Chapter 4512 — A Precarious Moment
The Blossom Guardian · Page 2 of 2
Still, the souls of human cultivators were innately formidable. Even an ordinary person's soul was exceedingly tenacious, to say nothing of a high-tier cultivator. Even with the Xishan Old Sect's methods, wiping out an entire soul and divine sense in one stroke was no easy matter; a suitable breach had to be found first.
When a man's mind was shaken and his defenses lost, his spirit was most vulnerable to grievous injury. This was the opening the Xishan Old Sect had been waiting for. To that end it had not grudged the waste of time, descending above Wei Zhao again and again to provoke him, all for this very moment.
In any case, Wei Zhao was already locked onto by its divine sense. Beneath its very eyelids, no matter how fast or how far he fled, it was useless. A single thought, and it could tear through space to appear above his head. So the Xishan Old Sect was not the least bit afraid of Wei Zhao escaping. For a rare specimen that might be refined into a trump-card puppet, a little extra trouble was only proper.
With the Soul-Hooking Hand descending over his head, Wei Zhao—whose feet had been driving the Super Butterfly Microstep with all his might—was suddenly frozen in place. A boundless, bone-piercing cold enveloped his whole body in an instant, as though he had been flash-frozen solid, unable to move a hair.
Panic seized Wei Zhao at once, for in that moment he felt as though the crown of his head had been pried open. An invisible hand was unmistakably dragging his soul and divine sense out of his body bit by bit, and his whole consciousness was beginning to blur.
So this was the power of a Mountain-Opening heretic giant! This time Wei Zhao's eyes were well and truly opened—only to pay for the privilege with his life, and afterward to be refined into a puppet with its consciousness extinguished. Yet he could offer no resistance at all, only feel his awareness dispersing and receding, little by little.
There was no help for it. To this day Wei Zhao had never come into contact with such a high order of power. It was like an ancient bladesman suddenly ambushed by a modern firearm—the two were simply not on the same plane. His whole mind had long since gone blank. How could he possibly know, in that moment, how to resist?
Seeing Wei Zhao offer no resistance, his aura growing ever fainter, the Xishan Old Sect burst into a smug, cackling laugh. Its own nephew Wu Baoliang had died somewhat regrettably, and Cheng Haonan's death was of no consequence at all—but to trade those two for such a superb puppet specimen was, in its eyes, no loss whatsoever.
"Brat, are you just going to resign yourself to this?" A thunderous shout suddenly rang out in Wei Zhao's mind—none other than the voice of the ghost thing.
"S-Senior..." Wei Zhao mumbled, his consciousness fading, like a drowning man clutching at the last straw, straining to struggle—yet all that showed in the end was the faintest twitch of his fingers. Nothing more.
That was already the limit of what he could do. With his entire soul and divine sense caught in the Xishan Old Sect's Soul-Hooking Hand, his body no longer answered his command. If this dragged on a moment longer, his soul and divine sense would be completely hooked away, and he would lose consciousness entirely—and then truly not even the gods could save him.