Vessel of Worlds

Xi Feng was about to say something when his face abruptly changed. "Someone's coming—on guard!" he cried.

Dozens of kilometers away, a streak of black mist was tearing through the sky toward the islet where Andy and the others stood, closing at tremendous speed.

"Is it a Core Formation cultivator?" the girl Hongchen asked, tense.

"Can't tell—too far to be sure. If it is, running is pointless anyway; a Core Formation cultivator's flight speed is more than double ours. But by that cloud of black mist, it's most likely Demon Gate people. Stay alert and wait," Xi Feng instructed.

"The Demon Gate? Then they're from the Immortal Island of Yingzhou!" the big man said in a low voice—and there was an unmistakable thread of fear in it.

Xun San ordinarily carried himself as though he feared nothing under heaven; for him to flinch before the enemy even arrived was highly unusual. Andy's own chest tightened. He knew very little about heterodox cultivators or what methods they wielded—but as long as no Core Formation cultivator was among them, they shouldn't be beyond handling.

The black mist closed with astonishing speed, reaching the islet within an incense stick's time before stopping. As the mist thinned, five figures emerged.

Every one of them wore a short black robe, and each bore a knot of black mist at the center of his brow—an unsettling sight at first glance, though otherwise they appeared unremarkable.

Spiritual light flickered about them: two were mid-stage Foundation Establishment, and the rest late-stage.

The enemy still held the advantage in strength—but at least there was no Core Formation cultivator, and the gap was not insurmountable. Andy quietly let out a breath.

Xi Feng clasped his fists. "Might you be Demon Gate cultivators of the Immortal Island of Yingzhou? We are all rogue cultivators of Penglai, with no quarrel whatsoever with your gate. May I ask your business here?"

One of them—a strikingly handsome late-stage Foundation Establishment youth—glanced at Xi Feng and said: "Since you know we're Demon Gate cultivators, this young master will waste no words. The baleful aura on you is impressive—accumulated, no doubt, from killing a great many high-ranked beasts out here. So: the five of you will leave every storage pouch behind. Then the other four may go. You stay."

Xi Feng gave a cold laugh. "Hmph! Bold words—aren't you afraid the wind will catch that tongue of yours? You're merely a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator, no Core Formation senior. What makes you think you can best all five of us?"

The youth laughed aloud. "An ordinary late-stage Demon Gate cultivator might indeed have trouble with you. But you've met this young master—blame your own poor luck!"

He turned to the cultivators behind him. "You handle the other four. The one soaked in baleful aura is mine—his aura will do nicely to temper my precious sword and add another measure to its power!"

"Yes, Young Master!" The black-robed men bowed in acknowledgment, the very picture of devoted subordinates.

The youth had given these orders without any secret transmission—deliberately letting Andy and the others hear every word.

"Split up and go—now!" Xi Feng transmitted to the four.

"No, Big Brother—if we go, we go together!" Xun San said.

"Little sister will face this peril at Big Brother's side!" the girl said gravely.

Something stirred in Andy's heart. The bond between these people was clearly genuine—even at a moment like this, they were still on about living and dying together. But he plainly could not endorse the approach, and he transmitted to them: "We split up and draw off the others. One against one, even if Big Brother Xi can't win, he'll have a far better chance of escaping. Clustered together, we're only easier to surround."

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"He's right," Xi Feng said. "Demon Gate cultivators wield strange and sinister arts—every one of you who escapes is one saved. If they're holding something in reserve, it will be too late to run. This is not like hunting beasts; standing together won't carry the day. With you gone, I'll slip away more easily myself. Don't worry—my cultivation matches his. Even if I can't beat him, I can certainly outrun him!"

"Hey—you lot have been muttering back and forth long enough. Decided yet? This young master's artifact is already out, and it does not return unfed—it drinks cultivator blood first. Even begging for mercy is too late now!" The youth stood with his hands clasped behind his back, utterly at ease. Before him floated a blood-red sword about a chi long, pulsing with a faint crimson glow. Even across dozens of zhang, Andy and the others caught its nauseating stench of gore.

