The entire stone hall flickered with swordsmanship, brief flashes appearing and vanishing continuously. At this moment, Zong Shou was drenched in sweat, his face a shade of ashen white.

This was already the thirteen thousand, two hundred and forty-third sword strike! The injuries sustained earlier when acquiring the Dragon Elixir were now gradually worsening.

And these sword phantoms had not yet ceased; they seemed infinite and endless. This battle was proving far more grueling and exhausting than the one against Jue Yu.

The sword phantoms shifted and changed, manifesting seven distinct styles of swordsmanship, nearly every one belonging to the Eighth Tier, Earth-Penetrating level or above! Furthermore, each sword intent had surpassed the stage of mere "Intent" and reached the level of "Spirit/Soul" (Po).

The Nine-Nine Dragon Shadow Sword, however, in the crucible of this fight, had been tempered until it was utterly mastered, achieving a state of sublime perfection. His physical body, battered and scarred by the relentless shockwaves of sword energy, would undoubtedly achieve further progress in the future.

Yet, in this confrontation, Zong Shou could see no hope of emerging victorious. If the challenge was this severe after fourteen thousand years, it must have been exponentially more formidable fourteen thousand years prior.

Ye Feishuang had mentioned that even the most gifted of the Dragon race had failed to secure the eighth spiritual artifact from this legacy ground; Zong Shou now truly believed it. The sword light continued to press forward incrementally—one moment it was the Vast and Majestic Qi Sword, the next the Great Cold Ice Sword, followed instantly by the Lightning Prison Extreme Sword, forcing Zong Shou into desperate parries.

He was intensely perplexed; if the names recorded on these three suspected pages of the Profound Destiny Golden Scroll truly belonged to seniors of the Dao of the Myriad Lives, then they must have been supreme masters of the blade, profoundly skilled in the Way of the Sword. Unable to divide his focus, he dared not consider how much time remained before this legacy ground sealed itself off.

Zong Shou only knew he had to exert his utmost with every swing, carving out every possible fraction of a second to regulate his vital energy and restore his inner breath. He strove to conserve as much strength as possible for the subsequent tidal wave of swords.

Gradually, he forgot time, forgot his surroundings, and ceased contemplating the three pages of the Profound Destiny Golden Scroll. His mind became pure; there was only the sword in his hand, and before his eyes, the ceaseless torrent of sword energies continuously spawning, hacking at him from all directions—each strike seemingly stronger, each technique more exquisite than the last.

It was precisely as Zong Shou was laboriously counting to the twenty-one thousand, two hundredth strike that the pervasive sword energies finally receded. By this point, Zong Shou was streaming sweat, his stance unsteady, his entire body on the verge of collapse.

His legs trembled, forcing him to lean on his sword to prevent falling entirely. First came a wry smile, which then transformed into a surge of genuine elation.

This battle had truly been exhilarating! It left an even deeper impression on him than the fight with Jue Yu.

The seven forms of sword art, each at the "Sword Spirit/Soul" level, had propelled his command of the Nine-Nine Dragon Shadow Sword to its zenith. As for the incomplete, flaw-ridden Primordial Unity Sword, he hadn't dared to deploy it even once during this trial.

Shaking his head, he swallowed several pills in quick succession. Once the vital energies within his body stabilized somewhat, Zong Shou ascended the stone steps leading deeper into the hall.

Without scrutinizing them, he swiftly tucked the three golden pages into his sleeve. Then, with long strides, he walked out through the great doors of the stone hall.

He scanned his surroundings; there was no one in sight. Perhaps they had already departed, or maybe they were still locked within some other stone hall, grappling with their own arduous tests.

Only Zong Yuan remained, standing guard outside the hall door with a calm expression. Zong Shou glanced over, then smiled: "Did you manage to get it?" Zong Yuan nodded, turning his hand over to reveal another object—nine pills.

Zong Shou examined them closely, and his eyes brightened: "So, these are Intent-Storing Elixirs! What excellent fortune!" The so-called Intent-Storing Elixir was a method where an alchemist used a spiritual pill as a vessel to store their martial intent within the pill itself.

Those who consumed it could not only use it to comprehend higher-level martial intents but also borrow the martial will within the pill to battle an opponent. The nine pills in Zong Yuan's hand were precisely peak "Intent"-level Intent-Storing Elixirs, already possessing a faint sentience.

Remarkably, three of them were specifically related to thunder and lightning. This fortune was indeed exceptional; even Zong Shou felt a pang of envy.

He had acquired quite a few items in this legacy ground, but aside from the Spiritual Radiance Jade Marrow, not a single one could enhance his own personal strength. Zong Yuan remained silent, yet nodded in shared understanding.

Zong Shou then quickly recalculated the time, and his brow furrowed once more. Unbeknownst to him, the final day had arrived.

"Only a quarter of an hour left..." His gaze swept around, and Zong Shou swiftly made up his mind. With such little time remaining, he would not strain himself to claim the ninth spiritual artifact.

However, viewing it would certainly not be without benefit. His focus finally settled upon a faint golden stone hall not far away.

He had seen it before; this hall contained a wing-edged prism the size of a child’s arm. It was the object in this entire sector that most intrigued him.

His figure blurred, and Zong Shou unhesitatingly darted toward that hall. The moment he stepped across the threshold, the doors hissed shut behind him.

