Chapter 58: Shadowbound by Magic

Chen Yang had arranged a multitude of intricate formations and restrictions, yet each had secret passages left within. As long as the assembled demons bore the "dragon aura," they could turn misfortune into fortune, finding hope for survival in the direst of circumstances. Though every step was fraught with peril and they advanced in utter disarray, when they finally broke through all barriers and arrived at the main hall to behold the true dragon before their eyes, not a single demon had been lost in the process.

This miracle only deepened the demons’ belief that this place was indeed the great opportunity left behind for their kind by the true dragon, and that they themselves were the fated chosen ones.

In truth, though the formations and restrictions set by Chen Yang were subtle and profound, their actual power was limited; had the demons truly tried to break through by force, they could not have been stopped. Yet, owing to the hints he had left and the spells he cast to secretly manipulate them with the power of demonic gods, the demons unwittingly sank deeper and deeper into his trap.

So much so that they completely forgot why they had not encountered Ye Fa and the others along the way; all their attention was fixed solely on that enormous dragon corpse.

“A true dragon…”

“If I could devour this true dragon’s remains…”

“My dragon bloodline is the purest. I have leapt through the Dragon Gate and am the fated demon. Why should I share with these lowly creatures…”

The atmosphere gradually grew sinister. The demons eyed each other in silence, each wary of the others. Where once they had gathered together, they now began to drift apart, shifting their positions instinctively.

Yet, though Chen Yang’s magic was formidable, these Nascent Soul and Spirit Transformation demons had lived for thousands, even tens of thousands of years. Even a pig would have gained wisdom in so long a life. As the tension mounted, the Nascent Soul demons began to encroach upon the Spirit Transformation elders, subtly surrounding them—a breach of hierarchy that would have been unthinkable in the strictly stratified demon clans.

“The true dragon’s remains seem close at hand, but this place is riddled with restrictions and fraught with danger. Turning on each other now benefits no one.”

Though their longevity gave them some resistance to the influence of inner demons and shadowy magic, it was not much. Despite knowing something was amiss, the Spirit Transformation elders either ignored it or explained it away to themselves, blaming their agitation on the proximity of the dragon’s remains.

Of course, none of the demons had ever witnessed such demonic arts before. In this world, there were demonic cultivators, but their arts were crude—refining corpses and souls into undead puppets, or at best, raising a Soul Banner. Compared to the orthodox demonic arts of Mount Shu, which could summon heavenly demons, control demons with demons, and command legions of fiends, these were mere child’s play.

Even a lowly disciple of Mount Shu, one who had never learned the true teachings and practiced blindly, like the three phoenixes of Purple Cloud Palace, would never worship heavenly demons, but would instead use them as tools. The truly powerful practitioners of demonic arts, such as Chen Yang, could command all demons; even Mara himself would have to contest for the title of Demon Lord.

Those who failed in their practice, however, became possessed by their own magic, unable to control it, and slowly fell until they were nothing more than puppets and servants—this was their own failing, not a flaw in the art itself.

Those who truly comprehended the highest demonic arts knew that the Demon Sect and the heavenly demons had never walked the same path; they were, in fact, enemies.

The so-called demonic cultivators of this realm, obsessed with corpse energy, demonic energy, and the worship of “demons”—refining corpses and souls, and even themselves into something neither human nor ghost—such fools would be scorned even by the most minor sects of Mount Shu.

The assembled demons, having never encountered such wondrous magic, had already fallen deeply under Chen Yang’s subtle guidance, utterly unaware that they were ensnared in a vast and deadly trap.

When the doors of the main hall were thrown open, a dazzling array of treasures bathed the room in radiant light, so bright the demons could scarcely open their eyes. The wealth left by the previous master remained, for Chen Yang had deliberately left it behind, not wanting Sima Changfeng and his ilk to loot it like locusts. Now, it served his purpose perfectly.

Moreover, under the influence of the demonic illusion, the riches appeared to the demons as thousands of times greater than they truly were—piles upon piles, each heap a trove of what they considered to be the most precious treasures in existence. Coupled with the opulence of the Dragon Palace and the peerless treasure of the demon clans—the true dragon remains—the demons’ breathing grew ragged, their reason utterly eclipsed as the seeds of inner, shadowy, and carnal demons flourished within their hearts.

“All mine… it’s all mine…”

At this critical moment, the Flood Dragon Lord, who had crossed the Dragon Gate and gained a true dragon’s body, suddenly lost himself in a trance and, without realizing, drove his claws through a nearby Nascent Soul demon.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air, shattering the restraint that had barely held the demons’ madness in check. No one cared who had screamed; all eyes were on the Flood Dragon Lord who had struck.

In that instant, the demons turned on those nearest to them, attacking with deadly intent.

“I knew you were up to no good! Couldn’t hold back, could you? Die!”

“Jin Mang, you’re courting death…”

Though something in his heart felt off, when he saw someone attack him, the Flood Dragon Lord roared in fury and struck back immediately.

In the blink of an eye, the main hall erupted into chaos—demons slaughtering each other as they fought their way toward the heaps of rare treasures. The Spirit Transformation elders surged toward the “true dragon’s remains.”

Chen Yang had placed no restrictions on the treasures; after all, they were meant to dazzle the demons, and any traps would only have diminished the effect. As for the so-called true dragon remains, they were too much of a sham; some slight trickery was necessary to maintain the illusion.

The Spirit Transformation elders, still entranced by the suggestions planted since their entry into the Dragon Palace, assumed all restrictions were the work of the true dragon and thus insurmountably powerful. No one thought to attack them directly; instead, they fought among themselves, inching closer to the remains through the secret passages Chen Yang had provided.

Seeing this, Chen Yang chuckled softly, crushed the third jade talisman in his sleeve, and waved the Xuan Yuan Water-Control Banner.

A blood river, eight hundred miles long, rose and enveloped the entire Dragon Palace.

The demons, locked in battle and scrambling for treasures, saw the rising river of blood but, in their frenzy, assumed it was merely the blood of other demons. Far from ceasing their slaughter, they only fought with greater savagery.

Observing this, Zhong Shenxiu felt a tinge of disappointment. He had expected, with so many powerful demons present, to fight a bitter battle and test his newly invented sword techniques.

Yet before he had even drawn his blade, his master’s methods had already driven the demon horde to tear itself apart.

Though Chen Yang mainly taught him the Daoist arts of Wutai, these very arts contained some magic from the “Secret Celestial Demonic Classic” of the Northern Demon Sect. Thus, Zhong Shenxiu was not wholly ignorant of such techniques. He simply hadn’t realized, until now, just how potent these methods could be.