Chapter 67: The "Soul" of the Great Soul Banner

The sinister power from the mottled corpse orb that had invaded Li Ruoyu’s body was now being suppressed, but the old man with white hair was not so fortunate. The corpse marks began to spread across his body. This orb had originated from the Dragonfly Skims the Water, which had undergone a dreadful transformation. Even though the old man stood at the threshold of true power, dispelling this corruption was far from easy.

Li Ruoyu, perceiving the danger as the old man’s azure blade flashed with cold brilliance once more, immediately fled into the distance. The old man, unwilling to let matters rest after being outwitted by someone he viewed as nothing more than an ant, was furious. As Li Ruoyu tried to escape, the old man’s three-foot blade cut out a surging wave of azure energy, suffused with a severing intent that could be felt even by those engaged in battle in the distant sky.

Without pausing to see if his strike had landed, the old man, his floral robes fluttering, soared after Li Ruoyu at full speed. Even without looking back, Li Ruoyu could sense the terrifying pressure bearing down on him—a true display of might from a cultivator of the Dao. His heart pounded furiously beneath the weight of this killing intent, a stillness before the storm too dreadful to endure. It had been long since Li Ruoyu’s blood surged as it did now. He knew that if he failed to withstand the strike, he would die.

He hesitated no longer over whether the appearance of the Great Soul Banner would incite even greater greed or murderous intent; after all, if he lost his life now, what would it matter who coveted his treasure? The moment he produced the Great Soul Banner, Li Ruoyu poured his own comprehension of the Dao into it, striking at both the azure blade and the old man at once. As the blade’s trajectory was deflected and the old man’s advance stalled, Li Ruoyu realized the banner’s power had grown since the character for “Soul” had appeared upon its surface in Huangshan. Though the attack did not utterly dispel the blade’s energy, it was enough for Li Ruoyu’s purposes.

He understood that this was due to his own insufficient cultivation. No matter how powerful a treasure, its might depended on its wielder. Li Ruoyu, by all accounts, was among the weakest.

The force of Li Ruoyu’s counterattack far exceeded the old man’s expectations. This azure energy was no ordinary blow; it was fueled by rage and the old man’s full might. That it failed to kill its target—especially one of a much lower realm—left him astonished. When Li Ruoyu attacked both the energy and the old man, the latter could feel that the force remained the same.

But the moment the old man saw the Great Soul Banner—bearing the word “Soul”—he understood. This was no ordinary artifact but a legendary immortal treasure. Others might attempt to fake such things, but the immortal aura radiating from the banner could not be imitated. Such items were renowned and exceedingly rare, said to be impossible to forge without reaching the highest legendary realms.

The Star of Wastelands was vast beyond measure, yet only a handful of immortal treasures existed, most in the hands of the greatest powers. Now, seeing one before his eyes, the old man’s gaze flashed with greed and a predatory gleam. Li Ruoyu could tell that the old man, though aware of the banner’s existence, had decided not to inform the others but to keep the treasure for himself. The realization struck Li Ruoyu with dread.

The old man, having recognized the immortal treasure, chose not to rally others but to seize it for himself. Li Ruoyu knew well the ruthlessness of the cultivation world; if their roles were reversed, he might have acted even more ruthlessly. Now he understood—between himself and the old man, there could be no reconciliation. The cause was not the corpse orb but the “Soul” banner in his hand.

Accepting the world’s cruelty, Li Ruoyu put forth every ounce of strength from his Dao Body and raced away at top speed, pursued relentlessly by the old man. Their speeds were evenly matched only because the old man was slowed by the spreading corpse blight; otherwise, Li Ruoyu would have already perished.

Seeing his pursuer drawing ever closer, Li Ruoyu fought back with the Great Soul Banner, wielding it as a sword in an effort to slow the old man, while the latter unleashed waves of azure energy in return. Suddenly, Li Ruoyu felt a sharp pain in his chest; his earlier wounds, left untended, had worsened. Hurriedly, and with much reluctance, he bit off a piece of a rare medicinal herb, swallowing it and keeping the rest in his mouth for later use.

The efficacy was immediate—a cooling sensation soothed his wounded organs, and relief spread through his body. Meanwhile, realizing he could not catch Li Ruoyu quickly, the old man assessed his own declining state and bellowed, “Hand over the immortal treasure!”

