Chapter Seventy-One: Will You Not Let Me Die in Peace?

This kind of unspoken communication was well understood by everyone present. Just a moment ago, Greenleaf had felt as if she’d narrowly escaped death, but upon hearing Wuyun demand the elixir, she found life even less bearable than death.

“The Profound Mystical Pill has already been consumed by me—how else could I have dealt with Ox Cauldron?” Greenleaf’s voice was barely audible, fearing that divine blade would dig the pill out of her.

“No matter what you do, you must spit the pill out!” Long Yi said expressionlessly.

The next instant, the formation diagram stirred and was discovered by Ox Cauldron.

Greenleaf was anxious. The pill had already been refined within her; how could she retrieve it? Even if she were thrown back into the furnace, it would be impossible to extract again.

Yet, just as Ox Cauldron’s horn pierced through the formation diagram, Little Worm suddenly realized, “No, the elder was talking about pill energy!”

In that moment, Little Worm controlled Greenleaf, forcing her to spew out the countless baleful energies absorbed into her soul, which surged into Wuyun’s body.

The latter, as if a ball being inflated, floated swiftly and clung to the small Ox Cauldron, which had been pierced by the celestial spike.

“What a fresh piece of meat!”

This was the last sentence everyone heard amid the tremors.

In the next instant, the ox horn that had pierced through the formation diagram released ten thousand fathoms of golden-white lightning, scouring the internal defenses.

Within the formation’s core, everyone was swept by the shockwave, bodies quaking, hair standing on end.

Greenleaf was utterly terrified and at a loss. If Little Worm died, she would undoubtedly be implicated.

How could they break through this predicament? Rely on Long Yi’s cultivation? Or perhaps that terrifying divine blade?

In the following second, Little Worm summoned Greenleaf, and Long Yi hurled the divine blade…

This time, the sky collapsed, but it wasn’t a dragon descending—it was a serpent!

Dumbfounded, Greenleaf found herself gripping the divine blade and charging at Ox Cauldron. With her cultivation now degraded to the initial stage of Profound Immortal, facing Ox Cauldron was unimaginable.

The divine blade emitted a streak of light a thousand fathoms long, shattering the descending glaciers. At the tip of the blade, a blue pattern formed—the Six-talents Ancestral Dragon, manifesting at its peak, ready to strike.

Crack!

The blade collided with Ox Cauldron’s advancing horn. In the ox’s mocking laughter and the Six-talents Dragon’s momentary triumph, the seemingly invincible blade, just as it chopped in, met a burst of white explosive force from the horn. In an instant, Greenleaf was sent flying, crashing into the solid ice, revealing thousands of meters of serpentine body, barely clinging to life.

Disdain gleamed in the ox’s eyes. The pinnacle of Profound Immortal cultivation was not something a mere initiate could withstand, even with a powerful weapon. No matter how formidable the divine blade, there must be a weakness.

A step forward, and one could become an Immortal King. How could the celestial arts cultivated be understood by mere ants?

Wounded, Greenleaf was torn between grief and joy—grief that even with such a divine weapon and a desperate strike, Ox Cauldron remained unscathed; joy that the ox’s counterattack had no follow-up.

“Exciting, isn’t it? Surprised?” Wuyun chuckled. Little Worm startled, looking at the still-bleeding Greenleaf, hesitating.

Wuyun continued to fiddle with the gently rising charcoal fire in his hand. “What’s wrong? Shall the monk die before the daoist?”

“Die, you must!” Without another word, Little Worm again summoned Greenleaf. With the master-servant contract binding them, Little Worm held the power of erasure. Greenleaf, unable to contain her fury, roared, “Can’t you let me die in peace? Must you always shock and terrify me! This Ox Cauldron—aren’t you supposed to…”

Before she finished, Little Worm raised her once more, wielding the divine blade against Ox Cauldron.

This time, the Six-talents Ancestral Dragon did not emerge; better the divine blade shatter than come forth again. The previous strike had spent all its strength. Now, Greenleaf, weak and with her serpent form exposed, could do little holding a blade.

Ox Cauldron snorted, “That blade is strong, but can it surpass my divine arts? Thousand-cattle, Nine-peaks, Power of Myriad Phenomena!”

With a roar, his voice alone caused Greenleaf, mid-attack, to spew blood. Unbeknownst to her, he had used a sound-based technique across space, easily unraveling her assault.

The divine blade, now devoid of radiance, struck the horn once more.

Crack—the blade sank halfway into the horn, just shy of severing it!

Where was the titanic counterforce? The white protective shield? The supposed contact-triggered divine art? How could a horn, as hard as a top-tier fifth-grade celestial weapon, be so deeply cut?

A series of questions flashed through her mind. A hot breath erupted from the ox’s nostrils, and Six-flavored True Fire immediately surrounded Greenleaf, burning so fiercely the Six-talents Ancestral Dragon leapt out.

Whoosh!

The true fire was swept into the formation diagram, about to erupt, when suddenly a Buddhist bead appeared—it was Blazing Phoenix in true form, swallowing nine-tenths of the fire, then vanishing contentedly. The remaining wisp turned into a flame, roasting the flesh beneath Little Ox Cauldron.

The previously unmoving coals now released an aroma under the flame—the tender scent of beef!

Ox Cauldron howled in agony—not because his horn was cut, but as if his very soul was being roasted in some otherworldly space. Whenever he cast a critical spell, a jolt of pain would force him to break off in torment!

Roar!

