While the members of the Wendao Sword Sect were still debating, the battle cries and fires on the distant mountains startled the giant snake that had been hunting down fleeing foundation establishment cultivators in the valley.
It raised its head, its crimson eyes glowing with a sinister light.
Its long tongue flickered, emitting a series of sharp hisses.
The most primal hunting instincts made it exceptionally excited, and it began to accelerate toward the people from the Wendao Sword Sect.
The Xiushe lunged for the kill, arriving before them in the blink of an eye.
Nangong Ning’s modification of the formation was not yet complete, and the bamboo rafts the others were holding were only half-finished.
Being attacked from both front and back left them in a state of unease.
"The giant snake is here," Nangong Ning said, gritting her teeth. "We’re out of time..."
Song Qingshu forced himself up despite his heavy injuries. Gripping his long sword with his single arm, he stepped forward with grim determination.
"I’ll go stall it."
At the moment, Ruan Zhong and Nangong Ning were tied up with the formation. If the Xiushe broke through before the new formation was ready, none of them would escape. Someone had to stand up and give it their all.
He had long since reached his limit, his life like a lamp that had run out of oil. He was already a dying man.
Living on was just a burden; a suicidal strike would at least buy some time for the others. He couldn't think of any bargain in the world more worthwhile than this.
Nangong Ning and Ruan Zhong’s faces were grim. In their eyes, besides anger and frustration, there was mostly pain. However, they did not stop him.
Because someone had to go.
"Martial Uncle Song, I’ll go," one of the disciples offered.
Song Qingshu blocked them with his sword, dismissing their thoughts. "Don't be sentimental. No one is more suited for this than me."
The others stopped in their tracks.
Xu Xian remained silent.
Song Qingshu’s throat bobbed as he gave a hoarse final instruction: "Make sure you return alive."
With that, he stared fixedly at the mountain-sized snake in the night. His eyes held an unprecedented level of resolve as he shouted fiercely, "Vile creature! The one who slays you today is Song Qingshu of the Wendao Sword Sect’s Falling Cloud Peak!"
He forcibly burned his remaining lifespan. His momentum surged rapidly, and a sword aura rose around his body, looking like a flame burning in the dark of night.
He charged.
The Xiushe raised its head and let out a furious roar.
The two collided, causing clouds to surge and sword intent to churn.
"Ah!"
A scream rang out—seven parts fury, three parts savagery.
"Let’s go to hell together!"
An intense white light erupted out of nowhere, so blinding that no one could keep their eyes open. Then, a thunderous boom echoed through the entire Snake Valley.
Boom!
A massive explosion rose under the moonlight like a mushroom cloud. It was like a volcanic eruption, sending turbulent waves and savage winds crashing toward them. The sixth-stage king beast was instantly swallowed by the blast.
Destroying his own dantian and using his sea of qi as a blade, Song Qingshu struck the final sword of his life.
In the Cangming Realm, once a cultivator reached the core formation stage, they could ignite their sea of qi as a final, desperate strike at the end of their path. If they reached the nascent soul stage, they could even detonate their soul.
But...
Throughout history, cultivators had died in countless numbers, and many had been pushed to the brink. Yet, very few were willing to resort to self-detonation.
This was because detonating one's sea of qi or nascent soul meant a single fate: not just the end of one's path, but eternal damnation, never to enter reincarnation.
Even setting aside such ethereal concepts, a cultivator's self-detonation involved enduring extreme agony. That pain was like being boiled in oil, scorched by fire, or having one's bones scraped with a dull blade...
No words could truly capture the suffering brought by self-detonation.
Not everyone could endure it. Nor could everyone succeed in detonating themselves just because they wanted to. If there was even a shred of hesitation or doubt during the process, it would end in failure.
This required more than just superhuman willpower and resolve. Most importantly, it required conviction. A powerful conviction that transcended life and death.
This was truly not something just anyone could do—demonic cultivators, for instance, were incapable of it.
Xu Xian was only at the foundation establishment stage, but even if he were at the core formation stage, he wasn't sure if he would have the courage to do the same...
The eyes of everyone present were bloodshot, their faces twisting in agony. Pain and grief grew unchecked in their hearts. However, their hands did not stop moving for a single second.
Song Qingshu was dead. Among the myriad ways to die, he had chosen the most tragic and painful one. He was destined to leave no corpse behind.
On a small scale, he died to stall the Xiushe and win them a slim chance of survival. On a larger scale, he died for the common people of Yecheng and for the conviction of the Wendao Sword Sect.
It was a conviction that Xu Xian knew and understood, yet could not personally emulate.
One could call it ethereal or illusory, but one could not deny its existence. At the very least, Xu Xian couldn't—because he had seen it with his own eyes.
"Dammit," he muttered. His nose felt sore and his eyes stung, though he didn't know if it was from the wind or the heavy smell of gunpowder in the night air.
A life-bound sword snapped, and the remaining half emerged from the smoke. It turned into a streak of light, resembling a firefly, and shot straight toward the north...
The man dies, the sword returns—even if only the hilt or a fragment the size of a fingernail remains. This was the sword of the Wendao Sword Sect, much like the people of the sect: unyielding, stubborn, and adhering to their principles to the end.
"Martial Uncle Song!"
"Brother Qingshu..."
"Junior Brother Song..."
In the distance, Min Zhan, who was controlling the battlefield, let out a disdainful sneer when he saw a faint sword intent ignore everything else and head north.
"Finally, one of them is dead. A pity it was just a minor one..."
It was just a spirit sword; its owner in the Wendao Sword Sect must have had mediocre talent. However, the fact that he successfully self-detonated earned him a modicum of respect in Min Zhan's eyes.
Unfortunately... dead was dead. When the lamp goes out, the light vanishes; words were useless.
The spirit sword vanished into the distance. As the white light faded and before the dust had settled, the silhouette of the giant snake still stood tall under the moon.
It shook its massive head. A red light flickered rhythmically within its belly.
Song Qingshu's self-detonation was the final counterattack of a late-stage core formation expert. Even an ordinary nascent soul cultivator would be injured, if not killed, by taking it head-on.
Yet the giant snake merely shook its head. Looking at it by the moonlight, there wasn't even a single wound on its body, not even a broken scale.
Its defensive power was terrifyingly high.
"Damn it."
"As expected of a giant snake at the beast king stage..."
The dread in the group's eyes deepened as a sense of powerlessness took root. Their movements slowed for a moment.
The giant snake stared at them like they were a group of clowns, its blood-red eyes full of mockery. It continued its charge, even faster than before, its murderous intent surging even more fiercely.
Song Qingshu's death had failed to stop it; instead, it had only enraged the creature.
An elephant might not care about an ant, but if an ant bites it, the elephant will still lose its temper. And that fury was certainly not something an ant could withstand.
Seeing that the formation was not yet ready and the giant snake was rushing toward them, Feng Shisan dropped the bamboo raft and drew his sword. "I'll go..."
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder. The force was so great it nearly pulled him over.
Looking to the side, he saw a blur dart out like a cat in the night.
Xu Xian narrowed his eyes as he moved, his voice low and heavy. "Let me do it!"
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