After gradually mastering how to control the Yazi armor, Wang Zhi began manipulating her spirit to wield the Yazi blade, which resembled an ancient Tang sword with one key difference—its tip was double-edged while the middle and rear sections had a spine suitable for chopping. The Yazi blade hummed and vibrated in Wang Zhi's hand, the ancient blood groove along its spine suddenly glowing with a faint crimson light. Instinctively, she twisted her wrist and rotated the blade, the arc drawn by its tip leaving a bloody afterimage in the air—this was no mere practice but the awakening of muscle memory dormant for millennia. She had no prior experience, and the time given to her would surely be limited, so she needed to prepare how to exert force. Wang Zhi could clearly feel her rapid progress, as if she had been born with this skill, now merely readjusting to the blade's weight and her own muscle control. She realized this was related to her current identity and the artifacts. Both the armor and weapon bore the marks of countless battles, preserving a wealth of combat experience that was slowly but steadily transferring into Wang Zhi's spirit, allowing her to quickly adapt to her identity as a Godwalker, ready for slaughter. The divine authority of Yazi granted her the right to wield these artifacts and the potential for limitless growth, though as a newly minted Godwalker, Wang Zhi couldn't yet grasp this. For now, she focused on maximizing her bodily control and adapting to these newfound instincts.
Hours passed, and Wang Zhi's spirit sensed the fading heat waves from the ancestral hall, guessing that the previous sacrificial ritual might have concluded. She carefully placed the spear back and leaped up again, letting it pierce through her. She dared not gamble on whether the village chief and the others would notice or if the evil god would detect her immediately. She had to remain exactly as before, staking everything on this one chance. Clenching her teeth against the agony, Wang Zhi waited for their return…
Soon, the footsteps of the village chief and the young man approached. They seemed to inhale the scent of Wang Zhi's burning spirit, closing their eyes in intoxicated delight. The village chief murmured, "Such a sweet soul, a heart steeped in despair, yet still clinging to that unyielding will to fight from life. Excellent, truly excellent. Worth all the trouble we went through to clean up the mess." He opened his eyes and patted the young man's shoulder. "She's yours now. Remember to thank our god's mercy." The young man's face lit up with excitement as he eagerly replied, "Thank you, Chief. Praise our god." With that, he scooped up Wang Zhi, grabbed the flaying knife from the table, and strode toward the ancestral hall.
In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, they arrived inside the ancestral hall. The setup was similar to before, except this time, several curtains had been drawn aside in front of the evil deity's statue, leaving an entrance that extended to the base of the idol. The village chief and several other villagers formed their usual circle around Wang Zhi, chanting incantations. The young man, on the other hand, had donned the ceremonial robe previously worn by the chief and now held two blades—one a ritual sword for sacrifices, the other the earlier flaying knife. As he danced in a strange sacrificial rhythm around Wang Zhi's body, he used the flaying knife to carve intricate patterns into his own flesh. The flowing blood gradually soaked through his clothes, dripping onto the ground.
Wang Zhi could feel the burning sensation and the restraints growing ever more intense. She was waiting for that crucial moment—no matter what happened, she would hold on until they brought her before the evil deity's statue. Cracks of crimson spread across the surface of her spiritual form, like a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.
The young man danced for about an hour before gradually stopping, then kowtowed toward the evil deity's direction. Turning around, he raised the ritual sword and thrust it straight through Wang Zhi's chest. The surrounding villagers collectively kowtowed around Wang Zhi before bending down to carry the altar table to the base of the deity's statue.
Wang Zhi secretly opened her eyes and saw the colossal form of the evil deity in the spiritual realm. It seemed to sit high above the nine heavens, barely acknowledging her offering with a slight tilt of its head. Though eyeless, Wang Zhi distinctly felt as if a sword swept down from her crown, scrutinizing her. She searched for the deity's weakness, wondering where to strike to end it all. But time was running out—the ritual sword in her chest bled ceaselessly, and her body grew weaker by the moment.
Just as she resolved to gamble everything, she remembered the shrine she had seen earlier at the village chief's doorstep. The evil deity sat cross-legged, headless. At first, Wang Zhi had assumed it was naturally so, but then she recalled the story told by the soul who claimed to be the true village chief—how Yazi had suppressed the evil deity beneath the ritual array. Could it be that the deity wasn't unwilling to leave, but unable? That its head remained trapped beneath the array while it had severed itself and escaped through some loophole? Now it gathered strength through sacrifices in this place.
Countless thoughts flashed through her mind, but Wang Zhi cast them aside. Regardless, she had no choice but to stake everything. There was no retreat—her only goal was to avoid being toyed with by the evil deity, to prevent others from falling victim to these eerie villagers. Her faith forbade her from backing down.
"Boundless blessings of the Heavenly Venerable, this disciple seeks to vanquish demons and uphold righteousness. I fear not death, only failure. I beseech the Patriarchs' protection, that my sword may strike down this fiend and restore clarity to the world."
