Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Nine-Boned Soul Demon Chain

Smack!

Before Zhao Lei’s fist could even close the final meter between them, a massive black blade struck him squarely across the face.

A searing pain exploded in his cheek, his brain buzzing, his ears ringing and half-deafened. Under the stunned gaze of his two lackeys, his body flew sideways like a kite with its string cut.

Perhaps it was the lack of resistance in midair, or maybe it was the sheer force of Shen Wan’s blow, but Zhao Lei’s body skidded across the sand for several meters before coming to a halt. As the dust settled, Zhao Lei lay utterly still, sprawled face down like a corpse.

“B-Boss…” The two henchmen, Er Tong and San Tiao, stood dumbfounded.

Even within the Gu You Sect, their big brother was a force to be reckoned with. Though only an inner disciple, he was already a confirmed candidate to become a direct disciple of an elder—everyone in the sect knew his name. Otherwise, how would they be chosen to deliver invitations for the young master’s wedding to the other sects?

And now, that same big brother, with such a bright future ahead of him, had been bested by some insignificant brat from Qianxuan Sect, whose cultivation was at most at the Condensed Spirit stage?

Unbelievable!

They stood frozen, their minds unable to process what had just happened. When they saw Zhao Lei’s leg twitch slightly on the ground, they finally snapped out of their stupor and rushed to their leader’s side.

“Boss! Boss! Are you alright? Boss!” San Tiao gathered Zhao Lei into his arms, frantically patting his back in an effort to wake him. Er Tong wasn’t idle either; he produced a fan from somewhere and began fanning the unconscious Zhao Lei with all his might.

Zhao Lei kept his eyes tightly shut, cursing inwardly. If not for the swelling on his cheek from Shen Wan’s blade, his face would have been flushed red with humiliation, entirely exposed.

At last, unable to endure their wailing any longer, he dropped the pretense.

“Get lost!” he roared, kicking each of them aside.

Only then did he clamber to his feet, fuming, from the sand.

“You’re dead!” Zhao Lei’s voice was cold and quivering, his gaze at Shen Wan murderous.

Shen Wan, meanwhile, blinked innocently, lips pressed together as he studied Zhao Lei’s face. The side that had been struck was already swollen like an eggplant, and the swelling was still spreading. His small eyes had been reduced to a thin slit, blood bubbling from one nostril, seeping into his mouth as he spoke.

For all his misery, Zhao Lei still managed to speak so boldly. Shen Wan struggled to contain his laughter, barely managing to hold back. For a moment, he felt almost… kind-hearted.

Seeing Shen Wan’s slight trembling, Zhao Lei mistook it for fear and smirked, regaining a shred of confidence. Not that it would earn Shen Wan any mercy.

He reached into his storage pouch and drew out a massive string of black beads—nine in all, each the size of a fist, shrouded in wisps of black mist and radiating menace.

Er Tong and San Tiao’s faces blanched. Without waiting for Zhao Lei’s next move, the two spun on their heels and bolted, not stopping until they’d put dozens of meters between themselves and the scene, peering nervously out from behind a massive sea boulder.

Zhao Lei cast them a sideways glance and snorted before turning back to Shen Wan.

“This is the Nine-Bone Soul Demon Lock, a top-tier artifact of the Earth grade. Within it are eighty-one souls of death attendants. I’ll make you wish you were dead!”

With that, Zhao Lei channeled his spirit power, tossing the bead-chain skyward. The giant black beads began whirling above his head, spinning faster and faster until they formed a swirling black halo. Waves of deathly energy radiated from the halo, rippling like waves across the sky, expanding outward until a massive black net descended, enveloping Shen Wan.

As Zhao Lei poured in more spirit power, ghostly human figures began to flicker into being around them—one, two, three… until all eighty-one had materialized, surrounding them like zombies, some wielding great blades, others with swords strapped to their backs.

From their hiding place, Er Tong and San Tiao felt their scalps crawl. They’d seen their boss use this artifact to kill before; the memory of that carnage still haunted them.

“That kid’s finished,” they said in unison, unsurprised—after all, this was inevitable.

Zhao Lei opened his eyes, exhaling in relief as he completed the ritual. Sneering, he said, “The only flaw to the Nine-Bone Soul Demon Lock is the lengthy casting time. You might have had a sliver of hope, but now? It’s over for you.”

As he spoke, he pointed at Shen Wan, and the host of black phantoms surged toward their prey, completely surrounding him.

Zhao Lei narrowed his eyes. He knew that not only would Shen Wan’s body be torn to shreds, but even his soul would be ripped apart. All he had to do now was wait for the inevitable.

But…

Shen Wan stood there, bewildered, not sure what Zhao Lei was trying to accomplish. A few minutes earlier, he’d seen Zhao Lei pull out the string of giant beads from nowhere, then somehow make them spin above his head.

It was curious at first, but after that, Zhao Lei simply stood unmoving for a long time, spat out some threats, and gestured at him. Shen Wan was unimpressed.

Zhao Lei, meanwhile, watched with anticipation as the souls of the death attendants unleashed their attacks. But as he watched, something seemed off.

One of the souls was squeezed out of the mass of shadows, holding a long sword. It scratched its head, then slunk back into the darkness. Another leapt out, waved a broadsword in front of its face, weighed it in its hands, cocked its head, and disappeared again.

One or two odd phantoms might be ignored, but as several more emerged, each performing some inexplicable action, Zhao Lei began to feel unsettled. He was certain this had never happened before when he used the Nine-Bone Soul Demon Lock.

The tension on his face gave way to caution as he watched closely. Gradually, almost all the souls ceased their attacks. Some even hunched over, hands braced on their knees, gasping for breath. Finally, they all threw their heads back in a long, resentful howl, then dissolved into black mist and returned to the bead-chain.

Shen Wan, meanwhile, stood with his hands in his pockets, utterly unscathed.

Zhao Lei felt as baffled as a cow wearing underpants.

“This… this can’t be!” His voice trembled even more than before.

This time, he truly panicked. What on earth was this guy? Even the Nine-Bone Soul Demon Lock had no effect on him—his trump card, his ultimate weapon.

Zhao Lei stood paralyzed, at a complete loss.

Shen Wan was equally baffled, but then he remembered—he was in the No-Spirit Realm.

He still hadn’t quite adjusted to this immunity to spirit power.

Knowing the enemy was now powerless to harm him, Shen Wan swaggered over with a cocky stride and a shake of his head.

Zhao Lei’s mind was blank. He simply couldn’t understand what had happened. Only when he heard a “Hey!” did he realize Shen Wan was already standing before him.

They stared at each other.

Shen Wan raised his brows, then threw a punch.

“Don’t move! Stand at attention if you’re going to take a beating!”

Zhao Lei had barely registered the mockery before a fresh wave of pain exploded on the other side of his face.

Now he was symmetrical.