Cultivating Immortality in the Daoist Sect

I feed on baleful energy and use an age of chaos as my furnace.

Ten years at Chongyang Palace on Mount Zhongnan, all for the sake of cultivating a single sword.

They say I’m the most dazzling genius the Daoist sect has seen in three hundred years.

But they don’t know that with every step I take, I devour the filthiest baleful energy and most poisonous resentment in this chaotic age.

I never dreamed of becoming an immortal.

I only wanted to give the souls of the dead a place where they could rest in peace.

Until the day demons came knocking at the pass, the Daoist lineage fell, and China stood on the brink of ruin.

Only then did I understand that my whole life had been spent guarding that gate.

Behind it lies the human world.

Beyond it lies the battlefield.

The Shinto of the East, the curses of the South Seas, the Western demons, the heretical cults of India, and the evil gods of the Muslims unite to invade the Nine Provinces.

I have only one sword to answer them.

That sword strikes the shikigami of the Onmyoji from Dongying, the altar of the Western black wizard, the blood curse of the South Seas sorcerer, the souls of the cultists, and the true forms of the evil gods...

By the time the killing is done, only mountains of demonic corpses remain beyond Shanhai Pass.

I turn and look back at the human world behind me.

Its mountains and rivers are broken, and all living beings kneel in grief.

I smile.

The road to immortality may be splendid, but it is no match for the human world behind me.

At last, I understand what my master left unsaid all those years ago...

This calamity must be filled with my own body.