The Devil's Plain

The ancient stele’s divine diagram spun wildly within Xiao Chen’s mind. His body blazed with light, streams of radiance flowing over his skin as a colossal monolith materialized in the depths of his heart. The blurred silhouette was so awe-inspiring, so oppressive—a giant stele towering like a mountain range planted in his spiritual sea, piercing the clouds, its peak impossible to behold.

Why was it like this? Xiao Chen’s heart seized with shock. It resembled the Yellow River stele, yet it was not; it seemed like the Dragon Island stele, yet there were differences. This stone tablet was distinct from the two heavenly steles he had seen before.

A thunderclap seemed to detonate within his chest, a great bell striking him awake. Could it be that a third stele... was somewhere nearby?

His heart pounded violently. The divine diagram he cultivated was unquestionably incomplete; there should be a continuation. On Dragon Island, he had glimpsed at least six or seven phantom steles, and he had suspected then that a corresponding number must exist in the real world. But when he extended his spiritual sense to probe the land, he found nothing. The terrifying sensation faded away.

Xiao Chen did not despair. He slowly calmed himself and gazed quietly across the desolate plain.

The Devil’s Plain of the Fan Kingdom was a place of endless legends, a profoundly mysterious region where many great beings had once appeared.

It was said that the Primordial had once moved the immortal mountain Kunlun here, intending to spread his teachings throughout the world, but in a single night Kunlun collapsed, nearly exterminating the native inhabitants.

Even more chilling tales claimed that Laozi’s past incarnation had been smashed to pulp on the Devil’s Plain by a terrifying demonic weapon, his soul unable to reconverge for eight hundred years. In the same era, the Buddha’s past incarnation had been nailed to the Heaven-Reaching Peak on the Devil’s Plain for forty-nine days, forced to shed all his buddha-blood and die.

This place had become an omen of ill fortune. Even the great powers were unwilling to set foot here again.

Endless white bones stretched before Xiao Chen, dazzling under the sunlight like fresh snow. Ten million soldiers had perished here. The murderous aura that had once surged to the heavens had long since dissipated, the howling soldier souls had vanished, leaving only this vast sea of bones, bearing witness to a cataclysm. More than ten million had died in less than forty days—unimaginable in the mortal world, but on this boundless Eternal Continent, such horror was possible only in the wars of the five hegemonic nations.

Each of those five kingdoms was more than ten times larger than the entire Mortal World. When four such colossal states waged war, a death toll of ten million was unremarkable.

Facing the endless white bones, Xiao Chen sighed deeply. This Devil’s Plain was a true sky-burial ground, an ossuary for countless ages.

Night fell. A gentle breeze stirred. Xiao Chen left a fading afterimage and vanished from the Devil’s Plain.

Beyond the Mountain River Pass, the four hegemonic nations each had millions of troops encamped. The battlefield had become a shambolic slaughterground. Though the second great war had not yet erupted, skirmishes and minor battles raged constantly. This stretch of land, a thousand li across, was an ancient graveyard where countless soldiers had fallen, their bones buried deep beneath the earth.

Another month passed, and the second great war finally exploded. Rivers of blood flowed, vengeful spirits wailed, and heaven and earth shook. The killing aura pierced the clouds.

It was a three-month melee. Millions perished. Though not as catastrophic as the first war, the carnage still shrouded the land in baleful energy. Blood-rain fell for several days, then the endless vengeful souls vanished abruptly, leaving only white bones. The black mist and yin aura that had covered everything receded.

A mysterious event had occurred once more: someone had collected millions of soldier souls!

After that, the fighting continued. The armies of Great Zhou and Fan Kingdom combined and retreated into the Mountain River Pass. The Roman Empire and Great Shang joined forces, attacking the pass daily. Meanwhile, fierce battles also flared in the nearby desolate mountains.

On the battlefield, demi-gods reigned supreme. Deathless Longevity experts rarely acted; their pursuit was a higher step on the ladder. Nirvana cultivators were even rarer, for their power fluctuated wildly. In their prime, they could match a Deathless Longevity expert, but when weakened, they might fall below even a Spirit-Treasury practitioner. Once a cultivator entered Nirvana, they usually hid away to meditate in solitude.

Thus, demi-gods became the dread destroyers of the battlefield. Their clashes before the Mountain River Pass were fierce and unending. Xiao Chen had spent many days here observing the fighting.

For nearly a month, Xiao Chen had disguised himself as an ordinary soldier in Shang army uniform, charging through the rain of blood and mountain of flesh. Of course, he never struck at common troops—he was simply absorbing the atmosphere. In this brutal war, he saw many soldiers driven to madness, while others grew stronger through terror and hardship.

The experience struck him deeply. Without his powerful cultivation protecting him, he doubted he would have fared much better. Facing a demi-god’s terrifying killing techniques was enough to break any ordinary soldier—a sweep of divine power that reduced flesh and blood to paste, each attack like a mountain grinding everything beneath it.

