The rest lasted less than half an incense stick.
No one truly recovered in that time. The injuries from Ashen River Crossing, Demon Echo Valley, and Black Lamp Hall had accumulated too deeply. Pills could restore some Qi and stop bleeding, but fatigue of the mind was not so easy to remove. Still, no one complained. Inside the Demon Sealing Ruins, rest was something one stole between dangers, not something one asked for politely.
By Fang Lin's rough calculation, it was still around the fourth day since the ruins had opened. Outside, the sect camps had already formed and more elites were certainly entering. Inside, time felt less clear, but not enough had passed for the fifteenth day to be near. That meant this was still the early stage of the ruins, the stage where cultivators gathered ordinary legacies, tested their luck, and slowly discovered whether their lives were worth more than their ambition.
Fang Lin adjusted his breathing quietly.
His black-grey robe still carried a faint burn mark from the corpse's black fire. He did not bother removing it. A little damage made Shen Mo look more believable. If every battle left him spotless, even a fool would grow suspicious, and there were few true fools among cultivators who survived this far.
Feng Jiu'er stood before the two doors, studying them again.
The narrow left door carried faint black flame patterns. It was quieter, almost elegant, but that quietness was too deliberate. The wider right door was rough and scarred, covered in cuts, dents, claw marks, and old stains that had seeped into the stone. It did not try to hide what it was.
Battle.
Feng Jiu'er turned toward the Alliance disciples. "We take the right door."
No one objected.
Murong Yue glanced at Fang Lin with a faint smile. "Fellow Daoist Shen chose the honest-looking deathtrap. Senior Sister Feng agreed. This is what people call trust."
Fang Lin looked at the battle-scarred door and replied calmly, "If a trap looks like a trap, at least it respects you."
Zhao Feng stared at him. "Why does that sound comforting?"
Li Shan said, "Because your standards have fallen."
Bai Qing lowered her head, smiling despite herself.
Across the hall, Xu Hanjiang also looked toward the two doors. His expression was cold and thoughtful. The River Sword Sect disciples behind him were clearly divided. Some wanted to avoid Feng Jiu'er's group after what had happened beneath the black lamp. Others looked toward the battle-scarred door with unwillingness. If Green Bamboo Sect entered a more dangerous path while River Sword Sect chose the quieter one, the matter would eventually spread. Even if no one said it clearly, people would know.
Xu Hanjiang understood that.
Face was troublesome because it often demanded payment at the worst time.
He smiled thinly. "Since Junior Sister Feng dares to enter, River Sword Sect naturally will not fall behind."
The injured disciple whose storage pouch Fang Lin had taken lowered his head. Hatred and fear both moved in his eyes, but he did not dare speak.
Fang Lin saw Xu Hanjiang's choice and was not surprised. If the man had chosen the left door, he would have been smarter. Unfortunately, smarter men were harder to use.
Feng Jiu'er did not waste words. She stepped forward and placed her palm against the battle-scarred door.
The door rumbled open.
Hot wind surged out.
Not fire heat, but the heat of iron, blood, and old battlefields. The sound of distant drums rolled through the opening. It was deep and heavy, striking the chest more than the ears. The Alliance disciples straightened at once.
Fang Lin's eyes sharpened faintly.
This was better.
No more soft voices asking the heart to confess. No more delicate traps that waited for a cultivator to stumble over his own thoughts. This place was simple. It smelled of combat before anyone even entered.
The group passed through the door.
The space beyond was enormous.
They appeared inside a circular arena surrounded by black stone walls. The arena floor was cracked in many places, and old weapon marks crossed the ground like frozen lightning. Above them hung a dark sky with no stars, though Fang Lin knew they were still underground. Around the arena stood rows of stone statues, each wearing broken armor and holding different weapons. Spears, sabers, axes, shields, chains, bows, and greatswords rested in motionless hands.
At the far end of the arena stood three massive war drums.
Each drum was made from black wood and stretched with dark hide. No drummer stood before them, yet the moment everyone entered, the first drum sounded on its own.
Dong.
The sound shook the arena.
Ancient words carved into the arena wall lit up, but they were not vague or poetic this time. They were direct enough that even Zhao Feng did not need Li Shan to interpret them.
Survive three drums. Fight until the gate opens. Those who flee before the third drum shall be crushed.
Zhao Feng read the words and slowly exhaled. "At least this one is honest."
Murong Yue smiled. "You should be happy. It respects you."
Fang Lin glanced at her. "That joke was taken from me."
"Borrowed," she said. "I will return it when I survive."
The arena trembled.
The stone statues along the walls opened their eyes.
Pale red light appeared inside their helmets. Armor scraped against stone as dozens of statues stepped down from the walls and landed around the arena. They were not corpses. They were battle puppets, made from black stone, old metal, and some kind of remnant battle intent. Their auras ranged from Early Spirit Foundation to Middle Spirit Foundation, but their numbers were high enough to make the disciples' expressions change.
