The eyes of the Abyss Sword Spirit brimmed with tenderness and deep longing—he and Blood Drop had been parted for far too long.
Yet no matter the duration of their separation, their bond remained unshaken, even growing richer and deeper, like a finely aged wine.
Even he hadn’t anticipated that in his moment of greatest peril, Blood Drop would appear at his side, as if she’d been silently watching over him all along.
“Has the imperial army arrived?” Shi Qiankun rose, asking tentatively.
In his view, if the Empress’s sword had appeared in the sword tomb, it was likely the court had sent an army to aid the ancient prison-guarding clan.
The red-clad woman glanced at him, her tone icy, “No army is coming. I’m not here under anyone’s command—I came solely for Abyss.”
“This…”
Shi Qiankun deflated, at a loss for words.
“You may leave.”
Her next words were a direct dismissal.
Realizing her intent, Shi Qiankun quickly retreated from Cold Fire Mountain.
She’d just slain the Nether Immortal with one strike—he couldn’t afford to provoke her.
With her presence, he no longer worried about this area. Better to focus on Zhang Ruochen’s situation.
After sending Shi Qiankun away, the red-clad woman’s face softened into a smile, “I’ll help you form your body first—everything else can wait.”
With a flick of her finger, a thread of blood light shot into the Abyss Sword Spirit’s form.
He nodded slightly, closing his eyes to resume his task, trusting Blood Drop implicitly.
From the Nether Immortal’s words, he knew the outside situation was dire—he had to complete his body swiftly to aid Zhang Ruochen.
The disturbance at Cold Fire Mountain was minimal, so the Undying Blood Clan remained unaware of Blood Drop’s arrival or the Nether Immortal’s demise. The fierce battle raged on.
Despite the sword tomb’s unique resilience, the relentless clashes caused significant damage—peaks crumbled, and swords shattered into fragments.
“Bang.”
Zhang Ruochen stumbled back again, the towering figure encasing him crashing into the snow mountain, sending cascades of snow tumbling down.
“Zhang Ruochen, I told you—even in the sword tomb, even with the power of those spirits boosting you to rival an Immortal Great Saint, you’re no match for me. How much longer can your body hold out?” Xue Tu advanced, gazing down at him like a dragon eyeing an ant.
Outside the sword tomb, he wouldn’t have needed such effort—Zhang Ruochen would already be a corpse.
Zhang Ruochen’s eyes were calm, unrippled, “Why waste words? If you’re so capable, step over my body.”
In life, some duties demanded action, even at the cost of one’s life—retreat was not an option.
He’d promised Elder Xuanji to uphold the Sky-Soaring Sword lineage’s mission, and he’d see it through.
If he couldn’t handle this, how could he ever challenge Chi Yao?
“Stubborn fool.” Xue Tu’s gaze turned frigid.
With a step, he unleashed the Purgatory Fire God Fist, conjuring a flame giant.
Centered on the giant, purgatory fire spread rapidly in all directions, as if to transform the entire sword tomb into an endless inferno.
He was done talking—absolute force would shatter Zhang Ruochen’s resolve.
Zhang Ruochen’s eyes burned with determination as he channeled more power into the Blue Sky Pagoda hovering above, shielding himself.
Only by protecting himself could he endure this fight.
He hadn’t forged an immortal saint body—his flesh had limits and couldn’t withstand the Inferno Tower’s assaults directly.
Without the pagoda’s protection, he’d already be gravely wounded.
Fortunately, its spirit shared his enmity, standing united against their foe—otherwise, he’d be in real trouble.
Elsewhere, Bao Lie held the upper hand against the Nine-Eyed Heavenly King, his Star God Eye outshining the latter’s nine eyes.
“Damn it—if my White Bone Sacred Mountain weren’t damaged, I wouldn’t be this passive,” the Heavenly King growled, seething.
The mountain was his greatest trump card, capable of contending with Immortal Great Saints.
But it had been broken by the Blue Sky Pagoda, too damaged to use until repaired.
Otherwise, he’d crush Bao Lie with a flick of his hand.
Furious, the Heavenly King fought back with reckless abandon—he was a divine son of the Undying Blood Clan; how could he be inferior to a peer?
Before the snow mountain, Zhang Ruochen and Xue Tu’s battle reached a fever pitch. Xue Tu’s overwhelming strength kept Zhang Ruochen on the defensive, yet he couldn’t gain a decisive edge or defeat him.
He’d bested Immortal Great Saints, yet here he was restrained, unable to finish Zhang Ruochen.
