A Blind Swordsman's Sword Coffin

Nine Heavens followed at an unhurried pace, unleashing blast after blast of lightning breath to drive the fleeing cultivators to move even faster. Thunderous explosions echoed through the mountains, and every blast that struck a peak left behind a scorched crater a hundred zhang wide.

Meng Wanshu also launched several waves of sword qi at carefully chosen moments, forcing them to turn and defend themselves.

Before long, the deliberate pattern of their attacks began to arouse Pan Ji’s suspicions. He frowned as he moved, and his voice turned cold. “Something’s wrong. Why doesn’t that girl seem worried we’ll cross the valley? Could there be a trap ahead?”

The man behind him replied, “We’ve already come this far. We have no choice but to cross over and deal with whatever awaits us!”

“No! There must be a trap. We can’t go through! That red array platform in the valley must serve some purpose!” another elder said icily, though he did not slow down.

Pan Ji gritted his teeth, eyeing the valley just ahead. “We don’t have time to worry about that. We have to cross!”

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The others remained silent as they traversed the valley.

The moment they looked up, they saw a bare-chested man climbing beneath a towering waterfall, his back already battered and bloody from the relentless current.

Li Guanqi was now only a little over a hundred zhang from the top, but that remaining distance seemed like an uncrossable chasm.

He had been right. The spirit herb above him truly was a Seven-Colored Glass Flower. He had passed up every other natural treasure along the way for its sake. Every movement came at an enormous cost, so he had to conserve his strength and make directly for the flower.

As Li Guanqi climbed, he sensed three unfamiliar auras traversing the valley behind him. He hadn’t expected Meng Wanshu to be so powerful. In such a short time, she had killed three Combined Body Realm cultivators.

She only seemed weak around him because she rarely felt the need to reveal her true strength.

Clinging to the cliff, Li Guanqi continued inching upward.

As for the three behind him... a cold smile touched his lips. Just as he’d expected, the instant the three Pan clan members crossed the valley, they triggered a mysterious restriction.

Rumble!

The sky changed in an instant as a violent firestorm engulfed the entire area. Overwhelming waves of flame scorched the void, warping and tearing it open until countless cracks spread through the air.

Spirit light coalesced into an enormous hologram of a blazing Qilin. Cold savagery gleamed in its eyes as it bared its fangs and roared at the intruders. Its massive claws tore through the void, unleashing a terrifying pressure that instantly suppressed the intruders’ vital force. They could only watch as the devastating attack bore down on them.

Even from a distance, the firestorm set their robes ablaze and scorched their skin.

“A Qilin! Damn it, its power already rivals a late Mahayana Realm cultivator! How could a guardian spirit this strong exist here?!”

Since Pan Ji was at the front of the group, he bore the brunt of the pressure. With no time to think, a cold light flashed through his eyes. He reached back with both hands and dug his fingers deep into the shoulders of the two men behind him.

“Elder Pan, what are you doing?!”

“You old bastard! How dare you!”

Pan Ji sneered. “I have no intention of dying, so... you two can die in my place!”

Before he had even finished speaking, he hurled the two men toward the Qilin and shot backward.

Mysterious blood-red patterns spread across Pan Ji’s arms, and the two men he had thrown rapidly lost their strength. Two streams of blood as thick as wrists poured from their necks and stretched through the air toward Pan Ji.

Pan Ji opened his mouth and inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he extracted their blood essence straight from their bodies.

Meng Wanshu’s expression turned solemn. She could faintly sense the two men’s souls within the streams of blood essence. A cold light flashed in her eyes, and she shouted, “Nine Heavens!”

The instant she spoke, she vanished, shooting toward the summit above the valley.

Pan Ji no longer resembled the frail, dying old man from moments before. His hunched body straightened, revealing a muscular frame beneath his robes. Even as the scorching firestorm burned his skin raw, he fled with astonishing speed.

The Qilin did not cross the boundary. It merely stood between the waterfall and the valley, its eyes glinting ferociously.

Moving with incredible speed, Meng Wanshu caught up to Pan Ji in the blink of an eye and unleashed a flurry of slashes.

Pan Ji reacted just as quickly. His sword flashed into his hand, and he unleashed a burst of terrifying sword qi in every direction.

Their blades collided in a shower of sparks. Within the span of a few breaths, they had already exchanged more than a hundred blows.

The ancient trees below collapsed in vast swathes as Pan Ji’s domain held back the encroaching frost. To Meng Wanshu’s surprise, their domains were almost evenly matched. Her heart tightened. Despite being at a clear disadvantage moments earlier, Pan Ji could now trade blows with her on equal footing.

His swordsmanship was vicious and insidious. Every strike came from an unpredictable angle and aimed to kill.

For the first time, Meng Wanshu found herself unable to attack as she pleased. Pan Ji sneered as the river of blood steadily flowed into his body.

Suddenly, from the dense forest behind him, an enormous dragon tail lashed toward him. At the same time, a pillar of lightning several zhang thick shot toward him like a bolt of heavenly tribulation lightning.

Bang!

When the tail struck, Pan Ji felt as though he had been rammed head-on by a massive demonic beast. Every bone in his body seemed ready to fall apart, and both his arms shattered on the spot.

The sword in his hand slashed across Nine Heavens’ scales, but it left nothing more than a faint scratch, unable even to break through the dragon’s defenses.

Whoosh!

Pan Ji was hurled backward with a piercing whistle, yet not a trace of panic appeared on his face.

He lowered his head and chanted under his breath, “Forbidden Art, Sha Blood Demon Totem!”

Buzz!

Wave after wave of blood-red shockwaves burst outward, driving Meng Wanshu back several hundred zhang.

With the Snow Phantom Sword in hand, Meng Wanshu stared solemnly at Pan Ji as his aura continued to rise.

Pan Ji landed atop an ancient tree and slowly raised his head. Strange blood-rune totems writhed across both his arms, and a cold light flickered in his clouded eyes.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he murmured, “So... the man my grandson Pan Yi captured obtained the Qilin bloodline from here, didn’t he? Heh... A true dragon... Peng Luo... an ice-aligned Yin source... and a divine sword...”

His long hair fell across his face in tangled strands, his eyes burning with murderous intent.