Chapter 133: Kill!

Perhaps my spiritual consciousness had delved too deep underground. I could not discern the identities of the people below, only faintly perceiving several hundred blurry figures moving about.

I retracted my consciousness, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness—likely from overexertion. I took a flask of water from my spatial ring and drank a few mouthfuls, which made me feel slightly better. Who were these people, what were they doing down there, and how had they gotten down? From the hazy images I had glimpsed, the underground space was vast. Should I go down and investigate?

I decided I would. My master had not yet returned, so I might as well see what they were up to. If they were seeking some treasure, I wouldn't mind snatching it from them. But how to get down? There had to be an entrance, though I had no idea where it was. I decided to simply dig through the surface; it was only twenty feet, and I could clear it quickly.

I rolled up my sleeves, channeled demonic energy into my hands, and began to dig. My energy-infused hands were far more efficient than any excavator. Within the time it takes to smoke a cigarette, I had dug over a meter deep. I tossed the debris out of the pit, but as I went deeper, clearing the soil became laborious. I came up with a bright idea: I would store the soil in my spatial ring and "dump" it once I reached the bottom.

The interior of the spatial ring was vast; it could hold a small mountain, let alone this amount of dirt. Soon, I had reached a depth of twenty feet, with all the debris safely stashed away. A little later, sensing I was nearing the bottom, I straightened my back and stomped my foot with all my might. The earth collapsed, and I dropped down.

The space below was enormous, nearly thirty feet high. That distance was nothing to me. I landed steadily, brushed the dirt off my clothes, and began to survey my surroundings.

The floor was uneven, but the surrounding walls were smooth—clearly carved by human hands. The space was exceptionally damp, with a thin layer of vapor rising from the ground. A set of messy footprints lay before me, undoubtedly left by those people. I followed the trail until I reached a door about ten feet high, covered in rust. The footprints vanished at the threshold.

They must have gone inside. I pushed against the iron door, but it didn't budge; there must have been a mechanism to open it. I searched the walls for a long time, but found nothing but smooth stone.

It had to have a mechanism. How had they gotten in? I knocked on the iron door; it was far too thick to punch through, and even if I could, I didn't want to use brute force and alert them. I needed to see what they were doing.

I projected a sliver of my consciousness through the door. The moment it pierced the metal, I saw a familiar figure: the High Priest. He and members of the Demon Spirit Sect were gathered around a coffin, attempting to pry open the lid.

Seeing the High Priest brought Xu Qinghuan to mind. My long-sought enemy was finally within my reach. I couldn't let him go easily. Clenching my right fist, I channeled both demonic and internal energy into it and struck the iron door with all my strength. With a loud *bang*, I punched a hole through two feet of iron. The deafening sound startled those inside; they turned to look. As I tore a massive chunk out of the door, I crouched and scrambled through the opening.

The hundreds of Demon Spirit Sect members stared at me with strange expressions, yet the few around the coffin, including the High Priest, continued their work as if I didn't exist! I was instantly enraged. Without a word, I channeled demonic energy into my hands and charged into the crowd, beginning a slaughter. The soldiers were wearing black soft armor—a special material capable of stopping bullets—but under my hands, it tore like paper.

In a short time, dozens lay dead. I punched through their bodies or reached inside to rip out their organs. Before I knew it, nearly a hundred had died by my hand. I was blinded by bloodlust, unable to stop. Xu Qinghuan’s death had been a heavy blow, and I had spent these days wallowing in self-reproach, convinced that if I had been stronger, she would still be alive.

Ultimately, it was the Demon Spirit Sect that had caused her death. My only thought now was to kill—to slaughter every one of these beasts! Perhaps they had initially underestimated my strength, but seeing it now, they scrambled to retreat deeper inside. This was the shameless Demon Spirit Sect; what difference was there between them and the vermin I had encountered in Purgatory?

There was no turning back now; the only exit was the iron door behind me. Today, I would annihilate them all, leaving none alive! In just a minute, over a hundred people had died at my hands. Blood dripped from my fingers onto the floor. I felt no pity; these people did not deserve to exist in this world.

The High Priest finally showed signs of panic. "Quick! Stop him!"

But no one moved. The remaining two hundred were terrified. Perhaps they couldn't fathom how someone who had been so weak just moments ago could now be so monstrous. If they had suffered what I had, they would understand—this wasn't just a matter of power, but of a deep-seated hatred that was driving me to the brink of madness.

I stepped toward the High Priest. No one dared block my path. My demonic energy surged even higher. The High Priest began chanting a spell I didn't understand. I sensed danger; I didn't know what trick this wretch was planning. I fired a palm strike, and a blast of black energy shot toward him. It was about to hit, but the wretch quickly grabbed the coffin lid and held it up as a shield. The demonic strike shattered the lid into splinters, and the High Priest tumbled to the ground.

I walked toward him with a cold sneer. I wouldn't let him die so easily—that would be too merciful. I would drag him back to the Feather Tribe and torture him slowly!

As the High Priest continued to chant, scrambling backward on the ground, I stepped forward and kicked him squarely in the jaw. His body flew back ten feet before crashing down. No one dared to help him. His final judgment awaited.