Power of Nirvana

The Demon Emperor's crimson eyes flashed fiercely, like two flickering will-o'-the-wisps, growing even more chilling beneath the dark silhouette shrouded in his black robe. The hem of his robe moved without wind, countless strands of demonic energy surging like living snakes, each carrying the Lingering Resentment of devoured weapons, whipping up fragments of dark green Chaos Moss from the ground—moss that decayed at the touch, capable of gnawing shallow pits into even hard rocks, yet now, swirled by the demonic energy, danced in the air, weaving into a grotesque, skeletal phantom. The phantom bared its fangs, the opening and closing of its jaws producing the crisp sounds of countless weapons clashing, as if it wanted to devour all the martial spirit in the world. His hoarse laughter pierced the void, the sound like a rusty iron saw grinding bones, causing the leaves of the distant Sword Grass to tremble, the Chaos Dewdrops condensed on them to fall, instantly turning into wisps of black smoke upon hitting the ground. "Can't swallow it? This Emperor will see if your Chaos Cauldron can withstand ' Myriad Weapons Devour the Heart '!"

Before the words were finished, the Demon Emperor raised his withered hand, his knuckles protruding like jagged rocks, with fragments of unresolved weapons embedded in his knuckles, gleaming with a dark, cold light. The Heart Demon instantly surged three feet, transforming into countless twisted weapon shadows—the broken blades were still stained with dark brown bloodstains, bloodstains that had not dried even after a thousand years, exuding a pungent, fishy stench; one could smell the wails of the dead mixed within; the broken bowstring was riddled with wormholes, within which remnants of bowstring fibers could be Insect Borer seen, with a few strands of blackened hair entwined on the fibers, seemingly relics of the bow's wielder from years past, all within the demonic energy. It trembled slightly, as if silently protesting the pain of being devoured; black liquid seeped from the cracks in the shattered shield, dripping onto the ground and instantly corroding the soil, creating tiny pits. Black smoke still hissed from the edges of the pits, and even the sand and stones underground were melted into a dark brown paste. These soldier figures were not illusions, but rather the physical remnants of souls carrying the last mournful cries of thousands of weapons before their "death." Enveloped by demonic energy, they swarmed into the patterns on the Demon Cauldron's body like a bee, adding an eerie blood-red luster to the already black cauldron. Each Dao Patterns seemed to greedily suck the power of the Weapon Soul.

The demonic cauldron suddenly swelled, growing from over ten feet tall to fifty feet. The patterns on its surface became even more grotesque with its increased size, each Dao Patterns resembling a weapon twisting and struggling—some were broken spears writhing within the patterns, their tips still dripping Black Blood; others were shattered swords trembling within the patterns, their nicks still gleaming coldly. The cauldron's mouth opened several feet wide, and black mist poured down like a waterfall, forming a pitch-black curtain in mid-air. From this curtain emerged thousands of pitch-black claws. Each claw was woven from three fragments of weapons—the back of a blade forming the bone, gleaming with a cold, hard black light; the tip of a spear... The claws were sharp enough to slash through the air; the shields were armor, their surfaces covered with spikes. The claw tips were wrapped in an intensely dense "Devour Dao" Demonic Intent, leaving behind fine, gnawed marks in the space wherever they passed, as if the air itself was being torn to shreds and dissipating into wisps of Gray Mist. The claws lunged at the handles of the Chaos Hundred Weapons Cauldron, which were originally formed from crimson bow marks, still bearing the fire patterns from the original casting. These marks contained the skillful force to "draw upon all power." Once grasped by the claws, the flow of energy within the Chaos Cauldron would be obstructed, and it might even be forcibly torn apart, causing the True Meaning of the Way of Weapons within the cauldron to leak out.

