Frostblade Demonic Sword Technique

A pile of storage pouches lay before him, gleaming with spiritual light, each one a different hue. Every pouch was sealed with restrictive spells; to break them all open would require more than a day’s effort.

Pang Yue divided the pouches into two groups.

The larger pile belonged to the ordinary inner disciples of the Harmony Sect, True Yang Sect, and Heavenly Sea Sect. The contents were likely nothing remarkable, but quantity made up for quality—it should amount to a fair number of spirit stones.

The other pile held only three pouches, left behind by Zhou Wuchou of the True Yang Sect, the Chu family woman from the Heavenly Sea Sect, and Shen Tuhao of the True Yang Sect.

These three were all elite disciples, each powerful and well-connected. Their pouches no doubt contained treasures aplenty. That Chu woman from the Heavenly Sea Sect alone had yielded a pair of jade bangle artifacts.

“It would be better to wait until I return to the sect before dismantling them,” Pang Yue mused.

Another gain was the hundreds of Ice Soul Snow Lotuses he had harvested from the mysterious Buddhist grotto.

These lotuses possessed extraordinary effects for enhancing mana, especially the one of saintly quality—a treasure beyond price. Pang Yue had already decided to save that Saint Lotus for when he attempted to break through to the seventh stage of the Dao Foundation.

As for the rest, he estimated that with just thirty or so, he could reach the perfection of the sixth stage.

The third harvest was the corpse of that Golden Core-level Frost Fiend!

Ever since he began cultivating the Netherwhite Bone Scripture, Pang Yue had become obsessed with collecting the remains of high-level monsters and cultivators.

To increase the power of the White Bone Relics, he required a steady supply of bones.

And finally, there was the legacy of the Nine Nether Demon Sect.

The Ice Soul Thunderforce needed no further mention; if cultivated to mastery, it held the power to annihilate worlds.

But most crucial was the Ten Directions Frozen Demon Path.

With the help of the Primal Infinity Stele, Pang Yue had managed to bring it out in its entirety.

This method could be used to cultivate the Divine Ice Soul Radiance, unleashing beams of chilling light with unmatched offensive might.

Furthermore, within the Ten Directions Frozen Demon Path was a sword technique called the Icy Demon Intent Sword Art.

This sword art was profound and mysterious, the likes of which Pang Yue had never encountered. Its sword intent soared to the heavens and touched the earth, as if one with the world itself.

The swordplay was so exquisite as to be nearly unanswerable; each move was perfect, without flaw.

Even with Pang Yue’s transcendent understanding of the sword, he could only marvel.

It was as close to perfection as could be.

...

Inside an ancient abode.

A grand formation enveloped a stone coffin, and a purple-gold kasaya hovered above, radiating boundless Buddhist light.

With the power of the formation, the Buddhist light ceaselessly scoured the restrictions on the coffin.

Linghu Ming and the other four from Mystery Isle stood on one side of the formation, maintaining its operation.

As the black light of the restriction on the coffin was gradually worn away, all five faces filled with delight.

Crack!

At last, the final layer of restriction dissolved in the Buddhist light.

The five let out a collective sigh of relief and withdrew the formation.

“Be cautious, junior brothers,” the man in azure robes reminded.

For reasons he could not name, a sense of unease gnawed at him.

The existence of a Buddhist treasure here was something Mystery Isle had discovered from clues in another ancient ruin, confirmed by the divinations of a Golden Core master.

This Buddhist treasure was of the seventh rank; once revealed, it would profoundly shift the balance of power in the Eastern Sea’s cultivation world.

With it, Mystery Isle’s foundation would be strengthened, allowing them to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Demon Talisman Sect, Harmony Sect, True Yang Sect, and Heavenly Sea Sect.

Had it not been that the presence of a Golden Core cultivator in this primeval secret realm would shatter space itself, this task would never have fallen to these five.

Linghu Ming and the others nodded, their heartbeats quickening.

A seventh-rank artifact—what kind of majesty would that possess?

Now, they were but one step away.

“Junior Brother Linghu, you do it,” the azure-robed man said, glancing at Linghu Ming.