The protective formations within the hall immediately shimmered with spiritual light; the triggers activated were neither Daoist techniques nor sword arts. Instead, giant, black-winged bats emerged, their gazes fierce and steeped in bloodlust.

However, their eyes currently held more confusion than aggression. Zong Shou gasped, wondering from where these ferocious beasts had been transferred; nearly every single one surpassed the Ninth Tier.

A quick sweep revealed over eight hundred of them, circling within the vast hall. A bitter taste flooded Zong Shou's mouth.

The trial for this ninth spiritual artifact was excessively strenuous. Eight hundred Ninth-Tier beasts—this was truly a death trap!

Less than sixty breaths remained until the legacy ground closed. Zong Shou felt no undue panic; he only needed to survive the initial onslaught, and he would be automatically teleported out.

In the next instant, however, a subtle shift occurred in Zong Shou's mind, sparking a thought. "Less than sixty breaths?" Glancing again at the horde of winged bats, he observed that a portion of them were already diving fiercely toward him.

He recalled that these winged bats had very short visual ranges, relying instead on their tympanic membranes to hear, coupled with extremely sharp spiritual senses. They possessed sound-based divine abilities, often used for offense, but mostly employed to map out distant terrain and living creatures while seeking prey.

Zong Shou knitted his brows slightly, then smiled. Why not take a gamble?

A turbulence stirred within his soul. Then, the twin figures—one black, one white, diametrically opposed—manifested outside his body.

Instantly, half of the entire stone hall plunged into absolute darkness, while the other half shone with a blinding white glare, making sight impossible. All sounds and spiritual perceptions were violently distorted.

These eight hundred-plus winged bats within the hall were thrown into complete chaos in that single moment. Zong Shou let out a cold sneer and darted through the hundreds of bats, moving at maximum speed toward the hall's depths.

Arriving just before the golden prism, he thrust out his hand. First, he sensed a surge of anomalous energy as the hall’s protective formation was triggered again.

Then, in the next breath, it was utterly disrupted by the black and white vortexes. With a light grasp, the golden prism was secured in Zong Shou’s hand.

Just as his soul power was nearly exhausted and the black and white forms were about to dissipate, Zong Shou unleashed over a dozen protective spiritual talismans in rapid succession, weaving layers of light around himself for solid defense. When the light and shadow normalized, Zong Shou saw the eight hundred bats in a frenzy of rage.

In their confusion, they instinctively unleashed wave after wave of massive sonic pulses that battered everything around. Without the "black hole" effect to absorb them, these sound waves could only echo and reverberate within the stone hall, crashing against everything.

The dozen-plus protective charms surrounding Zong Shou were shattered by more than half in an instant. He replenished them one after another, casting aside concerns about cost.

The hundreds of black-winged bats fared far worse. When a total of eight hundred and sixty sonic waves, each equivalent to a Ninth-Tier divine ability, stacked upon one another, the resulting power was so immense it rivaled the most top-tier Earth-grade spiritual techniques.

Almost immediately, nearly half the bats, caught completely off guard, were blasted into dust, transforming into fragments of gore. Zong Shou felt a pang of regret.

These bats were utterly annihilated; not even their beast cores could be salvaged, pulverized into nothing. The remaining bats were also suffering immensely, desperately weathering the resonating sound waves echoing throughout the chamber.

In the next instant, another burst of spiritual light flashed within the hall. Zong Shou's figure was instantly teleported out of that stone chamber.

When he looked again, the black-winged bats had vanished. He found himself back on the stone steps where he had first entered the Dragon Hall.

The distant hall door was now tightly sealed. After a moment of stunned silence, Zong Shou was overwhelmed with despair.

If he had only had three more breaths, the residual bats would surely have been completely annihilated. At that point, the sonic waves would have subsided, and a significant number of Ninth-Tier beast cores would have been left behind.

Missing the timing by a mere three breaths resulted in an astronomical loss! His face, already pale, now looked even more wretched.

Ye Feishuang, Ye Feihan, and Ruoshui Chuxue were also teleported out simultaneously. Upon finding Zong Shou, they paused in surprise.

Ye Feishuang instinctively assumed he had gained very little this time and tried to console him kindly: "Your Highness, there is no need for disappointment. The legacy ground challenges many heroes, and the time was simply too short.

I just saw that among the cultivators from the various sects, two out of thirty couldn't even break through the illusionary realm..." Hearing this, Zong Shou nodded in shared sentiment: "The time was indeed a bit short. I lost out heavily this time.

I only managed to acquire nine items in total—twenty thousand Profound-Tier spiritual artifacts. Your Dragon Clan is truly wealthy!" As he spoke, he tucked the golden prism into his sleeve, his expression deeply dejected.

Ye Feishuang was about to reply when, in the next moment, her pupils constricted slightly, her breath growing heavy as she gazed at the object in Zong Shou's hand. "The Demon-Bane Divine Prism?

You obtained the Demon-Bane Divine Prism?" Then she recalled Zong Shou's earlier pretense, and her mind spun in confusion: "Nine items? You said you acquired nine items in total just now?" At this moment, she felt an urge to strike the man down with her sword.

Even Fang Ming and the two Ninth-Tier cultivators from the Grand Spirit Sect and the Primordial Demon Sect had only managed to secure seven items. This fellow had nine and was still putting on that act.

Over there, Ye Feihan’s eyes shone with starlight, looking at Zong Shou with near-worshipful admiration.

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