War between hegemonic nations was indeed an excellent crucible for cultivators. Finding an opponent was easy; demi-gods always clashed on the front lines.

Under another blood-red sunset, as Xiao Chen helped clear the battlefield, he caught faint, familiar traces—the Little Li Flying Dagger successor, the demoness of the Heavenly Demon Palace, the fairy of the Cí Háng Sword Lodge, and the young experts secretly trained by the Roman Empire’s great religions. They flickered through the endless camp like ghosts.

Unfolding the Eight Aspect Worlds, Xiao Chen vanished like a shadow, startling a nearby soldier carrying a corpse so badly that the man fell to the ground, almost dying of fright.

By instinct, Xiao Chen knew these young elites were about to act. He decided to follow and observe.

Under a starry night sky, a gentle breeze carried a chill. Thirteen figures drifted out of the endless joint encampment, moving like spirits. All could fly, and they flickered across the darkness, heading toward the nearby primeval mountain range—the wild, forested peaks beside the Mountain River Pass, too dense for armies to march through. Still, the Fan Kingdom had stationed troops there as a precaution.

Xiao Chen now recognized them: the ten strongest young experts of Great Shang and the Roman Empire, on a secret mission. They did not stay in the air but descended into the forest, traveling by stealth. All were near demi-god level, capable of contending with true demi-gods. Gathered together, they formed a terrifying force.

On the battlefield, demi-gods were kings; this group was a kingly power in its own right.

There were indeed experts among the garrison in the mountains, but they could hardly detect such a small, stealthy band. The occasional hidden sentry who spotted them was killed instantly. Blood sprayed; blood-mist drifted. The thirteen experts had already slain dozens of sentries along the way. No one found it cruel—that was the nature of war.

Xiao Chen, wrapped in the Eight Aspect Worlds, followed far beyond their line of sight, tracking purely by the faint ripples they left behind, a full ten li away. He dared not approach; if they sensed him, it would be trouble—each of them was a match for him in cultivation.

Swoosh!

A figure dropped from the night sky like a bat, lunging at Xiao Chen. An expert—he had spotted Xiao Chen from above, pausing and advancing in the darkness. A killing strike, arriving in an instant.

Xiao Chen stood unmoving, calm as still water. The moment the spiritist’s divine art swept toward him, he flicked out the Lingxi Sword Wave. A soft puff—the figure in the air disintegrated into blood-mist, not a bone or shred of flesh remaining.

These days on the battlefield, Xiao Chen had grown accustomed to death. His heart had hardened, not to the point of callousness, but when he killed, his mind barely stirred. The cruel war had tempered his iron will into something unshakable.

Deep in the primeval mountains, a hundred and twenty li from the pass, the Little Li Flying Dagger successor, the Heavenly Demon Palace demoness, and the others had stopped. They had scoured the area for a hundred li and found nothing. Now the thirteen began to confer in secret.

“According to reliable intelligence, the Fan prince overseeing the war is not in the Mountain River Pass. Our earlier search ruled out the possibility that he is hiding in these mountains. Then only one possibility remains: he has not yet reached the front; he is still on the road.”

“Right. We can penetrate deep into Fan territory and assassinate him along the way.”

“Risky, but worthwhile. That prince is a brilliant strategist, a rare commander. Killing him will strike a heavy blow to Fan’s morale.”

They decided to go deep into Fan territory and assassinate the prince.

Xiao Chen could not hear their words—he was still ten li away. But by the residual traces of their energy, he could deduce their direction. Unfolding the Eight Aspect Worlds, he followed unhurriedly.

The group was not impatient. They advanced cautiously, resting at night. By the afternoon of the next day, they arrived at the Devil’s Plain.

Deep in the Devil’s Plain, a middle-aged man of about forty, regal and imposing, exuded an innate kingly presence. He strode through the barren land, surveying the terrain with the confidence of a true sovereign.

“I will make Shang and the Roman Empire lose ten million soldiers here!”

As he spoke, the majestic man swept his gaze across the sky and over the endless bones. “One battle decides the fate of the world!”

“Your Highness is a peerless strategist, a man who holds the cosmos in his palm. Crushing ten million enemy troops with a wave of your hand is effortless,” someone flattered.

He turned his head and glanced coldly, silencing everyone around him. “I do not like sycophants. I like men of ability. I intend to set up a Heavens and Earth, Nine Directions, Gods-Slaying and Demons-Annihilating Formation here. Though it is only a fragmentary formation, it will be more than enough to annihilate mortals.”

A young female cultivator stepped forward and said with a smile, “We will make camp here tonight. Let me take a few people forward to scout.”

The middle-aged man nodded. “Do not go too far. Even if someone wants to assassinate me, what of it? I have so many experts by my side that I fear nothing. If you detect an enemy, return immediately. Do not take risks.”

“Understood.”

The empty plain, dotted with sparse, withered grass, was a vast expanse of white bones. Because the terrain was open, if the thirteen experts flew into the sky, they could easily scan dozens of li in all directions. Xiao Chen had to increase his distance again. He lost the target several times—he was not yet a god, able to sweep his spiritual sense across the world in an instant. But the Eight Aspect Worlds were swift, and by constantly shifting positions, he always managed to relocate them.