Linghu Ming nodded, forming hand seals. Before him, countless black butterflies swirled, coalescing into a human figure—his puppet avatar.

The avatar approached the stone coffin and, with a gentle push, slid the lid open.

He froze, a look of confusion on his face.

“Junior Brother Linghu?” the azure-robed man asked warily, his mana surging in preparation.

“It’s nothing. I was just… surprised,” the avatar replied.

He bent over and withdrew a Buddhist lamp from within the coffin, turning to show the others.

“This is the seventh-rank treasure?”

The bronze lamp was mottled with rust, utterly unremarkable, without the slightest trace of spiritual energy—just an ordinary object by all appearances.

The five stared in disbelief at the lamp in the avatar’s hand.

After decades of effort, and sacrificing their chance to explore the secret realm, had Mystery Isle gained nothing but this battered lamp?

“Perhaps… a divine artifact conceals its own brilliance,” the azure-robed man said.

“Look, there’s oil in it,” Linghu Ming pointed out.

“Let’s light it and see,” the azure-robed man said gravely. As the eldest brother, he had to confirm their success.

A wisp of flame appeared in the avatar’s hand and touched the lamp.

The lamp, which had lain dark for untold years, quietly flickered to life.

Its flame was as small as a bean.

Beneath the lamp’s glow, a sense of serenity and peace permeated the air.

“I still see nothing wondrous—” one disciple began, but his words were cut off as a sudden change occurred.

A thread of black light flashed from the lamp and darted into Linghu Ming’s forehead.

His protective spiritual light was powerless to stop it.

“No! Possession! Junior Brother Linghu, guard your soul!” the azure-robed man shouted.

Black light flickered at Linghu Ming’s brow, then slowly faded.

He stood motionless for a moment before his expression changed.

A gentle smile spread across his face as he spoke in a slow, measured tone, “Amitabha. Many thanks, benefactors, for aiding this poor monk’s release.”

The azure-robed man stared at him, gathering his power, and demanded, “Who are you?”

“I am Hui Ding, merely a defrocked monk.”

Linghu Ming’s hair all fell away, revealing a bare scalp.

“Fellow Daoist Lu Shaoyu, my apologies for occupying your junior brother’s body. I beg your pardon,” Hui Ding said, palms pressed together.

Suddenly, black mist surged from his body and spread outward.

“Attack!” Lu Shaoyu shouted, a burst of golden light slashing toward Hui Ding.

The other three attacked as well.

Within the dense black mist, Hui Ding stood holding the Buddhist lamp, his face serene and merciful.

All four attacks vanished the instant they touched the lamp’s light.

“This treasure is indeed a seventh-rank artifact, called the Pure Glazed Lamp. It is untouched by all laws,” Hui Ding explained calmly.

Lu Shaoyu, in his azure robe, unleashed his full power, manifesting a giant golden hand that grasped at Hui Ding.

Within the Frozen Abyss, he considered himself second only to Shen Tuhao and Ye Xue, nearly invincible beneath the Golden Core realm.

“You’ve only just taken possession—how much power can you muster to wield this artifact?”

The golden hand descended on the lamp’s light and was instantly dissolved, as if never there.

The hand, capable of shattering mountains, simply vanished without a trace.

Hui Ding only smiled, unmoving.

Suddenly, black mist enveloped the other three from Mystery Isle, seeping into their bodies through every orifice.

“No!” Lu Shaoyu realized with alarm as his own protective aura was eroded by the mist.

Within a few breaths, the three disciples were completely engulfed.

Soon after, the mist dispersed, and the three emerged, all wearing identical smiles.

In unison, they said, “Fellow Daoist Lu, there’s no need to struggle. You should submit to this humble monk.”

Lu Shaoyu’s eyes narrowed. In that instant, a thunderclap seemed to ring in his mind, recalling a certain demonic cultivation method.

“The Myriad Transformations of the Heavenly Demon!”

As panic gripped his heart, a surge of black mist broke through his defenses, rushing toward his senses.

He hastily formed seals, golden light erupting around him, a sacred golden armor appearing to hold back the mist.

“Impressive, Fellow Daoist Lu. I am surprised that after all these years, someone still remembers that technique,” Hui Ding said with a gentle smile.