Chapter 122: Ancestor, You're Not Dead

Liu Tiezhu's question fell like a stone cast into still water, instantly pulling the atmosphere on the spirit boat taut.

"Fellow Daoist Qing You, you're a cultivator from Lingchuan? To cross over to our Heavenly Abyss Sea, you must have taken the Ancient Teleportation Array. I hear the toll for that array is steep. Seeing as your cultivation is similar to mine, how did you afford so many spirit stones?"

As he spoke, the other two Foundation Establishment rogue cultivators belatedly caught on, and an odd look crept into their eyes as they turned toward Jiuyou.

How could a rogue cultivator at the Mid Foundation Establishment Stage, with neither a sect nor a clan to back him, produce forty medium-grade spirit stones just to take a teleportation array?

Liu Tiezhu began to suspect this "Qing You," who called himself a rogue cultivator, was nowhere near as benign as he appeared. A quiet vigilance took root in his mind.

Just then, entirely oblivious to the delicate tension, Liu Xiaofang tilted her head and chimed in, "Oh, right, Brother! Have you heard about that massive event a while back? Over by the Demonic Path Alliance, they say three great sects were wiped out in just two nights!"

Her eyes sparkled, her tone carrying the lively awe and excitement of someone passing along sensational gossip.

"Four Seas City, Black Fiend Island, the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect, and Spiritual Cliff Cave! Not a single one escaped. Word has it the same person did it all, crushing three great demonic sects in one fell swoop. It must be a senior Nascent Soul expert from the Righteous Path Alliance! So many people are guessing who it could be. It's a pity I couldn't see it myself—it must have been incredible, right?"

A brief silence fell over the spirit boat.

Liu Tiezhu and the other two cultivators exchanged glances, all reminded of the rumors that had been spreading like wildfire over the past few days.

Four Seas City wiped out overnight, the Three Sects slaughtered in succession, and the culprit's identity still a total mystery. The entire Abyssal Sea was rife with discussion, leaving everyone panicking for their lives.

Jiuyou did not answer Liu Tiezhu. Gently waving his feather fan, he merely looked at him in calm silence.

Those dark cyan eyes held not the slightest trace of killing intent, yet their gaze sent a chill down Liu Tiezhu's spine, turning his limbs numb and stiff. Cold sweat broke out in waves as he froze in place, trembling faintly.

Sensing his distress, the two Foundation Establishment rogue cultivators on either side shot to their feet. Secretly gathering their spiritual power, they watched Jiuyou with sharp vigilance, even though they had no idea what was happening.

"Brother, what's wrong with you?"

Utterly bewildered, Liu Xiaofang tugged hard at her brother's sleeve. She could not read the subtle standoff, but she could vaguely tell something was wrong.

Jiuyou's expression remained unchanged, though an eerie gleam flitted through the depths of his eyes. Slowly stowing his feather fan, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked toward the distance ahead. As though sensing something, a faint, inscrutable smile touched his lips.

Only when he looked away did Liu Tiezhu finally snap back to reality. His face flushed crimson as he gasped for air, staggering several steps back across the deck and nearly tumbling over. His heart pounded wildly, as if he had just brushed past the gates of hell.

Seeing Liu Tiezhu reduced to such a state, the other two cultivators inwardly groaned. Liu Tiezhu possessed the highest cultivation among them, yet a single glance from this refined scholar had frightened him half to death. The man's true strength was clearly far beyond their ability to fathom.

They had only just realized they were on a pirate ship—one they couldn't get off.

The atmosphere aboard the spirit boat grew strained. The sea wind still blew and the cloud sea surged, but not another soul inside the cabin dared utter a word.

Only Liu Xiaofang remained completely clueless, glancing left and right with pure confusion.

The spirit boat sailed on across the sea, and time passed in quiet stillness.

After roughly a hundred li, five streaks of chilling cyan light suddenly tore through the distance, speeding straight toward their spirit boat.

Within the cyan glow were five masked cultivators brandishing bizarre bone artifacts. They advanced with ruthless momentum, clearly harboring bad intentions.

Jiuyou stood motionless, coldly watching the five close the distance. Not a ripple stirred in the pitch-black depths of his eyes—neither joy nor disgust, as tranquil as an ancient well.

Hundreds of li back, his sprawling divine sense had already locked onto them.

In particular, the spiritual energy swirling around them might have seemed obscure and alien to anyone else, but to Jiuyou, it could not have been more familiar...

