Chapter Forty-Four: The Death of the Black Butler

The invisible, razor-sharp astral wind slashed at the surging sea of blood, but to little effect. Each time the astral wind split the bloody curtain, more black blood quickly surged forth, sealing the gap once more.

Song Changsheng’s expression was grave as he grabbed his treasured gourd and took several deep gulps. Instantly, a more formidable surge of spiritual power erupted from him. A gigantic phantom of a bronze bell manifested overhead, emitting sonorous peals that reverberated through the air.

The sea of blood began to roil violently, showing signs of receding.

High above, the Black Steward let out a cold laugh and raised his right arm with casual indifference. From his voluminous sleeve, a river of blood teeming with wailing, tormented spirits poured forth.

No one could say how many lives this blood river had devoured. Countless spectral souls wailed within, their shrill cries unsettling the minds of all present.

With a crash, the bloody sea smashed heavily against the bell's phantom. In an instant, the bell shattered into motes of light and vanished.

Song Changsheng recoiled as if struck by lightning, a sweet taste rising in his throat, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Changsheng?" Zhu Yiqun and the others looked on in alarm, their concern evident for the wounded Song Changsheng.

His sword-like brows knitted together, and his blood-stained lips twisted into a grimace. He quickly stuffed a handful of restorative pills into his mouth, chewing fiercely, then once more stabilized the faltering formation.

The Black Steward arched an eyebrow, speaking lazily, "Had this been the true Celestial Sun Astral Formation, perhaps I would have found it troublesome. But now... it’s hardly worth my attention!"

With a thunderous boom, the blood river that had shattered the bell's phantom transformed into a lifelike blood-red flood dragon. Its enormous eyes gleamed with malice as it crashed against the protective shield forged of pure yang energy.

The entire formation shuddered. A tiny black dot appeared on the shield’s surface, and from that point, cracks began to radiate outward in a spiderweb pattern.

Gritting his teeth, Song Changsheng poured every last ounce of his spiritual power into the formation.

But it was futile.

The formation lacked sufficient yang energy, and Song Changsheng's cultivation could not fully unleash its power. In the end, he could only watch helplessly as the shield shattered like glass.

With a roar, the blood-red flood dragon threw back its head and let out a piercing cry, as if to proclaim its dominion to all quarters.

Song Changsheng's face had gone deathly pale, the backlash from the destroyed formation dealing him severe internal injuries.

“Hmph, devour them!” the Black Steward commanded.

The hundred-foot-long blood dragon opened its gaping maw, eager to swallow them whole.

Though Song Changsheng was drained and weary, his mind remained steady. As the dragon bore down, a talisman appeared in his hand—his final trump card!

Yet before he could activate it, Zhuang Yuechan crushed the jade pendant in her grip. Instantly, a deep blue shield of spiritual energy enveloped them.

The blood dragon crashed against the shield, but succeeded only in making it quiver faintly.

Everyone stared wide-eyed, their curiosity about Zhuang Yuechan's identity peaking.

Noticing their gazes, Zhuang Yuechan gave a wry smile. "This is a protective talisman given to me by my master. At best, it can hold out for the time it takes to burn an incense stick. If help doesn’t arrive by then, we truly won’t leave this place alive.”

The time it takes for one stick of incense to burn.

A heavy silence weighed upon them. Though they had all sent messages for aid, this place was simply too far from the marketplace. Even a Foundation Establishment cultivator rushing at full speed would take some time to arrive. The situation was dire.

“Who are these people, to possess even such treasures?” The Black Steward was nearly beside himself with rage. How could he, after all this effort, still fail to subdue a group of mere Qi Refining cultivators? If word got out, he’d be the laughingstock of the cultivation world!

Just as he prepared to renew his assault, a deep, icy voice rang out from the distance: “Well, well, a remnant of the demonic cult, daring to cast such a fiendish formation. You must be courting death!”

“Who’s there?” The Black Steward started, whirling around. From the horizon, a golden arc streaked across the sky, bringing with it an overwhelming aura of slaughter.

“Your granddaddy Niu has arrived!”

With a thunderous shout, a burly figure appeared—over nine feet tall, as sturdy as an ox, his face brutal and broad. Without a pause, he charged straight for the Black Steward atop the hillside.

“Bones to Cover the Wilds!”

The Black Steward raised his hands, and a cacophony of ghostly wails filled the air. In that moment, the slope beneath his feet transformed into a field of white bones, deathly energy billowing forth as the surrounding plants withered to dust, leaving a wasteland behind.

“Cover this, you bastard!” roared the burly man, cursing as he closed the distance in a flash. He swung a fist the size of a sandbag straight at the Black Steward’s face.

The Black Steward’s expression changed dramatically. He hastily raised his arms to block, exclaiming, “You’re not afraid of death energy?”

His only answer was a flurry of punches, swift as shadows and heavier with each blow. The Black Steward found himself unable to keep up, soon retreating under the relentless assault.

Inside the protective shield, Zhu Yiqun watched, dumbfounded. “He’s completely unfazed by the blood demon’s deathly aura. This senior’s body must be as tough as a spiritual weapon!”

“At this rate, that blood demon won’t last half an hour—it’s practically a one-sided slaughter,” someone murmured.

It was Song Changsheng’s first time witnessing a Foundation Establishment body cultivator in action. He hadn't imagined such overwhelming might—a living spiritual weapon, immune to ordinary attacks.

“Hahaha! Is that all you’ve got, demon brat? Your granddaddy Niu is just getting warmed up!” The burly man’s laughter was like thunder, brimming with disdain.

The Black Steward’s face twisted in anger. “Arrogant fool, don’t get cocky—”

“Damn right I’m arrogant! Come kill me if you can!” The burly man had no patience for further words. He hammered a fist into the Black Steward’s chest, shattering several ribs and sending him flying.

He gave the Black Steward no chance to recover, following up with a brutal barrage, treating the so-called late-Foundation blood demon like a mere training dummy.

Watching this savage scene, Zhu Yiqun scratched his head and forced a laugh. “This senior truly has a... forthright nature.”

Beneath her veil, even Zhuang Yuechan’s lips twitched slightly; such a spectacle hardly reflected well on her sect’s dignified reputation.

“Enough! You go too far!” The Black Steward’s eyes burned red as his body rapidly swelled, transforming in moments into a towering blood giant, several stories tall.

“You still dare resist?” The burly man’s glare was fierce. Once more, he raised his fist, now shrouded in a faint golden aura, the light rendering his fist brilliantly gold.

With a single punch, the force roared like thunder.

Song Changsheng saw only a flash of golden light as the burly man’s fist pierced the Black Steward’s heart.

Staring in disbelief at the gaping hole in his chest, the Black Steward glared hatefully at the burly man. Cracks spiderwebbed across his massive blood demon form, which then dissolved into a pool of filthy blood.

A beam of scarlet light shot toward the horizon, desperately fleeing.

“Trying to run from your granddaddy Niu?” The burly man stamped after him, catching up in an instant. With a single mighty grasp, the Black Steward’s spirit was utterly obliterated.

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