Li Ruoyu had anticipated that greed would incite others, but what surprised him was that the next attack did not come from the old man but from one of the six battling figures overhead. If it had been anyone else, he would have accepted his misfortune; but the weapon descending was a divine bell he recognized, wielded by Elder Xu Changheng, the most formidable artificer of the Hengjiu Sect—even surpassing the sect master, Heng Yi.

As the bell descended, Li Ruoyu channeled his Dao force into the Great Soul Banner and struck back. At the moment of impact, he was sent tumbling through the air like a meteor, grievously wounded, his barely-recovered injuries worsening. Clamping his lips tight for fear of coughing blood and losing his precious medicine, he forced himself to endure—the time to recover was too precious to waste.

Li Ruoyu had always known of the world’s dangers, but the cultivation world’s betrayals were a thousandfold worse. Those who had just been engaged in desperate battle instantly abandoned their grudges at the mere mention of an immortal treasure. Most chilling of all was that his own “kinsman” was the first to strike.

Thirteen streaks of light now pursued Li Ruoyu, rapidly closing the distance. Seeing that none behind him would relent, Li Ruoyu’s gaze hardened. If they showed no mercy, then neither would he.

The Great Soul Banner had accompanied Li Ruoyu for ten years. In that decade, he had come to know its powers intimately. Its true terror did not lie in brute force, but in its connection to souls. When the character for “Soul” appeared on it in Huangshan, Li Ruoyu understood its true use through his Dao insight. But unless forced to the utmost, he preferred not to employ it—for the cost was simply too great.

The banner’s essence lay in souls. Within its silken folds dwelled the vengeful spirits of nine great enemies slain by its previous master, bound as ghostly thralls, as well as a soul-based legacy that Li Ruoyu lacked the cultivation to unlock. Each time he called upon the banner’s spirits, he had to expend at least two-thirds of his vital blood, and, more grievously, a portion of his own soul.

Two-thirds of his blood was a price Li Ruoyu could bear, for powerful medicines could restore it. But even losing one percent of his soul was a terrible wound to his very foundation. Unlike blood, a soul’s injury was all but impossible to heal. Without restoration, his future cultivation and enlightenment would be gravely hindered.

Yet the world of cultivation was often a realm of helplessness. Though unwilling, Li Ruoyu resolutely activated the banner’s forbidden technique. He formed nine hand seals in swift succession, pressing his palm to the banner’s surface. Instantly, his blood drained away, leaving him gaunt, but worse still was the agony of his soul being torn asunder. Sweat poured from his brow as his entire body trembled with the pain.

Forcing himself to swallow the remaining medicine, Li Ruoyu gritted his teeth.

Now the Great Soul Banner, gorged on blood and soul, gleamed a deep crimson—even the staff in his hand shone like red agate. A terrifying aura surged from it as nine spectral, blood-red wraiths appeared about him, their savage power radiating in all directions.

At this sight, the thirteen pursuers halted their advance, their escape lights flickering uncertainly. Of those present, apart from the white-haired old man in floral robes and Xu Changheng, Li Ruoyu recognized few. Aside from Heng Yi, the sect master, the rest were likely the core of Hengjiu Sect’s strength. As for the other peak lords, none were present; clearly, they had either perished or fled on their own, leaving the blood-soaked sect behind.

Li Ruoyu merely watched the thirteen, knowing there could be no reconciliation. Ever since Xu Changheng had attacked him for the immortal treasure, Li Ruoyu understood: to them, the treasure outweighed all else—even blood feuds.

“You, boy of Hengjiu Sect—hand over the immortal treasure, and we cultivators of the Barbarian Nation will let you leave unharmed,” called a beautiful, middle-aged Daoist woman in a feathered crown.

Li Ruoyu glanced over the group again. Even now, their thoughts were fixated on seizing the treasure, oblivious to the terror of the nine vengeful souls before him. In truth, it was hard to blame them. Among the supreme powers of Star of Wastelands, none possessed an immortal treasure with such eerie power as the Great Soul Banner. And though the price for unleashing its true might was dreadful, it did not diminish its uniqueness among immortal treasures.