Chapter 129: Underground Chaos

Chapter 129: Underground Chaos Chapter 0129: Underground Chaos The underground chamber of the Hanz Clan’s Martial Arts Arena thrummed with chaotic energy, its stone walls reverberating under the onslaught of unleashed power. Jorge Blue and Rodney Luther, both formidable Ninth Layer Qi Refinement cultivators from the Abyss Pit Sect’s Thirst Bull Squad, stood at the forefront, their silhouettes wreathed in swirling spiritual energy as they faced a relentless tide of training dummies and Dao puppets. These mechanical constructs lurched forward with jerky, unnatural movements, their carved faces blank yet menacing under the chamber’s flickering torchlight. Jorge unleashed a torrent of joss paper which burnt in flame from his folding fan, the crimson tide incinerating a row of dummies, while Rodney’s resentful ghosts army breached through a bunch of Dao puppets’ iron frame, sending errie green sparks cascading like a demonic shower. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of charred wood and molten metal. Despite their overwhelming strength, the two cultivators’ eyes remained sharp, their bodies taut with vigilance, as if sensing an unseen threat lurking beyond the fray. As the two Ninth Layer cultivators tested the waters, their devastating strikes carving a path through the onslaught, the rest of the Thirst Bull Squad surged into action, their coordinated assault transforming the chamber into a maelstrom of destruction. Dozens of martial spells erupted in vibrant hues—crimson fireballs, jade-green wind blades, and obsidian shadow spikes—colliding with the advancing constructs in a symphony of chaos. Cultivators hurled an array of Dao Fulus, their paper talismans glowing with intricate runes before detonating in bursts of spiritual energy. A Thunderclap Fulu shattered a puppet’s core, while a Frostbind Fulu encased a dummy in crystalline ice, only for it to be pulverized by a follow-up Earthrend Fist. The deafening BOOMS of each explosion shook the underground chamber, dislodging dust and debris from the cracked ceiling, which rained down like ash from a forsaken sky. In mere moments, more than half the attackers lay in ruin, their splintered limbs and shattered frames littering the stone floor like a grim harvest. Amid the carnage, the three bewitched gray-eyed cultivators—remnants of Soren Langley’s ill-fated Ghostclaw Squad—met a swift, brutal end. Their hollow gazes, clouded by some malevolent enchantment, offered no resistance at the fierce attack. In a blink, their heads were severed, their bodies collapsing into a dozen neatly sliced pieces. A resentful ghost, summoned by Rodney Luther, flickered into existence, its spectral form darting among the fallen to retrieve their storage pouches before delivering them to their master’s outstretched hand. Yet neither Jorge nor Rodney relaxed. Their senses remained razor-sharp, scanning the chamber’s shadows for the next threat. Their vigilance proved wise as the scattered fragments of the destroyed dummies and puppets began to glow with an unnatural light, their splintered limbs twitching like insects stirred from slumber. Within moments, the broken pieces knitted back together, reforming into weaker but still functional constructs. The regenerated dummies lurched upright, their wooden joints creaking, while the Dao puppets whirred to life, their metal frames scarred but operational. Though their auras were noticeably diminished—barely a fraction of their original strength—their relentless revival sent a chill through the squad. Jorge Blue’s brow furrowed, his sharp gaze darting to the cracked ceiling above, where faint, luminescent traces of array patterns pulsed like veins. "A minor Spirit Gathering Array," he declared, his voice low and grim, cutting through the chamber’s oppressive hum. "It mimics our holy sect’s grand protection array, the Nine Heavens, Ten Realms, Yin-Yang Plague World Array, but it’s laced with other formation designs. It siphons stray spirit energy from the entire Twin Peak Hill above, feeding these constructs to fight enemies or train the Hanz Clan’s disciples. If Junior Brother Luther hadn’t damaged the ceiling’s formation patterns upon our entry, these puppets would regenerate endlessly, drawing power from the entire mountain range until we were overwhelmed." Without Jorge and Rodney’s overwhelming power, the squad’s weaker members would have succumbed one by one to the puppets’ relentless assault. The array’s sabotage, courtesy of Rodney’s earlier strike against