The first drum sounded again.
Dong.
The battle puppets charged.
Feng Jiu'er's voice rang out. "Formation. Do not scatter."
The Alliance disciples moved quickly. Su Wanqing supported the left, Li Shan and Luo Chen took the right, while Han Zhi and Bai Qing guarded the weaker disciples near the middle. Zhao Feng gripped his blade tightly, his eyes nervous but determined.
Fang Lin took his usual place near the middle-right.
Across the arena, Xu Hanjiang's River Sword Sect group also formed up. Their formation was sharper and more aggressive, sword Qi rising like cold water. But after Black Lamp Hall, their unity had cracked. The injured disciple stayed half a step behind the others, and two disciples kept glancing at Xu Hanjiang with eyes that no longer carried complete trust.
The first wave collided with both groups.
Feng Jiu'er moved first.
"Crimson Leaf Sword."
Her sword light cut across the front line, shattering the arm of a spear puppet and forcing another battle puppet back. Her Peak Spirit Foundation aura pressed outward, not overbearing toward her own people, but ruthless toward the enemies before her. She did not waste movements. Each strike either broke a weapon, cracked armor, or opened space for her disciples to breathe.
Su Wanqing's wind-wood Qi spread behind her, catching the unstable breaths of the Alliance disciples and smoothing their formation.
Li Shan's sword was quieter than before, but steadier. He did not chase kills. He cut wrists, knees, and weapon joints. His answer beneath the black lamp seemed to have settled into his sword. He knew he was not the strongest. That knowledge no longer made him hesitate.
Zhao Feng nearly got smashed by a stone axe in the first exchange. He twisted aside at the last moment, his face paling as the axe struck the ground and sent cracks spreading beneath his feet.
Murong Yue appeared beside him and cut at the puppet's elbow with her hidden blade.
"Moon-Sleeve Cut."
The puppet's arm twisted unnaturally, and Zhao Feng immediately slashed upward.
"Wind-Cutting Blade."
His blade struck the cracked elbow and severed the arm completely. He exhaled in relief.
Murong Yue smiled. "You survived without hating anything new."
Zhao Feng kicked the puppet's knee and said through gritted teeth, "Give me time."
Fang Lin's eyes swept across the battlefield.
The puppets were numerous, but their movements had clear patterns. Spear puppets advanced in pairs. Shield puppets protected archers. Axe puppets targeted anyone who retreated too far. This was not a chaotic beast wave. It was a battlefield formation, old and mechanical, but still deadly.
If the Alliance fought only by reacting, they would be worn down.
Fang Lin raised his hand.
"Black Mountain Lock."
Invisible pressure dropped onto three charging puppets at once. He did not hold them for long, only enough to disturb their steps. Their formation line broke by half a breath, and that was all Feng Jiu'er needed. Her sword swept across the gap and shattered the leading puppet's chest.
She glanced toward Fang Lin for an instant.
He looked away.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes narrowed faintly, but she continued fighting.
A shield puppet rushed toward Bai Qing, its huge stone shield smashing forward. Bai Qing's face tightened as she raised her weapon, but the force behind the charge was too heavy for her to block directly.
Fang Lin stepped sideways.
"Stone Vein Crushing Step."
His foot struck the arena floor, and the force traveled beneath the shield puppet. Its forward momentum dipped. Bai Qing seized the moment and slashed at its exposed ankle. Han Zhi followed with a palm strike to the shoulder joint. The puppet staggered, and Luo Chen's spear pierced through the crack in its helmet.
Bai Qing glanced back at Fang Lin. "Thank you, Fellow Daoist Shen."
Fang Lin replied calmly, "You chose the ankle well."
Her eyes brightened slightly. Praise from Shen Mo was rare enough to feel more expensive than pills. By now, all of them had elevated his status in their hearts.
Murong Yue heard it and immediately said, "Senior Sister Bai, remember this day. He praised someone without mentioning debt."
Fang Lin looked at Murong Yue. "I can still calculate it."
Bai Qing's face reddened.
Even Han Zhi's serious expression cracked for half a breath.
The second drum sounded.
Dong.
The arena floor shook harder.
The broken puppets did not remain broken. Their shattered pieces dragged themselves back together, but not completely. The puppets rose again with missing limbs, cracked armor, and more violent movements. At the same time, a second row of statues jumped down from the wall.
These were different.
Their armor carried dark-red lines, and their auras were mostly Middle Spirit Foundation, with several nearing Late Spirit Foundation. Among them were chain puppets whose weapons moved like living snakes and bow puppets whose arrows formed from condensed battle intent.
Feng Jiu'er's expression turned serious. "Bow puppets first."
The bow puppets raised their weapons.
A rain of dark-red arrows shot toward both groups.
Su Wanqing immediately formed a seal.
