Great Demon - Chapter 116 Part 1

As soon as the devil let go, Wu Buzhi plummeted downward.

Wu Buzhi’s hands were still bound with chains, and he wore a look of utter despair. His white robes were tattered and ruined, though fortunately, his face was still presentable, keeping him from appearing completely miserable.

The devil general bent down and grabbed Wu Buzhi, then turned to gaze steadily at the devil who bore an uncanny resemblance to Guanshang. After a moment, he asked, “May I ask who you are?”

“Guanchen,” the devil replied coldly. Perhaps his hand was sore, as he absentmindedly rotated his wrist—an action that seemed out of place for someone with his appearance.

A devil, born from the shadows, had no business taking a name like “Guanchen”—Chen referred to the stars in the heavens, a concept far beyond the reach of devils.

The devil general furrowed his brows. “But the Netherworld Lord previously had no intention of getting involved in this matter.”

“No rush. With this ghost in our hands, he will have no choice but to comply,” Guanchen said through gritted teeth.

The devil general could only acknowledge this with a nod before escorting Wu Buzhi down to the ghost city below.

The ghost city was frigid and desolate, lacking even the liveliness of a devil’s marketplace. There wasn’t a single trace of life to be found. Though the houses were arranged in neat, concentric circles, at the city’s center stood a towering structure.

The tower exuded an air of death, its entrance guarded by ghost soldiers clad in black, their spears in hand. Strangely, there wasn’t a single wandering ghost in sight.

When the Netherworld Lord first claimed this land, he had been arrogant—he even attempted to seize the Palace of the Dead. However, he severely overestimated his own strength and was no match for the Nine Heavens. Though he still harbored such ambitions, he had long since reined them in, driving out idle ghosts from the city and allowing the wardens of the afterlife to take them. Since then, he had only maintained an army of ghost soldiers.

The devil general, gripping Wu Buzhi tightly, strode into the ghost city. Even as a devil, he found the chilling air unnerving. The city felt eerily empty, far too quiet—nothing like what a city should be.

Suddenly, Wu Buzhi began to struggle, but his spiritual power was suppressed by the chains, making escape impossible. In desperation, he rammed his head into the devil general’s armored stomach. A sharp clang rang out as his skull made contact, but while the armor remained undamaged, blood trickled from his forehead.

Strangely, the wound looked unnatural—almost as if the outer layer of his skin had been torn rather than his flesh being cut. At the edges of the wound, faint traces of paper could be seen, and beneath that thin layer, his real skin remained completely unscathed.

So he had been wearing a false face all along, hiding his true appearance from the world.

The devil general narrowed his eyes as he glanced down at Wu Buzhi, noticing something peculiar. Without hesitation, he reached for the exposed edge of the thin paper layer and tore it away with a sharp rip.

Initially, the tear was no larger than a fist, but with that forceful pull, the false skin split all the way down to Wu Buzhi’s chin.

Blood oozed from the torn paper, but his actual face beneath remained pristine—fair and flawless.

Now fully revealed, his true appearance was strikingly different from before. He had the refined looks of a noble gentleman, in stark contrast to his previous, more forgettable face. Before, he had looked pleasant enough, but easily lost in a crowd.

Wu Buzhi immediately raised his hands to cover his face, his clenched teeth audibly grinding. He forcefully tugged at his bound wrists, but even as the thin paper layer on them was scraped away, the chains still held firm.

The devil general pressed a hand against Wu Buzhi’s head, while the other gripped the remaining paper mask, tearing it further down to his neck. His gaze darkened. “So this is what you truly look like.”

Pinned down, Wu Buzhi glared up at the devil with bloodshot eyes, his voice hoarse as he spat out, “Guanshang is already dead, and yet you still refuse to stop?”

The devil general’s expression sharpened. He abruptly forced Wu Buzhi’s head downward. “How do you know?”

“If he were still alive, it wouldn’t have been someone else who came for me.” Wu Buzhi’s voice was raspy. “I was hiding well, but he still found me. He looks exactly like Guanshang, but I can still tell the difference.”

The devil general’s voice turned cold. “Impossible. The Devil Lord must have made other plans.”

“Do you know why that devil looks exactly like him?” Wu Buzhi’s neck strained as veins bulged.

