Chapter Sixty: The Bell of Ten Thousand Demons

Thunder rumbled!

A thick cloud of dust nearly blotted out the entire sky, and even those warriors who had retreated a hundred miles away still felt lingering fear. They could clearly sense the violent power surging within the swirling dust. Such a force, as if a flood or savage beast, had long surpassed anything a Spirit Qi Realm cultivator could endure. It was no exaggeration to say that a warrior at the ninth level of the Spirit Qi Realm would be utterly annihilated if they entered.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted from the shrouding dust, so loud it shook the heavens. In the next instant, a pillar of black light pierced the haze, shooting straight into the firmament. Its inky darkness radiated an overbearing might that filled countless warriors with terror, making their hearts tremble.

“Demon Blade, Annihilate the World!”

From the heart of the black pillar, Yang Li’s hoarse voice grated out, like the creaking of a broken windmill. Within the pillar, the shadow of a colossal demonic blade gradually took solid form. The black blade buzzed—its sound was the roar of an abyssal demon king, resonating with a soul-shaking power. In a flash, a myriad of blade lights tore through the dust that had blanketed the entire mountain pass.

Only now did the crowd, watching from a hundred miles away, finally see what was happening. On a jutting boulder, Yang Li stood like a divine spear, proud and unyielding, the surrounding rocks all shattered to fragments. Overhead, the black demonic blade vibrated with an unceasing clangor, and with every resonance, another crack appeared in the void around it.

“Sever!”

As the black blade descended, the heavens themselves seemed to darken, and the blade’s inky glow looked as if it might cleave the sky in two. Beneath the sky, Luo Hao’s expression was grave, his eyes narrowed. The black demonic blade was overwhelmingly tyrannical, as if it could sweep away all that stood before it.

Vast swathes of empty space were reduced to chaos beneath the blade’s darkness, as though the world had been returned to its primordial state. For a moment, the black blade seemed to rule all of creation. The sky felt oppressively low, and Luo Hao sensed as if the very heavens above his head might collapse. Even the warriors watching from afar, if their cultivation was not high, found it hard to breathe.

Gazing intently at the black demonic blade, crackling with demonic power, the yellow-robed middle-aged man from the Western Yue Hills wore a look of utmost solemnity. In a low voice, he spoke, “Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods.”

As the man’s words fell, Xue Yue of the Limitless Sword Sect’s pupils contracted in shock, a cry breaking from his lips, horror flooding his eyes. Most of the warriors beside them, however, remained bewildered.

Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods—a name the younger generation barely remembered, but for the elders and their forebears, it was unforgettable, etched deep into memory.

“It is said that the Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods was created by a mighty demon in the recent ancient past. This technique was so tyrannical that it could destroy gods and exterminate devils. When the technique was perfected, a thunder tribulation descended from the heavens, a calamity not seen since antiquity. A billion lightning strikes crashed down, trying to erase this technique, but failed.”

“Thousands of years ago, that ancient demon wielded this blade art to rampage across the heavens. The blood clan, the bone clan, the god clan—countless mighty beings fell beneath its edge.”

“Legend has it that the Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods, once unleashed, would turn its wielder into a killing machine. Even the demon who created it could not escape its curse, eventually drawing the ire of all the great clans and dying under their united assault.”

“And so the Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods vanished, lost to the world—until today, when, after millennia, this slaughtering blade has resurfaced.” The yellow-robed man from the Western Yue Hills explained, his voice tinged with sighs. With its return, the world would surely see a new era of carnage.

Though far away, Luo Hao had heard every word clearly. He had never imagined that the black demonic blade had such an origin, tied to an ancient demonic mighty one. Yet, Luo Hao only snorted coldly in his heart: “Demon blade or god-slayer, whoever crosses me will see both blade and wielder destroyed.”

