From a loser to an immortal sage

Chapter 490 The Immortal Realm Alliance is in Turmoil

The moment the earthquake struck from beneath my feet, cold sweat trickled down the edge of the table from my fingertips.

The glazed tiles of the council hall crashed onto the bluestone slabs with a loud clatter. A piece of broken tile grazed my temple, carrying a strand of hair that had been shredded by the sword energy—this commotion was ten times more intense than when the small formation in Demon Cloud Valley broke three days ago.

"Hold on!" Wen Chen gripped my wrist, his jade flute already at his lips.

His knuckles were bluish-white from the strain, and the sword energy emanating from his flute made my eardrums ache. "It's the Dark Moon Cult's Netherworld Mist." When he turned to look at me, the eerie blue light in his eyes was like a sword tempered with ice. "They're going to ruin today's conference."

I gripped the Key of Destiny tightly. The stinging sensation of the dark patterns running through my palm reminded me of the ancient book Wen Chen had unearthed last night—the Netherworld Mist was specifically designed to destroy spiritual veins. Back then, the Dark Moon Sect used this move to massacre three medium-sized immortal sects.

It turns out that the "headache" that the demonic figure mentioned was about overturning the entire Immortal Realm at the Alliance Conference.

A clear shout came from outside the mountain gate from Zhao Xianzi, and the crisp sound of the Qingfeng sword cleaving through the mist was like a series of thunderclaps.

She was standing guard at the entrance maintaining order, but at that moment I caught a glimpse of her figure flitting through the black mist. The amber pendant I had given her on the sword tassel was gleaming faintly—last month she had said that once the alliance was established, she would wear this pendant to the South China Sea to see the coral reefs, but now it had become the sword blocking the way.

"Damn it!" The Wind Demon King's wine jug slammed down at my feet, splashing wine onto the tips of my shoes embroidered with cloud patterns.

The draft lifted his dark cloak, revealing a snow leopard tooth pendant hanging at his waist—the "thank you gift" he had said he would give to the injured snow leopard the day before. But now, he pulled out a short blade from his boot.

He grinned at me, his breath reeking of alcohol mixed with the stench of blood and rust: "Little girl, I didn't drink the wine from Demon Cloud Valley for nothing!"

Suddenly, a bluish-gray hand emerged from the black mist; the sound of fingernails scraping against the pillar sent chills down my spine.

The fingernails were stained with something dark brown, like dried blood or rotten tree roots—exactly the same finger bones as those of the child skeleton found in the tree hollow of the mass grave three months ago.

When I dug through the rotten soil, the child was clutching half a bronze badge of the Darkmoon Cult, his fingernails digging deeply into his palm.

"Watch out!" Wen Chen's flute suddenly rose in pitch, and sword energy wrapped in black mist tore open a gap.

I caught a glimpse of Envoy Li huddled behind a pillar. The jade thumb ring he always loved to caress was now rubbing against the corner of the pillar, leaving several white marks on the wood. This coordinator of the neutral immortal realm had said yesterday that "the alliance needs to be planned slowly," but now he was clutching his life-saving charm so tightly that his knuckles were white.

The heat of the Key of Destiny suddenly burned through my palm. I looked down and saw dark lines crawling up my arm, like a silver snake that had come to life.

This is the second time it has acted so agitated. The last time was when it was breaking the formation in Demon Cloud Valley. Wen Chen said it was a "fate's response." But now I only feel a chill down my spine—the Dark Moon Sect dares to make such a big show at the Alliance Conference, so it must have more than just Demon Shadow as a pawn.

The roars from within the black mist grew closer, and I heard a magical artifact representing the Immortal Realm shatter, the crisp cracking sound mingling with exclamations.

Zhao Xianzi's sword tassel suddenly went silent. My heart tightened, and I was about to rush over when I saw her stagger back from the mist. A layer of black frost had formed on the blade of her sword. She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and shouted at me, "Something in the mist is gnawing on spiritual energy!"

Wen Chen's flute playing suddenly changed tune, becoming a variation of "The Song of Suppressing Demons".

I know he's suppressing his spiritual energy consumption, after all, the Dark Moon Cult hasn't fully revealed its trump card yet.

The Wind Demon King's short blade had already pierced into the black mist. With each strike, he drank a mouthful of wine, the liquid hissing as it dripped onto his wounds, yet his laughter grew even more maniacal: "You bastards from Dark Moon, taste my strong liquor!"

I gripped the Key of Destiny and took half a step forward, when the dark mist suddenly surged into a vortex.

At the center of the vortex, I saw a pair of eerie green eyes—exactly the same as the faint shadow in the mist that the demonic figure had left.

"Xiao Yao." The voice, shrouded in the black mist, scraped against the heart like a rusty knife. "You think you can form an alliance by rallying a few rogue cultivators?"

Wen Chen's flute playing suddenly stopped.

As I gazed into those eyes, I suddenly recalled the last page of the ancient book that Wen Chen had turned to the night before—when the Netherworld Mist was at its most ferocious, it would reveal the caster's "mental form."

The Grand Elder of the Dark Moon Cult is most adept at using the resentment of the living to cultivate "spiritual images".

Another earthquake struck, this one even more violently than the last.

A dull thud echoed as the roof beams of the council chamber snapped, and pebbles struck Wen Chen's shoulder. He didn't even flinch; he simply gripped my hand tightly and channeled his spiritual energy into me: "I'll protect you. First, stabilize the allies."

I looked down at the audience—Zhao Xianzi swung her sword again, and the amber pendant on the tassel began to flash once more; the Wind Demon King's short blade sparked, and the wine in the flask was empty; Special Envoy Li was still huddled behind a pillar, but I saw him make a hand seal with his fingertips, a gesture to summon a messenger pigeon.

The eyes in the black mist drew ever closer, and I could hear my own heart pounding like a drum.

The dark patterns of the Key of Destiny crept up my neck, burning my skin until it turned red.

Wen Chen's spiritual energy flowed like a warm spring, down my arm and into my heart. He whispered, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

But I know this is just the beginning.

The Demon Shadow's words, "There are plenty of headaches at the Immortal Realm Assembly," have only revealed a small part of the truth at this moment.

When the eyes in the black mist opened their mouths, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth, I heard the deafening roar of the roof beams snapping completely—

Beneath that roar, an even deeper, more sinister howl, seemingly emanating from the earth, was slowly rising.