Nine Venoms Sect Founder

"This is obviously a trap, and yet I must jump in," Sangar reasoned as he led the strongest nine of his sect elders toward the Vermilion Brides' Domain. In the past, Sangar didn't believe the Vermilion Brides could cause him serious harm. But when, in a Second Range clash, he witnessed the fall of an expert three levels above him at Gulseni's hands, he quickly changed his tune. In usual circumstances, that woman wasn't his match. But once she unleashed her Yang Sealing Chains, even running for his life was no longer an option.

Rushing straight into the wolf's den was no doubt unwise. But in a clash between celestials, every second mattered. If he paused to contact his allies, the die was cast. At the same time, he couldn't expose his link to the Soul Refining Hall just to cover for his mistakes. Wronged. In his over 3,000 years of life, Sangar had never felt as wronged as he did today.

"If push comes to shove, I can just use the Self-Immolating Art. But if that man's cultivation base is far above mine..." Sangar pondered the possibility. With three elders still controlling the headquarters, should all else fail, his forces would merge with the Soul Refining Hall and carry out the task. His resolve renewed, Sangar gritted his teeth, and raced faster at the escaping Karmic Threads.

The Birusk clan's entrance forest appeared in his sight, and Sangar sent his nine elders a mental message, "Remember, the goal is to destroy the evidence, not to engage in a senseless fight. If we can avoid a confrontation, do not target those vix..." As Sangar reminded the sect elders of the operation's aim, the group flew past the forest's entrance, and a colossal surge of spiritual energy slammed into them all. Going from a dry and stifling atmosphere to an earthly paradise, a cultivator's dreamland, they lost themselves. Sangar's eyes stretched to impossible lengths, and the scene choked the words in his throat.

Never in his life had he experienced such a level of purity. Though transforming Spiritual into Heavenly Qi created some losses, with Qi of this level, why would that matter? Subconsciously, he let his lips form a broad smile, but in that instant, failed to inspect his surroundings. Dark-purple lightning shot out of Sangar's left, slamming right into the Immolation Blades' Sect Master.

This was Mukri's ability, mastered after 15 years of cultivating his Devil Essence. Whoever suffered that lightning strike would experience a minor Heavenly Tribulation. Black clouds formed above a dazed Sangar's head, unleashing dozens of blue lightning bolts on the old cultivator.

"Life often plays such sick jokes on us. One moment, you believe you found the gate to the true heaven, the next, hell hugs you tight," Sangar whispered, realizing the ploy. Clearly, the "buffoon" he inwardly scorned had prepared several traps to dispose of him, and never once planned to expose the evidence. Perhaps just like him, he couldn't afford to have Gods descend on the First Range. Perhaps he was just that spiteful of a man, and wished to end him flashily? None of that mattered now.

Letting out a shrill cry, Sangar assumed his true form, becoming a massive Blood Crow whose feathers glittered in red flames. Surrounding himself in a red sun ball, Sangar challenged the blue tribulation lightning. But when the first bolt smashed into his defenses, sending shivers straight into his soul, a gargantuan serpent tail tore its way out of the ground, and clobbered Sangar's sun ball!

BANG!

All his skills, strength and desire to survive shattered on the spot! Reeling back from the impact, Sangar flew in-between nearby trees, and even when the shadow of a colossal clawed serpent loomed over his collapsing figure, Sangar couldn't form a coherent response. In that single tail strike he saw a gap that willpower and brain couldn't transcend—the might of a late-stage Celestial Knight.

"Sect Master!" The elders roared and rushed to Sangar's aid. But with their cultivation hovering between the sixth and ninth level of the Celestial Guard Realm, to say nothing of the serpent, they couldn't even resist Mukri. The Emissary Bull became a meteor of raging purple flames and sharpened earth spikes as he crashed into the elders, goring, charing and riving them all with remarkable ease!

The World Devouring Serpent's cold and oppressive green hues nailed Sangar, its maw opened wide, and boundless suction force wrapped the sect master—swallowing him whole! The Serpent devoured Sangar's bloodline strength, his energy, skills and knowledge—transferring the knowledge part to Harun.

…

In the mountains north of the Dark Stone Capital, the Soul Refining Hall stood tall, with over 1,000 disciples whose cultivation bases and skills few could appraise. Twenty-two orreries floated above the inner sect, each housing an elder and revolving around a twenty-third orrery where the sect master, the Weeping Soul Reverend, cultivated between false planets and astral bodies.

The Weeping Soul Reverend trembled, and a mental message echoed in his mind, "Reverend, the Immolation Blade Sect Master is dead."

For a second, the Weeping Soul Reverend said nothing. His blind eyes, as always, remained shut close, and with a forced smile, he replied:

"I suppose that death is the reward for incompetence. Annex the Immolation Blades. The Dark Stone Country operation carries on as usual."

"Should we track down the murderer's identity?"

"Murder? How spiteful. In the cultivation world, there is no murderer. Only success and failure. Aren't we all murderers? If you start judging them, who will judge us? A divination attempt on experts able to kill Sangar isn't what you can accomplish. Even for me, the price won't be cheap. Crippling myself to find Sangar's killer is at best unsound, and that's only assuming they don't have their own defense measures. We need our full strength to refine the Abyssal River and occupy the Obsidian Soul Stone mine.

Dispatch disciples to observe the Dark Stone Capital and its surroundings. Remain alert. They will show up, and should they stand in our way for the Truth, they will die all the same," the Weeping Soul Reverend said with a gentle smile. At his back, a 99 meters tall gray redwood stood, with weeping-faces-shaped fruits crowding all branches.

A pair of eyes opened in the tree's middle, rippling with an eerie, baleful force.

The Weeping Soul Reverend lowered his face, and a single tear dropped from his left eye.