The Zhou Wuji reflected in the dark mirror shattered silently beneath the sharp edge of the real Zhou Wuji's sword, and the black mirror burst into roiling plumes of dark mist that erupted violently outward.
Zhou Wuji was not surprised in the least. Through his Six Yang Dharma Eyes, he had already seen that the enemy was merely employing an illusion.
Had his mind wavered or given in to hesitation and retreat, it would have in turn fueled the power of the illusion.
Under such shifting tides, he truly might have fallen prey to it.
Yet his swordsmanship had reached Great Accomplishment. When he wielded his blade, his divine sense coalesced naturally, far beyond the reach of any illusion to shake.
The Pure Heart Divine Incantation empowering him was no empty charm either.
Moreover, this strike of the Descending Goose Sword was exceptionally resolute and fierce. Whatever the sorcery might be, a flourishing surge of sword qi guided by pure sword intent could shatter it directly.
In head-on combat, a martial artist of the same rank was indisputably the strongest.
What Zhou Wuji had not anticipated was that the Yin-Yang Hundred Spirits Banner still possessed another variation. The shattered illusion shifted into a surging torrent of Yin-Yang True Qi, intermingled with the baleful qi distilled from a hundred ghosts.
The billowing dark mist surged like a violent tide. Having unleashed successive bursts of true qi, Zhou Wuji could not afford to clash head-on with such wild, turbulent force right now.
He could only yield to the impact of the Yin-Yang True Qi and glide backward, retreating ten paces away in the blink of an eye.
Zhou Wuji was in no hurry. His foe was merely a Rank 7 demonic cultivator; such a frantic eruption of true qi took a tremendous toll and could not last long.
Fang Jing had forced Zhou Wuji back, but seeing the youth emerge completely unscathed only deepened the unease in his heart.
He glanced at Jiang Sangu lying nearby. Her pupils were dilated, her breath gone—she was dead as dead could be.
The same went for the male attendant.
Both had died violently, so their grievance was bound to be immense, making them ideal sacrifices to enhance the banner's might.
What puzzled him slightly was that both Jiang Sangu and the attendant possessed cultivation; after death, their spirits should have lingered for a time, yet both had already dissipated completely.
Fang Jing had no time to ponder the matter. He desperately needed to dispose of the terrifying young swordsman before him.
Fleeing was out of the question, and the youth had not uttered a single word, clearly offering no room for negotiation.
Fang Jing never liked risking his life, but at this stage, only a desperate gamble offered any hope of survival.
Fortunately, he had prepared beforehand. Shaking the Yin-Yang Banner, he unleashed the hundred ghosts straight toward the dozens of cultists.
Though protected at their core by the Yin-Yang Hundred Spirits Banner, the hundred ghosts had sustained spiritual damage from the Seven Stars Sword and were listless and diminished.
The dozens of Yin-Yang Dao followers bore pre-inscribed runes upon their bodies that guided the swarm of ghosts directly toward them.
The ragged believers were terrified by the sudden outbreak of battle.
They had no idea what was happening, having only seen shadows flashing across the ritual altar and heard the whistling sonic booms of true qi.
Before they could make sense of it, the released ghosts were already upon them.
The leading black-red baleful ghost pounced onto a middle-aged man, draining his blood, qi, and vitality in an instant. His face turned ashen, his skin shriveled and paled, and he transformed directly into a desiccated corpse.
The same fate befell the rest. Man or woman, anyone caught by the ghosts had their essence, blood, and soul devoured, the only difference being how quickly they died.
In the blink of an eye, dozens of men and women were reduced to dried husks.
Having drunk the vital energy and blood of dozens of people, the ghosts surged with power. The leading black-red baleful ghost turned a deep purple-black, barely a shade away from pitch-black.
Zhou Wuji saw clearly that these believers had long been marked with special runes, their vitality forcibly stimulated into a state of frenzy before death.
Even if he could exterminate the hundred ghosts, he could not have saved these people. Besides, at such a distance, it was beyond his reach.
Fang Jing shook the Yin-Yang Hundred Spirits Banner, drawing the unleashed ghosts back.
He shouted at Zhou Wuji, "Remember this—these people died because of you!"
Zhou Wuji had not intended to bother with him; such nonsense was not even worth refuting.
Yet Fang Jing's sanctimonious display of laying blame was both laughable and repulsive.
Zhou Wuji said calmly, "They chose to follow the Yin-Yang Dao, and you chose to kill them. Those were your choices.
"Every adult must take responsibility for their own choices."
Fang Jing was slightly taken aback. The youth spoke neither of good and evil nor of moral duty—a perspective he had never encountered before.
Zhou Wuji continued, "Killing you is my choice. It will not waver, and it cannot be changed.
"Prepare to die."
Zhou Wuji did not speak with harsh anger. When he uttered those final words, his tone was entirely calm, devoid of murderous aura or ferocity, as if merely stating a simple, indisputable fact.
That unnatural calm made Fang Jing feel the young swordsman's unwavering intent to kill all the more acutely.
Looking at the gleaming sword in Zhou Wuji's hand, Fang Jing's mind raced, and he suddenly called out, "You are Zhou Wuji—Yiyuan's disciple!"
"You actually know who I am?"
Zhou Wuji was somewhat surprised. Recognizing his master's name was normal, but knowing his own name was exceedingly unusual.
Recognizing Zhou Wuji filled Fang Jing with both shock and delight.
He was shocked that Zhou Wuji was so formidable, something Wu Di had not mentioned in the slightest.
He was delighted because knowing the youth's identity meant there was room to negotiate.
