Volume One: A Youthful Encounter in Humble Times Chapter 130: The Daoist’s Final Performance in the Mortal World (Part 2)

The Netherbeast was well-versed in the Way of the Nether, a supreme method for concealing oneself within the void. It had assumed that by dissolving into the void—becoming one with it—it could easily evade detection. To its surprise, no matter how deep it hid, the three old crones could pinpoint its exact location with unerring precision.

At first, it suspected coincidence, or perhaps that the three crones were masters of the void themselves, allowing them to track it regardless of its concealment. It wasn't until the final attempt, when it fully assimilated into the void, leaving not a single trace of its existence, that the crones still hunted it down like maggots clinging to bone, forcing it back out into the open. Only then did it realize the problem lay not in their mastery of the void, but within itself.

It surmised that the thirteen bone nails were the cause. To prove its theory, it hid in the deepest reaches of the void and assimilated once more; if they could still find it, its suspicions would be confirmed. The result was exactly as feared. Once the Netherbeast realized it could not hide, it abandoned concealment and sought instead to escape. Simultaneously, it had to purge the remaining bone nails as quickly as possible.

However, the enemy seemed to anticipate this. Just as the Netherbeast attempted to expel the nails, it was horrified to find that the nails—previously not deeply embedded—were melting away, turning into wisps of black smoke that seeped into its flesh and soul. A profound fear took root in the Netherbeast's heart. It had never imagined that its first encounter with the Ghost Clan would be so perilous.

As the nails permeated its body, the beast felt its very being begin to warp. The Great Dao it had once commanded with ease now felt stiff and sluggish, as if it were no longer its own. This had never happened before; it was clear the enemy was eroding its cultivation and its Dao through the nails. Yet, the Netherbeast had no effective way to resist.

"Stop struggling," one of the crones said. "No matter how you fight, you cannot escape the fate of being taken back to the Ghost Clan."

Incensed, the Netherbeast retorted, "In your dreams! You think just because you want to take me, you can? I am not your pet! I am a Divine Beast, born with an affinity for the Great Dao. You wretched ghosts dare to covet me? You truly don't know the height of the sky or the depth of the earth. I doubt even the heavens are as thick-skinned as you lot."

Another crone asked, perplexed and displeased, "Where did a dignified Divine Beast learn such vulgarities?"

The Netherbeast scoffed, "What of it? You’re here to capture me, and you expect me to be pleasant? Have some shame! Do you really think you’re such high and mighty figures? Hah!"

The third crone waved her hand. "Enough talk. We only need to bring it back; our mission in the mortal realm will then be complete."

With that, she struck first, drawing a strange symbol in the air. It was a deep, dark hue—neither a character nor a formation rune—radiating a sinister, venomous aura. The other two crones followed suit. The three symbols converged, spinning at high speed to form a black vortex. The bone nails that the Netherbeast had managed to force out now flew from the crones' hands into the swirling abyss.

Watching the vortex form, the Netherbeast tried to flee, but no matter how it utilized the Way of the Nether, it could not break free from the vortex's gravitational pull.

Feeling the resonance between the remaining nails in its body and the vortex, it knew that if it could not purge the nails, it would inevitably be sucked in. Just as the vortex intensified and the Netherbeast’s control over its own Dao began to fail, a blade of light slashed across the horizon, cleaving the vortex in two.

The Netherbeast sensed the blade's essence and recognized it: this was the man known among humans as the Sword Saint—the one who had defected at the final hour and then mysteriously vanished.

This single strike shattered the Ghost Clan’s "Soul-Seizing Technique." It also inflicted heavy wounds upon the three crones. The Soul-Seizing Technique was no ordinary spell; it required not only mastery of the Ghost Dao but also a catalyst imbued with Ghost energy. The Ghost Clan’s sacred relics were the best catalysts, and the crones, being masters of their craft, had been certain of success. They never expected that even a sure thing could be thwarted by an unexpected variable.

Their technique broken, they suffered a violent backlash. Had their cultivation not been so profound, they would have been finished. Fortunately, they possessed the Ghost Clan’s restorative medicine, the "Rebirth Pill." To mortals, it was a lethal poison, but to ghosts, it offered immense vitality. As they consumed the pills, their backlash-induced injuries began to heal rapidly. When the head crone had planned this journey, she had accounted for every contingency—except for the existence of the Daoist, and the fact that anyone in this world could reach the Dao Origin Realm. The Daoist was a variable, and anyone connected to him was a variable as well.

Now, that variable had arrived.

Since the Sword Saint had reached the realm of "returning to simplicity," his blade intent was no longer that of a mere mortal. His previous style had been defined by the severance of human concerns and the burning of heavens, but in his current state, his sword intent possessed a transcendent, absolute quality. It was a silent, overbearing gaze that looked down upon all living things—a decree that granted life or demanded death at his whim.

The head crone looked at the Sword Saint as if facing a great enemy. "Who are you? Why do you interfere? Do you seek to make an enemy of the Ghost Clan?" They did not hide their identity; their aura was impossible to mask, so they chose to admit it, hoping to intimidate him into retreating.

But the Sword Saint was not a man who retreated. "What of the Ghost Clan?" he replied with disdain. "To leave your Dead Realm and trespass into the Realm of the Living—do you wish to incite war between the worlds? If that is your intention, I might as well claim your lives now as a warning to your clan."

Another crone sneered, "You are but a sword cultivator. Even if your blade has reached its limit, your cultivation is only at the mid-fourteenth realm. You are still two or three steps away from the limit of this world. What gives you the confidence to destroy us?"

The Sword Saint, intrigued and provocative, replied, "So, you wish to put that to the test?"

Before he could finish, the first crone warned, "Do not listen to him! He is merely buying time for the Netherbeast to purge the nails. If you engage him, you fall into his trap."

Heaven is my witness: the Sword Saint had no such intention. He helped the Netherbeast only because it was a creature of this realm, and he would not see it taken by the Ghost Clan. Furthermore, he had promised the Daoist he would protect it. Beyond that, he cared nothing for the beast. It was a strange creature with many secrets, but what was that to him? He had no desire to keep it, nor was he curious about the Way of the Nether. Why bother with such meaningless tasks?

Unfortunately, the Ghost Clan did not understand this, and by failing to provoke his battle-lust, they missed their chance. Had they played into his nature, he would have prioritized the thrill of the fight over any other objective.

As the other crones nodded in agreement, a chaotic battle erupted. The Ghost Clan’s arts were bizarre and treacherous, each strike targeting the Sword Saint’s soul—the most vulnerable part of any cultivator. Were it not for his mastery of the "returning to simplicity" state, he might not have been able to defend against such attacks.

Each strike of his blade severed their spells and surged forward, catching the three crones off guard. They were no pushovers; though they were but soul-fragments, they had cultivated tirelessly for years, reaching the absolute limit of the thirteenth realm. With their unique bodies, their strange Dao, and their coordinated movements, they managed to hold their own against the Sword Saint.

The Netherbeast watched the fray, puzzled. Why had the human Sword Saint come to its aid? Regardless, it was a blessing; it had more time to purge the nails. If it succeeded, it would no longer be so easily controlled. It might even devour them in return to settle this debt.

It turned its focus inward, only to realize that purging the nails was no simple task. They had fused completely with its soul and flesh. To remove them, it would have to either shatter its own soul to pick them out one by one or abandon its physical shell entirely.

Yet, if the Netherbeast abandoned its shell, would it still be a Netherbeast?