"Cauldron, spin!" Ren Xiaoyao roared, his voice carrying the weight of Chaos Current, like thunder rolling across Plains, causing the ground to tremble slightly. Gray-gold energy surged from his dantian, bursting through his body like a river rushing to the sea, transforming into three vortexes—the first vortex gleaming with the sharp light of a silver spear, the second wrapped in the Flame Sect of a golden axe, and the third solidified with the weight of Purple Shield. The three vortexes intertwined and merged into the suspended Chaos Hundred Weapons Cauldron. The Hundred Weapons Cauldron instantly spun at high speed, its rotation so fast it created afterimages. The hundred Weapon Patterns on its body burst forth with dazzling light, the silver spear pattern lighting up first, transforming into a spiraling sharp beam. Its sharpness was so intense that it drew fine streaks of light in the void, tearing apart the attacking weapon claws with drill-like precision. The torn weapon claws instantly dissipated into demonic energy, but new weapon claws emerged from the black mist. One after another, seemingly without end, each new soldier's claw was sharper than the last, the Demonic Intent at its tip growing ever stronger; the golden axe pattern followed closely behind, unleashing a ring of blazing Flame Sect, the flames a grayish-gold color, the temperature so high it distorted the air into waves, sizzling as it burned the approaching black mist. From within the black mist came the mournful cries of remnants of weapons, the sound sharp and piercing, seemingly able to penetrate eardrums, causing fine cracks to appear on the surrounding rocks; the Purple Shield pattern condensed into three layers of rotating light shields outside the cauldron, with densely packed tiny shield shadows floating on the shields, layered tightly like a honeycomb. When the soldier's claws collided with the light shields, they were instantly shredded into demonic fragments, the fragments corroding into small pits upon landing, black smoke still rising from the pits, the smell of smoke mixed with burnt and bloody, nauseating.

The Devouring Power of the Demon Cauldron far exceeded Ren Xiaoyao's imagination. The suction force emanating from the cauldron's mouth seemed capable of tearing apart heaven and earth, even drawing the distant clouds towards it. The clouds were stretched into thin, long black ribbons, slowly writhing in the air. The gray-gold aura surrounding the Chaos Hundred Weapons Cauldron was slightly shifted, and the originally steady flow of air began to swirl, as if it were about to be completely devoured by the Demon Cauldron. With each wisp of air being sucked away, Ren Xiaoyao's face paled a little more. The Hundred Weapon Patterns on the cauldron's body began to tremble slightly. The sharp light of the silver spear pattern flickered, like a candle flame swaying in the wind; the flames of the golden axe pattern also fluctuated in strength, occasionally shrinking into a ball under the pressure of the demonic energy; the newly refined Heavenly Tribulation Black Markings was also faintly restless on the inside of the cauldron's body. The black pattern was originally formed from the Power of Destruction of the Heavenly Tribulation, but now, stirred by the Demonic Intent, it resonated slightly with the demonic energy, making the aura of the Chaos Cauldron a little unstable, and the cauldron's body occasionally emitted a faint cracking sound.

Seeing this, the Demon Emperor's silhouette beneath his black robe swayed slightly, as if emitting a silent mockery. A cruel smile curled at the corner of his mouth, revealing half of his teeth, tinged with blackish-purple. His knuckles moved at bizarre angles, each movement defying the natural laws of human bone structure. The friction of his knuckles produced a crisp "crunching" sound, forming a demonic seal covered in bone spurs—bone spurs protruding from the edges of the seal, resembling countless tiny weapon fragments, exuding a bloody aura. Each Root Bone was stained with dried blood, the marks left by cultivators he had devoured throughout the ages. "The Devouring Weapons Demonic Path, Transforming into a ' Weapon Tomb '!"

The moment the words fell, countless cracks suddenly appeared on the Devouring Soldier Demon Cauldron's body. From these cracks came a piercing, metallic scraping sound, like thousands of weapons clashing against each other—the sounds of blades colliding, spears snapping, and shields shattering intertwined, sending chills down one's spine. Even distant birds and beasts scattered in terror. Then, a massive amount of weapon debris poured out of the cracks, cascading down like a burst dam—rusty longswords, their blades curved like snakes, rust falling from their backs and turning into wisps of black smoke upon hitting the ground, yet the blades still retained an eerie sharpness, easily slicing through hard rock; broken in two... The severed spearheads were still inlaid with broken armor plates, the plates bearing faded military markings that seemed to recount past battlefield glory, now entangled in demonic energy and transformed into deadly weapons. The heavily armored shields, riddled with cracks, were etched with blurred array patterns; the remaining defensive energy within these patterns had been distorted by the demonic energy into a "devouring" property, forcibly draining even the Spiritual Qi of those who approached. These remnants were not illusions, but solid entities refined by demonic energy for millennia, each carrying the resentment and bitterness of being "devoured," emanating a suffocating, oppressive aura in mid-air that blocked even sunlight for several meters.

