Cultivation of immortality begins with an eighty-year-old eunuch.

Rosa's remnant soul reappeared from the starry sky.

He looked down at Chen Fan, who was sitting cross-legged on the meteorite, and a rare smile flashed in his eyes, which were like black holes in the universe.

"Very good. Twelve years in the Sea of ​​Formations have not dulled your spirit, but rather made your will even purer. Such a successor is worthy of my waiting for tens of thousands of years in this dark and sunless underground."

Rosa slowly raised his right hand and gently traced a line in the air with his five fingers.

"The second hurdle is comprehension."

His voice echoed through the starry sky, each word like a resounding bell, causing the surrounding stars to tremble slightly.

"The first test examines your deduction and foundation, while the second test examines your understanding of the universe and all things. Rules, laws, and the Great Dao can never be truly grasped through arduous cultivation. Only enlightenment can allow you to glimpse the origin from the mundane world."

Chen Fan listened quietly, his expression calm as still water.

Luo Sha continued, "I have traversed the endless starry sky for countless years, witnessing countless geniuses and prodigies. Among them are many with exceptional talent and abundant resources, but only a handful truly reach the end. The root cause is insufficient comprehension. They may be able to forcefully reach the Integration or Mahayana stages through arduous cultivation and abundant resources, but they will never even touch the threshold of Tribulation Transcending, let alone the realm of Immortals. And you…"

Rosa's gaze fell on Chen Fan, with a mixture of scrutiny and admiration.

"You can possess three realms of understanding simultaneously. This level of comprehension would be considered outstanding even in my era. With your late-stage Nascent Soul cultivation, you can hold your own against Void Refinement cultivators. In terms of comprehension alone, you are already on par with any genius I have ever seen. But that's not enough..."

Rosa's tone suddenly changed.

"You lack the aura of killing power!"

Chen Fan's brow twitched slightly.

Luo Sha took in his reaction, a hint of arrogance in his voice: "The path of cultivation has never been about gentleness, kindness, respect, frugality, and humility. You've reached the Nascent Soul stage, and you must have killed quite a few people. But your killings have always been purposeful. Such killings can only be considered a means, and will never lead to the Dao."

"But the true way of killing needs no reason."

"It's not for hatred, not for profit, not for survival, but simply because you are strong enough that you can kill. This is the true essence of slaughter, and the foundation upon which my ancient demon race has roamed the starry sky."

The moment the words left her lips, Rosa raised her hand and pointed at Chen Fan's brow.

"In this trial, I bestow upon you a great opportunity. I will open the gate to the realm of slaughter for you. If you can comprehend the essence of slaughter within ten years, you will have passed the trial. If you fail within ten years..."

His voice suddenly turned cold.

"Then I will remain forever in this sea of ​​slaughter, becoming one of the countless undead."

Before Chen Fan could even speak, the starry sky before him suddenly shattered.

The meteorite beneath his feet shattered inch by inch, and the surrounding galaxy was as if it were being violently stirred by an invisible hand, turning into a bottomless vortex.

He plummeted uncontrollably downwards, his ears filled with the wails of countless wronged souls and the clanging of metal against metal.

I don't know how much time passed, maybe a moment, maybe three days and three nights, but the intense feeling of weightlessness finally disappeared.

Chen Fan opened his eyes.

He stood on a boundless wasteland.

The sky was dark red, like a block of blood that had congealed for millions of years, pressing heavily overhead. There was no sun, no moon, no stars, only a scarlet light emanating from somewhere, dyeing the entire earth a blood-red hue.

The earth beneath my feet was black, not the black of soil, but a dark red, almost black, like dried blood that had settled for millennia. A thick, nauseating stench of blood permeated the air; each breath felt like swallowing fresh blood.

On this desolate land, people stood densely packed together.

No, it's not a person.

They are the dead.

Thousands upon thousands of dead souls.

Their bodies were translucent, surrounded by dark red resentment, and their faces were blurred, with only their outlines from before their birth vaguely discernible.

Some wore tattered armor, some wore ragged robes, and some were naked, their bodies covered with shocking wounds.

The only thing they had in common was that their eye sockets burned with eerie green flames, flames devoid of any consciousness, containing only the most primal and pure killing intent.

The moment Chen Fan appeared on the wasteland, all the undead turned their heads at the same time.

Hundreds of thousands of cold gazes locked onto him like countless sharp swords.

The next instant, a deafening roar erupted.

The sea of ​​the dead is boiling.

They surged toward Chen Fan like a flood bursting its banks. Some held broken swords, some brandished shattered magical artifacts, and some simply bared their teeth and claws as they pounced, trying to tear the only living creature in front of them to pieces with their fingernails and teeth.

Chen Fan's expression remained unchanged.

Eleven was drawn from its sheath, its greyish-white blade gleaming against the dark red sky.

With a sweeping motion of his sword, the sword energy transformed into an arc tens of feet long, severing dozens of undead at the waist from the front.

However, those severed spirits did not completely disappear.

Their remains transformed into a dark red mist in mid-air, drifting for a moment before reforming into new undead that roared and pounced once more.

"Can't be killed?"

Chen Fan frowned slightly.

He drew his sword again, this time incorporating the essence of the three gates into the sword's light.

With a single thrust of the sword, the head of a dead man exploded.

This time, the spirit did not rise from the dead. Its body began to crumble inch by inch from its head, eventually turning into a wisp of smoke and dissipating into the air, returning to nothingness.

However, there was no joy on Chen Fan's face.

Because killing one or two among hundreds of thousands of undead is utterly meaningless.

More and more dead souls surged up.

Chen Fan took a deep breath and plunged into the Sea of ​​the Dead with his sword.

With his late-stage Nascent Soul cultivation and the enhancement of the three realms of intent, these ordinary undead spirits simply could not get close to him.

Each swing of Eleven could take away dozens or even hundreds of undead. The gray-white sword light drew dazzling arcs in the sea of ​​the dead, like a bright moon floating in a sea of ​​blood.

At first, Chen Fan remained calm.

While he was killing, he carefully observed the changes in each spirit as it dissipated using the Fixed Word Technique, trying to capture a clue to the essence of the killing.

He saw the resentment in the spirits as they dissipated, the lingering murderous intent within them, and the obsession that kept them from finding peace even after death.

But these are all superficial appearances.

It's like looking at a painting through a thin veil; he can vaguely see the outline of the painting, but he can never see its true meaning.

A day has passed.

Two days have passed.

A month has passed.

Chen Fan had lost count of how many undead he had killed.

One hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand?

Under his eleven sword strikes, the remains of the undead piled up like mountains, only to be trampled into dust by the subsequent surge of undead.

His robes were soaked in blood, the dried blood stains turning the blue fabric a dark brown.

Even Chen Fan's face and hands were covered with dried bloodstains, making it impossible to tell whether they were the resentment of the dead or his own.

His eyes were still sharp, but now held a deep sense of confusion.