With this prayer, Wang Zhi's spirit leaped from the spear's tip. The descent was far more brutal than before—a wisp of her soul visibly dissipated upon impact. Returning to her body, she gripped the ritual sword's blade and wrenched it free, then sprang to the base of the evil deity's statue.
Her suspicions from the spiritual realm were confirmed. Inside, a statue of Yazi stood roaring atop a mountain, its foot pressing down on a three-eyed demonic Buddha. The demon's head and body were separated—the head still crushed beneath the mountain, while its body sat cross-legged before the ancestral hall.
In that moment, Wang Zhi truly believed the ancient tales told by the village chief's spirit. Without hesitation, she sprinted forward and drove the sword into the demon Buddha's third eye on its forehead.
The villagers had been chanting with bowed heads, but at the sound, the village chief snapped to attention. Like a gale, he appeared before Wang Zhi in an instant, kicking her clear across to the demon statue's back.
Wang Zhi wasted no time. With death looming, her spirit left her body once more. Now, she had to replicate her actions in the spiritual realm before it was too late. Summoning her armor and Tang blade, she charged toward the evil deity.
No sooner had Wang Zhi started running than she noticed countless tumor-like protrusions bulging from the ground in the direction of the evil god. With a teeth-grating tearing sound, hundreds of headless corpses emerged. These monsters had their chests split open into ring-shaped maws, their spines bent backward into crawling limbs, dripping mucus as they lunged at her. Most horrifying were the two fleshy tendrils writhing at their shoulders—clearly the remaining nerve cords from heads violently torn off. A chill ran down Wang Zhi's spine. She had no confidence she could fight her way through this horde. Yet she steeled herself and charged forward, relying on her armor's protection and the combat experience the item had given her.
The evil god continued, "The suffering in this world stems from humanity's endless desires, and I can fulfill everyone's wishes. They will experience agony in my endless cycle, then marvel at the beauty of the mortal realm. Thus, this world shall be free from strife and wickedness. Have I not done right? Does not the human world also have laws? Punishing the wicked, guiding people toward goodness. My method is better, more enduring. I can even determine which souls are more worthy of rebirth. Those without value can contribute to other matters in this world."
Wang Zhi nearly exploded upon hearing this. She pressed her hand against the barrier, roaring as she slammed the dragon-patterned armor against it: "Do you hear that? This demon calls torment mercy!" Countless vengeful spirits suddenly shrieked in unison, transforming into a crimson torrent that surged into the Yazi armor. Enduring the onslaught of souls, Wang Zhi raised her Tang blade.
"In this world, every person is born human, each with the right to live as one. If he is wrong, he should be punished. If he is right, he should be rewarded. But no individual has the right to judge what is right or wrong. You merely impose your own desires and tyranny upon a system you control. You are wrong—how will you punish yourself? How will you change? Die! Today, the mortal realm delivers your punishment. Your greatest sin is your very existence."
Wang Zhi drove her blade into the evil god's third eye. The deity merely smiled. "Wang Zhi, was it? I remember you. You are right, and so am I. I will devise a better method and return for you. Then, I believe we will have more time to converse. Ah, to ensure I do not lose sight of you—or rather, so that someone like you, who points out my errors, may witness my true correctness—I cannot let you die. But you need more suffering to contemplate my ways. In this world of suffering, might my method truly be viable?"
The third eye, along with the Yazi sword, returned to Wang Zhi's grasp. The vengeful spirits that had nearly torn her apart now merged into the eyeball, which transformed into an engraving of the evil god's true form upon the Yazi armor. As this change occurred, the sealing array that had suppressed the deity twisted into threads of talismanic script, coiling around the armor. The helmet, shattered from relentless attacks, had long been cast aside—now it reformed into a visor that clamped onto Wang Zhi's face, its mouthpiece slotting into the talismanic threads on the Yazi armor.
Exhausted, Wang Zhi's spirit collapsed onto the ground. Above her, the gray mist that had once resembled an inverted cup gradually dissipated, and her consciousness returned to her body. But the searing pain that followed plunged her into unconsciousness.
Wang Zhi was unaware that while she was unconscious, the bloody hole torn open by the village chief on her chest had completely healed through waves of pulsations. Behind her, a series of cracking sounds like frying beans erupted as her twisted spine was straightened segment by segment by an invisible force. Even more terrifying, the newly formed bone surfaces bore the same runic patterns as Yazi's armor, as though some entity was etching them into her body through the wound. The surrounding villagers and the village chief had turned to dust the moment Wang Zhi pierced the evil deity's statue in the spiritual realm, scattering into the wind like sand.
In the last moment before darkness consumed her, Wang Zhi faintly heard the distant wail of police sirens rising and falling, muffled as though through thick frosted glass...