The debris rapidly coalesced in the air, solidifying in mere moments into a pitch-black "Weapon Tomb" about ten zhang high. The Weapon Tomb was constructed from layers upon layers of weapon fragments. The bottom layer consisted of thick shields and axe blades, the shields stacked as sturdy as a city wall, the axe blades facing outwards, gleaming with a chilling light. The middle layer comprised spears and longswords, the spears thrust diagonally like a forest, the blades crisscrossing like a net, every gap filled with short blades and broken swords. At the top was a broken black greatsword—its blade riddled with cracks, its surface wreathed in chain-like demonic energy, the ends of which hung with tiny weapon fragments, each radiating an aura capable of crushing mountains and rivers. Black Blood dripped from the blade, splashing onto the Weapon Tomb and causing a ripple of light. Wisps of black mist rose. The Weapon Tomb crashed down, the air compressed with a muffled boom, as if the heavens and earth trembled under its force. The rocks on the ground began to crack, and tiny fragments were suspended in mid-air by the Weapon Tomb's pressure, only to be instantly crushed into powder. The collision of the debris produced a piercing metallic cracking sound, like the howls of countless wronged souls. Demonic Intent followed the sound, transforming into invisible threads that quietly seeped into Ren Xiaoyao's consciousness, attempting to evoke his fear of the "shattering of the Way of War"—the threads contained images of countless weapons being destroyed: spears broken on the battlefield, swords shattered in enemy hands, and shields collapsing under a powerful attack. Each image was filled with heart-wrenching pain, trying to disturb his Dao Heart.

Ren Xiaoyao 'Dao Heart was as clear as a mirror, and the gray-gold light of the Dao of War in his sea of consciousness remained completely undisturbed. That light, like a blazing sun, illuminated his sea of consciousness, making it crystal clear. Even when the threads of Demonic Intent pierced him like poisonous needles, they were instantly dissolved by the light of the Dao of War, leaving not a trace. His fingertips swiftly formed a hand seal that resonated with the Chaos Cauldron. His thumb and forefinger formed the shape of the cauldron, and the Chaos Current swirling between his fingertips condensed into delicate dragon patterns—the dragon scales were clearly visible, and the Dragon Head was slightly raised, as if roaring. His other three fingers stretched out like the edge of a weapon, the military intent flowing from his fingertips outlining sharp arcs. Within these arcs lay the True Intention of a hundred weapons: the sharpness of a spear, the ferocity of an axe, and the steadiness of a shield. "Myriad Weapons as the Edge, the Cauldron as the Foundation!"

The Chaos Hundred Weapons Cauldron abruptly stopped spinning, and the hundred Weapon Patterns on its body simultaneously lit up. Gray-gold light pierced through the black mist, forming a pillar of light in mid-air—a pillar that shot straight into the sky, tearing a large hole in the thick black clouds. Sunlight streamed through the hole, intertwining with the gray-gold light, radiating a sacred aura. From the patterns flew out a hundred solid weapon shadows, each carrying the complete True Meaning of the Way of Weapons —the silver spear pierced the sky like a meteor, its tip trailing a long gray-gold tail, within which tiny spear patterns could be seen dancing, carrying the sharpness to break through formations, directly piercing the core of the Weapon Tomb. Before the spear tip even touched it, the weapon remains on the surface of the Weapon Tomb began to tremble slightly, as if fearing this sharpness; the golden axe was like the blazing sun. As it crashed to the ground, the axe blade ignited with a raging gray-gold Flame Sect, within which tiny Weapon Patterns could be seen dancing. When it struck the pile of wreckage, it instantly cleaved several rusty swords in two. Smoke, still rising from the broken pieces from the flames, emanated the mournful cries of the remnants of weapons, as if trying to break free from the shackles of demonic energy. Purple Shield, like a mountain, stretched across the ground, its surface radiating a thick layer of light. On this light, the phantom of "Ten Thousand Shields, One Heart" appeared, with countless small shields overlapping within it, blocking the falling fragments of the Weapon Tomb tomb. The fragments struck the shield with a dull thud, instantly being flung away and smashing into distant boulders, shattering them to pieces. Shards of stone flew in all directions, each carrying a sharp edge, capable of easily slicing through tree trunks.

The moment the weapons collided with the wreckage, a deafening roar erupted, louder than the previous Heavenly Tribulation thunder. The sound waves spread outwards, forming a visible shockwave—a grayish-black shockwave carrying the residual power of the collision between Chaos Current and demonic energy. Wherever the shockwave passed, the surrounding Sword Grass was uprooted, its roots still clinging to brown soil. The grass leaves were torn apart in mid-air, turning into wisps of ash. The Chaos Moss on the ground was crushed into dark green dust, emitting a faint burnt smell that mixed with the stench of demonic energy, making one nauseous and causing a tightness in the throat with just one breath. Even the boulders dozens of feet away were shattered, leaving deep trenches at the bottom. Traces of the shockwave's impact remained at the bottom of the trenches, and tiny streams of water seeped from the cracks in the rocks—the shattered underground water veins. The water, upon contact with the demonic energy on the ground, instantly turned into wisps of white smoke and dissipated.

