Not far from the shimmering spires of the Fairy Kingdom lay a jagged expanse of stone forests—towering monoliths that clawed at the pale sky, their surfaces cracked and weathered by ages of scorching winds and bitter frost. The land here was barren beyond measure, a desolate realm where nothing grew save for the colossal rocks that stretched toward the heavens like petrified giants frozen in eternal vigil.Creatures of every kind shunned this isolated domain, driven away by the unnatural aura that clung to the stones like a suffocating shroud. Whispers of dark magic and ancient curses echoed through the narrow passages between the monoliths, and even the hardiest of the fairy folk dared not venture into its depths after the sun had set.Then, a shadow moved—swift as a falling star, silent as a grave. Clad in robes of deepest ebony that seemed to drink the very light around it, the figure darted through the labyrinthine paths of the stone forest, feet barely touching the dust-covered g

“Where in the realms did you procure such a vast number of high-tier spirits? Could it be that you are one of the legendary Demon Slayers?” Kartika inquired, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and suspicion that danced across her delicate features.Arga let out a low, knowing smile. At his sides, Intan and Rukma mirrored his expression—they had long grown accustomed to the extraordinary collection of spirits that dwelled within their companion, having witnessed feats that would leave even the most seasoned realm-travelers breathless.“Tell me, would these be enough to settle the full price of everything here?” Arga asked, his voice carrying the quiet confidence of one who understood the weight of his own power.“Sir, even if you had offered nothing more than the single Black-Horned Demon Spirit, it would have been more than sufficient to cover the cost of every item in this establishment,” Kartika replied, her words flowing with the reverence reserved for treasures of immense value.

At the peak of Mount Gu ci stood a sect that followed the righteous path. Founded by Li Hao about seventy years ago, the sect was named the Star Sword Sect. Over time, Li Hao managed to transform the Star Sword Sect into a respected establishment in the martial arts world. Although not the largest, the sect at least ranked among the top ten and was sought after by aspiring disciples eager to train in martial arts. On a cool morning, hundreds of Star Sword Sect members trained enthusiastically in a vast open field. They were divided into several groups based on their respective levels. An elderly man with long white hair emerged from a chamber, holding a sword with a black hilt. He was the founder and caretaker of the Star Sword Sect, Li Hao. "Ho Chen, come here quickly!" he called, his gaze fixed on a handsome young man of average build who was stacking firewood behind a chamber used as a kitchen. The young man’s name was Ho Chen. His skin was slightly tanned from frequent expos

"Damn it!" cursed Ho Chen in his heart. The twenty-year-old young man thought that he had to endure as much as possible. Although he had never received direct martial arts training, he had often observed the training conducted by other students. He secretly memorized each movement and practiced them alone in the forest while collecting firewood. That was why he often returned to the sect only when night fell. A punch aimed at his head was reflexively dodged. Likewise, a follow-up kick from Song Im targeting his stomach was successfully blocked. "Who taught you martial arts, you bastard? Just wait, we will report you for stealing techniques that you have no right to learn!" Song Im shouted. Fang Yun’s close friend still couldn't believe that Ho Chen had managed to block his kick. Despite his fear, Ho Chen forced a smirk. "I am also a student of the Star Sword Sect, Song Im! It’s not my fault if I observe your movements while you train. I have been in the sect for a year, yet I was

Li Hao and Ho Chen instantly turned their eyes toward the door, which had lost its panels. They both stared at the figure of an old man with a pale face and long, white hair reaching his back. His attire was entirely black, without exception. Even his headband was black, contrasting sharply with his white hair. The pale-faced man’s lips and chin were smeared with fresh blood. Occasionally, he licked it as if savoring the taste. "Wayward Fang!" Li Hao exclaimed, recognizing the figure standing before him. Wayward Fang was the nickname of the leader of the Black Panther Sect. The old man was infamous for his peculiar habit of drinking the blood of his victims, particularly from their necks. "Why are you so surprised to see me, Li Hao? You should have realized that your sect was already my target!" said Wayward Fang, flashing his elongated fangs—far longer than an average person’s. Perhaps that was why he was given the moniker Wayward Fang by dark sect warriors. Li Hao had long anti