Chapter Seventy-Seven: The King's Terror

The white-haired elder, using the last of his strength, shouted a warning to the other cultivators, urging them not to approach. Though these cultivators were not particularly powerful—still far from becoming top grandmasters on par with Li Jiang—there was no denying that, during the years when the Eight Sacred Lands remained sealed away, they were the hope for the future of the cultivator civilization.

He himself had long since stepped into the ranks of the grandmasters, his mastery profound, possessing the ability to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. Yet his lifespan, too, had reached its end; even if he survived this ordeal, he would not live much longer. The Dao might defy fate and even extend life, but everything has its limits. Even for one as powerful as he, joining the ranks of grandmasters merely forced an extension of fifty years; all told, his life was lengthened by no more than eighty. Eighty years—his road had already come to its end.

But those ordinary cultivators were different. They were still in the prime of youth, with a long, bright future ahead. They were full of vigor and limitless possibilities awaited them.

Yet, without the support of Dao force, his voice was too faint; the moment he spoke, it was drowned out by the clamor of the other cultivators.

“Wretched beast, courting death!” The handsome youth moved first, his entire body like an incomparably sharp sword, aura bursting forth as he charged directly toward the spot where the white-haired elder stood.

Though the black wooden spear was gone from his hands, his fists remained, wrapped in Dao force, still possessing unbreakable might.

What’s more, he still held the giant beast’s fang once wielded by the Ancestor of Chi.

That fragment, taken from the body of some unknown creature, had grown exceedingly sinister and bizarre after centuries steeped in blood. Its sharpness was impossible to ignore!

A deep roar sounded.

Facing the rapidly approaching youth, the King of Sphinxes let out a low growl, its entire body exuding a deadly menace like a surging flood, yet it did not strike. In its eyes, this scrawny morsel was far from worthy of its personal attention.

“Lord Ya… You… none of you are a match for it! Run, quickly! This is the newborn king you spoke of!” the white-haired elder cried.

“Honored elder, as cultivators, even in death, we must never retreat,” the handsome youth answered solemnly.

As the first to suspect the birth of a king among the monster horde, he immediately recognized the identity of this jet-black creature. But now, there was no longer any way out. These monsters viewed them only as prey—how could they possibly let them escape?

In terms of speed, not even he could match the monsters, let alone the other ordinary cultivators.

Escape was impossible. Rather than flee, it was better to fight to the last, to force a desperate struggle!

“The idea isn’t wrong, but I fear you’re the small fish and they’re the shark net,” Fang Zhuowei mused to himself as he observed the microcosm within the fish tank.

Still, though he thought this way, he did not disapprove of the young man’s decision. Indeed, as the youth believed, even if they tried to flee, they could never outrun those pallid, twice-evolved spore entities.

The pallid, twice-evolved spore creatures now possessed strength surpassing the top grandmasters among the ancient apes. Moreover, they had the natural advantages of claws, fangs, and tough hides. By every measure, these cultivators had little hope of escape.

With no retreat, there was nothing left but to fight.

Even facing death, they would do so with dignity and defiance.

Before the capital of Zhongli.

The young man gripped the giant beast’s fang and leapt, landing straight atop the high wall.

All around, monsters covered in patches of black fur rushed at him, jaws agape.

The air was thick with the stench of blood.

“Kill!” the young man bellowed, spinning the beast’s fang in his hand like a whirling disc of teeth.

Sparks flew as the first clash erupted in an instant.

Even after countless years, the terror of the beast’s fang had not diminished. Soaked for centuries in fresh blood, this peerless weapon, once wielded by the Ancestor of Chi in the final age of chaos, again revealed its dreadful power.

Where its edge swept, even those spore monsters who had half-stepped into their second evolution could not withstand it; deep, bone-revealing wounds were carved into them at once, flesh torn and bloodied.

This sight reinvigorated the ordinary cultivators nearby, filling them with awe and hope.

The Sphinx King moved.

Sensing a force from the beast’s fang that made even it uneasy, the king’s instincts screamed: this scrawny morsel must be eliminated immediately.

The Sphinx King struck with ruthless speed, its black fur billowing like a massive cloak.

“Excellent!” the youth cried, emboldened by his initial success and with renewed faith in the fang’s edge. No wonder it was the weapon the Ancestor of Chi wielded all his life—a matchless blade!

A resounding clang rang out in the air, like steel upon steel.

In the next moment, the two figures were forced back in quick succession.

The Sphinx King retreated three steps, a length of its black fur sheared clean off, drifting to the ground in the cold wind.

The young man staggered back more than ten steps, nearly falling from the wall. His palm split open from the shock, blood streaming forth in a vivid red.

Even with the beast’s fang, he was helpless before a fully twice-evolved Sphinx King. Against such a chasm of power, external tools were pitiful and laughable.

The Sphinx King roared in fury, its face twisted with rage. It had noticed a length of its black fur had been severed—a matter not only of appearance but a symbol of its strength.

Enraged, the Sphinx King charged again, holding nothing back. Its bone wings unfurled behind it, sharp as blades, slashing straight for the young man.

With a sickening sound, the Sphinx King moved even faster, its massive wings cleaving through the air like thunder.

Such speed—so fast that even with all his focus, the young man could not react in time. Let alone him, even ordinary people might not have caught the movement with the naked eye.

The Sphinx King’s attack was blinding; when it landed, it was already on the young man’s other side.

A brittle crack sounded in the chill, damp air—a noise like snapping branches.

A heavy thud followed.

On the city wall, the upper half of the handsome youth’s body slid off and fell.

His eyes were wide, and even in death, he had not understood what had happened.

In an instant, blood geysered forth like a fountain…