Old Devil Fang

Qin Sang soon put that brief interlude out of his mind as he drew closer and closer to the Hall of Seven Kills. He had arrived a bit earlier this time. Word had it that because the immortal formation shifted constantly, the Witch Clan would be breaking it using a different method than last time. Perhaps he might even have a chance to observe. The wind and waves grew increasingly turbulent. Qin Sang knew the Hall of Seven Kills was close at hand. Sure enough, after flying just a short distance farther, his vision opened up. The colossal oceanic crater and the wall of wind loomed before him, as awe-inspiring as ever. Qin Sang gave it a glance, then swept his gaze around the surroundings, surprised to find only two figures in the vicinity. Yet the Grand Shaman and the other Nascent Soul cultivators were nowhere to be seen. After a moment's contemplation, Qin Sang drew back a little and flew along the perimeter of the wind wall toward the other side. Just as he was about to circle to the opposite edge of the oceanic crater, Qin Sang's figure halted, a look of surprise crossing his face. Ahead stood over a dozen cultivators clustered close together, watching something with rapt attention. No wonder there were so few people elsewhere—they had all gathered here. After a moment's thought, Qin Sang stowed the ebony sword and brought out an ordinary flying sword instead, relying on his swordsmanship for defense. He had made too many enemies, and all from major powers; he did not want anyone connecting him to his true identity. When he had gone to meet Elder Zou earlier, he had likewise left the Heavenly Corpse Coffin and his avatar elsewhere. Whoosh! Qin Sang cut through the wind and waves, flying forward until he was not far from the crowd. The others sized him up with a glance before turning their gazes back, once again watching the scene ahead with rapt concentration. By this point, Qin Sang could also see what lay there. In front of the wind wall, for reasons unknown, the area was extraordinarily calm. The gales seemed barred by some power, unable to encroach upon the space, sweeping around its edges whenever they approached. Such a place was utterly unprecedented within the storm belt. Cultivators were suspended there, clearly divided into two opposing camps of over a dozen people each. "The Nascent Soul cultivators of the Witch Clan and the human race!" Qin Sang's pupils constricted. He was shocked to realize that every single one of those figures possessed an alarming, overwhelming aura. Without exception, all of them were Nascent Soul cultivators. "They arrived long ago. Over there, not a wave stirs; it is so tranquil... Is this the power of a spirit formation?" Qin Sang murmured to himself, his gaze sweeping past the Nascent Soul experts and fixing upon the sea below. In the face of the gray gale, not even Nascent Soul cultivators would dare to act recklessly; only a formidable spirit formation could achieve such a feat. "Sure enough!" Qin Sang's expression shifted slightly. He noticed countless white motes of light drifting beneath the surface of the sea. "Those white specks must be the manifestation of the spirit formation's power. And the one controlling it must be the Witch Clan's Grand Shaman, a great cultivator of the late Nascent Soul stage." He had long yearned to see the Grand Shaman of the Witch Clan. Shifting his gaze toward the Witch Clan's Nascent Soul ranks, he easily spotted a white-haired woman surrounded by the crowd. She wore a sumptuous robe embroidered with patterns that bore a striking resemblance to divine glyphs. She wore a half-mask, thin as a cicada's wing, which was likewise carved with mysterious patterns. Her red lips were plump and vivid, her eyes exceptionally radiant, as though capable of bewitching one's soul. Every sign indicated that this woman was indeed the Grand Shaman of the Witch Clan. "A head of white hair, yet skin like a young maiden's. Her age is impossible to tell, but she is certainly an old monster." Qin Sang did not dare stare at the Grand Shaman for long. Shifting his gaze, he looked toward the human camp. To stand toe-to-toe with the Grand Shaman, the human race's strength could not be much inferior. Last time, the Demon Lord had come in person... Qin Sang's thoughts stirred. In a single glance, he saw an old Daoist holding a horsetail whisk, eyes half-closed, bearing an otherworldly temperament as though indifferent to all earthly matters. The old Daoist wore a moon-white robe emblazoned with two ancient seal characters: Tiandao. "Could this be Lingzhuzi, the sect master of the