A Sixty-Year Treasure Talisman, a Foe Who Deserved Death; Pot-Heaven's Marvels, Further Progress in the Sword Manual (Revised)

Above the Flame-Ridge Mountains, cries of "Aaaaargh-!" rang out without end.

They carried boundless fury.

They poured continuously from the gray-robed False Core elder's throat, as though he had finally stopped suppressing himself and was venting everything. At first hearing, they also sounded like the whimpers of a wounded beast licking its wounds.

This veteran False Core True Person had arrived calm and composed, with the pearl of wisdom in his grasp, intending to snatch another's prize. Now his hair hung loose and wild,

blood stained him haphazardly, and his face was twisted, bearing both the pallor and dullness of injury and the unnatural flush of rage.

The two mingled together, leaving him utterly disheveled. Clearly, he had suffered a crushing loss in the battle just now!

Out in the wider world, with his cultivation concealed, any sharp-tongued passerby who saw him like this would likely curse him as an "old lunatic."

"If you've got any guts, don't let me find you!"

His low, teeth-grinding voice continued. This time, he truly had lost both the lady and his troops.

He had obtained neither the Earthfire Nether Serpent's single horn nor its demon core, both of which he needed.

He had also lost an entire arm, severed at the shoulder. His strength, lifespan, appearance, and more would all suffer greatly. Worse still, he had no idea what method that scoundrel had used to take the Soul-Striking Whip treasure he had gone to such pains to seize!

It was simply a tale from the Arabian Nights-utterly inconceivable! He had spent considerable time refining this treasure. Although he had stolen it himself, he still possessed a close connection to it. Now, however, everything seemed to have been forcibly severed, and he could no longer sense the Soul-Striking Whip's location.

Yet he had not