It was all due to the sword tomb and those spirits. More than killing Zhang Ruochen, he now wanted to raze the tomb and erase them.
“I’ve lost patience. Even if it costs me, I’ll wipe you and these spirits out together,” Xue Tu said darkly.
He extended a hand, blood energy pouring into the Inferno Tower.
The tower shuddered, its countless inscriptions glowing vividly, weaving a vast spatial web that seemed to lock down the sword tomb, even repelling its sword path rules.
The Inferno Tower soared high, a blazing sun tinting the tomb in purgatory hues, oppressively heavy.
“This power…”
Atop a peak, Shi Qiankun trembled uncontrollably.
All eyes turned to the tower, expressions grave.
Anyone could feel it—the tower had changed; a seal seemed to have broken.
Directly beneath it, Zhang Ruochen was pinned by its terrifying force, barely able to move.
Even the holy figure encasing him quaked, showing signs of collapse.
“Kill.”
Zhang Ruochen refused to wait for death, striking first.
While Xue Tu hadn’t fully unleashed the tower, he still had a chance—delay further, and all control would slip away.
Sword qi erupted, as if to cleave stars.
“Boom.”
The Inferno Tower stood unshaken, absorbing the blow.
“Again.”
Undeterred, Zhang Ruochen pressed on.
He unleashed successive strikes, each sword qi more refined, fully embodying the *True One Thunder-Fire Sword Technique*’s essence.
Yet no matter how he attacked, the tower remained immovable, its purgatory barrier unbroken.
The entire sword tomb was now ensnared in that barrier.
Even a fool could see Xue Tu’s intent: to annihilate everything within, sparing no one.
Once the tower’s power peaked, all would turn to ash—not even an Immortal Great Saint could resist.
“Xue Tu’s mad—burning his own essence to drive the Inferno Tower. Had he done this against Chunyi Sword Saint, Chunyi might be dead,” Luo Yi muttered from a hidden spot, his gaze heavy with a hint of irritation.
Though safe in his refuge, a fully unleashed tower might overwhelm it.
He had to devise a countermeasure.
“Whoosh.”
Abruptly, two streaks—one red, one black—slashed across the sky like meteors, dazzlingly bright.
“What’s that?”
The spectacle drew every eye.
Even Xue Tu paused, glancing at the twin lights.
Moments later, they materialized beside Zhang Ruochen as two ancient swords.
One, blood-red and brimming with killing intent, stole the spotlight.
“That’s… Empress Chi Yao’s Blood Drop Sword? Why’s it here?” Luo Yi’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Rumors say Zhang Ruochen and Chi Yao share a deep bond—seems they’re true.”
Luo Yi frowned, lost in thought.
Not just him—everyone was stunned, captivated by the Blood Drop Sword.
Xia Wenzin, the Nine-Eyed Heavenly King, and others halted, distancing themselves from Bao Lie and company.
For some reason, the sword’s appearance stirred an ominous feeling in them.
“Didn’t they say Zhang Ruochen and Chi Yao were bitter enemies? Why’s her sword here now?” the Heavenly King puzzled.
Xia Wenzin’s expression grew serious, “Chi Yao’s mind isn’t for us to fathom. One thing’s certain—she’s watching the sword tomb.”
The mention of Chi Yao cast a shadow over all—a god capable of slaying her peers.
Having cultivated just over eight centuries, given more time, she might rival ancient deities like the Moon Goddess.
Gazing at the Blood Drop and Abyss Swords, Zhang Ruochen faltered, memories of practicing with Chi Yao flooding back.
At the critical moment of Abyss forming its body, Blood Drop had come to protect it—stirring complex emotions in him.
Chi Yao was heartless, yet Blood Drop brimmed with devotion to Abyss—a bitter irony.
Shaking his head, Zhang Ruochen refocused, sweeping his sleeve to lift both swords. Like lovers, they traced a Yin-Yang Taiji Seal.
He’d never imagined wielding both swords together again, performing the Liangyi Sect’s ultimate duo technique—the Yin-Yang Liangyi Sword Formation.
Xue Tu eyed the Taiji Seal, scoffing, “No matter how fine the swords, it depends on the wielder. In the Empress’s hands, they slay gods; in yours, how much power can they muster? Two swords forged from Creation Divine Iron—soon they’ll be mine.”
“Claiming the Empress’s weapons excites me more than destroying the sword tomb.”
Zhang Ruochen stood like a sword god, his aura surging, eyes cold, “I fear you won’t live to enjoy them.”
