The entry for cultivating immortality states that after dying a hundred times, I attained immortalit

When the darkness receded, Jiang Bai found himself still lying on the ground.

Not far away, the group of ghostly soldiers had turned around and left along the way they came.

Jiang Bai exhaled, his breath rising from his dantian, flowing through his meridians, and bursting out from his mouth and nose, carrying wisps of extremely faint golden light.

The gray mist within a three-foot radius seemed to be pushed aside by an invisible hand and gradually dissipated.

He looked down at his palm; the lines on his palm were still clear, but beneath the nine dark golden poison lines, there seemed to be an additional, imperceptible "existence."

This is neither spiritual power nor poison power, but a kind of sword intent!

With a slight thought, Jiang Bai raised his right index finger and gently drew a line in the air about three zhang to his left. There, a wisp of a soul was drifting, likely the lingering attachment of a fallen soldier, so faint as to be almost transparent, floating in a hazy, indistinct way.

As the finger fell, there was no sound of wind or light. The wisp of soul vanished silently from the center, like ashes from burnt paper, instantly merging into the air without leaving a trace.

"Specially dedicated to cutting down falsehoods..."

Jiang Bai muttered to himself, then closed his eyes and carefully sensed the changes in his soul.

The chilling and malevolent aura that was originally carried by the [Venomous Corrosion] has now been enveloped by a warm yet exceptionally sturdy "shell." This shell is not a physical object, but rather a manifestation of some kind of will.

No matter how intense the murderous aura or how surging the resentment may be from the outside world, one remains stable and unmoved.

The chilling, bone-deep killing intent that filled the air when the ghostly soldiers passed through would, if it were to reappear now, probably wouldn't even make him frown. This was the power of the golden inscription. Jiang Bai opened his eyes, a hint of understanding and certainty in them.

Just then, the cavalrymen who were about to return to their ranks in the distance all stopped in their tracks. The ten skeletal warhorses turned their heads at the same time, their empty eye sockets all staring in the direction where Jiang Bai was.

They realized that the body, which should have been completely destroyed, had come back to life.

The lead cavalryman raised his rusty saber, and without a roar or command, the ten riders charged together. Their hooves struck the ground, not sinking in, but the earth trembled slightly, and that pure killing intent once again permeated the air, three times stronger than before.

But this time, Jiang Bai did not retreat. He didn't even draw his blood-stained blade; he simply took a step forward, then brought his right index and middle fingers together and lightly touched the center of the cavalry leader's forehead.

hum! !

A faint tremor resounded in the air, like an ancient sword drawn three inches from its sheath and then returned to it. The charging cavalrymen, along with their horses, froze abruptly. In the next instant, a straight "line" appeared silently, extending from the horse's head to its tail, from the rider's head to his ankle. This line was initially extremely thin, but quickly widened, and the entire soul seemed to split in two along the line, like a block of wax sliced ​​by a hot blade, before turning into two wisps of blue smoke.

The remaining nine riders had already reached within five zhang, but Jiang Bai did not move. He simply drew a semi-circle in front of him with the tip of his right finger.

The momentum of the nine riders charging forward was abruptly halted by this arc. Fine lines appeared on the surface of their souls, and then—poof!

Nine plumes of blue smoke exploded simultaneously.

The wasteland returned to silence.

The gray mist flowed slowly, and the moonlight shone on Jiang Bai, casting his long shadow on the ground, which stretched all the way to the ten wisps of smoke and ashes that had already dissipated.

From the start to the end, it took no more than three breaths.

Jiang Bai withdrew his finger and looked down to examine it—the skin on his fingertip was still normal, without even a drop of sweat seeping out.

He murmured to himself, "So that's how it is. The Soul-Slaying Sword Intent doesn't need to rely on weapons like swords. As long as the mind is focused, the thought can be transformed into sword light. For beings like souls, its restraining power is almost at the level of a law."

Before he finished speaking, the gray mist on the ground twenty feet to his left suddenly twisted.

The soul of Zhang Meng, the garrison commander, emerged from it.

Green flames seemed to flicker violently in its eye sockets, and the rust on its armor seemed to have deepened. It gripped the broken spear tightly in its hand, the tip of which was pointing towards the ground and was even trembling slightly.

Zhang Meng's voice was hoarse, like a broken bellows: "Didn't your soul just dissipate? How come you're not only unharmed, but you've also gained the ability to restrain beings like us?"

Jiang Bai turned around and looked at the soul of the old soldier who had been guarding it for three hundred years.

Under the moonlight, Zhang Meng's soul was even dimmer than before, clearly indicating that the fierce clash had taken a toll on him.

Jiang Bai spoke, his tone calm yet respectful: "The garrison soldiers have been guarding this land for three hundred years. Such dedication is worthy of respect. However, you are blocking my path and want to use my soul to strengthen yourself. This makes you an enemy."

