The sword strike complete, Zong Shou finally felt his rage abate, a measure of calm settling in his mind as he slowly adapted to the forbidden art.
A moment later, he gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“Tormented to the point of wishing for death, I actually longed for my own immediate demise—”
In that instant, he had truly wished to simply point a finger and explode his own skull!
With a light exhale, Zong Shou thought of Lu Hanyan again.
His mother had lived here for two decades; could he not endure this small span of time?
It was Wu Yazi, truly, who was so detestable and infuriating!
A murderous glint flashed in his eyes as Zong Shou looked toward the iron rack where Wu Yazi was held.
One glance was enough to abandon the thought of rushing over to execute him.
There was simply no need to risk breaking the restriction seals, and furthermore, letting this man suffer torment here was far preferable to a swift death.
“Sky-Burning Flame, so you are a direct descendant of the Lu family’s main lineage—”
This voice drifted over from another direction, serene and detached.
Zong Shou turned toward the sound, his pupils contracting slightly.
Where he looked, on the iron rack to the right, sat an elegant, scholarly middle-aged man.
There were two peak Divine Realm experts here; Wu Yazi was one. This person before him was the other.
“You possess peerless swordsmanship at such a young age. Your Sky-Burning Blood is also exceptionally pure. I have met many brilliant talents, yet not a single one could compare to you. I presume your status within the Lu family is not insignificant. But why infiltrate the Nine Desolations Prison? There is nothing in this prison that could possibly attract a favored son of heaven like yourself—”
Zong Shou shook his head. His matters had nothing to do with this man; why waste energy talking?
Once inside the Underworld Prison, he did not wish to waste a single moment.
But immediately, he heard the middle-aged man chuckle softly.
“With your strength, you must be one of the designated heirs in the Lu family. To enter the Desolation Prison, you could have done so openly; the Sky-Burning Sacred Court would surely not deny you. Why then inquire of Wu Yazi? Ah, yes, you are Lu Hanyan’s son. You came seeking your mother, is that correct? Truly extraordinary. Merely twenty years or so, and perhaps that girl Hanyan would never have imagined that in just over two decades, her son would possess the capability to reach the Eighth Layer of the Desolation Prison to find her—”
Seeing Zong Shou look at him with astonishment, the middle-aged man smiled and shook his head. “I knew your mother; there was some connection, though not close. I do not know Princess Hanyan’s whereabouts now. However, if you would be willing to act on my behalf, I can swear the Vow of the Source Heart! I will assist you until everything concerning this Desolation Prison is concluded!”
Zong Shou raised an eyebrow. Based on this man’s speech and demeanor, he seemed far more trustworthy than Wu Yazi.
Yet, after a moment of deep consideration, he still shook his head: “This junior needs time to properly weigh the matter.”
The middle-aged man understood the implication, recognizing that this statement was a polite refusal.
He said no more, letting out a long sigh before closing his eyes again.
Zong Shou paid him no mind. He used his escape technique and in mere moments was dozens of miles away.
He continued to spread out his divine sense, searching everywhere.
As he traveled, he found many structures similar to the cross-shaped iron racks.
However, the Lu family’s seals were not uniformly applied.
The cross-shaped racks were not common; they usually held cultivators at the Divine Realm.
The total number was only a hundred or so, scattered across the world, their positions deliberately chosen.
There were many other platforms, much like those found on the previous layers, some suppressed by iron towers, or simply encased in metallic cages.
Though these individuals had not reached the Divine Realm, their true essence and vital energy were being extracted just the same.
Most wore expressions of unbearable pain, enduring a struggle even harder than that of the Divine Realm cultivators.
Many were ancient and frail, barely able to hold on much longer.
Some were simply tossed aside without any form of protection, left as sustenance for the mutated beasts of heaven and earth.
The more he saw, the colder Zong Shou’s heart grew, and the more desperate he became.
Ignoring the drain on his true essence, he used the Instant-Void Dragon Elixir to traverse this prison layer constantly, diligently seeking.
From south to north, from east to west, he would not spare a single inch of territory.
But after fourteen days passed, Zong Shou fell into complete despair.
“Why can I not find her?”
“I have scoured this world of thirty thousand square miles twice. I have not missed a single inch of land, not even underground—”
“Is it true, as Wu Yazi claimed, that Mother has already been cast down to the Ninth Layer?”
Zong Shou looked blankly at the dozens of mutated beast cores nestled in his sleeve.
These were the spoils from this layer of the prison, earned after surviving dozens of fierce battles.
He had even come close to being overwhelmed by packs of exotic beasts several times.
The innate exotic beasts above the Divine Realm possessed intelligence equal to humans.
Though still driven by fierce energy, they had learned to cooperate with other beasts.
Consequently, while their combat strength alone was less than his, these beasts had pushed Zong Shou to the brink of annihilation; he had barely escaped by expending all his strength.
These mutated beast cores were Zong Shou’s harvest.
Only a few were usable by Hanxi.
However, these cores from beasts above the Divine Realm could, like the Instant-Void Dragon Elixir, be merged into the void of his Sea of Consciousness to become one of his Star Dao Seeds.
Under normal circumstances, such a harvest would have filled Zong Shou with overwhelming joy.
But now, his mood was heavy, a chilling void in his chest.
Moreover, within his eyes and soul, the affliction was occurring with increasing frequency as the days wore on, the pain intensifying.
It caused his consciousness to cloud and his spirit to wander in a haze as he moved aimlessly through the void.
When he finally regained clarity, he found himself standing in the very center of the Underworld Prison.
He had arrived here without realizing it.
Before him lay an expanse of black mist, impenetrable to both sight and the probing light of the Illusion Heart Mirror.
A rich essence of time and space surged and roiled within the fog.
Beyond that, he could sense a powerfully oppressive aura lurking within.
Zong Shou’s gaze sharpened. He had approached this spot more than ten times over the past several days.
He suspected it was the Gate to the Ninth Layer, but he had refrained from entering.
His drifting consciousness led him here, likely through subconscious impulse.
Then Zong Shou managed a wry smile, thinking that it seemed he would have to make a trip to the Ninth Layer after all.
His decision made, Zong Shou did not act rashly; he sat cross-legged about a hundred miles from the edge of the black mist.
His reckless searching over the last fortnight, coupled with dozens of grueling battles, had severely depleted his primordial essence. To attempt entry into the Ninth Layer and confront the entity within the black mist, he first needed to restore himself to peak condition.
Swallowing several elixirs, enduring the bone-scraping, marrow-flaying pain, he closed his eyes to regulate his breathing.
A full twelve hours later, Zong Shou finally awoke.
He used the Illusion Heart Mirror to replace his eyes once more, and then a sudden sensation prompted him to maneuver the mirror to ‘look’ to the side.
Several hundred feet away, a woman, perhaps in her early thirties, with a face framed by long white hair, was bound to a colossal tree by vines as thick as a man’s arm.
Hundreds of crimson hummingbirds swooped down, landing on the woman’s body.
With every peck of their beaks, they tore away a piece of flesh.