Below the Blood Sea, several streams of light darted back and forth, grinding one Blood Sea fiend beast after another into dust.
Great numbers of the Asura Race gathered everywhere, peering beyond the Blood Sea, yet none dared show themselves outside at this moment.
Daoist Duobao, Zhao Gongming, Holy Mother Jinling, Fairy Yunxiao, and True Lord Yu Ding—the auras of these five experts weighed upon the entire Blood Sea. Whenever they discovered an Asura Race expert drawing near, they either shouted them away or killed them outright.
At the edge of the Blood Sea, Li Changshou sat cross-legged upon a cloud.
A touch of melancholy, a touch of worry.
Before him stood a thirty-foot-tall pagoda. It still had three hundred and sixty floors, but it had now gone dim and lifeless, with cracks running across its base.
Beneath him lay vast swathes of phantoms, like willow catkins in spring. Lost and bewildered, stripped of their spiritual light, they had less than seven days remaining.
It should be said that they were even more fragile than willow catkins.
Just as that mad, witless old Daoist of the Western Teachings had said, a full eighty percent of the souls here would not last seven days. And after years of "delay," their true spirits, lacking the nourishment of living beings' vitality, were on the verge of shattering as well...
Reincarnation was their only path to survival.
Yet now, the path laid before Li Changshou had already been broken more than halfway.
Fortunately, although the Blood Sea was where filthy springs converged, and turbid power tended to sink downward, it posed little danger to souls at present.
Why not directly send them into the Six Paths of Reincarnation?
The Six Paths of Reincarnation were not as simple as tossing souls into the Reincarnation Disk.