the ceiling, had severed the puppets’ connection to the mountain range’s ambient spirit energy, rendering them akin to trees stripped of roots or fish cast from water. Without the array’s energy supply, the regenerated constructs were noticeably weaker, their auras dimmed and their movements sluggish. As long as they pressed their advantage, the puppets would eventually crumble into oblivion, their finite energy depleted after a few more rounds. Yet Rodney Luther’s eyes narrowed, his instincts prickling with unease as he dispatched another puppet with a swing of his bone-forged chain, its links hissing like a venomous serpent. "Something’s not right, Senior Brother Blue," he warned. "The bewitched deaths of those three sect comrades of Ghostclaw Squad weren’t caused by these Dao puppets." Jorge’s gaze flashed with acknowledgment, his fan snapping open to unleash a storm of explosive joss paper, each sheet detonating in fiery bursts that incinerated a cluster of dummies. The captain’s nod was curt, his mind racing to unravel the arena’s hidden threat. Unseen by the Thirst Bull Squad, a Dao puppet, torn apart by a Thunderclap Talisman’s detonation, released a cloud of colorless, odorless smoke, its wispy tendrils slithering across the ground like a living entity. The smoke moved with eerie purpose, weaving through the debris-strewn floor, unnoticed by the cultivators locked in their frenzied battle. It penetrated the stone, wriggling like a spectral worm, until it found its target: a male cultivator, an Eighth Layer Qi Refinement member of the Thirst Bull, fully focused on casting a Jade Serpent Strike to fend off a dozen of Dwawf like metal Training Dummies. The smoke seeped into his body, silent and swift, and his eyes turned a deathly gray, the color deepening like a storm cloud swallowing light. Rodney, sensing a shift in the air, whipped his head around, his bone chain still crackling with residual energy from its last strike. He scrutinized the cultivator, suspicion knitting his brow, but the man’s intense focus on the puppets revealed nothing amiss. Nearby, a young female cultivator clad in a billowing bright orange gauze dress stole glances at Rodney, her eyes shimmering with unspoken affection tinged with bitterness. The fleeting distraction embarrassed Rodney, his cheeks flushing faintly as he averted his gaze, unaware of the growing corruption mere feet away. The battle surged on, the Thirst Bull Squad’s relentless assault splintering another wave of puppets. Rodney, scowling at a pack of roaring, beast-shaped Dao puppets charging toward him, flung his bone-forged chain with lethal precision. The Necrotic Viper Chain Art lashed out, its human-bone links hissing like a living serpent, reducing the puppets to fragments in a shower of sparks and splintered wood. But as the debris settled, another few threads of colorless, odorless smoke—each no thicker than a finger—sank into the ground, slithering toward nearby cultivators. The gray-eyed male cultivator’s condition worsened, his gaze darkening to an unnatural abyss. Without warning, he whirled, his fingers curling into claws that glinted with green venom. With a feral snarl, he lunged at the young female cultivator in the orange dress, his claws aimed for her vitals. Amidst the chaos, Emma Dawson, the young female cultivator clad in a billowing bright orange gauze dress, fought with graceful ferocity, her Jade Blossom Sword Art weaving arcs of emerald light that sliced through an advancing puppet’s iron frame. Her focus was absolute, her movements fluid as she countered the construct’s jerky assaults, oblivious to the treachery brewing mere steps away. Emma, caught off guard, sensed the attack only at the last moment, her heart lurching as the venomous claws closed in. In a desperate surge of defiance, a fierce light blazed in her eyes, and instead of retreating, she tossed her sword at the incoming Dao Puppets to fend off theirs attack, her another wrist flicking to draw a bone-white dagger from her sleeve. With ruthless precision, she thrust the blade toward her attacker’s throat. Jorge Blue, the Ninth Layer Qi Refinement captain of the Thirst Bull Squad, sensed the betrayal the instant the male cultivator’s aura shifted. His instincts, honed by years of surviving the Abyss Pit Sect’s demonic trials, screamed of danger, and he unfurled his folding fan, its runes glowing with the promise of an explosive Crimson Tide Inferno Art. Yet, in a fleeting moment of hesitation, he delayed his strike. "Watch out!" Jorge gasped.