The Bald Old Demon, being a Demonic Cultivator of Hua Dan stage, had a wealth of combat experience. From those three disciples being killed in an instant and the few traces left behind, he could discern that Zhang Yan was capable of wielding a Flying Sword.
But that wasn’t all—Zhang Yan, clearly capable of hiding his form to evade detection, had chosen not to conceal himself. Instead, he emerged to hunt down those disciples. From this alone, it was evident that he was bold and fearless, yet adaptive and resourceful. Such individuals were the hardest to deal with. Unless the Bald Old Demon gathered all his puppets in one place, they would sooner or later be picked off one by one.
The Bald Old Demon was now certain that the token controlling the Prohibition must be in Zhang Yan’s hands. Always highly confident, he was frustrated that his encounter with Zhang Yan tonight had been anything but smooth. He let out a cold snort and said, "Junior, I, the Ancestor, will lower myself today and personally use this sect’s spell to engage you."
That spell, recorded in an incomplete volume, was a secret technique that could temporarily boost cultivation by one or two levels for the disciple to whom he had attached his Heart and Spirit. Simultaneously, it created a "Purgatory Xuan Light" to substitute for him in combat.
Of course, the Demon Sect prized plunder and slaughter, and the source of this boosted Cultivation certainly wouldn’t come from nowhere—it had to be extracted from elsewhere.
He immediately sent out a summons from his Heart and Spirit. The disciples, who had previously been rampaging, received his command and flew toward a single location.
Mo Tianhua had been cultivating in a dwelling previously occupied by Demon Cultivators. However, every time he recalled the scene of being struck to the ground by Zhang Yan and mocked by onlookers, his face burned with shame and he felt utterly humiliated. His fists clenched, trembling with suppressed rage. Zhang Yan’s look of utter disregard for him deeply embittered him.
While he was contemplating ways to exact revenge, three fellow disciples suddenly barged in without warning and launched an attack without a single word.
Each of these three had Cultivation levels no weaker than his own. Caught off guard, Mo Tianhua was gravely injured in a mere blink. Having believed himself doomed, he was astonished when the three attackers, just as they were about to finish him off, suddenly paused as if frozen. Without a sound, they turned into tunneling light, broke through the roof, and vanished in an instant.
Zhang Yan was also in pursuit of two disciples whose Divine Souls had been confused. Yet before he had the chance to act, those two abruptly took to the skies, fleeing as tunneling light. At the same time, several other streaks of sword light—eight or nine in total—could be seen converging toward one location. With a brief moment of contemplation, Zhang Yan realized the hidden puppet master had likely caught wind of his plan to pick off individuals and had gathered them all together as a countermeasure.
He smirked coldly, choosing not to give chase. Instead, with a leap, he ascended into the skies. As he approached the Prohibition, he activated a spell in his heart without hesitation, passing through unhindered to the clouds above.
He steadied himself, drew out paper and brush from his Sleeve Bag, and quickly documented the various situations here. Then, he retrieved the Xiaoze Golden Sword, sealed it within a letter, and struck its base with his palm. A faint streak of golden light then shot off toward the direction of the Mingcang Sect.
Meanwhile, beneath on Bamboo Island, the fifteen disciples originally controlled by the Bald Old Demon had been reduced by Zhang Yan to twelve, now standing together in silence, motionless like wooden stakes.
The disciple attached by the Bald Old Demon’s Heart and Spirit was at this moment seated cross-legged, performing strange gestures with his hands. Above his head surged a pale blue Xuan Guang, but shortly after, it transformed into an unsteady mass of black-red firelight. A ghostly green shimmer flickered in his pupils.
By now, this disciple had been entirely taken over by the Bald Old Ancestor, and all sensations were shared in unison. This body could be considered his avatar, and if it were destroyed, it would cost him decades of Cultivation progress.
The Bald Old Ancestor let out a sinister laugh, shaking his robes as he stood. Stretching his hand, he seized one of the motionless disciples, opened his mouth, and inhaled, extracting a stream of Essence Blood to refine within his body.
After consuming it, he tossed aside the shriveled husk before grabbing another disciple and once again draining them dry.
Having absorbed the Essence Blood of two individuals, he reached out to grab his next target, but to his shock, the disciple unexpectedly collapsed into a pile of ashes without a sound.
Stunned, he froze momentarily, but before he could react, an indescribable sensation flooded his being—a bliss so overwhelming it felt as if he had consumed some divine Spirit Pill, rendering him euphoric and weightless.
Deliberating in silence, he realized something peculiar: his Divine Soul seemed to have spontaneously strengthened by a small degree.