Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 44: The Lost Mansion

The height was not particularly challenging; even martial artists of the Heavenly Step could leap up with their qi and reach it. Yet, after that person ascended, just as he was about to touch the luminous gate, he suddenly plummeted, landing in utter disgrace. Several others tried in succession, and it soon became clear that something was amiss. The radiant gate stood quietly in place.

Elders from noble families and sects sternly warned their disciples to exercise great caution. The opening of this ancient estate was related to primordial demon gods, and no one knew where the exit might be found. How would one return after entering? Danger surely lurked within.

Yang Hao watched from afar. With his abilities, he could not participate in such matters, and merely observed. Yet he sensed something was wrong. It resembled the mirage spoken of in legends: if one chased after what seemed visible, it would ultimately prove futile—a pursuit in vain. Heading south when one ought to go north. All could be illusion.

To test his deduction, he wondered... Who first claimed that the ancient estate lay within Fucheng? Who started the rumor? Wait—Tianxingzi...

He glanced at the crowd of martial artists, a dark mass, unsure who might be hidden among them. If it was Tianxingzi, did he truly not know, or was he feigning ignorance? That man was highly suspicious.

And where was the Prince? Surely he knew as well. Someone as formidable as the Prince would find a solution.

"What an era this is," Wang Chuan mused, witnessing so many young experts gathered in one place for the first time, sighing softly and shaking his head. He stood atop the highest point of the palace, quietly observing, unhurried and composed. The heights were cold.

At that moment, a group clad in black, exuding a sinister demonic aura, suddenly appeared atop the radiant gate and entered. The leader, a stern, spectral middle-aged man, glanced back, his gaze cold and contemptuous, brimming with disdain. A pack of fools! Then they all slipped into the gate and vanished.

"Damn it, it’s not here!" a grandmaster raged. All the martial artists had been lured to Fucheng as if toyed with; the true entrance was not here.

"Go, go, go!"

"Damn it, we must find it!"

"Hurry!"

...

Wang Chuan watched the chaos below with a cold sneer. The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. Some would never know how death would come for them.

The tale was a lesson: observe and plan thrice before acting. Never overlook the unremarkable places.

One imperial dynasty, two sacred lands, three divided teachings. That group just now seemed familiar; being from the demon clan, they had studied the demon god’s estate most thoroughly. But before him, none of it mattered.

Wang Chuan unfurled his form and soared directly atop the radiant gate. The crowd below turned to look; those who had already tried were about to mock him, but saw Wang Chuan fly off in a certain direction.

Since the distant scene was merely a projection, Wang Chuan followed the light. His figure swept across the sky like a wild goose, heading toward the horizon. Others were left stunned.

Soon, someone noticed that the projected image above Fucheng showed Wang Chuan already rushing into the gate—his silhouette elegant and unrestrained.

The next second, several dark, demonic figures swiftly pursued him. It seemed they were targeting Wang Chuan deliberately.

...

Upon entering the gate, he felt space twist around him—he could see nothing, sense nothing, all spiritual and physical perception blocked. There was no warning of danger, so Wang Chuan simply waited. Then his body grew light, as if undergoing distant teleportation at unimaginable speed.

He did not know how long it lasted. Suddenly, Wang Chuan found himself in a vast swamp, bubbling with black froth, and the occasional hiss echoed around him.

This was the so-called cave estate, the domain of the ancient demon god. Most importantly, it was a place of cultivation. Thus, there might be treasures, techniques, spirit stones—remnants of the demon god’s legacy.

After countless millennia, the demonic energy here was thick as water.

Wang Chuan stood, letting the demonic qi temper his body. He had once cultivated the demon path—not body, not qi, but the heart. The demon walks as he wishes, by any means necessary, all for power. Often, being overly righteous was not ideal.

Such a place was paradise for the demon clan—or rather, it was their territory. A treasury!

Let’s see if there are any treasures left behind by the demon god.

Wang Chuan calculated and prepared to head toward the key area, then paused.

Killing intent!

He sensed murderous intent. In such a place, without meeting anyone, why would someone want to kill him? Old enemies, perhaps? Regardless, if someone wanted him dead, Wang Chuan would strike first.

"Golden Silk Silver Night Grass!"

He was about to move forward when his gaze fell on a patch of gravel ten yards ahead. There stood a small herb with silver, scale-like leaves, crowned with strands of gold emitting tiny rays, as if swimming.