"Willow Wind Binding Seal."
Wind-wood Qi spread into a curved barrier, but the arrows carried heavy piercing force. The barrier trembled violently. Two arrows broke through and shot toward the rear disciples.
Fang Lin's eyes cooled.
"Black Mountain Guard."
A heavy pressure shield formed near the rear and blocked one arrow. The second arrow curved around it unexpectedly, aiming for Bai Qing's shoulder.
Fang Lin moved.
He did not use too much strength. He only took one step, reached out, and struck the arrow from the side with his palm.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
The arrow shattered into red sparks.
Bai Qing froze for a moment, then quickly adjusted her breathing. She did not say thank you this time. She had learned. In battle, one survived first.
Across the arena, the River Sword Sect formation began to struggle.
Their sword attacks were sharp, but the chain puppets disrupted their rhythm. One disciple was pulled out of formation by a black chain, and Xu Hanjiang did not immediately help. His eyes were fixed on a bow puppet near the back, clearly judging whether killing it would benefit the formation more than saving the disciple.
The disciple screamed as two axe puppets turned toward him.
Feng Jiu'er saw it from afar, her expression cold.
Xu Hanjiang finally moved, but he was half a breath late.
Before the axe puppets struck, a heavy pressure fell over them.
"Black Mountain Lock."
The two axe puppets froze briefly.
The River Sword disciple rolled away desperately, saving his life by a narrow margin. He looked toward Fang Lin in shock.
Fang Lin did not look at him.
He had not saved him out of kindness. A River Sword disciple dying too early would force Xu Hanjiang's group to collapse faster, and then the arena puppets would turn more heavily toward the Alliance. Keeping useful enemies alive was sometimes cheaper than burying them.
Xu Hanjiang understood that.
His face darkened further.
Fang Lin smiled faintly. And thought that Xu Hanjiang understanding that, was good.
It made humiliation last longer.
The second wave intensified. Chain puppets swung their weapons from both sides, forcing the Alliance formation to tighten. Feng Jiu'er cut through one chain with Crimson Leaf Sword, but another wrapped toward her ankle from below. She stepped back, and her shoulder nearly brushed Fang Lin's arm.
For a brief instant, both of them moved at the same time.
Fang Lin pressed down with Black Mountain Lock.
Feng Jiu'er slashed forward with Crimson Verdant Line.
The chain puppet's body split apart before it could drag either of them down.
Their movements matched too naturally.
Too smoothly.
Feng Jiu'er turned her head slightly, her eyes sharp.
Fang Lin looked ahead as if nothing had happened.
Murong Yue, fighting nearby, saw the exchange and smiled even while dodging a spear. "Senior Sister Feng, your temporary cooperation with Fellow Daoist Shen is improving quickly."
Feng Jiu'er's expression did not change. "Focus on your opponent."
Murong Yue cut the spear aside. "I am focusing on many things."
Zhao Feng shouted, "That is the problem!"
The third drum did not wait for them to recover.
Dong.
The entire arena sank.
Not literally, but everyone felt it. The ground seemed to become heavier beneath their feet, and the remaining puppets stopped moving at the same time. Then the statues at the highest row of the arena wall opened their eyes.
Only three statues stepped down.
One carried a greatsword.
One carried a tower shield.
One carried a long spear.
Their auras were all Late Spirit Foundation, but their battle pressure was far beyond ordinary cultivators at that level. The greatsword puppet turned toward Xu Hanjiang's side. The tower shield puppet faced Feng Jiu'er. The long spear puppet's helmet slowly turned toward Fang Lin.
Fang Lin raised an eyebrow slightly.
So the arena had eyes too.
The long spear puppet stepped forward, and the spear tip dragged across the ground, carving sparks from the black stone.
Fang Lin let out a slow breath.
Shen Mo could fight Late Spirit Foundation opponents.
But he had to make it look difficult.
That was fine.
Some performances were tiresome, but if the audience insisted on watching, he could at least make the ticket expensive.
The long spear puppet rushed forward.
Its speed was much faster than the earlier puppets. The spear thrust toward Fang Lin's chest with a clean, killing line, carrying the force of an old battlefield charge.
Fang Lin's eyes became calm.
"Black Mountain Guard."
The spear struck the pressure shield.
The shield cracked instantly.
Fang Lin was pushed back three steps, his sleeve snapping in the air. The Alliance disciples' expressions changed. Feng Jiu'er wanted to move, but the tower shield puppet had already charged toward her, forcing her to meet it head-on.
Fang Lin steadied himself and looked at the spear puppet.
His palm tingled slightly.
Very good.
This one could actually fight.
The spear puppet advanced again.
Fang Lin's lips curved faintly.
"Come, then."
His voice was not loud, but the words carried a strange confidence.
The spear puppet did not understand speech.
But the arena did.
The battle scars across the floor lit up one by one, and the third wave truly began.
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