A sword strike every ten paces, a palm thrust every five. Each swing severed a zombie's head; each blow pierced its heart. Gao Han's figure weaved ceaselessly through the horde, and with every pause, another undead crumpled to the ground. Moments later, the earth was littered with their corpses. Though some among them possessed formidable cultivation, none could withstand his sharp sword qi and overwhelming palm force, all meeting their bitter end.
At the sight of the dismembered limbs scattered across the ground, Situ Yan could not repress her nausea. Her lips parted, and she retched violently, emptying the contents of her stomach. Lingze and his two companions pressed their palms together in reverence, murmuring, "Amitabha!"—a mantra of the Buddhist Sect whose true meaning few knew.
Gao Han's expression remained calm and unyielding. He turned to the three monks. "I ask that you three escort Miss Situ back to the camp. I shall pursue the zombie alone."
"No!" Situ Yan cried out in indignation. "After what you've done to me, you will not leave me behind!"
Gao Han's forehead creased in exasperation. What on earth had he done? He had merely let her hold his arm for a moment. She was being utterly unreasonable.
Lingze and the others stared at Gao Han with peculiar, knowing glances, silently marveling at his audacity to indulge in such amorous thoughts even amid mortal peril.
Gao Han watched the four of them, their expressions varied, and saw that the three monks had not heard his words at all, standing there in a daze. He had no choice but to repeat himself. Only then did they snap back to their senses. Lingze laughed awkwardly. "My apologies—my thoughts wandered. Is it not too dangerous for you to pursue the zombie alone?"
Gao Han ignored Situ Yan's loud protests and spoke directly to the monks. "With her here, our hands are tied. Who can say whether this zombie will continue to summon more of its kind? If it does, we cannot give chase with Miss Situ in our midst."
The three monks nodded in solemn agreement. Situ Yan's presence would always hold them back. More importantly, they had no idea how many True Essence-ranked zombies lurked nearby. One or two they might handle, but three or more would leave them with no choice but to flee for their lives.
Seeing their resolve wavering, Gao Han pressed on. "I can handle one True Essence zombie on my own. If a second appears, my movement art will allow me to escape easily, and we may all prepare accordingly."
At last, the monks were persuaded. They exchanged glances and nodded, pressing their palms together. "Brother Gao, take care!" They then approached the still-protesting Situ Yan. "Miss Situ, please."
"I will not return! I am going with this scoundrel!"
Yet a mere Qi Condensation cultivator stood no chance against three True Essence experts. Not everyone was like Gao Han, capable of dominating True Essence warriors while still at the Qi Condensation realm.
Lingze and the others vanished with Situ Yan into the darkness, her voice echoing faintly from afar. "You wretched scoundrel, I await your return! Do not dare to die!"
Gao Han turned away, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
He had intentionally sent them off. During their earlier battle with the True Essence zombie, he had noticed something strange. With its final strike, a wisp of icy power had emanated from its arm—far weaker than his own frost qi, yet rare and unusual. Within that cold energy lay a peculiar property: upon entering his body, it had pricked his soul ever so slightly, before being frozen and dissolved by his inner qi.
After absorbing that chill, Gao Han sensed a faint growth in his inner power—a mere fraction of one percent, yet enough to stir his ambition. If he could seize some treasure from the zombie, his breakthrough to the True Essence realm would be all but assured.
Furthermore, he had acted to protect Lingze and the others. From the zombie's final attack, it was clear it had held back during its previous clash with the three monks. Only Gao Han's full force could wound it; the monks lacked his destructive power and could not inflict meaningful harm. A single full-strength strike from the zombie would have gravely injured any of them. Gao Han alone dared to give chase, for only his ice physique could absorb and neutralize the cold.
He leaped lightly into the air, activating Phantom Stride to pursue the fleeing zombie. Following a trail of blood, he wove through the wilderness, the trail growing fainter by the second. If he did not catch up before the blood vanished entirely, his pursuit would be in vain. He pushed his movement art to its limit, his body streaking forward like a gust of wind.
Just as the trail threatened to disappear completely, Gao Han finally caught sight of the zombie's silhouette. Truly a top-tier Mortal-Rank art, Phantom Stride allowed him to close the distance in less than half an hour.
Rather than attacking immediately, he halted at a distance, wary of the zombie's keen sense of smell. He could barely make out its shadow, gambling that its olfactory range had limits.
Fortune favored him. The zombie remained completely unaware of his presence, hopping forward rapidly—its stiff body made walking slow, and this awkward gait was its only means of swift movement.