Facing the black blade’s descending arc, capable of slicing the sky in half, a battle intent as fierce as wildfire blazed within Luo Hao. In his dantian, the indistinct spirit infant at his brow glimmered with a faint golden mark—a character for ‘war’—responding to his fighting spirit.

“Ha!”

A golden fist struck out, boundless draconic power surging forth like a flood. Amidst the roar of dragons and tigers, under countless awestruck gazes, Luo Hao’s golden fist collided with the black demonic blade’s light, the two clashing ferociously across the void.

Boom!

In that instant, endless black blade energy surged, forming a boiling ocean of darkness. Within it, countless fierce ghosts with wild, tangled hair appeared—howling, struggling. These were the obsessions of those once slain by the Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods. Many wore ancient, unrecognizable garb, but all had been peerless powerhouses in their time.

“To think Yang Li has taken the Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods to such a realm, able to summon the spirits of heroes slain by this blade across the ages,” murmured the yellow-robed man from the Western Yue Hills, lips pressed together, his expression bleak.

“Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods! Boy, give me your life!” Yang Li roared, his black hair flying, eyes wild and crazed like a newly awakened ancient fiend. His menacing face twisted, and his gaze locked onto Luo Hao as if to devour him alive.

In the face of Yang Li’s madness, Luo Hao appeared solemn, his heart uncannily calm, as if nothing in this world could stir him.

He calmly lifted his gaze to meet Yang Li’s icy stare and said, “You think a madman who’s lost his mind can take my life? Impossible.”

As his words fell, Luo Hao’s palm was instantly enveloped in pure gold. He thrust his golden hand forward, and in that moment, heaven and earth trembled. From his hand, endless golden divine radiance erupted, transforming into ancient scrolls. Within those scrolls, countless ancestors worshipped, ancient chants filled the air, eternal wills awakened, and the clangor of battle songs rang out.

“Rend the Heavens!”

His shout was like the roar of an ancient forebear fighting for his life against the sky. Mystical patterns shone from the golden palm—at this moment, Luo Hao had pushed his Heaven-Rending Hand technique to its utmost limit.

This ancient human battle art resonated with primordial will, its might earth-shattering. All of Heaven’s Ancient Land seemed to empower him. The Demon Blade, Slaughtering the Gods, created by a mighty demon, was a killing art of unmatched tyranny—slaying gods, slaying buddhas, nothing could withstand it.

Now, these two terrifying combat arts, separated by the ages, clashed. The golden palm’s divine glow surged like a tidal wave unseen in eons. The black demonic blade, invincible, shook the heavens—Yang Li raged like a demon reborn.

Before countless shocked eyes, the black blade rang out, the golden palm shone with unrivaled brilliance, and thunderous roars tore through the sky. Gold and black collided as if two ancient worlds crashed together.

With the fierce confrontation between the golden palm and the black demonic blade, terrifying shockwaves radiated in all directions. The force was enough to annihilate any warrior below the Blood Gathering Realm in an instant.

Gold and black energies exploded, blinding light bursting forth so intense none could keep their eyes open. Those of lesser strength fell unconscious in the glare.

Within the terrifying storm, all life on the mountain road and within dozens of miles was destroyed—boulders turned to dust, all vegetation erased.

Amid this devastation, Luo Hao’s body was hurled away, hair disheveled, blood at his lips, his form driven deep into a distant mountainside, leaving a massive, human-shaped crater.

Ding—ding—ding—ding...

As Luo Hao was crushed into the mountainside, the heart of the black blade’s explosion where Yang Li stood suddenly rang with a melodious chime. A strange and noble purple radiance pierced the gold and black light, and as the stunned crowd looked on, a tiny purple bell, no bigger than a palm, revealed its clear outline.

“The... the Myriad Demon Bell!” Suddenly, the yellow-robed man from the Western Yue Hills opened his eyes wide and cried out in shock. Beneath his robe, his clenched fists trembled uncontrollably, and the steadiness in his gaze was replaced by a hatred that ran bone-deep.