The cultivators of the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan turned their gazes toward Zhang Ruochen in unison, their expressions a mix of tension and anticipation.
Did a higher-grade Blood-Suppressing Talisman truly exist?
If it did, it would undoubtedly be a powerful weapon against the Undying Blood Clan. Even a formidable figure like Hundred Illusions Divine Son would likely flee in terror, never daring to set foot in the clan’s territory again.
After a moment of contemplation, Zhang Ruochen retrieved the seal pattern for the “Great Saint Blood-Suppressing Talisman” and handed it to Shi Qiankun.
“There’s actually a higher-grade Blood-Suppressing Talisman!”
“Fantastic! With this talisman, no matter how many Undying Blood Clan experts come, we can suppress them all!”
The cultivators of the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan erupted in excitement and joy.
Shi Qiankun carefully took the seal pattern for the Great Saint-level Blood-Suppressing Talisman, feeling a surge of surprise. Could a single talisman really suppress Undying Blood Clan members at the Nine-Step Saint King realm, or even the Great Saint realm?
He focused intently on studying it. At first, a trace of delight crossed his face, but as time passed, that delight faded, replaced by a growing solemnity.
The Great Saint-level Blood-Suppressing Talisman was extraordinarily complex, its patterns profound and mysterious.
Some of the runes were so arcane that even with Shi Qiankun’s mastery of talisman arts, they seemed like a celestial script—beyond comprehension, impossible to fully grasp.
“Swish—”
Using his finger as a brush, Shi Qiankun traced the runes in midair.
After more than ten failed attempts, he stopped.
Seeing sweat bead on Shi Qiankun’s forehead and bloodshot veins fill his eyes, Shi Ren quickly roused him from his immersion in the runes. “Father, don’t push yourself too hard. Wake up!”
Shi Qiankun shuddered, exhaling a long breath as his gaze finally lifted from the seal pattern.
He rubbed his temples and sighed deeply. “My spiritual power isn’t strong enough. I fear I can’t craft the Great Saint-level Blood-Suppressing Talisman. I’m ashamed—truly ashamed.”
“Clan Leader, your spiritual power is at the 57th tier. Isn’t that strong enough?” Elder Xuanfeng asked.
Shi Qiankun shook his head and handed the seal pattern to Shi Ren. “Ren’er, your spiritual power surpasses mine. Give it a try?”
Shi Ren took the seal pattern and attempted it, but he too failed.
“The Great Saint-level Blood-Suppressing Talisman is too profound! Each rune is like a river stretching tens of thousands of li. To inscribe a river that vast onto a small talisman is already a near-impossible feat. And to fit thousands of such rivers onto one talisman? It’s difficult—far too difficult. I suspect only a Great Saint of spiritual power, with exceptional mastery of talisman arts, could manage it,” Shi Ren said, sighing repeatedly.
The atmosphere in the Sword Tomb Palace grew heavy.
Shi Qiankun said, “If my father were still here, he might have been able to try.”
Shi Qiankun’s father, Shi Mingyuan, was the former clan leader of the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan.
Two hundred years ago, Shi Mingyuan had entered the fifteenth level of the Nether Dungeon to break through to the Martial Saint King realm. Initially, his seclusion was expected to last three years.
But two centuries had passed, and Shi Mingyuan had not emerged from the fifteenth level. Most likely, he had met a grim fate.
Though two hundred years ago, Shi Mingyuan’s martial cultivation was only at the Half-Step Saint King realm, his spiritual power was unfathomably deep. He was a figure who could discuss the Dao with Wu Zun, the master of the Martial Market Bank. In talisman arts, if Shi Mingyuan wasn’t the foremost in the Kunlun Realm, he was certainly among the top three.
Shi Ren’s expression shifted slightly. “Father, in the past, our cultivation was too weak to search for Grandfather on the fifteenth level of the Nether Dungeon. With our current strength, perhaps we can try.”
Shi Qiankun’s gaze sharpened. He stood and paced the Sword Tomb Palace, as if wrestling with some lingering concern.
In truth, he had long considered venturing to the fifteenth level, but it housed the Nether King—a fearsome entity who had once wreaked havoc across the Kunlun Realm—causing him to hesitate.
Shi Ren pressed on, “Father, don’t hesitate any longer. If Grandfather isn’t dead and is trapped on the fifteenth level, we could rescue him. Besides, we’re not alone—Brother Zhang and his friends will lend us their strength.”
Zhang Ruochen, already intent on entering the Nether Dungeon, seized the opportunity and rose abruptly. “This junior has an impertinent request, and I hope Senior Shi will agree.”
“What impertinent request?” Shi Qiankun asked.
Zhang Ruochen said, “Is Bao Lie, the third disciple of Emperor Ming, imprisoned in the Nether Dungeon?”
Shi Qiankun shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. You’d need to ask the three wardens of the Nether Dungeon for an answer. Though the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan guards the dungeon, the wardens and jailers are the direct overseers.”
The Nether Dungeon had historically been guarded by four wardens.
However, when the Azure Heaven Blood Emperor attacked the clan, he killed one, leaving only three.
Led by Shi Qiankun, Zhang Ruochen and the others journeyed deeper into the Sword Tomb, arriving beneath a tortoise-shell-shaped stone mountain.
The mountain, pitch-black and a hundred zhang tall, had a mirror-smooth surface.
