Allies, My Lord!

Black.

Endless black.

When the dizzying sensation faded, the Demonic Cultivator Remnant Soul finally recovered a trace of awareness.

He suddenly opened his eyes, but neither the possession he had anticipated nor having his soul scattered had occurred.

In its place was a bizarre world that made even his soul tremble.

The sky was a congealed blood-red, with no sun, no stars—only an eerie dark-red full moon hanging high above, casting down a grim light.

The Great Earth was cracked, its dark-red veins like dried blood vessels, with despairing wails drifting in wisps from the fissures.

At the very center of this world stood a Black Giant Tower so tall it defied description.

Its body was not made of bricks or stone, but piled from countless twisted, struggling Bones. Silent screaming faces were branded onto the bones, as though enduring eternal torture.

Surrounding the giant tower were densely packed cages floating in the air.

These cages were scattered like stars, extending from the tower's base all the way to the horizon, disappearing into the blood-red clouds. Their numbers were surely in the tens of millions.

"What is this place?"

The remnant soul muttered to himself, discovering that he had regained his appearance from when he was alive: a sinister-looking middle-aged man dressed in black robes.

Yet at this moment, he possessed none of an ancient great cultivator's former majesty.

He was locked inside one of those cages.

The cage was merely a foot square and half a zhang high, forged from some unknown Black Metal. It was covered in ancient, obscure runes that radiated an aura painful even to his soul's origin.

He could not stand straight.

He could not sit down.

He could only hunch his body in an utterly humiliating posture like a dog, barely managing to fit inside.

"No! This is impossible!" The remnant soul tried to circulate his demonic arts, only to discover that the Demonic Energy within him was like a frozen river, utterly motionless.

The soul-path secret arts he had always been so proud of had completely failed here as well. He had become a genuine Mortal.

Fear—unprecedented fear—engulfed every inch of his soul like an icy sea.

He wanted to scream, to roar, but found that he could not even make a sound.

All he could do was force out hoarse "heh-heh" noises from his throat, like a broken bellows.

At that moment, beyond the cage, a face of unimaginable size slowly emerged in that blood-red sky.

That face belonged to Fang Mo.

His indifferent gaze looked down like that of a deity examining a lowly ant.

"Welcome to my prison."

A vast, icy voice rang directly within Old Ancestor Black Mountain's Soul Depth, carrying an irresistible power of rules.

The Black Demonic Cultivator Remnant Soul's soul body trembled violently. He finally understood that he had not encountered some fortunate opportunity—he had crashed into a terrifying existence!

Yihong Pavilion, Heavenly Chamber.

Outside, only the span of a finger had passed.

Fang Mo abruptly withdrew the hand pressed to his brow, and an unprecedented sense of comfort flooded through his Limbs and Bones.

His once somewhat unsteady body was now filled with explosive power.

He could clearly feel that his skin, muscles, Bones, and even blood were undergoing a wondrous transformation.

The pores across his Whole Body seemed to be breathing, drawing in and releasing some kind of energy from heaven and earth.

He casually threw a punch. The air compressed with a dull pop, and the gust from his Fists whistled as it directly shattered the Sound Barrier!

Qi and Blood Realm! He had made it!

In the Great Gan Dynasty's classification of martial arts, there were nine martial realms, with Qi and Blood coming first.

When one could send forth wind and thunder with a punch, and one's qi and blood flowed like mercury, one was considered to have crossed the threshold into a Martial Artist.

Ordinary people might train bitterly for years and consume countless medicinal ingredients without necessarily reaching it. Yet he had merely contained a remnant soul and ascended to the heavens in a single step.

"Ha... Hahahaha!"

Fang Mo could no longer restrain the wild joy in his heart, waving his Fists in excitement.

Eighteen years of pent-up frustration, fear for the future, the grief and fury of his father's tragic death... in that moment, all of it seemed to have found an outlet!

Golden Finger! This is my Golden Finger!

So what if it's the Heavenly Prison? So what if it holds great terror?

I've got cheats!

"Young Master, what is wrong?"

A languid, alluring voice tinged with surprise sounded behind him.

Fang Mo turned around and saw that the courtesan named Nian Nu'er had, at some unknown point, reclined on her side upon the bed.

She propped up her fragrant cheek with one hand, her ebony hair spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall. The gauze draped around her had slipped away somewhat, exposing large swathes of snowy skin and breathtaking curves.

Light rippled in her beautiful eyes as she curiously examined Fang Mo, as though looking at some novel toy.

Only then did Fang Mo remember that he was still in the Gentle Township.

She had not noticed any of what just happened?

No, that was not right.

Fang Mo sharply noticed that deep in Nian Nu'er's gaze, there was not the slightest trace of alarm—only a hint of amusement and scrutiny.

This woman was not simple.

But now was not the time to investigate that.

"Stop fooling around. This Young Master has important business to attend to!"

How could Fang Mo possibly still have the mind for clouds and rain? He hurriedly grabbed the clothes scattered on the floor and pulled them on.

His Golden Finger had only just arrived. There was too much he needed to study; this was a matter of life and death.