For a moment, the Soul-Gathering Altar was filled with voices of gratitude. The cultivators surrounded the golden-robed cultivator, wishing they could immediately take him as their master.
They regarded the golden-robed cultivator as their saviour, yet they did not know that they had already fallen into an abyss of no return.
The golden-robed cultivator modestly waved his hand, but a flicker of barely perceptible malice flashed in his eyes.
These people had lost part of their souls. The smooth flow of spiritual energy was merely a temporary illusion. In no time, they would discover that their cultivation was regressing instead of advancing, and even their intellect would be damaged. By then, they would long have become “fertiliser” in the soul jars.
He calculated inwardly, and a smug, cold smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Foolish.”
In the corner, Chen Ping’s voice carried an icy sarcasm, clearly entering everyone’s ears.
His voice was like a thunderclap, shattering the false harmony on the Soul-Gathering Altar.
The cultivators instantly fell silent and turned their heads towards Chen Ping, their faces darkening at once.
The dissatisfaction from being “disturbed” by Chen Ping earlier surged up again. The burly man with the bushy beard angrily shouted, “It’s you again, you villain! What business is it of yours if we break through? Could it be that you can’t stand to see us doing well?”
Chen Ping ignored the burly man and stared straight at the golden-robed cultivator, his tone carrying an unquestionable authority. “Hand over the soul jar.”
His gaze was like two sharp swords, piercing straight into the golden-robed cultivator’s heart, making him feel a pang of palpitation.
The golden-robed cultivator’s expression changed, and he immediately feigned confusion. “What is Fellow Daoist talking about? What soul jar? I don’t understand.”
As he spoke, he quietly retreated backwards, his hand already reaching for the communication talisman at his waist.
He knew Chen Ping’s strength, so he had to notify the Sixth Hall Master. As long as he delayed for a moment longer, he could wait for reinforcements from the Sixth Hall.
The golden-robed cultivator prayed inwardly, hoping that the Sixth Hall Master could arrive quickly to relieve him of his current predicament.
“You don’t understand?” Chen Ping sneered, and his figure suddenly vanished from the spot.
His speed was extremely fast, like a ghost, making it impossible for anyone to track his movements.
When he reappeared, he was already standing in the centre of the high platform, his right hand reaching directly towards the groove.
His movements were clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
Seeing this, the golden-robed cultivator panicked and pulled out a folding fan, fiercely slapping it towards Chen Ping’s back while shouting loudly, “Fellow Daoists! This villain wants to rob the hall’s treasure! He will ruin your Dao hearts. Quickly stop him!”
Those cultivators who had just broken through already harboured resentment towards Chen Ping. Upon hearing the words “rob the treasure,” they were instantly enraged.
It was as if they had been injected with a stimulant. Over a dozen cultivators lunged towards Chen Ping at the same time, their magical artefacts at the ready. Although the fluctuations of spiritual energy were not as sharp as before, they still carried a bit of ferocity.
Chen Ping did not even turn his head. A vast pressure suddenly emanated from his body.
That pressure was like a mountain bearing down, instantly enveloping the entire Soul-Gathering Altar.
The air seemed to solidify, making it hard for anyone to breathe.
The cultivators who had lunged forward could not even raise their hands before they were firmly pinned in place by the pressure, unable to move, their faces full of shock.
Only then did they realise that the spiritual energy within their bodies had become sluggish beyond measure. They could not even exert half of their previous strength.
It was as if an invisible force was binding them, preventing them from unleashing their abilities.
“How could this be… my spiritual power…” a cultivator murmured in terror, subconsciously touching his brow.
This time, he clearly felt not only a stinging pain at his brow but also a hollow emptiness, the trace left behind after his soul had been extracted.
His heart filled with fear and regret, but it was already too late.
The other cultivators also reacted one after another, their faces turning ashen. The joy of their earlier breakthrough vanished completely, replaced by deep-seated terror.
They finally realised the peril they had fallen into, yet they did not know how to escape it.