Dusk fell. The sunset painted a sorrowful red, as if the Devil’s Plain had been drenched in blood. With the white bones everywhere, the scene was especially eerie and sinister.

When Xiao Chen found the demoness and the others again, they were locked in fierce combat with another group. Thirteen against eight—they held a clear advantage. Already three of the enemy had fallen. Divine light blazed as all kinds of secret arts erupted; on a true battlefield of life and death, no one held back. Every strike was a killing blow.

Suddenly, Xiao Chen’s eyes blazed with sharp divine light. He saw a deeply familiar figure—an old friend he had not seen for years. A young monk in white robes was fighting two experts in the air, calm and composed, supremely poised, a true transcendent.

It was Yizhen! He had not seen him since Dragon Island, four years ago.

Now Yizhen’s cultivation was terrifying to behold. Holding his own against two experts from the Roman Empire and Great Shang, he showed no sign of weakness. The young monk had a pure, handsome face and flowing white robes. His aura was ethereal, like a Buddha floating through the sky. His profound depth amazed everyone present.

Xiao Chen was not surprised. That Yizhen should be a match for the strongest of Shang and Rome was only natural—in a sense, Yizhen might have been the greatest beneficiary on Dragon Island. Before the Dead City, the Buddha’s Dharma Wheel had merged with him. No one knew what advantages he had gained, only that he had broken through several minor realms in one go, becoming one of the island’s most powerful cultivators. Four years later, his cultivation had soared as expected.

“Buddha, show mercy,” Yizhen murmured softly, his voice clear and resonant. From far off in the sky came a dragon roar, and a jade-green streak split the air like lightning, arriving in an instant. It attacked, taking over one of Yizhen’s opponents.

The Azure Dragon King! It was now several meters long, magnificent and valiant, its scales gleaming like translucent emerald jade. As it swung its dragon tail—a sweep like a blade of green jade—the evening clouds themselves seemed to be dyed green. The terrifying ripples shook the heart.

The Azure Dragon King was not at a disadvantage; instead, it fought with high morale, attacking frequently. Dragon clan divine arts and ancient combat techniques dazzled the onlookers. Every move was a killing stroke. Azure light shot into the clouds, and the sunset colors dimmed in comparison.

On the other side, Yizhen, now fighting alone, felt his pressure ease. Buddhist secret techniques flew from his hands. Though he seemed ethereal and transcendent, his killing power rocked the surrounding space.

Finally, Yizhen intoned a Buddha’s name. Suddenly he soared into the sky, and a colossal Buddha’s hand descended like the heavens, covering a hundred square zhang. The Roman cultivator struggled with all his might, unleashing his ultimate divine art, but was still smashed deep into the earth. Buddha light radiated everywhere. The giant hand closed, lifting the buried expert. It contracted with force, and a scream of agony rang out.

The other combatants were all startled. The Buddha light blazed. Yizhen, solemn and majestic, held that glowing hand before everyone’s eyes and crushed the Roman expert to pulp!

Gasps echoed through the air. The remaining twelve experts stared in shock. Three of them charged at Yizhen together. It was then that Xiao Chen suddenly recalled that at the gate of the Dead City on Dragon Island, it had been a Buddha’s hand that had lifted Yizhen. The two were strikingly similar.

“He is the Buddha’s successor—kill him!” someone shouted.

Light flashed. Yizhen instantly appeared before the Azure Dragon King and yelled, “Go!”

At the same time, the surviving Fan experts tried to flee, but their opponents had already cut off their retreat. Twelve against five now tilted the odds overwhelmingly.

Light flickered again. Before Yizhen could take to the air, the Little Li Flying Dagger successor stood alone before him and the Azure Dragon King, a blade-light gleaming at his fingertip. The aura of death spread out. One man, one dagger, became the only thing between heaven and earth—the temperature on half the sky dropped sharply.

Facing the terrifying, almost demonic power of the Little Li Flying Dagger, anyone would pale. Yizhen and the Azure Dragon King both halted, forced to focus all their attention. One misstep, and the flying dagger would shatter their throats!

Such was the charm of the Little Li Flying Dagger. Even standing alone against a thousand troops, it could terrify. No one knew where the final dagger would fly. Yizhen and the Azure Dragon King had to concentrate all twelve of their senses. The scene was utterly still. The other experts surrounded the four remaining Fan warriors and watched, waiting to see what would happen when the wind-and-cloud-shaking dagger clashed with the Buddha’s arts.

At that moment, Xiao Chen moved from the distant sky. The Eight Aspect Worlds unfolded, leaving only a fading afterimage as he appeared before Yizhen in an instant.

Once the Little Li Flying Dagger was unleashed, no one could predict the outcome. Though Yizhen seemed transcendent, Xiao Chen could not bear to see an old comrade risk his life. He charged forward without hesitation.