Andy looked at the little blood-red sword for only a moment before his heart began to pound with a nameless dread. The sword hadn't even been activated, yet it already pressed on him with enormous weight. That sword is no simple thing, he thought.

"Go!" Di Er gave a low shout, mounted a folding fan, and shot away to the left. One of the late-stage Demon Gate cultivators streaked after him on a cloud of black mist without a word. The youth paid it no mind at all, only watching Xi Feng with a smile.

"Take care!" Andy raised a jet-black shield about himself, stepped onto the Wind-Treader Dragon, and flew off to the right. The big man and the girl mounted their own artifacts in the same breath, each fleeing in a different direction.

A black-robed Demon Gate cultivator peeled off after each of them. The youth remained unmoved throughout, quietly smiling at Xi Feng, wholly uninterested in the rest.

Xi Feng deployed the meteor hammer that had accompanied him for so many years and said evenly: "Just the two of us now. I'd like to see for myself whether the young master of the Blood Intent Gate—one of Yingzhou's ten great sects—is truly as unfathomable as the rumors claim!"

"You know who I am? Then you drove those four off on purpose. So you're a man of loyalty and feeling after all—unwilling to let your partners die alongside you. A pity. Of all things, this young master most despises people who prattle about loyalty and feeling. The way of cultivation has always been the strong devouring the weak—power above all. That sanctimonious hypocrisy of the orthodox path turns my stomach. So today, one way or another, you die here!" The youth gave a cold snort, and the blood-colored sword before him surged to over a zhang in length, sweeping toward Xi Feng in a wash of pallid crimson light.

Xi Feng met it without flinching, his meteor hammer smashing toward the great blood sword in a blaze of gold...

Presumably because Andy's cultivation—early-stage Foundation Establishment—was the lowest among the five, the pursuer assigned to him was likewise the weakest: a mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator.

The man's black mist flew fast, but nothing like the Wind-Treader Dragon at full speed. If Andy hadn't deliberately slowed, he would have shaken his pursuer off long ago. He meant to use this chance to test what strange powers these so-called heterodox cultivators actually possessed. The next time he faced such an opponent, he would meet him with that much more assurance.

To survive in the blood-soaked cultivation world, combat experience mattered enormously. All the treasures and cultivation in the world counted for far less if one didn't know how to apply them. The mid-stage Demon Gate cultivator behind him was a perfect opportunity: not too strong, isolated and alone—and if the fight truly went badly, Andy could always flee at the Wind-Treader Dragon's full speed.

With that settled, after an hour or so of flight Andy simply descended and landed on a reef. The Demon Gate cultivator followed him down at once.

"Must you pursue this to the bitter end? You've chased me long enough. Why not turn back and report to your master that I was swallowed whole by a rank-five beast, leaving you no choice but to return empty-handed? That way neither of us needs to fight to the death—and it might be no bad outcome for either of us!" Andy watched the hideous middle-aged man arrive wrapped in black mist, and made his proposal with a smile.

"Hmph. Killing you has nothing to do with my report. That storage pouch at your waist is bulging—stuffed with beast materials, I'd wager!" the ugly man snorted, his eyes fixed on Andy's belt.

"Heh. I knew persuasion would be wasted. Truthfully, I only wanted to see whether a man whose nostrils are bigger than his mouth could still enunciate properly!" Andy said, smiling, fingers already curled around several flying needles and a shield.

The ugly man erupted in fury. "You're dead!" He deployed a black triangular banner barely a cun long; at a light wave it grew to several chi, and thick black mist poured from it, churning and roiling until it enveloped him completely, swallowing even his silhouette.

Andy had no idea what this black mist was, that the man would trust it as his sole protection—he hadn't even raised a defensive barrier. Seeing that, Andy dispensed with courtesy and sent four flying needles stabbing wildly into the mist.

The needles pierced the blackness with ease—and hit nothing at all. Andy loosed another furious flurry. Still nothing.

Now a chill crept over him. This black mist was clearly no simple thing: it hid the man's form so thoroughly that he seemed at once there and not there, and no matter where the needles struck, they found only empty air.

"Flying needles—fine artifacts, those. They'll fetch a handsome price!" The ugly man's voice drifted out of the black mist, tinged with unmistakable excitement.