Zhang Meng let out a shrill laugh, a laugh filled with chilling coldness: "Boy, what do you know? This Burial Ground has long since turned into a great tomb. Those who step into this place either turn into withered bones or become wandering souls like us. Even if you get the Yin Soul Grass, so what? Can you leave here alive?"

It paused for a moment, the green flame staring intently at Jiang Bai: "Give me the Yin Soul Grass, and then tell me honestly where you got this technique that specifically suppresses the soul body. Maybe... I'll take pity on your hard-won cultivation and spare your life."

"Spare me?" Jiang Bai laughed.

His smile was faint, a mere twitch at the corners of his mouth, but there was no hint of amusement in his eyes.

"With your mere existence as a lonely soul that's barely held on for three hundred years, and relying on..." He raised his hand, pointing to the slowly advancing army of ghostly soldiers in the distance, "...those things that just endlessly follow a predetermined route?"

Zhang Meng's soul suddenly trembled.

"What did you say?"

"I say, while the idea of ​​ghost soldiers borrowing a path sounds terrifying, it's rather rigid." Jiang Bai took two steps forward, and the gray mist dispersed to both sides on its own. "These ghost soldiers follow a predetermined path, killing any living creature they encounter, and leaving once they've killed them all. They return as the sun sets—this isn't a single army, but rather a pre-set... mechanism."

He looked at Zhang Meng, his gaze sharp as a sword: "Soldier Commander, are you the 'guardian' here, or are you, like them, a 'prisoner' trapped in this system?"

"Shut up!" Zhang Meng roared.

The broken spear was suddenly raised, and the battle aura that had been contained within the spear for a hundred years burst forth. The gray mist was stirred and churned. This shot was even more fierce than the previous sneak attack. Before the spear tip even got close, the tragic will of bloodshed on the battlefield was already overwhelming.

Ordinary Qi Refining cultivators would probably have their Dao Hearts shattered simply by facing this will.

But Jiang Bai simply raised his right hand.

This time, he drew his bloodied blade.

As the blade is drawn from its sheath, a completely different "meaning" attaches itself to it. This is not the blade's inherent ferocity, but a sharpness at a higher level, concerning the essence of the soul.

Swords and spears clashed once more.

There was no loud clang of metal clashing.

There was only a very faint "hiss," like a red-hot iron block being pressed into the snow.

When Zhang Meng's spear tip touched the Bloodstained Blade, it suddenly shortened by a small section. It didn't break or shatter, but rather vanished like words erased by an eraser.

"ah--!"

Zhang Meng's soul trembled violently, letting out a shrill, almost inhuman roar. It suddenly retreated, and the missing parts of the spear were gradually being restored, with wisps of green smoke constantly emanating from the edges, as if the wound was bleeding.

Jiang Bai sheathed his sword and did not pursue.

Using the force of the collision, he flew backward three zhang, his gaze passing over Zhang Meng and looking towards the place where the Yin soldiers had appeared—the heart of the wasteland, where the fog was thickest.

Jiang Bai spoke, his voice not loud, but each word clear and forceful: "You've guarded the beacon tower for three hundred years, to suppress something, or to await someone's arrival?"

Zhang Meng's soul trembled slightly, and the green flames in his eye sockets flickered uncertainly.

It did not answer.

But sometimes, silence itself is the answer.

Jiang Bai didn't ask any further questions, sheathed his sword, and then walked deeper into the wasteland.

The gray mist ahead parted automatically to the sides, and even this desolate place seemed to fear the cold "sword intent" emanating from him. After walking more than ten feet, he glanced back. Zhang Meng was still standing in the same spot, his soul body growing increasingly dim, the broken spear hanging limply.

In the distance, the army of ghost soldiers had reached the edge of the mist. The moon was setting in the west, and in a few moments, they would "return to their ranks."

Jiang Bai began, "The full moon is almost over, and they will be returning soon. The truth about this place..."

He paused, leaving behind the words, "I'll find it myself." Before he finished speaking, his figure had already disappeared into the thick fog. Zhang Meng stood there for a long time, the green flames in his eye sockets gradually subsiding. He lowered his head to look at the broken spear in his hand, then looked in the direction Jiang Bai had left, and a sigh that no one could hear came from the depths of his soul.

That sigh contained three hundred years of loneliness, the terror of having a secret revealed, and a faint glimmer of anticipation...

The fog is getting thicker and thicker.

Jiang Bai's pace wasn't fast, but each step was incredibly steady. The [Soul-Slaying Sword Intent] flowed naturally around him, causing wandering spirits to give way and the malevolent aura to dissipate automatically. What would be a deadly wasteland for others was as easy and effortless for him as a smooth road. As he moved forward, he reviewed the battle he had just fought.

The power of the golden attribute far exceeded expectations, its restraint on souls was almost overwhelming, and its consumption was minimal—in previous attacks, what he had consumed was not spiritual power, but rather his "mind," but due to the attribute's influence, his soul had become exceptionally stable, making this loss almost negligible. The attributes provided by the system always filled his weaknesses; previously he lacked means to deal with souls, but now he had the Soul-Slaying Sword Intent. Clearly, the more desperate the situation, the easier it was to receive crucial gifts.