"In such a place, even spirit herbs are far more common than outside," Wang Chuan murmured, surprised. This single herb was worth a fortune—a priceless treasure, rarely seen, an ingredient for supreme elixirs.

He approached, reached out, and snatched it. The Dragon Claw drew the herb from the earth, sending it to his hand, but he had not yet examined it.

Suddenly, the gravel pile shifted.

Whoosh—

Something shot up, attacking Wang Chuan with blinding speed.

Still holding the herb, Wang Chuan was attacked at the precise moment of distraction—a well-timed ambush. Without hesitation, he whipped the herb down.

Smack—

A sharp, crisp sound echoed, slicing through the air. The fragile herb was as tough as iron in Wang Chuan’s hand, striking the attacker’s rock-hard body and even sparking.

He sensed a cold light fixing on him—the lurking beast was a venomous snake, and a powerful one at that.

The attacker thought Wang Chuan would be preoccupied, and attacked from an angle that left no room to dodge.

Yet Wang Chuan struck back with the herb, so decisively—like a sinking ship casting aside all gold and silver without a second thought.

Who could act with such resolve?

A great will, able to give up and abandon without hesitation!

The snake crashed to the ground, shattered, torn apart.

The herb in Wang Chuan’s hand was ruined, so he tossed it aside, extracted the core from the snake, and departed without looking back.

If only he could find a spatial storage ring, Wang Chuan thought—it would make carrying items much easier. Such artifacts were nearly extinct in the land of Shenzhou.

Even at his level, restricted by the laws, his ability to use spatial power was limited. He needed objects from antiquity.

Rain began to fall—suddenly, black as ink. Wang Chuan, alert as a cicada before autumn, raised a black umbrella-like shield of protective force overhead, blocking the rain.

All around, demonic qi poured into his body, his cultivation method running smoothly.

He surveyed the terrain and sped in a certain direction.

He had not gone far before danger struck again.

From the tall trees rooted firmly at the edge of the swamp, dozens of enormous lizard-like beasts burst forth, their bodies massive, wings sprouting from their backs as they flew at him.

These demon beasts were larger than most men; as they charged, they exuded fierce, corrosive demonic energy, jaws full of fangs gaping wide.

Wang Chuan remained calm, pointing two fingers from a distance.

Bang—

An accurate, divine strike, infused with pure true qi, caused the beast to stagger, scrambling to adjust its posture and dive again.

The protective aura around him was battered, echoing loudly, shaking with surging true qi and chaotic energy.

"Courting death!"

Wang Chuan’s robes billowed; he pointed again with two fingers.

A charged blow—penetrating heaven and earth. Not only did it shatter a thousand tons, but it carried an invincible edge, sword intent concentrated at his fingertips.

The demon beast ahead was pierced through, its blood jet-black, mixing with the swamp.

A few more swift thrusts, and several demon beast corpses fell in succession. Wang Chuan flashed deeper into the region.

"The demon god’s estate is a relic of ancient times; its environment preserves the ancient state, and the demon beasts remain as they were—a formidable lot!"

By sensing their strength, Wang Chuan easily distinguished them—their attacks were sharp, their defenses unnaturally strong, impervious even to pure physical force.

But he was not a native of this realm.

Along the way, swarms of demon beasts lay in wait—ancient monsters launching surprise attacks too numerous to count.

Most had been peacefully coexisting, maintaining a stable equilibrium. But Wang Chuan’s arrival disrupted the balance and drew all the beasts to attack.

He could not tell how vast the swamp was, but he sped along, finally leaving the area.

He stepped onto soft, moist earth, and the rain ceased.

He looked around.

It seemed he was in a dense forest. The trees were tall, the fallen leaves accumulated over countless years—withered and revived again and again.

Would a demon god cultivate in such a place?

Wang Chuan doubted it—what kind of estate was this?

A perilous land—even at his grandmaster level, he had to tread carefully.

Apparently, he had not yet found the central area.

He hoped this place was not larger than he imagined, for it seemed boundless.

Suddenly, a fierce gust swept by. Wang Chuan instinctively kicked out, a surge of true qi sweeping and repelling the attacking object.

After it landed, he saw it was a mass of viscous fluid.

This liquid was not only thick as super glue, but also toxic, instantly corroding a large patch of ground.

Like clear water poured into flour, the flat earth became riddled with scars, shocking to behold.

Wang Chuan frowned; with a swish, the shadow vanished.

One failed strike, and it retreated into the depths of the forest, leaving no trace.

The demon beasts he encountered seemed ever more elusive.

He grew increasingly vigilant, heightening his guard.