Wang Yan stood before Hu Qian in silence.
There were no more questions to ask. No more answers to hear.
Without hesitation, he raised his sword.
The sword fell.
Hu Qian's life ended the moment it touched his neck, clean and final. No scream echoed through the night, no struggle followed.
After the Soul Emperor's body fell lifelessly to the ground, the abandoned village returned to silence. For a brief moment, Wang Yan remained standing, his sword still firmly in his hand and his posture steady. Until now, his attention had been completely fixed on the interrogation—on forcing information out of the man before him. He had been so focused on extracting the truth that everything else around him had faded from his awareness.
Only now did he sense it.
A trace of killing intent.
It was extremely faint, so light that most cultivators would have dismissed it as lingering hostility left behind by death.
His gaze slowly shifted as he examined his surroundings. The killing intent did not originate from a single direction; instead, it seeped through the air like thin mist—subtle, yet persistent. As he stepped forward, the sensation became clearer and heavier, as though the village itself was exhaling hostility.
He moved deeper inside.
With each passing minute, the killing intent grew denser, pressing invisibly against his senses. After roughly ten minutes, Wang Yan reached what could only be considered the core of the village. There, amidst collapsed and decaying buildings, stood a shop—and the sight instantly drew his attention.
People were gathered there.
Several figures stood scattered around the shop, an abnormal presence in what should have been an abandoned place. The killing intent in this area was far denser than anywhere else in the village, heavy enough to make the air feel oppressive.
Their clothes were worn and stained dark with old blood, while their eyes were dull yet sharp, filled with an abnormal hunger. None of them spoke, and none attempted to hide their aura. What surrounded them was not refined soul power, but something raw and violent—an aura steeped in killing.
When Wang Yan stepped into the open space, several heads slowly turned toward him. Curiosity flickered through their gazes, cold and instinctive.
Wang Yan stopped at the center.
He did not speak. His eyes calmly swept over them, measuring each presence. Their killing intent was too pure and too concentrated, like beasts that had long grown accustomed to bloodshed.
Before he could move again, the air suddenly shifted.
Without any warning, the cultivators around him attacked.
They rushed in from all directions—front, back, left, and right—closing in as if this was something they had done countless times before. Weapons were drawn mid-charge as violent soul power surged. There was no negotiation, no warning, no hesitation.
Only killing.
Wang Yan's expression remained unchanged.
The instant the first attacker entered his range, his sixth soul ring ignited. A black soul ring—obtained from a Black Moon Wolf over fifty-five thousand years old—rose silently from beneath his feet. The essence poured into his sword, causing it to hum violently as dominant, destructive energy wrapped around the steel.
Wang Yan swung his sword.
The sword traced a perfect circle around his body.
Full Moon Severance. (His 6th soul ring skill)
A circular sword wave erupted outward, expanding in all directions. It was not fast—it was absolute. The ground split apart beneath the strike as defensive soul skills shattered upon contact. The crushing pressure alone froze the attackers in disbelief before the sword wave reached them.
In the next instant, blood sprayed.
Bodies were torn apart, flung backward, smashed into surrounding structures, or cut cleanly in half. The sword wave continued until it reached the edge of the open space, carving a deep circular scar into the ground.
Silence returned once more.
Every attacker lay dead.
Wang Yan lowered his sword, yet the killing intent did not fade. Instead, it surged upward—from beneath the shop itself. His gaze sharpened instantly. Without wasting time on the structure, he raised his sword again and struck heavily toward the center of the shop's floor.
The ground shattered.
With a thunderous crack, the floor collapsed inward, revealing a dark opening that led underground. From below, an even denser and more terrifying killing aura surged upward, far heavier than anything present aboveground.
Wang Yan stepped into the opening.
The moment his feet touched the ground below, the world changed.
A crushing killing intent flooded his senses, far denser than anything aboveground. It pressed against his mind like a heavy tide, seeping into his thoughts, stirring memories he had long buried. Faces of enemies he had slain surfaced one after another. Blood, screams, battles—scenes of death replayed in his consciousness as if trying to drag him into madness.
His steps slowed.
For a brief moment, his breathing grew uneven.
This killing intent was not merely oppressive—it was invasive. It tried to erode reason, to awaken the instinct to slaughter.
Wang Yan closed his eyes.
He tightened his grip on his sword and steadied his breath. His will did not scatter. Instead, it sharpened. One thought after another was suppressed, forced back into silence. The killing intent did not disappear, but it could no longer shake him.
When he opened his eyes again, clarity had returned.
Only then did he look ahead.
Before him stretched a massive city.
It was vast, far larger than anything that should exist underground. The sky above was dark and oppressive, as if light itself had been swallowed. Buildings rose in jagged clusters, streets twisting like veins through stone. Everywhere he looked, killing intent lingered—thick, heavy, ever-present.
This was not a place for the living.
This was a city built for slaughter.
Wang Yan moved forward.
Before he could approach the city gate, the ground trembled. From the side, a fully armored knight riding a warhorse charged toward him. The armor was dark, heavy, and battle-worn, radiating a chilling pressure.
A Dread Knight Scott.
Without warning, the knight attacked, spear thrusting straight toward Wang Yan's chest.
Instinctively, Wang Yan gathered his soul power—only to realize it did not respond.
Nothing answered him.
No soul power.
No soul skills.
In that instant, he understood.
In this place, soul power was sealed.
Only raw strength and one's weapon remained.
The spear arrived.
Wang Yan raised his sword.
Steel clashed violently. The force of the collision echoed through the underground passage as Wang Yan pushed forward instead of retreating. His sword redirected the spear, and the impact surged back through the weapon into the knight.
The warhorse was forced to rear as it was driven backward several steps.
The Dread Knight Scott steadied his mount and stared at Wang Yan in silence for a moment.
"You are passed," he said coldly.
He tossed a token toward Wang Yan.
Wang Yan caught it. Engraved upon it was a number—7959.
"This is your identity."
The knight turned his horse aside, clearing the path.
Wang Yan entered the city.
The moment he stepped inside, eyes locked onto him from every direction. Figures lingered in the streets and shadows, their auras steeped in killing intent. Hunger flickered in their gazes, sharp and unrestrained.
They moved.
Several people closed in at once, weapons drawn, intent clear.
Wang Yan stopped.
His sword moved.
A clean arc. A precise thrust. A swift cut.
One by one, those who rushed him fell. He struck without mercy, without excess, killing each attacker with pure swordsmanship honed over years of relentless training. Blood stained the ground as bodies collapsed around him.
When it ended, silence returned.
Fear spread through the remaining crowd. No one dared approach again.
From a distant shadow, unseen eyes observed him.
A quiet voice echoed softly.
"Interesting."
Wang Yan did not look back.
He sheathed his sword and walked forward as if nothing had happened. At the registration point, he placed the token down calmly.
"Identity," he said.
The number 7959 was recorded.
End of Chapter.