Calling it a mountain was less apt than calling it a massive black boulder buried in the earth.
“This is the entrance to the Nether Dungeon!” Shi Qiankun announced.
“Entrance? Where’s the entrance?” Xiang Chunan asked.
He approached the mountain’s base, slapping the smooth stone wall with his palm, searching for hidden mechanisms or passages.
Suddenly, two golden leaves sprouted from the stone wall, each as large as a palm fan.
The leaves took flight, resembling a golden butterfly, and hovered above Xiang Chunan’s head.
“Whoa! What the hell is this? Where did it come from?”
Xiang Chunan let out a startled yelp, striking with a palm. His robust palm force crashed against the golden leaves.
“Bang!”
A layer of golden light surged from within the leaves, interwoven with over a hundred thousand holy path rules, blocking Xiang Chunan’s strike and sending him stumbling back with a “thud thud.”
Shi Qiankun stepped in front of Xiang Chunan, clasping his fists in salute. “Warden Golden Leaf, please retract your holy art. He’s not an enemy—he’s a friend of the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan.”
“Warden?”
Xiang Chunan’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Two leaves could be a warden?
Zhang Ruochen’s heart stirred as he closely examined the golden leaves. At their centre was a tiny figure, no larger than a thumb.
The leaves grew from its back.
“That’s a Golden Leaf Miracle Millet, at least a hundred thousand years old,” Ji Fanxin transmitted to Zhang Ruochen.
The Golden Leaf Miracle Millet opened its mouth, swallowing the golden light filling the sky and ceasing its attack on Xiang Chunan.
Soon after, the other two wardens appeared—both plants as well: a pink flower and a green-skinned gourd.
Seeing the three wardens, Zhang Ruochen frowned. Could they truly guard a dungeon holding countless vicious criminals and beasts?
Zhenmiao Little Taoist landed on Zhang Ruochen’s shoulder, whispering, “This feels a bit unreliable, doesn’t it?”
Zhang Ruochen stayed composed. “At least… at least their cultivation is impressive. Each has strength comparable to a Dao Domain realm expert.”
“And they can guard the Nether King with that?” Zhenmiao Little Taoist shook his head repeatedly.
“Swish—”
The stone wall flickered again, and a bald old man emerged, clad in a grey-white official robe with an ancient “jailer” character embroidered on his chest.
The old man’s face was covered in age spots, his eyes dull, and his steps unsteady.
“This can’t be a jailer of the Nether Dungeon, can it?” Xiang Chunan asked.
“Indeed… this old… this old man is the only jailer of the Nether Dungeon,” the bald old man replied.
He raised his head, seemingly unable to pinpoint Xiang Chunan’s position, and smiled at a small stone pile to Xiang Chunan’s right.
Zhenmiao Little Taoist sucked in a breath, muttering again, “Zhang Ruochen, the gods of your Kunlun Realm and the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan must have huge hearts to let such an old relic be the sole jailer.”
The bald old man seemed to hear Zhenmiao Little Taoist’s words. He looked toward Murong Yue, standing beside Zhang Ruochen, and smiled kindly. “The Nether Dungeon is so sturdy that the prisoners inside can’t escape. Anyone could be a jailer.”
A strange glint flashed in Shi Qiankun’s eyes. He stepped forward, bowing to the old man. “Old Kong, after all these years, you haven’t changed a bit.”
The bald old man, addressing Shi Ren beside Shi Qiankun, said, “Are you saying this old man should be dead by now?”
Shi Qiankun replied, “No, how could this junior dare?”
The old man before them appeared ordinary, with no detectable energy fluctuations. Yet Shi Qiankun had seen him two hundred years ago, looking exactly the same.
Shi Qiankun’s father, Shi Mingyuan, had once said that he too had met Old Kong in his childhood, and Old Kong looked identical then.
Thus, Shi Qiankun suspected Old Kong wasn’t human but a plant, like the four wardens, blessed with an extraordinarily long lifespan.
Shi Qiankun said, “Old Kong, one of the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan’s sword bearers has a question for you.”
“Sword bearer? Which sword bearer?” Old Kong asked.
“Zhang Ruochen, the eighteenth-generation bearer of the Heaven-Rending Sword, pays respects to Senior,” Zhang Ruochen said, stepping forward and saluting with clasped fists.
Old Kong strained to widen his eyes, staring at Murong Yue beside Zhang Ruochen. He extended a trembling hand. “Take out the Heaven-Rending Sword. Let me see it.”
“Well… the Heaven-Rending Sword is stored elsewhere. I didn’t bring it with me,” Zhang Ruochen replied.
“Oh, I see!”
Old Kong lowered his head, a hint of disappointment in his voice, then asked, “What do you want to know?”
“About eight hundred years ago, did Princess Chi Yao of the Chiqing Central Empire押解—escort—a being named Bao Lie into the Nether Dungeon?” Zhang Ruochen asked.
“Eight hundred years? That’s so long ago—how could I remember clearly? Let me check for you. There might be a record.”
Old Kong reached into his robe, pulling out a clay pot containing a silver cactus with sharp spines, radiating nine rings of silver light.
“No, no, wrong one!”
He stuffed the pot back into his robe and rummaged again.
Seeing the cactus, Shi Qiankun’s eyelid twitched. He recognised it as Silver Thorn Warden, who had supposedly died at the hands of the Azure Heaven Blood Emperor. Planted in a pot, it was clearly still alive.
