Chapter Twenty-Eight: Severed Without Hesitation

Shen Lian calmly clasped his hands behind his back and said lightly, “What if I insist on seeing the monster?”

“You really know how to joke, sir,” the woman in colorful robes replied, covering her mouth as she laughed softly.

Shen Lian sighed under his breath. He extended his right hand, revealing a leaf he had unknowingly plucked. With a flick, he let it fly.

It turned out that earlier, he had already inscribed a Gale Talisman onto the leaf. Martial artists in the mortal realm, when their inner strength reaches a profound level, can use grass, wood, bamboo, and stone as lethal weapons; even more so since Shen Lian had embedded a symbol onto this leaf.

The Gale Talisman was the most basic Daoist charm, but what made it remarkable was Shen Lian’s nonchalance in crafting it—the leaf left his hand without a sound, propelled by an invisible breath of heaven and earth, accelerating abruptly and arcing toward the woman in colorful robes.

Like a spinning wheel, it sliced toward her delicate, pale neck.

Her head twisted in a way that seemed boneless, spinning halfway around at a speed that the eye could barely catch, then quickly snapping back. To ordinary observers, she appeared utterly still—only Shen Lian could faintly perceive her movement, though not entirely, a testament to her incredible speed.

The woman's star-like eyes suddenly turned a ghastly green, a spectral light emanating from them, chilling to the bone.

Shen Lian faced that green gaze unflinchingly. The woman’s soft red lips now held the leaf between them, creating an unnervingly bizarre scene.

She actually swallowed the leaf. Her tender red tongue flicked out briefly, licking her lips with an indescribable allure.

Yet when one saw her eerie green eyes, any flicker of desire was extinguished, replaced by terror that seeped into the heart.

At that moment, words were unnecessary. Shen Lian said nothing more, his gaze still fixed on her neck, for it was the weakest point on her body, her vital spot.

Why did Shen Lian strike? Simply because she was not human, exuding a cold and ruthless aura.

No matter how lovely her appearance, it could not mask the dangerous feeling she gave him.

The leaf was merely a probe, not his true intent.

That brief moment was enough to confirm Shen Lian’s intuition was flawless.

“If only you’d play along with me for a while, I might even spare you, since you’re so handsome. But since you won’t, don’t blame me for turning ruthless,” the woman said, her figure flickering as a fierce wind rose, and suddenly a giant serpent as thick as a barrel appeared.

Despite its intimidating presence, it lacked the oppressive aura Shen Lian had felt when witnessing Jing Qing the boy’s true form.

——

To transform into a monster requires spiritual power, yet this snake demon seemed an exception; its vital energy was less oppressive than the toad spirit before.

Facing the giant serpent, Shen Lian suddenly smiled and pointed.

Snakes are cold-blooded, yet this snake demon felt a chill that penetrated its soul, followed by soul-deep pain that prevented any immediate reaction.

Externally, the giant serpent froze, pausing for a split second.

Shen Lian acted without hesitation. He had not used the Soul-Slaying Sword in a long time, and its effect this time was unexpectedly superb.

Focusing his mind as a sword, he struck at the soul.

He did so naturally, without premeditation, simply moved by inspiration.

His figure blurred, and the wooden sword flashed decisively, targeting the serpent’s “three-inch” spot—the place on its neck he had watched earlier.

Three inches referred not to distance, but to the most fragile, breakable point on the serpent’s spine. Shen Lian found its weakness not by physical form, but by sensing its blood and vital energy.

It sounded simple, but it was the fruit of years of cultivation, integrating his knowledge of medicine from a previous life into his combat and practice.

Though the wooden sword was blunt, Shen Lian infused it with his magic power, making it sharper than any legendary blade, and he sliced off the serpent’s head.

The serpent’s eyes remained open, unable to believe it had died by the hand of this seemingly ordinary young cultivator.

Shen Lian’s magic power was refined and subtle, lacking the oppressive aura of a formidable cultivator. His inscription on the leaf proved his proficiency in talismanic arts but suggested his magic power was not particularly strong.

Moreover, though a cultivator’s age cannot always be discerned by appearance, traces of time still linger; Shen Lian was simply too young. If he were truly powerful, it would mean he had attained profound cultivation at a young age—a rarity among cultivators.

Most importantly, if Shen Lian were supremely powerful, how could he remain unmoved upon hearing the name “Lord Hai”?

The serpent demon had no time to resolve these doubts.

Nor did Shen Lian find answers—after its death, no soul emerged from the serpent’s body.

It seemed that as it died, its soul was instantly scattered.

Shen Lian found no concentrated vital blood or unformed inner core within the serpent.

Compared to the toad spirit from before, this serpent was utterly lacking, yet it could still change form rather than merely rely on illusion.

——

******

On the sea, the scenery was rather unremarkable, but beneath the waves, the world was far richer and more colorful.

Below the surface, myriad fish frolicked, occasionally joined by different demon beasts fighting and killing, sometimes implicating ordinary fish. Every moment, countless beings perished beneath the waves, and just as many were born anew.

Yet within this three-hundred-li stretch of sea, all creatures belonged solely to the Nine-Headed Demon King.

Though the lofty demon king cared little for these humble lives, he remained their sovereign.

The Nine-Headed King's aquatic palace was magnificent and resplendent; he had attained his power for a thousand years. This palace was not his own creation but taken from a previous demon king—one of the dragon clan.

The dragons were masters of the four seas; their aquatic palaces were naturally splendid, surpassing even the imperial palaces of the human world.

Within the palace, music never ceased, for today the Nine-Headed Demon King had a visitor.

And not just any visitor—a most distinguished guest.

The reason the demon soldiers knew the guest was honored was that their king had, for once, donned a crimson-purple brocade robe, his waist bound by a golden-patterned belt adorned with floral python motifs.

More notably, though the king possessed nine heads, today, to show courtesy—though he had long achieved human form and usually displayed all nine heads with great dominance—he had withdrawn eight, leaving only one, appearing as a human prince or marquis.

As for what a human prince looked like, the demon soldiers had no idea; whatever the king said was law.

The demon race lives far longer than human cultivators, though their cultivation progresses a hundred times harder.

Thus, most powerful demon kings did not focus on cultivation but indulged in pleasure, seeking ever more illustrious friends.

The more formidable their friends, the greater their pride.

Today’s guest was no ordinary figure; his visit, in human terms, could be called “honoring the humble with his presence.”

——