The voice from above carried a killing edge that cut straight to the bone. When Fang Han heard it, it was as if he once again stood before the Demon God himself.
The Demon God—once a sect master and saint of the demonic path—possessed boundless power. Even a single fragment of his essence had been enough to severely wound Fang Qingxue. That crushing, soul-deep oppression was something Fang Han could never forget.
And now, that same aura—cold, commanding, absolute—was woven into the voice that thundered from the heavens. There was no doubt: a being of emperor-level demonic might was about to emerge into the world.
"Marshal of Demons, are you another who hides behind masks and shadows?" Stone Dragon Child halted his advance, his tone sharp as steel.
"For that insult," came the icy reply, "you'll pay with an arm."
At those words, twenty streaks of white light tore across the sky like divine rainbows. Auspicious mists cascaded downward, and amidst falling flower petals, a man descended—each step deliberate, divine.
He appeared to be no older than thirty, tall and straight-backed, his black hair tied into a topknot with a jade pin. His features were gentle, almost scholarly, yet his eyes swept over the world with serene dominion. He carried no sword, no weapon—nothing but the calm of an immortal descending from the clouds. There was no trace of demonic aura about him, only the grace of a celestial being.
So this is the legendary Demon Marshal? Fang Han thought, frowning. He looks more like a god than a demon.
He didn't relax. With a gesture, he released his Wolf Smoke to shield himself and the still-silent Fang Qingxue, who remained cocooned in her violet lightning chrysalis.
"This is our sect's internal affair," Jin Shitai said from behind Stone Dragon Child, his voice cold. "You overstep, Ying Tianqing."
"Touch Qingxue, and you die," the Marshal—Ying Tianqing—replied softly. "Even if the Celestial Lords themselves stand in my way, I'll cut them down. Stone Dragon Child, you may strike first. If you lose, I'll deal with the boy behind you next. Or, if you'd rather beg for mercy now and sever your own arm, I'll let you crawl away."
Stone Dragon Child let out a cruel laugh. "Perfect. I've wanted to see if the so-called demonic prodigy lives up to his reputation. My favorite pastime is crushing geniuses in their cradles."
His fingertip gleamed. "Zzzt!"
A blade of golden energy erupted—tens of meters long, as wide as a door—piercing through the air toward Ying Tianqing.
This was the Grand Freeflow Golden Sword Qi, one of the Eight Divine Arts of the Feather Transformation Sect. Sword energy so pure it needed no weapon, no artifact. The body itself became the sword, moving freely between heaven and earth.
Ying Tianqing caught the attack barehanded. His fingers glowed with condensed white energy, each joint snapping like grinding bones.
"The Innate Bone Divine Art!" Yan gasped in awe.
The Marshal's skeletal aura seized the golden sword energy and began to compress it.
Stone Dragon Child only smiled—too calmly. His lips curved in triumph as he whispered eight words: "Free! Flow! Unbound! Instant! Kill! Grand! Technique!"
The trapped sword energy vibrated violently—and vanished.
In the next instant, it reappeared behind Ying Tianqing's head, descending faster than sound itself. The air screamed. The ground trembled. Tornadoes of sand spiraled upward as the sword energy resonated with heaven and earth.
"The Instant Kill Technique!" Yan exclaimed. "It fuses one's spirit with the world's flow. The sword vanishes and reappears—beyond sight, beyond defense! In the ancient war between immortals and demons, the Feather Sect's patriarch used this move to slay countless demon lords."
Fang Han's heart thundered. So fast! I must learn this one day… no matter what!
The golden sword qi was about to cleave into Ying Tianqing's skull—but at that instant, a white bone orb floated up from the back of his head. The sword struck it and vanished without a trace, as though swallowed by the void.
"The White Bone Relic!" Stone Dragon Child's expression twisted in shock.
Ying Tianqing smiled faintly. "Impressive. Your Instant Kill Technique is refined—but not perfected. You've reached eight times the speed of sound. If you could raise that to eighteen, I might have had to take you seriously. The Feather Sect Patriarch once reached three thousand times that speed."
He sighed, almost pitying. "A shame, truly. You'll lose an arm for this."
"Go!"
Without hesitation, Stone Dragon Child unleashed a blinding gold rainbow that wrapped around himself and Jin Shitai, streaking into the distance. His retreat was clean, immediate, ruthless—a survivor's instinct.
"Think you can escape?"
The White Bone Relic behind Ying Tianqing burst forth, transforming into a ghostly white shadow that streaked through the air, shrieking as it tore through the golden light. A moment later, screams echoed across the desert. When the specter returned, it held two bloody arms—chewing noisily before swallowing them whole.
"Zha."
The Marshal murmured a single word, and the bone shadow dissolved, reforming into the relic that floated quietly behind his head.
"It's over. You can lower your guard now," Ying Tianqing said calmly. "With me here, Qingxue is safe. And you, Fang Han—without stepping into the Divine Power Realm, you can't yet wield the Seven Fiend Gourd's true might. Nor can you arrange the Seven Kill Sword Array. Still, your loyalty is commendable. I'll grant you seven flying swords."
He flicked a finger, and seven swords materialized before him—black, white, gold, violet, each shimmering with unique power.
"Stop!" Fang Han barked, his tone sharp. "I'm of the Immortal Dao, and you are of the Demonic Path. We are oil and water. I'll take no gifts from you. I owe no one anything, least of all you."
"Oh?" Ying Tianqing's brow arched. He hadn't expected such defiance. The seven swords vanished with a snap of his fingers.
"Well said, Fang Han. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
The violet cocoon split open with a crack of thunder. Fang Qingxue emerged—alive, radiant, and unscathed.