Chapter 61: A Sword Flies Forth, Head and Body Part Ways

Nanlu continued onward, heading toward the central region of the earth where the Buzhou Mountain stood. The Zhaoyan Tribe had come from that direction, but theirs was not the closest tribe to Buzhou Mountain—only one of the outer tribes. Otherwise, how could they have migrated to the Yangping clan’s territory in just a year?

Only after leaving the Yangping clan did Nanlu realize just how chaotic the world had become. Everywhere he looked, there were inexplicable conflicts, as if everyone had gone mad. Within half a day, he encountered many more humans.

Like the Zhaoyan Tribe, they were in utter disarray: their clothes torn, faces gaunt, and many barely clinging to life. It was clear they had migrated from far-off lands.

Just as Nanlu was about to ask where they had come from, a wild, manic laughter rang out from behind the mountain ahead. Nanlu frowned, instantly sensing the magic power within the laughter, along with a blatant aura of demonic energy.

The people glanced back in panic, quickening their pace as best they could, though there was no rush or trampling—perhaps they lacked the strength for frantic movement, or perhaps they had grown accustomed to such things along the way.

“The monsters are coming, the monsters are coming! Everyone, push on! Once we get past that mountain ahead, we’ll be safe!” a robust man shouted with all his might from within the crowd.

No one answered him; they merely pressed forward with all the effort they could muster along the narrow mountain path.

Nanlu slipped into the void, heading toward the source of the mocking laughter. He caught a faint whisper: “Chief, you've said that countless times already. We all understand…”

A group of people was surrounded by dozens of monsters, neither fully human nor fully beast, trembling in fear.

Some of these demons had human bodies but animal heads; others had animal bodies and human heads. One twisted serpent, as thick as two arms, wielded a black steel hairpin, its cold, sinister eyes giving a sense of constriction even with a single glance. Most of the monsters, however, bore complete beast forms—serpents, rats, insects, a chaotic rabble.

At the front of the besieged crowd stood a burly man with a rugged face, his jaw clenched, eyes resolute, gripping a blood-stained dark gold staff across his chest.

“Heh, we’ve already killed eight on this journey. This is the last group. Who wants to play?” laughed a rat-headed demon with a human body.

“Let me. You all feasted along the way, but old Boar here is slow and hasn’t tasted a single morsel of human cultivator flesh. Let me have this one!” A pig demon waddled forward, shaking its head, those gleaming tusks buzzing as it spoke.

“Heh, the human heart is a delicacy…” hissed the serpent demon, its two hands gripping the black steel hairpin.

“Of course, the heart is for the serpent chief!” the pig demon quickly replied, turning back.

The rugged-faced man with the dark gold staff suddenly shouted, “Everyone, charge east! Our Lord said that if we head east, we’ll find the land where our people will flourish!”

With no time for reply, he swung his blood-stained staff, whistling through the air, smashing it down upon the pig demon.

Bang! The staff struck the pig demon’s head, but bounced back, leaving the beast unscathed as it shook its tusked head.

A flicker of despair flashed in the man’s eyes. Steadying himself from a stagger, he raised the dark gold staff once more, but this time it was knocked clean from his grasp.

Those surrounded looked on with despair. They had seen this man’s staff fell monsters in a single blow; later, none dared to take his strike directly. Now, he couldn’t even hold his weapon. They knew he was exhausted, having fought ceaselessly along the journey, never resting.

The pig demon seemed unwilling to toy with him any longer and eager to display its prowess to the others. Its body swelled several times over, waves of energy surging, and with a stomp, it charged at the man.

Whether from exhaustion or shock, the man did not move as the black hoof descended.

The crowd cried out desperately. Though they knew escape was impossible, seeing their champion about to die before their eyes, several lunged forward to drag him away, but they were far too late.

Behind the pig demon, the other monsters laughed wildly. For them, watching humans struggle in despair was a great delight.

Suddenly, a sword’s gleam flashed from the void, slicing across the towering pig demon. Before anyone could react, a white light swept past their eyes, and the pig demon fell in two quivering halves, howling in agony until it died.

The monsters were stunned, glancing about in terror and confusion.

A radiant white sword appeared in the void, trembling for a moment before vanishing. When it reappeared, it cleaved another demon in two—so swiftly that the beast did not even cry out before expiring.

Panic seized the monsters. If the pig demon had fallen to a surprise attack, this last strike came as they all stood cautiously on guard. Yet from the sword’s appearance to the kill, none could sense its presence.

The sword’s light flashed again, and another demon was instantly bisected.

The rat-headed demon flicked its eyes, body flickering as it transformed into a cloud of yellow mist, burrowing toward the earth. Just as it was about to vanish below, the white light sliced through the mist, and with a shriek, the rat demon re-emerged, half buried, half severed, the stench thick in the air.

The white light darted silently through the void, sharp beyond measure. No matter the monster or weapon, wherever the sword’s brilliance passed, bodies fell apart. In moments, only the serpent demon remained, still clutching its black steel hairpin. Its eyes were cold and sinister, but its scale-covered hands gripped the weapon tightly.

The void shimmered, and before the serpent’s eyes, a figure appeared—a man in azure robes, sword drawn, pale and dazzling. Clearly, it was he who had slain so many.

Thinking of the sword’s unstoppable brilliance, fear welled in the serpent’s heart.

“When did the human race produce such a figure? Didn’t the ancestors say that, except for one called Fuxi, there were no strong ones among them? Who is this man?” the serpent wondered, then rasped, “My ancestor is the Green Jiao King of the Ghostwind Mountain—”

The sword flashed. The words were cut short, and the serpent, along with its black steel hairpin, was sliced in two, blood gushing onto the ground.

Nanlu’s expression was cold as he slowly slid the Azure Sword back into its sheath.