He suddenly remembered the "30-death milestone" that the system had mentioned.

When you die ten times, the system only gives a vague hint. What will be unlocked when you die thirty times?

The thought flashed through his mind, but he suppressed it. His immediate priority was Foundation Establishment. He had the Yin Soul Grass, half a bottle of Qi Condensation Jade Liquid remained, and with the potential "Foundation Establishment Assistance Insight" he might gain after completing the system quest, he had largely met the requirements for Foundation Establishment. However, establishing his foundation in this desolate wasteland was not a good idea—the place was deathly still, and if he attracted the disturbance of Yin soldiers or disturbed deeper, unknown creatures during his foundation establishment, it would surely cause serious trouble.

He needed to find a relatively safe place. Jiang Bai stopped and looked around. Thick fog enveloped the area, limiting his vision to no more than twenty feet. Beneath his feet lay grayish-black soil, interspersed with glimpses of half-exposed bones and fragments of weapons. In the distance, the outlines of hills were vaguely visible, but indistinct. He pondered for a moment, then took out the garrison token from his storage bag. The token felt cold to the touch, and the character "戍" (garrison) engraved on its front gleamed eerily in the moonlight. Jiang Bai channeled a wisp of spiritual energy into it, and the token trembled slightly, changing its orientation on its own, the side with the inscription pointing to the left front. "Something's definitely strange."

Jiang Bai put away the token and walked in that direction.

This journey took half an hour.

The fog gradually thinned, revealing a relatively open area ahead. The ground here was no longer soft, gray soil, but paved with large bluestone slabs, with withered yellow moss growing in the cracks between the slabs.

At the end of the bluestone path stands a half-collapsed stone temple.

Most of the palace walls have collapsed, and the remaining parts are full of cracks. Where the palace door used to be, only a deep opening remains, like a giant mouth waiting to capture people.

Jiang Bai stopped ten feet outside the hall.

[Killing Intent Perception] No warning.

The Soul-Slaying Sword Intent flowed naturally, without sensing any approaching soul.

He stepped into the stone hall.

The space inside the hall was not large, about three zhang square. In the center was a stone platform, which was empty and covered with a thick layer of dust. The walls were painted with murals, but they had long since fallen off and were only vaguely discernible as outlines of weapons and warhorses.

Jiang Bai's gaze fell on the bottom of the left wall.

There were inscriptions there, the characters blurred, as if hastily drawn with some kind of sharp object.

"Don't trust the Starfall Pavilion."

Five words.

Jiang Bai squatted down and gently brushed away the surface dust with his fingers. The engraving was very deep and the edges were quite rough. It was probably a mark that had been there for a long time. The person who carved the words was obviously in a hurry, so much so that the last stroke went beyond the wall.

Starfall Pavilion.

This is the second time I've seen this name.

The first time it appeared was on the broken jade array plate in the secret chamber of the beacon tower, and this time it is in the stone hall deep in the wasteland.

"Don't believe it..." Jiang Bai repeated these two words in a low voice.

What do you not believe in?

Is it a lack of faith in the Starfall Pavilion's promises? Is it a lack of faith in their people? Or is it a lack of faith in what they claim to be... the "truth" about this wasteland?

He stood up and looked around. There was nothing else worth noting in the stone hall except for the empty stone platform, the murals with peeling colors, and the inscription whose beginning and end had vanished.

Jiang Bai walked out of the stone hall and looked up at the sky.

The moon had set in the west, and a pale dawn was breaking on the horizon. The long night was finally coming to an end.

He found a sheltered rocky hollow, sat cross-legged, and activated [Shadow Stealth] automatically. He then concealed his aura to the extreme, closed his eyes, and began to regulate his breathing.

After a night of fierce battles and two brushes with death, he finally obtained the golden entry. On the surface, the gains were substantial, but in reality, the mental and physical damage was not to be underestimated. In particular, the phantom pain caused by the last time he actively sought death and his soul was destroyed left an indelible mark deep in his consciousness.

He needs time to calm down.

The morning light quietly spread across the wilderness, and the pervasive mist dissipated.

In the distance, the ghostly soldiers who had patrolled all night had vanished without a trace, and the entire wasteland of burial bones fell into a deathly silence, as if even the wind had stopped.

Jiang Baijing sat in the rocky hollow, her breathing long and steady.

On his chest, nine dark golden poison patterns rose and fell slightly with his breath, and in his soul, the newly born sword intent flowed like still water, gently nourishing every bit of his consciousness.

He suddenly remembered the look in Zhang Meng's eyes before he died.

It was more than just anger, more than just fear.

There are stories hidden inside.

Stories are often more dangerous than swords.

But it is also more valuable.

Jiang Bai opened his eyes, his gaze reflecting the gradually brightening light of the sky.

"Prisoners..." he whispered, "Let's see what's imprisoned in this jail."