The devil fell silent—he had never seen the Guanshang lookalike before!

“Three thousand years ago, the gods sought to eradicate the ancient devils. However, one managed to survive. That devil returned to the devil’s domain and spent a thousand years weaving this scheme, leading everyone to believe that the sole survivor was Guanshang. But in truth… they were twins.” Wu Buzhi curled his lips into a pained smile, exposing the long-buried secret Guanshang had hidden for centuries.

The devil’s eyes widened in shock. He had followed Guanshang for many years and had never heard of this.

“They looked identical and never appeared together before others, so no one ever suspected the truth,” Wu Buzhi continued, his face flushed red from being held down. “Didn’t you notice how that devil’s mannerisms seemed off, almost feminine? That’s because the one who has been possessing Kunyi for the past two hundred years… is him.”

“How do you know this?” the devil general demanded.

Wu Buzhi loosened his bloodied jaw and muttered, “Of course… I guessed.”

The devil general released his grip, then seized Wu Buzhi by the shoulders and lunged toward the towering structure. However, before he could reach the top, a blockade stopped him.

A pair of ghost soldiers crossed their swords in front of him, their voices gravelly. “Who dares trespass in the ghost city?”

The devil hoisted the captive ghost in his grasp. “I must see the Netherworld Lord.”

The two ghost soldiers hesitated upon seeing Wu Buzhi’s face. A flicker of recognition flashed in their eyes, and after a moment’s hesitation, they lowered their weapons and stepped aside.

The devil general carried Wu Buzhi up toward the tower’s peak. Just as they neared the top, the tightly shut doors suddenly swung open.

Inside sat a ghost clad in black robes, ghostly flames of blue-green light swirling around him. There was no need for lanterns—the eerie glow illuminated the entire chamber.

Wu Buzhi, who had been struggling all this time, suddenly froze as soon as the doors opened.

“Netherworld Lord, the Devil Lord ordered me to bring this one to you,” the devil general declared coldly.

The one addressed as the Netherworld Lord slowly turned around—his face was utterly blank, devoid of any features, like an unpainted canvas. He held a brush in his hand, its tip still wet with ink, as if he had just been about to write—only to be interrupted by these uninvited guests.

Though he had no eyes, the Netherworld Lord remained motionless, as though scrutinizing the intruding devil.

Wu Buzhi said nothing, his gaze cold as he stared at the ghost seated before the desk, gripping a brush—as if there was deep-seated hatred between them.

The devil general suddenly felt uncertain. Would bringing Wu Buzhi here truly be of any use?

The Netherworld Lord spoke abruptly, his voice low and hoarse, as if his throat had been ruined by smoke. “It has been centuries since I last saw you.”

“What difference does it make?” Wu Buzhi’s body was tense.

“You burned my face, and now you say it doesn’t matter?” The Netherworld Lord let out a raspy laugh.

Wu Buzhi’s fury surged to the heavens. “If you hadn’t killed her, why would I have done such a thing?!”

“Sentimentality is the most foolish weakness,” the Netherworld Lord said, flicking his sleeve. His inky-black robes trembled slightly. “Why concern yourself with love and emotions? This ghost city isn’t good enough for you? Besides, she was just a lowly demon—what could she possibly give you?”

Wu Buzhi pressed his lips together, his eyes red with anger. “I never expected anything from her.”

The Netherworld Lord clicked his tongue.

The devil general could wait no longer. He asked, “I have brought this man as ordered. Will the Netherworld Lord now share dominion over the Mortal Realm?”

Part 2

The Netherworld Lord let out a cold laugh. “Is this Guanshang’s ambition? I had thought he would seize the Nine Heavens—who would have expected that he dared to covet something as insignificant as the Mortal Realm?”

“If the Mortal Realm is insignificant, then what does that make this ghost city you have hidden underground?” the devil general asked calmly.

“Then tell me, what does Guanshang have in his hands right now?” the Netherworld Lord asked.

The devil general remained silent. Upon learning of Guanshang’s demise, his will to fight had already waned. He had no idea what pieces Guanchen had left to play. If he had abandoned his claim to the Nine Heavens, it must have been because he lacked the strength to win.

“If he had the power, he would have taken the Nine Heavens already—why would he bother with the human world?” The Netherworld Lord lifted his arm, lowering the brush to his face, and with a single stroke, painted an eye onto his blank visage.

