Outside the fortress.
The night remained as dark as ink. Blackness blanketed the world, with only a few scattered stars flickering faintly overhead. Cold wind howled through the villages and fields, making the branches sway and rattle.
Yang Jing hid behind a patch of bushes on a rise diagonally opposite the fortress, his body as still as stone.
He had completely suppressed his aura, sinking his true qi into his dantian and blending into the surrounding darkness. Without a careful search, no one could have detected him.
His gaze was sharp as an eagle's as he quietly studied the tall, sturdy fortress before him, his eyes calm and untroubled.
The fortress appeared peaceful, its gates tightly shut, but Yang Jing knew that beneath this tranquil surface, turbulent waves were surely churning.
When Young Master Hai had fled here in blind panic, Yang Jing had noticed an intensely sinister aura emanating from the middle-aged man in white who had emerged from the fortress and taken him inside.
Yang Jing concluded that this was not merely a core stronghold of the Demon Cult. It also harbored elite experts far stronger than those in the Underground Palace. If a conflict erupted, it would likely be a fierce battle.
He observed quietly for a while, committing all the defenses around the fortress to memory.
Yang Jing hesitated no longer, his gaze suddenly turning fierce.
The next instant, he exerted a little force through his feet, lightly tapping the ground with his toes. True qi flooded his legs, and he shot out of the bushes' shadows like a silent gust of wind.
He moved with astonishing speed, leaving only a faint afterimage as he raced toward the fortress gates.
Fast as lightning and light as a feather, he reached the fortress's main entrance in just