Chapter 109: The Overwhelming Demonic Might, Part One

Wang Lu led a group of righteous martial artists into the gloomy tunnel of the Inner Prison.

The Inner Prison was deathly quiet. There were no prisoners, no guards—only cold, desolate architecture and swirling, murky black mist.

Thump, thump...

Only the sound of footsteps echoed through the prison.

The first level, the second, the third, the fourth...

As they ventured deeper, the black mist grew thicker. Holding his longsword, Wang Lu marched forward, step by step. Without him realizing it, the righteous warriors who had surrounded him had vanished entirely, leaving him to traverse the fog in solitude.

The sixth level of the Inner Prison, once used to confine the captured internal-strength masters of the righteous sects.

Crunch... Crunch...

As Wang Lu stepped into the sixth level, the sound of gnawing reached his ears. He ignored it and pressed forward. After a few dozen paces, through the dense mist, he caught sight of several eerie figures.

A few more steps, and the space ahead suddenly opened up. He saw over a dozen "people," their bodies hunched and crawling on the ground. Their skin was a purplish-black, and where their heads should have been, there was only one giant eye and a massive mouth. They were busy devouring the corpses on the floor.

The faces of those corpses were those of the righteous warriors who had accompanied Wang Lu into the Demonic Cult's prison.

"Sss..."

The figures suddenly paused in their feeding.

"Hiss..."

They turned their heads toward Wang Lu, saliva dripping from their mouths, their single giant eyes filled with raw greed.

"Delicious food..."

Their voices were raspy and infused with a demonic malice.

Sizzle...

The saliva hit the floor, corroding the bluestone into deep, smoking holes.

"It's alive!"

Whoosh!

The creatures lunged at Wang Lu with terrifying speed. In the blink of an eye, only blurred afterimages remained where they had stood. Such ferocious velocity was beyond the reaction time of even the most elite internal-strength masters.

Clang! Pfft!

A flash of light passed, and Wang Lu sheathed his longsword.

The dozen creatures froze in their original postures, save for tiny lines of silver light shimmering across their bodies.

Thud!

The pieces of their carcasses slid to the floor.

"The aura of the Demonic Cult's Guardian Vajras..." Wang Lu muttered to himself as he looked at the remains, then continued his march into the depths of the prison.

Hiss, hiss...

After Wang Lu departed, another dozen creatures crawled into the area. Seeing the remains on the floor, their eyes filled with greed, and they pounced upon the meat.

BANG!

Suddenly, a silver light erupted from the remains. Within a radius of several dozen meters, countless sword auras burst forth, obliterating everything in their path.

"The people of the Flying Sword Sect..."

Upon entering the seventh level of the Inner Prison, Wang Lu saw a figure blocking the entrance. Despite the thick, black mist obstructing his vision, Wang Lu clearly recognized the man.

Duan Qianren, the former Demonic Cult Master, the mastermind behind the decree that led to the destruction of the Flying Sword Sect.

"I never imagined that the fallen Flying Sword Sect could produce someone like you. It is truly astonishing."

Duan Qianren’s figure was somewhat translucent. He looked at Wang Lu with a face devoid of joy or sorrow.

Ching.

Sword light flickered on Wang Lu’s blade.

"Your strength has surpassed mine. Even with the Shadow Demon Blade in hand, I would have no certainty of surviving against you. Had you come earlier, you might have truly killed me yourself. Alas..." Duan Qianren shook his head. "You are too late."

Whoosh!

The sword light cut through the black mist and sliced through Duan Qianren’s form. The former master vanished, leaving only the lingering black fog.

Wang Lu continued deeper. He encountered another Demonic Cult Master, the one who had reigned before Duan Qianren. Wang Lu said nothing; he drew his sword, struck, and moved on.

The eighth level of the Inner Prison.

"It has been a long time since I have seen a swordsman as pure as you."

Applause echoed. An elderly man, stooped and leaning on a cast-iron sword, emerged from the mist. Compared to the previous masters, his form was solid, indistinguishable from a living person.

"I once met the founder of your Flying Sword Sect and sparred with him."

"You are much like him in his youth."

"Equally reticent, equally clear-minded, equally obsessed with the sword, and equally..."

The old man droned on, but Wang Lu had already lunged with his blade.

"...heartless."

Clang.

The rusted sword caught Wang Lu’s strike steadily.

"A divine Flying Sword. I haven't seen one in several hundred years. How nostalgic." The old man looked at his blade blocking the strike, a look of reminiscence on his face. "However, there is one thing where you differ from him..."

The old man watched silently as Wang Lu withdrew his sword.

"You are stronger than he was. You have surpassed him."

Clang.

Another clash, and the surrounding black mist was blown away.

"It is a pity. Had you arrived sooner, we might have truly crossed blades. But now, by the time I wake, I fear you will no longer be here."

"Sigh..." The old man heaved a long sigh. "As a senior swordsman, I cannot bear to see a junior fall to something that is not a sword, but there is no help for it..."

Clang.

The third strike.

"This is fate."

The old man looked deeply at Wang Lu, then turned and walked toward the depths of the prison.

"For the sake of your fine swordsmanship, I will give you one final piece of advice: leave this place, and you might live a little longer."

"But if you insist on going deeper..." The old man paused, his figure fading into the distance. "...you will encounter no further obstacles, until you... meet your end."

The mist swallowed the old man, and he vanished entirely.

"I have said all that needs to be said."

Watching the spot where the old man had disappeared, Wang Lu looked at the divine Flying Sword in his hand. Small specks of rust had appeared on the blade, black spots stark against the snow-white steel. For a divine weapon, such rust should have been impossible.

Wang Lu ran his hand over the blade. Where his palm passed, the rust spots were easily wiped away, as if they were mere dirt.

Wang Lu stood in silence for a moment, then resumed his pace, heading into the deepest reaches of the prison. His figure faded into the mist.

At the same time, at the entrance of the Inner Prison:

"Is there any news from the Alliance Leader?" the members of the righteous coalition guarding the entrance asked one another.

"Not yet." The other shook his head.

Though there was no word from Wang Lu, they felt no anxiety. After all, Wang Lu had led them to flatten the lair of the Demonic Cult, achieving a feat the righteous path had not dared to dream of for centuries. They regarded Wang Lu as a god and could not conceive of him suffering any failure or accident.

They were merely mopping up the remnants of the cult—how could anything go wrong? Many were already beginning to celebrate the fall of the Demonic Cult, the malignant tumor that had plagued the martial arts world for centuries, finally being excised.

"What are those?"

Just as the people were waiting patiently, one man pointed toward the entrance of the Inner Prison.

A thin, black mist was beginning to pour out from the depths.