Realm-Hopping Martial Master

"Hoo..."

Between heaven and earth, endless Gang Wind and Devil Wind howled and screamed.

No new surging power descended, no large-scale Transmission Array was activated, and there were no signs of a carpet-style search targeting the outer region.

The Heaven-Burning Ancestor did not leave; he was like a statue of molten fury, nailed upon the core Array Hub of the Desolate Sand Sea.

That anger, condensed yet not unleashed, seemed as though it could at any moment ignite and evaporate this stretch of heaven and earth entirely.

In the shadow of a rock crevice, Jiang Shu’s pupils were like an ancient well, without the slightest ripple.

Another half day passed, still without any change.

The Heaven-Burning Ancestor’s aura did not shift in the slightest, like a boulder pressing down upon the land, leaving only wordless rage drifting through the air.

The auras of those three of the Four Evils had also exhausted their agitation, leaving only numb, deadlocked vigilance.

Then another three hours passed. The Heaven-Burning Ancestor’s aura finally stirred, yet he did not go far; instead he continued to sit in command within the Desolate Sand Sea, guarding an Array Hub.

As for the other three Fierce ones, their auras moved off into the distance, but the demonic power ripples around them showed that their attention was still fixed on this place.

There was no more moving from here.

Jiang Shu’s thoughts raced; for the Heaven-Burning Ancestor to insist on nailing himself at this shattered Array Hub either meant he believed Jiang Shu would covet any Treasure or information possibly left behind by the broken formation and return, or that this hub was heavily connected to other things and he refused to allow the slightest mishap.

Yet no matter the reason, this Fire Phoenix that had been utterly enraged was at this moment in his most focused, and also most deadlocked, state.

His gaze and his fury were locked tightly upon the Desolate Sand Sea.

And his claws and fangs—those three Fierce ones who had been slaughtered by Jiang Shu to the point of terror—were already heading toward Thousand Streams Creek. They were precisely the soft persimmons easiest to squeeze, and also the shortcut closest to Jiang Shu’s target.

Jiang Shu let out a long sigh.

Back when he had not yet attained the seat of Daoist Venerable, he had once escaped from the Heaven-Burning Ancestor, who was then at Demon Venerable Peak. Though that time had been perilous in the extreme, to flee from a Demon Venerable Peak with merely a Daoist Monarch’s Dao Practice was indeed something worth pride and satisfaction.

At that time he had still somewhat underestimated the Heaven-Burning Ancestor.

But only after Jiang Shu attained the Mixed Cave Realm, comprehended the Space Dao, and faced the Heaven-Burning Ancestor once more did he truly realize the gulf between them.

The fact that he had been able to escape from his hands before could indeed be called good luck.

Jiang Shu’s gaze pierced the rock wall, swept across boundless yellow sand, and cast toward the direction of Thousand Streams Creek.

Among the three extremely perilous Demon Race strongholds recorded in the intelligence, Thousand Streams Creek and the Desolate Sand Sea formed a horned configuration.

The Four Fierce Array had clear division of tasks; the Desolate Sand Sea was now guarded by the Heaven-Burning Ancestor, so the only place left for the other three Fierce ones to withdraw to was Thousand Streams Creek.

Jiang Shu’s figure in the darkness faded away like ink wash.

This time the folding of space was even more drawn-out, its trajectory drifting like spider silk upon a raging sea, making full use of the fragile nodes across the region’s space which had been churned by the great battle and had yet to recover, cautiously skirting around that blazing "sun" boiling at the core of the Desolate Sand Sea.

After crossing who knew how many tens of thousands of li, the moisture permeating the space suddenly grew dense, bearing a deep, bone-piercing chill and a rotten, bloody stench.

Thousand Streams Creek had been reached.

His vision shifted abruptly; the pure, extreme yellow and blazing heat of the Desolate Sand Sea vanished without a trace. Before his eyes it was as if he had plunged into a titanic Great Tomb under a curse.

Thousand Streams Creek—its name sounded like verdant mountains and limpid waters.

But when Jiang Shu looked down, what he saw was not Green Mountain and clear streams, but layers upon layers of twisted, intersecting ink-black ravines.

The sky was shrouded by thick gray-black miasma, forever a bleak dimness.

One turbid flow after another... no, they could not be called streams of water, but rather viscous black mud, writhing and entwining with difficulty at the bottom of the ravines, merging into a vast, foul dark web of water.

Within the river channels floated rotting Demon Beasts corpses, shattered bones, and unknown clumps of viscous slime, all exuding an unbearable stench.

On the surface of the black water, deep green or purple-black boils constantly swelled. When they burst, the sprayed poison splattered onto the rock walls on either side, emitting sizzling corrosion sounds and sending up choking white fumes.

The rock walls were pockmarked with a thousand sores, corroded into countless fine holes and gullies, like the surface of a rotting corpse.

A deathly pallid moss reflected a cold, sinister hue in the gloomy light diffused by the miasma.

Thick black vines, shaped like twisted ghost claws, protruded from cracks in the cliff face, stretching downward without restraint, greedily drawing in the turbid black water and the pure demonic power diffusing below. The vine tendrils were studded with sharp Bone Spikes and suction cups full of backward-facing barbs.

The air was saturated with clammy, slick moisture, mingled with a heavy stench of decay and a disturbing viscous sensation.

Vision here was severely obstructed; beyond a hundred zhang everything blurred, and any Divine Sense extended outward would be layer upon layer blocked, weakened, and even tainted by that filthy miasma and chaotic Water Element Demon Power.

Everywhere there were sobbing winds, like the wails of ghosts and howls of wolves, coursing between the water paths knotted like a spider’s web and the snarling stone stalagmites.

This was Thousand Streams Creek, the nest of Water Demons, a trap of death.

Every inch of its land, every thread of its air, was soaked through with the foul Laws of the Demon Race, attempting to assimilate intruders into a component of decay.

Jiang Shu hovered in the shadow at the highest ravine entrance, as though he had merged with the color of the rock wall.

His Divine Sense, like the finest drizzle, blended into this filthy environment, skirting those vines and blisters that clearly carried probing demonic power, and cautiously swept the area.