Gao Han tailed it steadily, maintaining a fixed distance. They passed through several woods and wound along narrow, shadowed paths until at last they reached their destination.
It was a desolate graveyard spanning roughly one li. Most of the scattered human bones had long since weathered away, ancient beyond measure. When Gao Han accidentally brushed against one, the seemingly solid bone crumbled into fine powder at his touch, its interior completely rotten. An atmosphere of death and desolation hung heavy in the air, as if echoing some ancient, unspoken resentment. The zombie leaped into a dark hole in the earth and vanished.
On the Tianwu Continent, bones took at least a thousand years to decay to such a state. This graveyard was far older than it appeared. Gao Han rose to his feet and surveyed the grounds. Some tombs had been broken open, others dug up entirely.
Strangest of all were the jagged rock formations scattered throughout the graveyard, the tallest reaching ten zhang, like miniature mountains. Gao Han struck one with all his might, yet it did not shift an inch—buried at least four zhang deep, such a boulder weighed well over a hundred tons, movable only by a Spirit Fusion Realm expert.
This must be the zombie's doing, Gao Han thought. The place was so remote that tomb robbers would never find it. Had the undead not disturbed its peace, it would have remained forgotten for eternity.
He approached the hole where the zombie had disappeared. Staring into the pitch-black darkness, he tightened his belt, steadied his nerves, and leaped down.
The cavern below was far darker than the surface. Only after lighting a prepared fire torch could Gao Han make out his surroundings.
Beneath lay a chamber of roughly one hundred square meters, bitterly cold—well below freezing. An ordinary person would have fallen ill at once, and even a typical cultivator could not endure the chill for long. Yet to Gao Han, the air felt invigorating. His inner qi stirred eagerly, absorbing the frost energy within the tomb.
He had not felt so revitalized since the depths of winter. Fighting the urge to close his eyes and bask in the cold, he took in the chamber's layout.
After the long pursuit and battle, and with the hour already late, the sky was beginning to lighten, casting faint illumination into the cavern.
Only two coffins rested within: one large, one small. The larger stood at the center, carved entirely of stone, measuring one zhang and six chi in length and one zhang and three chi in width. The stone glowed with a faint cyan hue, shimmering like bronze, though upon touching it, Gao Han confirmed it was indeed rock. The smaller coffin, made of wood, stood to the side, eight chi long and six chi wide. Beside the stone coffin lay a pile of broken bones, a dark longsword, and a ring.
The moment his hand made contact with the stone coffin, Gao Han snatched it back. A thin layer of ice had formed on his skin. Joy stirred within him—the frigid aura radiating from the coffin was identical to that of the zombie, yet several times colder. The temperature near it plummeted to minus thirty degrees, enough to discomfort even him.
The chill that had seeped into his body still stung his soul. He knew this frost energy was of a far higher grade than his own. Long had he suspected he could absorb cold energy to strengthen his cultivation.
Gao Han calmed his racing heart; such emotional turbulence was unbecoming of a true martial artist. He was certain the wooden coffin held the True Essence zombie. As for the stone sarcophagus, his heart tightened with dread. From the intensity of its cold, the creature within must be at the peak of the Spirit Fusion Realm—or higher. Should it awaken, he would perish instantly.
Yet he found the situation puzzling. According to ancient texts, powerful zombies never tolerated others of their kind within the same tomb, not even equals—unless bound by blood or marriage. The materials of the two coffins suggested no such bond. Could the stone sarcophagus be empty? The thought crossed his mind.
His gaze lingered on the distant sarcophagus, his resolve wavering. At last, he gritted his teeth. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He would slay the True Essence zombie first.
With his decision made, Gao Han drew his Steelpoint Sword and strode toward the wooden coffin. When he was within five paces of the stone sarcophagus, he gripped his blade with both hands and unleashed Frigid River-Sundering Soul-Breaking Sword. A long arc of sword qi sliced through the air, cleaving the wooden coffin open as easily as a heated knife through lard.
A furious roar erupted from within—it was the zombie. Its head still mangled, it tore the coffin to splinters and fixed Gao Han with a hateful glare. The earlier sword strike had sliced deep into its leg, leaving a bone-deep wound.
Gao Han's expression turned grave. He wielded his sword in a flurry of moves—thrust, bind, twist, parry, chop, slash—striking the zombie from every angle.
Its defense was indeed impregnable. No matter how Gao Han attacked, he could not inflict lasting harm, and the zombie retaliated fiercely at every opportunity.