"Damn it! It's those beasts from the Evil Soul Path! What speed—fellow daoists, prepare for battle!"

Shouting in alarm, Liu Tiezhu hastily withdrew a round shield artifact from his storage pouch. He darted a worried glance at the scholarly cultivator, while the other two Foundation Establishment cultivators retrieved their own prized treasures, their faces taut with vigilance.

"Brother, what is the Evil Soul Path?" Liu Xiaofang asked worriedly, confusion written across her face.

Liu Tiezhu's face darkened. Stifling his mounting fury, he ground out through clenched teeth, "The Evil Soul Path! They're a foul pack of demonic cultivator scum that cropped up in recent years!"

"These bastards are all remnants who slipped through the net when Soul Wraith Island was destroyed! Back then, when the Righteous Path purged Soul Wraith Island, a handful of surviving disciples fled and scraped by for decades. They secretly gathered desperate outlaws, slowly cobbling together what has now become the Evil Soul Path."

His eyes burned with hatred and loathing, his tone dripping with harsh contempt.

"These vile fiends have no bottom line and no conscience! They prowl these waters year-round to stage ambushes, targeting passing merchant fleets and solitary rogue cultivators to plunder their cultivation and snatch their treasures. Burning, killing, and looting—they stop at nothing! Who in these waters doesn't know their infamous reputation?

"Failing to weed out evil at the roots back then left this brood of vipers to torment the region! Compared to the notorious Soul Wraith Island of old, they are just as vile!"

In the distance, the cyan spiritual light surged even faster. Among the five Evil Soul Path cultivators, the weakest was at the Mid Foundation Establishment Stage, while the strongest had reached the Pseudo-Core realm.

Once they drew near, the five looting cultivators split apart with practiced speed, encircling the entire spirit boat in moments.

The leader at the Pseudo-Core realm was a brawny man with a fleshy face, clutching a broad saber. He looked over the spirit boat, his gaze sweeping past Liu Tiezhu and the other two Foundation Establishment rogue cultivators before lingering on Liu Xiaofang's delicate face. He lewdly licked his lips and let out a guttural sneer.

The saber-wielding man's gaze shifted further, finally coming to rest on the refined scholar.

The moment he looked up, he found himself staring into a pair of emotionless, icy cyan eyes.

A monstrous dread seized him in an instant. It was not awe before the strong, nor fear of death, but an instinctive shudder etched into his bones and branded into the deepest recesses of his soul.

It was as if long ago, he had groveled and begged for mercy beneath this very gaze countless times.

The man froze. An uncanny familiarity washed over him, yet he could not recall where he had seen those eyes before.

In the next breath, a wave of dizziness slammed into his mind.

The spirit boat before him, the sea, his companions—everything receded at dizzying speed. It was as though an invisible hand had torn him from reality and dragged him into an endless expanse of darkness.

The saber-wielding man whipped his head around, only to find himself standing atop a desolate mountain peak. Gale winds of yin energy howled around him, thick black mist coiled through the air, and the moss-covered stone steps underfoot led toward a somber, eerie palace hall.

And this peak—he knew it all too well.

He had knelt here for a hundred years.

High above the palace doors hung three massive characters.

Soul Wraith Hall.

"This... this is impossible..."

The saber-wielding man's voice trembled. His legs buckled beneath him, and the bone saber in his grip fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

"Soul Wraith Island is gone... Soul Wraith Ancestor is dead... This is impossible... What on earth is happening?"

He wanted to flee.

He wanted to turn and run.

Yet his body refused to obey, moving like a marionette jerked by invisible strings as he took step after step toward the depths of the hall.

The palace doors swung open in eerie silence, and the darkness swallowed him whole.

Deep within the hall, a colossal throne of black skulls loomed before his eyes.

Upon the throne sat a black-haired elder clad in a tattered dark robe. His face was gaunt and withered, his skin creased with age, and his murky eyes rested half-open, exuding a dread majesty. Even sitting there in utter stillness, he resembled a primordial demon mountain pinning down hell, suffocating all who drew near.

The saber-wielding man's pupils shrank to pinpricks.

He recognized that face.

The face that had terrified him for a hundred years, haunted his nightmares for a hundred years, and which he had thought forever buried with the destruction of Soul Wraith Island.

"An... Ancestor?"

His voice came out hoarse and trembling, choked with disbelief and bone-deep dread. His legs gave out completely, and he crashed to his knees, his kneecaps striking the frigid stone slabs with a heavy thud.

"You're not dead..."