"Daoist Zhou, I know an important secret concerning you. We can talk..."
"Oh?"
Zhou Wuji feigned interest, taking several paces forward.
In truth, he did not care about the so-called secret at all. It amounted to nothing more than someone wanting Fang Jing to kill him, and that person was either Wu Di or Zhang Xinhu.
Judging from the conditions Wu Di had offered, it was undoubtedly Wu Di. As for why Wu Di wanted him dead, it was certainly because Zhang Xinhu had offered a hefty price.
The cause and effect were crystal clear, requiring no guesswork whatsoever.
Long delays brought unexpected troubles. If another powerful demonic cultivator arrived, things might take an unfavorable turn.
Fang Jing was a seasoned veteran. Seeing Zhou Wuji draw closer, he realized something was wrong.
He cursed inwardly, *The little bastard is so damn shameless!*
He immediately shook the Hundred Spirits Banner to drive the ghosts, this time biting his tongue to spit out a spray of his own blood essence and true qi. Using it to nourish the ghosts, he triggered the banner's second variation: Hundred Spirits Deity Transformation.
With the Rank 7 baleful ghost as the core, the hundred ghosts were forcibly compressed together, coalescing into a nine-foot-tall black ghost soldier.
A Rank 6 ghost soldier could already take on physical form, fighting like a valiant warrior, which was why it was termed a ghost soldier.
Though called a soldier, it could shift between substance and illusion, immune to ordinary blades and spells—an exceptionally formidable entity.
The forcibly condensed ghost soldier wore heavy armor and held a nine-foot saber, presenting a terrifying sight.
Zhou Wuji immediately felt a heavy pressure. This ghost soldier had barely reached the Rank 6 level; relying solely on the Seven Stars Sword might not suffice to destroy it.
Crucially, anchored by the Hundred Spirits Banner, it could not be slain permanently either.
Zhou Wuji opened his left hand and invoked the Golden Light Incantation, sending a cluster of golden light to envelop the ghost soldier.
Yet the spell, even at Great Accomplishment, merely caused the ghost soldier to squint slightly, failing to halt its advance in the least.
Seeing how formidable the creature was, Zhou Wuji realized the difficulty. He still had a Yin Thunder Bead, which was enough to heavily wound it.
The Arctic Sect's Yin Thunder art was renowned throughout the realm, excelling above all in destruction. However, with the Hundred Spirits Banner supporting the ghost soldier, failing to obliterate it in a single strike would make matters exceedingly troublesome.
His thoughts flashing, Zhou Wuji decided to test the Five Yin Pouch.
Runes flared upon his left palm, and the Five Yin Pouch turned into a faint black veil that dropped over the ghost soldier from above.
The interior space of the pouch was five feet square, enough to cover most of the ghost soldier's body.
The five yin spirits comprising the pouch instinctively corroded all spiritual essence, naturally becoming entangled with the ghost soldier.
Wielding the banner, Fang Jing was utterly dumbfounded. What sort of spell had the youth used to temporarily suppress the ghost soldier and even sever its connection to the banner?
Fang Jing had no time to think. He saw Zhou Wuji already flying forward with his sword, the cold gleam on the blade sending a chill down his spine.
Left with no other options, he raised his right hand and triggered the Thousand-Poison Ten-Thousand-Fiend Arrows.
Empowered by magic power, the black ring unleashed a barrage of dark arrows that poured toward Zhou Wuji like a torrential downpour.
The arrows of condensed magic power hovered between real and unreal, infused with the virulent toxicity of gold-ring poison bees.
Keenly sensing the lethal poison on the shafts, Zhou Wuji channeled his true qi and swung the Seven Stars Sword, weaving a dense, unbroken curtain of sword light before him.
The Verdant Mist Sword, with its dense, mist-like shifts and fluid, wind-like flow, was ideally suited for defense.
The pouring rain of black arrows was ground to pieces by the dense sword light, scattering into specks of smoke that drifted in all directions.
Midway through madly releasing the Thousand-Poison Ten-Thousand-Fiend Arrows, Fang Jing's true qi suddenly stalled. The continuous, explosive expenditures had pushed him past his limit.
That momentary snag in his true qi left an opening in the arrow storm. Zhou Wuji darted through like a phantom. Knowing his martial arts were far inferior, Fang Jing could only wave the Hundred Spirits Banner to shield himself.
His Yin-Yang Dharma Robe also possessed the wondrous ability to conceal one's presence, enough to shut out the opponent's perception.
Zhou Wuji's sight was blocked by the banner, yet his swordsmanship was supreme and his spirit robust; guided by a wisp of sword qi, he locked onto Fang Jing's exact position.
A brilliant arc of sword light flashed horizontally through the air. Wherever it passed, the banner snapped and the head was severed.
Fang Jing's head tumbled down the earthen platform. Deprived of both its master and the banner's control, the ghost soldier froze.
By then, the Five Yin Pouch had been shredded to pieces. Zhou Wuji retrieved the remnants, only to see the ghost soldier let out a shrill screech, turning into black smoke to flee into the distance.
The destruction of the banner had also severed the restrictions binding the ghost soldier.
Knowing what a disaster it would be if this thing escaped, Zhou Wuji instantly flicked out the Yin Thunder Bead, driving it straight into the heart of the black smoke.
The Yin Thunder erupted into ripples of water-like lightning, dissolving the black smoke into wisps of gray dust.
Zhou Wuji checked the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment to confirm that both Fang Jing and the ghost soldier were slain, and only then did he breathe a sigh of relief...
Chapter 46