He turned to look at the devil general. His newly drawn eye narrowed slightly. It didn’t look artificial at all—it was disturbingly lifelike.

“Right now, the Nine Heavens has reincarnated ancient gods,” the Netherworld Lord continued. “And what about Guanshang? He had great ambition and many tricks up his sleeve, but no matter how much he borrowed from others, it was never as useful as his own power. His actions were pointless.”

The devil general tightened his grip around Wu Buzhi’s neck, poised to snap it.

“A desperate beast fights to the end,” the Netherworld Lord sighed. “This unfilial son—if you kill him for me, so be it.”

Leisurely, he painted a second eye on his face.

The devil general clenched his fingers. Wu Buzhi’s neck let out a strained creak—one more squeeze, and it would surely snap.

The Netherworld Lord, as if oblivious, continued to paint a nose, then a mouth.

Wu Buzhi remained silent, as if unafraid of death.

Suddenly, the Netherworld Lord spun around, flicking his brush through the air. From the ink, a long blade materialized. Gripping it firmly, he slashed downward, severing the devil general’s entire arm.

The moment the grip loosened, Wu Buzhi collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat as he coughed violently.

The Netherworld Lord tossed the sword aside, and it dissolved back into ink. He then struck out with his palm, sending the devil general flying out of the tower. His voice was sharp and commanding. “Go tell the Devil Lord—this ghost city will not partake in these murky waters.”

Clutching his severed shoulder, the devil general gritted his teeth and fled from the ghost city.

***

Meanwhile, chaos erupted in the Mortal Realm. Demons and devils rampaged, temples crumbled, incense offerings were extinguished. Even celestial guardians, meant to stand watch, could not withstand the assault—some had their spiritual power stripped away entirely.

Immortal Piaomiao, face grim, demanded, “What are you waiting for?!”

Immortal Zhiying held the Devil-Suppressing Tower in her palm and shook her head. “The time has not yet come. This tower has collapsed in my hands once before—I dare not take the risk.”

In the Nine Heavens, the Obsidian Dragon soared upward, carrying the Vermillion Phoenix in her jaws. As she ascended into the sky, she trembled all over, her fangs loosening their grip as she gently coiled around the phoenix. Then, tilting her head back, she let out a resounding roar.

The overwhelming divine pressure rippled across the heavens, shaking the Heavenly Palace.

The Obsidian Dragon exhaled her spiritual power, yet dared not tighten her coils too much, afraid of injuring the Vermillion Phoenix’s four wings.

But she, too, was in pain. Bound by their shared lifeblood, every inch of her bones ached unbearably.

Changying’s golden eyes burned crimson, her irises seemingly stained with blood. Several of her dark scales had been torn away by divine power, leaving her body streaked with fresh wounds. She was just as battered as the charred Vermillion Phoenix in her grasp.

She had drained nearly all the energy from her spirit sea before the Vermillion Phoenix was able to revert to human form.

Changying’s dragon form was simply too massive, her scales too sharp. She had no choice but to transform back as well, cradling Zhuyou gently in her arms.

She knew Zhuyou would not want anyone to see her in such a state, so she raised a protective barrier and exhaled a breath of draconic energy, sealing them both within an icy cage. Yet she couldn’t make the barrier too strong—if it was too tightly sealed, the divine radiance would not be able to reach them, and she had no idea when Zhuyou would recover.

With a flick of her sleeve, a strand of hair fell into her palm—the lock that had been severed earlier. It was dark as ink, yet still impossibly soft.

Changying twirled it between her fingers before pulling a red string from her storage pouch, tying the lock of hair around Zhuyou’s wrist.

When she touched Zhuyou’s wrist, she suddenly realized that devil energy had lingered there. Her breath caught, and the fierce, ominous aura surged out from her again. Her fingers trembled, and her pupils shrank sharply.

How dare those devils!

Xuanjing suddenly appeared at her side. That ancient, weathered sword hummed in response to her agitation, his entire blade trembling—not out of fear, but from excitement and anticipation.

The devil sword suddenly spoke, “Do you wish to slaughter all devils in the Three Realms? Very well, then let them taste the agony of burning flesh and shattered bones, never to find peace for all eternity.”