Gao Han's sword trembled as he unleashed Spirit-Sunder, striking downward from above. The zombie raised an arm to block.
Clang! The sword rang against metal-hard flesh, tearing only its tattered robe. The zombie's other arm lunged at Gao Han with a thunderous whoosh.
Gao Han's eyes lit up—this was the perfect opening. He shifted his sword to his left hand and spun his body, slashing Frigid River-Sundering Soul-Breaking Sword at the zombie's withered neck. His right hand channeled the never-before-used High Mountain, Flowing Stream, ready for any emergency.
Lacking the reflexes of a living cultivator, the zombie relied on its impervious defense and overwhelming brute strength, much like a body-refining expert. Gao Han's sword bit cleanly into its neck, yet halted halfway, unable to cut deeper.
The grievous wound drove the zombie into a frenzy. It swiped its claws at Gao Han's body. Before its strike could land, Gao Han's palm slammed into its heart.
The zombie staggered back only a single step, unharmed. As it prepared to attack again, a surging wave of force erupted from Gao Han's palm, each wave stronger than the last. The creature was sent hurtling backward into the stone sarcophagus.
Crash!
The zombie slammed into the sarcophagus, overturning it. A palm-shaped hole gaped open in its chest. It was dead.
But Gao Han had no time for celebration. In its final moments, the zombie had knocked over the stone sarcophagus. Terror seized him, and he activated Phantom Stride, darting out of the hole like a shadow to take cover at a safe distance.
He watched the graveyard intently. A quarter of an hour passed, yet no unearthly roar emerged. Thick waves of cold qi poured from the hole, turning the graveyard into a frozen wasteland. All insects within were frozen dead, and a thin layer of ice coated the ground.
Hearing no signs of a second undead, Gao Han approached the hole step by step. Upon entering the frozen zone, he was struck by its bitter cold—minus thirty degrees, matching the temperature beside the sarcophagus.
The cold posed little threat to him. The temperature dropped even closer to the entrance, and after a quarter of an hour, he reached the hole. The temperature there had fallen to minus thirty-two degrees, enough to freeze any ordinary person solid.
Gao Han paused at the edge. "This will suffice."
He intended to cultivate here before venturing deeper. The cold outside the hole was enough to push him toward the True Essence realm; any colder, and he risked frostbite.
He sat cross-legged at the entrance, devoting half his focus to cultivation and the other half to vigilance and martial insight. Frost qi seeped into his pores, circulating through his body via the Sunset Over the Long River technique, steadily strengthening his inner power. A portion of the cold was drawn directly into the ice pearl within his meridians.
The pearl spun rapidly, absorbing the frost energy and growing in size. Once no larger than a mung bean, it had swelled to the size of a soybean, nearly doubling in volume.
Gao Han could feel his inner qi surging, ready for a breakthrough. Yet he chose to hold back. First, he could not guarantee complete success. Second, he had only just broken through the previous day; another rapid advancement would leave his foundation unstable. A towering tower required firm layers, lest it collapse.
The Misty Sect held many such cautionary tales. Talented disciples had rushed from Qi Condensation to the peak of True Essence in little more than a decade, only to stall forever at the Spirit Fusion realm, no amount of effort enough to advance further.
Gao Han decided to consolidate his cultivation for several days before attempting to break through. He felt no concern over the various clans. Even the Zheng family shared only an alliance of convenience; without sufficient strength, he would be cast aside without mercy. Strength, he knew, was the foundation of all things.
He began stabilizing his realm, yet soon opened his eyes again. It would be a waste to let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass. What else could he use this frost energy for?
Suddenly, inspiration struck. He recalled reading in the Pavilion of Ancient Texts that two elements were supreme for body refining: fire and ice.
Ice, however, was notoriously difficult to control. One wrong move, and the practitioner would be frozen solid or torn apart by the cold, with a success rate of nearly zero. Fire-based body refining, by contrast, had a ten percent success rate.
No one knew which path yielded greater power. Centuries earlier, a cultivator who had refined his body with ice had narrowly defeated a fire-refined warrior of equal cultivation. Yet the ice-refining master had later perished, his body shattered by the very cold he had wielded. Since then, few dared to walk the path.
Gao Han resolved to attempt ice-based body refining, relying on his unique ice physique.
Without delay, he sat in meditation, drawing frost energy into his flesh and tempering his physical form. At first, the cold was so intense that even he shivered. Gradually, he grew accustomed to it, allowing the chill to rage through his body as he focused fully on consolidating his cultivation.