Chapter Sixty: The Supreme Eight Extremes Sword

The underground space before them was vast beyond measure.

Zhan Bai, Tu Zheng, and Hua Ruyan had stopped just ahead, also surveying their surroundings. At first glance, Qin Feng saw countless corpses strewn across the ground—emaciated bodies lying in all directions, some beheaded or missing limbs. Though these were newly dead, their manner of death was grim and terrifying; whatever sinister sorcery had befallen them had drained their flesh and blood, leaving them shriveled like dried husks.

At the very center of this cavernous space, surrounded by the circle of corpses, was a rectangular depression in the ground that immediately drew their attention.

“Where is the Faceless One?” Qin Feng asked as he stepped forward, turning to Zhan Bai.

“He vanished upon arriving here,” Zhan Bai replied. “Most likely, he’s hiding among these corpses. With so many bodies and his skill at concealment, there’s no way to find him.”

Qin Feng nodded, and the five of them advanced cautiously.

Reaching the edge of the sunken pit, Qin Feng looked down—and his heart suddenly leapt.

Below was a black coffin, battered and broken, missing even its lid. Yet at each of its four corners, massive crimson iron chains were fastened, their other ends anchored to four enormous stone pillars. The pillars were driven through with countless child-sized bones, each affixed with strange yellow talismans.

Inside the coffin lay a colossal demonic corpse, emanating a staggering aura of dark power. Its face was a fearsome shade of red and blue, its frame immense, its muscles as if cast from iron—projecting an overwhelming force that seemed able to topple mountains.

Most bizarre, however, was the brilliant sword pinned through the corpse’s chest, its cold edge gleaming. Even in this place of darkness and evil miasma, the sword shone radiantly, like a lotus unsullied by mud. Clearly, this was no ordinary weapon.

In one corner of the pit lay another, unusual corpse. Its garb set it apart from the others—though faded and yellowed, the sleeve still bore faint traces of two characters: “Eight Extremes.”

Upon reading those words, Qin Feng’s expression turned curious.

“The Sect of Eight Extremes!”

A thousand years ago, this was a powerhouse sect in the Cloudrise Kingdom, its standing in the cultivation world rivaling that of Mount Shu Sword Sect today. Due to certain circumstances, however, the sect declined and was eventually annihilated by the evil Corpse Sect.

As for the reason, Qin Feng had some inkling. According to ancient records, the sect’s downfall stemmed from the loss of their sect’s greatest treasure—the Supreme Eight Extremes Sword.

Above all mystical artifacts were the so-called Supreme Mystical Treasures, their power indescribably vast. To become the guardian treasure of a sect, an artifact had to be at least of top-tier quality. The loss of such a treasure could easily lead to a sect’s destruction—yet another testament to the power such items wielded.

“It seems something extraordinary happened here…”

Especially that ancient corpse—after all these years, it still radiated such a formidable presence. Clearly, the person had not been ordinary in life. Linking this with the other corpse and the mysterious sword, the group was lost in thought, though most eyes were drawn irresistibly to the sword.

Truth be told, the sword was indeed a potent temptation.

But Qin Feng knew better—claiming it would not be so easy.

The scene made it clear: the sword was there to suppress the demon corpse. Even if its evil had faded over centuries, and it could no longer cause harm, such a Supreme Mystical Sword was not something one could simply take. The sword had a spirit and would choose its destined master.

Thus, Qin Feng’s gaze lingered on the sword only briefly, his main focus on the demon corpse. Taking advantage of the others’ distraction, his eyes flickered with violet light as he examined it in detail.

As time passed, Qin Feng’s expression darkened.

Though the demon corpse’s evil energy was almost depleted, three mysterious forces still flowed faintly within it. One, the weakest, came from the sword in its chest; another, of middling strength, originated from the corpse itself; the third, by far the strongest, had a source—

Qin Feng’s gaze shifted downward, finally settling on the lidless black coffin.

This matter was far more complicated than it appeared…

At that moment, Tu Zheng turned and asked Zhan Bai, “Brother Zhan, what should we do? Do we take the sword or not?”

Zhan Bai’s eyes showed deep hesitation. For a spell cultivator, a sword like this was a fatal allure—especially one of supreme quality. For someone whose power was built upon a single sword, it was nearly irresistible.

But reason prevailed; seizing the sword could be extremely dangerous. The sea of corpses alone made that clear. Therefore, caution was paramount.

“Brother Zhan, it’s your call. The sword is marvelous, but not suited to me. Whether you take it or not, you have my support,” Tu Zheng said with a hearty, honest smile.

Hua Ruyan’s eyes flashed with greed but she knew her own efforts were lacking; if she wanted the sword, it would only be after Zhan Bai failed.

Shi Yuan was generous as well, stating the sword didn’t suit her and leaving the decision to Zhan Bai.

At last, Zhan Bai turned to Qin Feng, seeking his opinion.

Qin Feng shrugged, indicating he would pass. Yet he did not forget to warn, “Brother Zhan, if you truly mean to claim the sword, act quickly! And the instant you succeed, use the sword to destroy the demon corpse completely! Otherwise, I fear something unforeseen will occur.”

His meaning was plain: the sword could be taken, but all potential threats must be dealt with immediately.

“Very well,” Zhan Bai said, eyes resolute, his mind made up.

Opportunities like this were rare indeed. As the saying goes, fortune favors the bold. If Zhan Bai could claim the sword, his strength would soar to a new level; with such talent, it was likely that centuries hence, Cloudrise Kingdom would boast another late-stage Tiangang cultivator.

Such temptation was hard to resist—even Zhan Bai could not remain unmoved.

Having decided, Zhan Bai sent forth a beam of spiritual light toward the sword. As the light entered the sword, it began to hum and tremble. Zhan Bai shut his eyes, his hands weaving sword-seizing incantations at great speed.

This particular technique was a renowned sword-claiming method of Mount Shu Sword Sect. As time passed, the sword’s trembling intensified, the humming never ceasing. Sweat poured from Zhan Bai’s brow as his expression grew more strained.

“Almost there—just a little more!” Tu Zheng whispered tensely by his side.

Suddenly, Zhan Bai’s eyes snapped open. He shouted, “Sword, come to me!”

With a resonant hum, the sword sprang from the corpse’s chest in a flash of light, shooting toward Zhan Bai. But the speed was too great—his control not yet sufficient. The sword grazed his left cheek, leaving a deep cut across his handsome face.

“Quick, after it, Zhan Bai!” Qin Feng urged as Zhan Bai stood stunned.

The outcome was clear: the sword flew toward Zhan Bai, indicating its preference for him as master. Yet Zhan Bai’s cultivation was still insufficient to fully control such a weapon—he would need time to master it.

Startled, Zhan Bai nodded gratefully to Qin Feng and chased after the flying sword.

Just as Zhan Bai left the cavern in pursuit, a peal of laughter echoed from within, shaking the entire underground vault.

“Ghost Painter, at last you’ve brought me a worthy candidate who has taken the sword that suppressed me for a thousand years!” The voice was ancient, yet brimming with power.

“Yes, Ancestor, at last you may return to the world!” another voice replied. From the heap of corpses, a man rose, his features shifting until he resumed the form of the Faceless One. Behind him, the coffin floated into the air.

…

(End of section)