Fang Qingxue, who had been just a few paces behind moments ago, had vanished completely—her presence erased from the battlefield like mist in the dark.
Fang Han had no time to think. Eleven Nightshades surrounded him, their scales glinting under the dim glow of mushroom light. His sword barely bit into their hide—each one was protected by a thick, armor-like layer of scales. To kill them, he had to aim for their eyes.
He could have ended the battle easily with his flying sword and Blood Cotton Demon Robe technique, but Qingxue was watching. One wrong move, one wrong technique, and she would see through him. And if that happened, dying to the Nightshades would be the least of his problems.
"Flying Spirit—Ninefold Turn!"
He slipped between two stabbing forks, his body twisting fluidly as he invoked the Flying Spirit Soft-Bone Technique. His sword flashed out again, a streak of cold light piercing toward another Nightshade's eye.
"Human—die!"
The creature roared, tossing aside its weapon and lunging barehanded, its clawed palm clamping down toward the sword. It intended to crush the blade outright, trusting in its scales to protect it.
If it caught his sword, Fang Han was finished.
"Carp Through the Wave!"
At the last instant, Fang Han's body folded and flowed like water—bones softening, muscles coiling—he dropped low and slid past the demon's flank. His sword slashed upward in passing.
Screech! Sparks flew. The blade sheared off half the Nightshade's ear, tearing away a patch of scaly armor and exposing bleeding flesh beneath. The creature's scream was shrill and grating, like a banshee's cry.
So hard! Fang Han thought grimly. Even my Demon-Slaying Sword, sharp enough to cut gold and jade, can only strip its scales. If this were a common iron blade, it would have shattered!
He rolled aside as more forks struck down.
Now eleven Nightshades encircled him, thrusting again and again. Fang Han's movement blurred—vaulting, ducking, rolling through the gaps. Each time they closed in, he slipped out like smoke. When they regrouped, his sword flashed, cutting, parrying, striking with relentless precision.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Steel clashed in a storm of sparks. One after another, the Nightshades' forks shattered under his sword. After a dozen fierce exchanges, every one of their weapons was broken—nothing left but jagged stumps.
The Nightshades' hide was resilient—but their weapons were not. Against the Feathered Gate's enchanted sword, mundane iron was nothing.
"Good!"
With their weapons gone, Fang Han felt the momentum shift. He channeled every ounce of strength into his next sequence. His sword became a storm—stabbing, thrusting, striking in bursts of starlight. Each point of light locked onto a Nightshade's eyes.
The demons howled, stumbling back, shielding their faces.
And then—something shifted within him.
He felt it before he understood it—a surge of heat, like fire blooming inside his blood. His body blazed with power. The flame climbed through his veins, bursting into his head like a flood of molten light. His mind cleared, sharpened—his awareness expanded outward.
For the first time, he saw.
He saw through the dark, through motion, through chaos.
That one—strength, one thousand three hundred fifty pounds. That one—speed, forty-three steps per blink. Weight, three hundred fifty pounds.
The data came to him instantly, instinctively. Each Nightshade's weight, force, trajectory—all revealed before they even moved.
When one twitched to leap, Fang Han already knew where it would land.
His mind burned bright as crystal.
In that moment—Fang Han broke through.
He had stepped into the Ninth Realm of the Mortal Body — the Realm of Spirit Communion.