Tiandao Sect? His aura is not in the least inferior to the Grand Shaman's. He truly lives up to his reputation!" Qin Sang had spent no small amount of time in the Canglang Sea and possessed an understanding of the human race's major factions. Lingzhuzi was another great cultivator of the late Nascent Soul stage among the humans, the preeminent leader of the righteous path, equal in renown to the Demon Lord. Among the other human Nascent Soul cultivators, some clustered around Lingzhuzi, while others deliberately kept their distance, appearing to treat him with cautious reverence. "Those people must be the demonic Nascent Soul cultivators. It seems the Demon Lord did not come this time. Are the two great cultivators taking turns dealing with the Witch Clan?" Seeing this, Qin Sang deduced a good part of the situation. At this moment, the Nascent Soul figures of the two races were gathered here, yet none spoke a word, nor did they make any move. They seemed to be waiting for an opportune moment. Naturally, Qin Sang and the others dared not urge them, obediently keeping watch on the outer perimeter. With no way to discern the time of day within the storm, Qin Sang calculated internally and estimated that it was already the Hour of the Dog. In a little over two hours, the Grand Shaman would use the formation to break through the barrier. As time passed, more and more cultivators arrived. Qin Sang kept observing in secret, but there was no sign of Elder Zou and his companions. He wondered whether they had concealed their identities. Not all of the Nascent Soul experts of the two races were feigning sleep; some cast occasional glances out toward the Core Formation cultivators on the perimeter. "What is it? Old Devil Mou, are you looking for someone?" A few demonic Nascent Soul cultivators stood together. Lacking the Demon Lord's backing, they kept a low profile before the two great cultivators. One blood-robed elder suddenly opened his eyes, glancing sideways at the black-robed demonic cultivator beside him, having noticed something unusual about the man's behavior. Old Devil Mou gave a sinister chuckle, avoiding the question. "Old Ghost Xue, you still love meddling in others' business. The Demon Lord isn't here this time, so you'd best be careful not to fall into the hands of that old ox-nose." The blood-robed elder seemed indifferent. "The Witch Clan is the common enemy of our human race. Would Fellow Daoist Lingzhuzi be so blind to the bigger picture?" Even so, a flicker of solemnity passed through the depths of the blood-robed elder's eyes. Old Devil Mou opened his mouth, wanting to say more. Lingzhuzi's eyes snapped open. He turned his head toward the space outside, divine light flashing in his gaze. The Nascent Soul cultivators were startled and followed Lingzhuzi's line of sight, only to see a tempest of chaotic storm. Just as everyone was bewildered, they suddenly heard a shrill buzzing of a cicada. The sound was exceptionally urgent. Faint at first, it somehow managed to cut through the earth-shattering roar of the wind and waves, ringing crystal clear in everyone's ears. "The Dead Leaf Cicada! It's Old Devil Fang!" "It's him! Why has that old monster come?" Hearing the cicada's call, the human Nascent Soul cultivators changed countenance one after another. Even Lingzhuzi wore a solemn expression. Conversely, the Witch Clan cultivators showed hints of delight on their faces, as if the newcomer were a powerful reinforcement. The chirping grew louder and louder, seemingly drowning out the wind and waves entirely. Waves of sound washed into their ears, striking at their minds and stirring up an intense restlessness. A moment later, a sudden gust tore through the wind and waves. The chirping reached a piercing crescendo, causing strange looks to appear on the faces of the Core Formation cultivators. Whoosh! The gust plunged into the tranquil space, then abruptly dissipated to reveal its true form. Cries of astonishment rang out from the onlookers, their faces filled with disbelief. The newcomer was not a cultivator at all, but a fist-sized spirit cicada! The cicada's wings resembled withered leaves. Cultivators well-versed in the way of spirit insects would instantly recognize it as a legendary, rare exotic insect—the Dead Leaf Cicada! As the Dead Leaf Cicada appeared, its eyes shone with the light of intelligence, as though a human soul resided within, an intensely eerie sight. The Grand Shaman drifted forward to greet the Dead Leaf Cicada, her tone tinged with pleasant surprise. "Fellow Daoist Fang, I never expected that you would come as well."