Chapter Sixty-Two: Discovered

Sitting quietly to the side, Xu Cheng waited for the others to finish their matches.

After a while, the cultivator of Martial Imprint Realm whom Xu Cheng had previously knocked off the platform stepped onto another stage. The person already on that stage had just defeated someone else. Turning around, he caught sight of the very opponent he least wished to face and, without hesitation, voluntarily left the stage.

By now, the competition was drawing to a close, and there were hardly any cultivators left in this small town.

The judge from the Grand Xia Dynasty called out loudly, “Is there no one else to step onto the platform?”

His words were met with silence; no one advanced, only the quiet fall of snow could be heard.

It seemed that all who were able to come had already arrived.

“Very well, then the selection ends here. Gentlemen, please follow me!” the judge continued.

Everyone leaped down from the platform and followed the judge as he led the way. The group crossed the streets, entered the official residence, and proceeded to the rear courtyard.

There, two figures sat upright and solemn. Xu Cheng, sensing carefully, found himself unable to discern their strength. Could there truly be Primordial Spirit Realm masters in such a remote town?

Xu Cheng thought to himself, “That’s impossible!”

One of those present bowed respectfully to the two at the head, then addressed Xu Cheng and the others: “From this day forth, you are cultivators of the Grand Xia Dynasty. Each of you will be granted a residence and a monthly stipend of thirty taels of silver! And of course, should you slay any major criminal of the court, there will be even greater rewards!”

To put it into perspective, if one were frugal, thirty taels of silver could feed a family of five for an entire year, with plenty left for meat and other delicacies. Thirty taels a month meant one could feast daily and still have enough to indulge in the pleasures of the brothel from time to time.

No wonder everyone around looked so delighted.

Yet Xu Cheng’s attention remained fixed on the two at the high seat. Part of him was convinced they were Primordial Spirit Realm experts, yet the idea seemed utterly preposterous. No matter how deep the foundations of the Grand Xia Dynasty, could there really be Primordial Spirit cultivators everywhere? Such a master could found a sect of their own—why would they willingly serve the court?

As he pondered, the one to the left suddenly opened his eyes. Black streams of energy materialized in the air, sweeping over everyone present.

Xu Cheng saw it clearly: on the bodies of those around him, black lotus-shaped marks appeared—some on the neck, some on the legs, some on the hands—identical to the mark he once bore on his palm.

He thought to himself, “It’s the Soul-Binding Demonic Seal!”

“How now, young brother of the Five Elements Daoist Sect, still so calm?” the figure above suddenly rose, a phantom lotus several fathoms tall blooming behind him.

“So, I’d already been discovered!” Xu Cheng said coldly.

“Indeed. Had you acted earlier, perhaps you might have escaped, but now—Soul-Binding Command, seize their spirits!” the man shouted.

The black marks on those around them turned from black to red, their bodies began to smoke, and their eyes glowed as if filled with molten lava. One by one, they were reduced to ashes. The demonic brands retracted into the hands of the one above.

Only Xu Cheng remained, momentarily stunned.

He was, after all, a denizen of the Netherworld; by rights, he was a master of soul arts—what was this Blackwater Sect compared to him?

The man couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you unharmed?”

“What do you think?” Xu Cheng replied, removing the still-warm demonic mark from behind himself and swallowing it as if nothing had happened.

“Old Li, your Soul-Binding Command is useless! You can’t even handle a mere Dao-Forge cultivator!” The other man suddenly stood up, and at that instant, a hurricane as fierce as a level-nine blizzard seemed to whip through the space around Xu Cheng.

“Two Primordial Spirit Realm experts!” Xu Cheng thought, secretly uneasy despite his nearly indestructible body.

If they struck again, his death would be certain. Better to strike first! At that thought, Xu Cheng stomped the ground sharply.

From beneath him burst forth a pitch-black dragon, a monstrous creature conjured by Netherworld arts. Grabbing both horns, Xu Cheng smashed through the storm and soared into the air.

But the two Primordial Spirit cultivators stepped forward as one, blocking his path front and back.

“Still trying to escape? Stay where you are!” one said coldly.

Xu Cheng grasped the dragon’s horns and charged higher.

But behind him, a chilling blade of energy swept forth, severing the dragon’s tail and continuing to slice upward.

If he kept ascending, he’d be split in two by that force. Hurriedly leaping aside, Xu Cheng narrowly avoided the attack.

Harnessing his wind-riding technique, he’d barely caught his breath when the two appeared at his side. A colossal lotus materialized above him, followed by an enormous palm shadow.

Under that crushing pressure, Xu Cheng plummeted and landed hard upon the ground.

His Five Elements Creation Technique operated madly, forming a brilliant shield about him, just barely fending off the black lotus’s suppression.

But the massive palm shadow remained.

With a thunderous crash, Xu Cheng was driven into the earth by the palm.

Strangely enough, despite the heavy blow, all his disguises were stripped away, yet the coffin beneath him remained largely intact.

The two Primordial Spirit masters landed. One said to the other, “Brother Li, you may use the Soul-Binding Command now. This little fellow is certainly troublesome, but how could the two of us fail to subdue him together?”

As he spoke, Xu Cheng resumed his original appearance. Since they would not let him go, then he would fight!

Chains of Netherflame suddenly appeared, winding about the legs of the two just as they were boasting to each other.

But that was not all. Ghostly arts surged forth, black-red threads of blood riding the Netherflame chains toward the pair.

“He’s still alive!” Li, the cultivator, frowned and his gaze sharpened. A blade scar appeared in midair, shattering Xu Cheng’s chains.

He quickly retreated several steps, dodging the blood threads that followed.

The two evaded Xu Cheng’s ambush. “Brother Zhang, be careful! Ghostly arts! No wonder my Demonic Seal was useless. To think he survived our combined attack—he must be a most uncommon ghost cultivator!”

“Ghost arts or not, it makes no difference! Prison-Suppressing Divine Fist!”

It was a humiliation not to have destroyed Xu Cheng in an instant. With hair bristling, he unleashed his full might. In the air, a huge golden fist appeared, with countless wailing ghosts before it.

Worthy of its name, the Prison-Suppressing Divine Fist was designed to suppress hell and all evil spirits.

Facing such an attack, Xu Cheng’s mind was flooded with hallucinations—imps grinding human flesh, others roasting and broiling it.

In the blink of an eye, he stilled his mind. With the Ghost-Eye technique, his eyes turned pitch-black, resisting the fist’s assault on his soul.

He wrapped himself in the Netherflame chains, cocooning his body.

Yet the golden fist still shattered his defenses, sending him flying, crashing through the walls of the official residence and out onto the main street.

At this point, Xu Cheng was in a wretched state, but without stopping, he activated his Shadowstride technique and sped toward the outskirts of the town.