Inside the hall, Lina the Spirit Fox lay motionless atop Dragon-Qilin, secretly cracking open her eyes to watch as one severed head after another rolled across the floor.
The scene was truly bizarre—there was no visible enemy, yet any Heaven-Man expert who stepped into the courtyard died on the spot.
The others were on high alert. One Heaven-Man expert barked a warning as sword qi frosted the air, silver frost swirling around him as he cautiously entered the courtyard, eyes scanning warily in every direction.
His swordplay was fierce—countless sword-lights swam around him like tiny, lively fish, darting joyfully in circles.
He adopted a purely defensive stance, with thousands of sword-fish circling him, each containing immense cultivation power, ready to retaliate instantly at any sign of hostility.
He had no choice—his enemy was invisible, impossible to pinpoint, and yet so many Heaven-Man experts had already died in this bizarre way.
He encountered no danger, but still did not relax his guard, moving slowly toward the main hall where Quinn and the others slept—then he saw the painting hanging before the door.
Quinn lit a candle before the painting, illuminating it.
The painting showed the back of a middle-aged man, sword slung over his shoulder. His face was turned just enough that the corner of his eye seemed to glance toward the viewer.
The sliver of his gaze radiated a killing intent that could shake the heavens.
That fleeting glance was captured by the painter, immortalized in the painting.
Though the painting showed only this man, it felt as if endless secrets were hidden in its empty spaces.
It hinted at a horrific battle just ended—countless corpses at the man's feet, a sea of blood, white bones stained red, and sword-slain souls seized by Underworld Couriers, dragged into the darkness.
In that dark world, a demon with two twisted horns held a banquet, celebrating as these powerful souls became his guests and his food.
These were the secrets hidden in the painting's empty spaces.
In the courtyard, the Heaven-Man expert saw the painting and its subject, then suddenly realized his own head was sliding off his neck. He felt time slow as he fell into endless, bottomless darkness.
Thud.
His head hit the ground, rolled twice, and its eyes remained wide open.
Suddenly, a large hand reached out and grabbed the severed head.
Outside the courtyard, nine people stood in terror; only the white-browed Senior Greenmount remained composed as he took the Heaven-Man expert's severed head.
He was also the only Life-and-Death Realm grandmaster among them.
Senior Greenmount studied the Heaven-Man expert's eyes and let out a heavy breath. "Good sword," he said.
The other eight hurried over, voices trembling. "Senior Greenmount, what have you found?"
"Look at his eyes," Senior Greenmount replied.
The eight leaned in and saw that in each pupil of the Heaven-Man expert, a sword-light gleamed—one in each eye, as if the blade had struck straight at his face, ending his life in an instant.
Senior Greenmount lifted the severed head and turned toward the main hall where Quinn and the others slept. "The sword came from there. What exactly is inside?"
He slowly shifted his position, searching for the right angle, then caught the flicker of candlelight and glimpsed a corner of the painting. "It's a painting. I see the edge of the figure's robe..."
"Senior Greenmount, why bother with all this? Why not just destroy the house and everyone inside?"
A Heaven-Man expert suddenly attacked. His sword pill soared, unleashing a pillar of sword-light that howled toward the hall where Quinn and the others lay!
The sword pillar was massive, shredding everything in its path with spinning sword-light!
It was the Encircling Sword Style, created by the Imperial Preceptor!
The Imperial Preceptor was never one to keep secrets; many of his sword techniques had spread far and wide. Sword sects across the land practiced his arts, and this attacker was among the best.
His mastery of the Encircling Sword Style surpassed most others.
This sword strike was grand and overwhelming. If it hit the hall, everything inside would be ground to dust—Quinn, the Nethervault Demon King, Dragon-Qilin, all would be pulverized!
"Don't harbor any murderous intent toward that painting!"
Senior Greenmount's face changed dramatically; he tried to intervene but was too late.
The sword pillar suddenly met an invisible barrier, froze in midair, then crumbled inch by inch; with a snap, the sword pill exploded.
A thin red mark appeared between the attacker's brows. A single drop of blood oozed out, and he collapsed to the ground.
"Be on guard!" Senior Greenmount barked.
His aura erupted—six thunderous booms sounded from within as he opened all six divine treasuries: Spirit Embryo, Five Luminaries, Six Directions, Seven Stars, Heaven-Man, and Life-and-Death!
All around him, the Heaven-Man experts could barely keep their footing, forced to retreat by his overwhelming aura.
Whoosh—
Behind Senior Greenmount, a god-demon phantom appeared: dragon-headed, human-bodied, half in the void, half in reality, as if a deity had descended.
Clutching a bright mirror, Senior Greenmount stared tensely at the hall where Quinn and the others lay, his voice hoarse: "Why aren't you all on guard? Do you have a death wish?"
At that moment, Quinn, feigning sleep in the hall, squinted and saw a shadow detach from the wall behind him—a tall, lean middle-aged man, his back stretched long by the candlelight.
The man who stepped from the painting was slender and silent, sword slung over his back, gliding into the courtyard like a weightless spirit without flesh.
The figure raised his head to the sky, drew his sword, and began to dance the blade while softly singing—a song that set sword-light swirling, fish and dragons leaping in its wake.
"With one stroke I open the emperor's blood sea; the rivers and mountains endure, but my heart grows desolate. I look around—my old homeland, no one left in their tattered clothes..."
Quinn dared not move. He felt sword qi and sword-light crisscrossing the world, weaving through space and time all around him.
He closed his eyes, but still sword-light flashed across the darkness, tearing it open.
He heard the sharp, urgent hiss of sword qi slicing the air by his ear.
When he opened his eyes, all he saw was a blinding web of sword-light. Outside, angry shouts and terrifying shockwaves erupted—the village's other houses blasted into the air and shattered in the dim night.
Quinn's heart pounded wildly. 'Grandpa Deaf has truly bestowed a soul—he's given the Village Chief in the painting a soul...'
Suddenly, all sound and light vanished. The low singing faded away as well.
With his eyes half open, Quinn vaguely saw a figure walking toward him, as if returning to the painting on the wall. Suddenly, the figure dissolved into a splash of black ink that soaked into the floor.
Startled, Quinn hurriedly opened his eyes and carefully glanced back. The painting on the wall had become a blank sheet of white paper.
The candle flickered, and all around was deathly silent.
Quinn let out a deep breath. Lina opened her eyes and whispered, "Young master..."
"It's safe now. Go to sleep."
Quinn said, "We still have to cross the mountains tomorrow. There's a long road ahead."