The remains in the Weapon Tomb were endless. As soon as one batch was destroyed, new ones would emerge from the cracks of the Demon Cauldron, Buddha-Demon Emperor harbored an insatiable graveyard of weapons within his body. The new remains were sharper and more concentrated with demonic energy, each carrying an aura of world-destroying destruction. The demonic energy seeped into the Chaos Cauldron silently, like a venomous snake, through the gaps where the weapon shadows collided with the remains. The gray-gold light on the cauldron's body gradually dimmed, transforming from its original dazzling brilliance into that of a dusty ancient artifact. Even the soft, Primordial Chaos light on the surface of the cauldron weakened, as if shrouded in a layer of black mist. The scale patterns on the dragon-shaped cauldron legs began to fade, the once clearly visible dragon scales becoming blurred, as if shrouded in a layer of black mist. The Dragon Head, lowered in posture, seemed to have lost its former majesty, exuding a sense of dejection, and the light in its eyes gradually dimmed. The bow patterns on the cauldron's handles lost their soft luster, becoming dull and lifeless. The fire patterns on the bow marks almost went out, and even the power to draw airflow weakened considerably.

Ren Xiaoyao's internal Dao Origin circulation became increasingly sluggish, and the flow of Chaos Current in his dantian slowed considerably, like a frozen river, each turn carrying a bone-chilling cold. A trace of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, a pale gold color carrying the aura of the True Meaning of the Way of Weapons —the blood droplet fell to the ground, transforming into a wisp of gray-gold Qi before hitting the ground, only to be pulled away by the Demon Cauldron's suction and merge into it. He could clearly sense that the Demon Emperor's "Weapon Devouring" was not merely Weapon Devouring's form, but also absorbing the True Meaning of the Way of Weapons he had infused into the weapon's shadow. Every time a remnant was shattered, a wisp of True Intention was forcibly absorbed by the Demon Cauldron, transforming into nourishment for the demonic energy, making the Demon Cauldron's aura increasingly powerful, and the crimson luster on its body increasingly intense.

"Ren Xiaoyao, your True Meaning of the Way of Weapons is about to be devoured by this Emperor!" The Demon Emperor laughed wildly, his voice filled with smugness and cruelty. The laughter shook the surrounding space slightly, and the demonic energy in the air surged as if celebrating victory. "Without the True Intention, your Chaos Cauldron is just an empty shell! At that time, this Emperor will not only devour your cauldron, but also your military strategy, turning you into a person without the Dao who cannot even control a weapon!"

He exerted his strength suddenly, spreading his arms wide, his black robes fluttering like a jet-black flag. Countless tiny Demon Blade flew from the hem of his robes, embedding themselves deeply into the rock upon impact. The suction force at the mouth of the Devouring Soldier Demon Cauldron suddenly surged, causing the Chaos Hundred Weapons Cauldron to tilt slightly. The bow patterns on the cauldron's handles began to twist, their originally gentle curves becoming ferocious, as if being forcibly torn apart by demonic energy. The military intent flowing within the bow patterns also weakened, seemingly on the verge of dissipating. Even the cauldron itself began to creak, as if enduring immense pressure. Tiny cracks appeared in the ground beneath Ren Xiaoyao's feet, spreading outwards from his feet, each several inches deep. The pebbles on the ground were suspended by the suction force, swirling around him. His body was pulled slightly forward by the cauldron's suction, his robes fluttering. If he hadn't stabilized his body with Primordial Chaos Dao Origin, transforming it into countless thin Dao Origin that pierced the ground, he would likely have already been sucked into the cauldron.

Ren Xiaoyao swayed, his face turning pale from the loss of his True Intention, even his lips losing their color. Fine beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead, staining his clothes. Yet, there was no panic in his eyes; instead, the light in them grew even brighter, as if he had found a new Dao Path in the face of despair. That light shone with determination and clarity, Buddha-Demon Emperor's oppression had not only failed to break him but had also allowed him to see the deficiency in the Chaos Weapon Dao —the previous Chaos Weapon Dao only knew how to contain but not how to transform, only how to suppress but not how to break through. He suddenly withdrew all his weapon shadows, no longer resisting the falling Weapon Tomb, letting the dark Weapon Tomb, with its world-destroying force, crash into the Chaos Cauldron like a meteorite. The hundred Weapon Patterns on the cauldron, without the support of the weapon shadows, dimmed even further.

"Boom--!"