Seeing the attack had effect, the Six-talents Ancestral Dragon broke free from Greenleaf’s mouth. She transformed back into human form, blade in hand, and struck once more—precisely at the previous spot. This time, the blade cleaved through.

Startled, Ox Cauldron watched his severed horn tumble through the air, transforming into a bull-faced boy who remained at his side. Then the other horn was cut in two strokes, becoming a bull-faced maiden.

“You seek death!”

Enraged, Ox Cauldron clenched his hooves, crushing the boy and girl into two crescent-shaped weapons, gleaming red. These two weapons joined to form a new weapon, twisted like an S—clearly, a mid-grade fourth-tier celestial weapon.

This was Ox Cauldron’s ultimate natal weapon, painstakingly forged. If he survived the Immortal King tribulation, it would ascend to the highest grade, possibly even break into the third tier. But used now, a flaw was evident—a sense of regret, as if its premature emergence had cost it a prime opportunity.

“Celestial Ox Moon Slash!”

With a surge of energy, the natal weapon, driven by Ox Cauldron’s will, slashed out—not at the Six-talents Dragon hidden in the blade, nor at the terrified Greenleaf, but at Wuyun, who was roasting his own soul for meat.

Wuyun snorted, using a supreme second-grade celestial sword to gently slice a piece of beef, savoring it slowly. Having lost most of his cultivation, as soon as he ate it, some of his strength was restored.

But in Ox Cauldron’s soul, something was visibly diminished—a sliver gone! What manner of sorcery was this?

Ox Cauldron felt as if a knife had struck his heart. The Celestial Ox Moon Slash struck the formation diagram, obstructed by layers of vortex, yet unstoppable.

Within the formation, countless celestial arts, countless weapons, all were shattered by this blow. At the forefront, its target was Wuyun.

Snap!

The True Spirit of Ten Heavens and Nine Earths appeared, wielding the Dread Hate Celestial Sword. With a barely adequate stance, he stood and blocked. Then, the sword’s own protective will erased the threatening attack.

So swift was the sequence that even Bear Third didn’t notice his own injury; the S-shaped weapon split in two, each becoming a crescent, broken at the center. Thus, a mid-grade fourth-tier weapon was reduced to two inferior ones.

Ox Cauldron felt as though his heart had been gouged out. Bear Third and King Dou cheered, only to find their legs moving awkwardly.

Though the strike aimed at Wuyun was blocked, the scattered light from the divided celestial weapons had slashed across their legs.

“Yue Qi, you…” Bear Third coughed up blood. King Dou comforted him, “A child so small can hardly wield a celestial sword properly. Luckily, I saw him use all his strength, otherwise, another inch lower and we’d be chopped in two. We’d really be dead for sure!”

Both shuddered with lingering fear, as did Wuyun, who wiped his brow—though there was no sweat—and said to Yue Qi, “You’re going to get your bottom smacked.”

Yue Qi burst into tears, wailing on the ground. After a moment, the aroma of meat drifted over; he scrambled up to Wuyun’s side, snatching at the meat on the celestial sword.

Outside the glacier, Ox Cauldron spewed blood, desperate to flee but unable. His horns severed, his natal weapon damaged—how could these ants have accomplished this?

It must all be the serpent’s plot—it must!

Seeing Ox Cauldron too cowed to move, Wuyun spared no words, glanced at the stunned Little Worm, and with a thought, ordered Greenleaf to strike once more.

This time, Greenleaf’s strike missed as Ox Cauldron, wiser now, dodged and refused further head-on clashes.

After the missed strike, Wuyun shook his head, knowing the foolish ox had sensed the secret. He said to Bear Third and King Dou, who were mending their legs, “If I wish to advance my cultivation, I’ll need plenty of ox blood.”

Bear Third wondered what that meant for the two of them—were they to leave?

The next moment, the formation diagram shifted, swapping the positions of Ox Cauldron, Bear Third, King Dou, Long Yi, and Little Worm.

“Return my natal celestial weapon!” Once inside the formation, Ox Cauldron revealed his true form—a hornless black ox, breathing fire that burned all around. After the flames were absorbed by the formation, the ox spat out a multitude of fifth-grade celestial weapons—six in all: a ship, a staff, a tower, a ring, a whip, and a bowl, which shielded and protected him.

Hidden within these weapons, Ox Cauldron resisted the temptation of the roasted meat Wuyun flaunted and from his chest produced a mirror.

This was the treasured mirror with which he had communicated before. As the mirror appeared, Wuyun glanced at the speed with which the others were collecting ox blood, understanding at once.

“The Immortal-Communicating Mirror!”

Ox Cauldron bellowed. In the mirror, an ox’s image appeared, gradually transforming into human form. Emerging from the mirror, seeing all that lay outside, he was both ashamed and angry. “How could my natal weapon be damaged? How will I survive the Immortal King tribulation and become an Immortal King? Wait—”

This figure eyed Wuyun’s formation diagram, seeming to ponder. Suddenly, he turned and drew forth another mirror from the first.

This figure was of Immortal King caliber. With another mirror, the mirrors nested, creating a mirror within a mirror.

Wuyun commanded the formation to tremble, attempting to disrupt the spell. But to dispatch an Immortal King was no simple feat. Even the glacier itself fractured with a spatial rift, the Immortal King’s strike battered repeatedly by the spatial passage until, reaching Wuyun’s position, it could only barely open a small rift.

Yet, as the fissure opened, a beam of mirror light aligned with that in the formation, forming another shadow.

“Which unfilial descendant dares disturb me?” came a bellowing ox’s roar. A colossal figure, towering and imposing, followed the twin mirrors and appeared within the formation.