A deafening roar shook the heavens and earth, the sound waves spreading outwards like a tsunami. Distant mountain peaks trembled slightly, and snow fell from their summits. The Weapon Tomb slammed into the top of the Chaos Cauldron, instantly cracking the cauldron with several deep fissures. The deepest crack extended from the cauldron's mouth to its legs, several inches wide, revealing the gray-gold energy flowing within. This energy, which had originally surged like a river, was now intermittent, as if it might be cut off at any moment. The gray-gold energy leaked out from the cracks, condensing into tiny weapon shadows in the air—miniature silver spears, small golden axes, and miniature Purple Shield —but these quickly dissipated under the erosion of demonic energy, as if they had never existed. The Weapon Patterns on the weapons were dimmed to the point of being almost invisible, with only the black patterns left from refining the Heavenly Tribulation still flickering faintly. These black patterns spread along the cracks, seemingly struggling to resist the invasion of demonic energy, but they were gradually stained dark black by it.

Seeing this, the Demon Emperor's crimson light intensified, almost leaping out of their sockets. He leaned forward slightly, seemingly anticipating the moment the Chaos Cauldron shattered. Just as he was about to press his advantage, he raised his hand and conjured a jet-black Demon Blade Demon Blade. The Demon Blade was forged from the molten fragments of countless weapons, its surface covered in barbs, each gleaming with a chilling light and radiating Destructive Aura capable of severing even the foundations of Dao Foundation —an aura that could freeze the surrounding space, turning any air it touched into tiny Ice Crystals. Holding the Demon Blade, he slowly walked towards Ren Xiaoyao, preparing to sever the connection between the Chaos Cauldron and Ren Xiaoyao, and completely seize the Chaos Cauldron, a cruel smile still playing on his lips. But at that moment, Ren Xiaoyao suddenly raised his hand, pressing his palm against the deepest crack in the cauldron. The instant his palm met the cauldron, a gray-gold aura condensed in his palm, forming a small cauldron-shaped phantom, echoing the Chaos Cauldron in a distant echo.

Immediately afterwards, the Chaos Current around Ren Xiaoyao suddenly reversed direction. The energy that had been spreading outwards surged back, rushing towards his body like a tide, stirring up pebbles and dust from the ground, forming a gray-gold vortex around him. He actually deliberately drew the leaking gray-gold energy into his body along with the demonic energy that had seeped into the cauldron—the moment the demonic energy entered his body, Ren Xiaoyao's skin turned a faint black, and Black Airflow seemed to surge in his blood vessels, slithering through his limbs and bones like venomous snakes. His face showed a pained expression, his brows furrowed tightly, and his teeth clenched so hard they clicked, yet he still gritted his teeth and persevered, his palms never loosening their grip on the cauldron.

"Are you insane?!" The Demon Emperor was shocked and enraged, his voice trembling with disbelief. The demonic energy around him surged violently from this sudden action, and the figure beneath his black robes involuntarily took a half-step back. The entry of demonic energy into the body was a grave taboo in the cultivation world. At best, it would damage the foundation of one 'Dao Foundation, causing a regression of decades and rendering one a cripple; at worst, it would shatter the Dao Heart, rupture the meridians, and ultimately lead to death, without even the chance of reincarnation. He had cultivated for tens of thousands of years and witnessed countless cultivators being Demonic Qi Erosion —some went mad in its embrace, personally killing their loved ones; some had their souls devoured, ultimately becoming mindless demonic puppets; and some couldn't withstand the torment of the demonic energy, exploding on the spot. But he had never seen anyone actively absorb Demonic Intent; this was tantamount to courting death, far more dangerous than facing a heavenly Heavenly Tribulation!

Ren Xiaoyao closed his eyes, seemingly oblivious to the excruciating pain within his body. Veins bulged on his forehead, and cold sweat streamed down his face, soaking his collar. Yet, his fingers remained firmly pressed against the cracks in the cauldron, the gray-gold energy flowing from his fingertips never ceasing. He was completely immersed in the comprehension of his Dao Heart; the roars of the Demon Emperor and the churning demonic energy outside became blurred backgrounds. Within his Dao Heart, the "birth" of the Chaos Weapon Dao, the "devouring" of Demonic Intent, and the "annihilation" of the Destruction Dao Force remaining from the Heavenly Tribulation were colliding violently—the gray-gold Weapon Dao Current, like gentle flowing water, slowly nourished the foundation of his Dao Heart, and the transparent barrier surrounding his Dao Heart still shimmered with the faint light of the Hundred Weapon Patterns; the pitch-black demonic energy, like a greedy beast, opened its blood-red maw, frantically devouring the Weapon Dao Current. Wherever it passed, the gray-gold energy instantly became turbid, and small gaps were gnawed into the barrier of his Dao Heart.