Chapter 117: The Death of the Azure Hawk (Please Recommend and Bookmark!)

Zhang Daoyi felt that ever since he began leading people into the Kunlun Secret Realm, his good days were over. That stick came looking for trouble every single day. After a brief skirmish, the stick would dart off into the mist, twisting and leaping, occasionally peeking out. Whenever Zhang Daoyi grew angry and tried to charge into the fog, the stick would reappear to continue their fight.

He was a living, breathing man after all—he could get tired! Yet that stick tormented him nearly twenty-four hours a day. At his age, he simply couldn’t endure it any longer.

But now things were better. The frontier of the ruins had finally stabilized, and an Eleventh Rank powerhouse had returned to defend it. At the thought, Zhang Daoyi’s gaze toward the stick brightened with joy. Freedom was finally within reach. He refused to believe that the stick’s strength, which rivaled his own, could stand against an Eleventh Rank warrior. That was a manifestation of the Dao itself, capable of instantly killing a Tenth Rank Martial Emperor!

The stick’s assault grew fiercer, and Zhang Daoyi’s resistance increased accordingly. Yet he was not worried. Prolonged resistance was surely futile, but with the Eleventh Rank warrior nearby, he only needed to hold out a little longer before the outcome would be decided in an instant.

After stepping out of the void, Dongfang Kui immediately saw the stick dueling with Zhang Daoyi. It was a curious sight—even as an Eleventh Rank powerhouse, he had never seen a weapon fight someone without a wielder. Had the weapon become sentient? Wasn’t it said that nothing in the world could attain consciousness? Wild beasts or strange creatures, perhaps, but now even weapons were becoming unruly?

Dongfang Kui gave it little thought. In a single step, he appeared beside the stick. With one hand, he grasped the void, capturing the stick effortlessly. The stick fell into his palm, utterly powerless.

Zhang Daoyi’s old face lit up with a broad smile as he watched the stick being taken. Those days of torment from this maddening stick had been exhausting—always seeking him out, leaving no time for cultivation!

Dongfang Kui looked at the trembling stick in his hand and smirked. Did it still want to run? A wild, violent power radiated from his entire body as he tightened his grip. The stick’s trembling slowed until it finally stilled, held firmly in Dongfang Kui’s grasp.

Examining the stick closely, he saw that its surface was completely suffused with vigor and spirit. “Hmm,” he murmured, sensing an incredible power within the weapon. His probing into its essence continued...

Meanwhile, Yang Fan advanced step by step toward the Sky Blue Eagle hidden within the forest. Each step carried the resolve of burning boats and sinking ships. Running was no longer an option; if death was inevitable, he would face it head-on.

His long blade hung weakly at his side as he moved forward, but the deeper he advanced, the more uneasy he felt. Why was the creature still motionless? Did it want him to walk right into its jaws?

Something was off. The Sky Blue Eagle seemed smaller than expected. As he drew closer, Yang Fan could see it clearly. When he finally reached the eagle’s feet, he exhaled in relief. This was not the Tenth Rank Sky Blue Eagle.

This one was far smaller. The legendary Tenth Rank Sky Blue Eagle had soared the heavens, its wingspan easily thirty meters or more. This one was barely fifteen meters, maybe even twelve.

But size wasn’t the most important thing. When Yang Fan circled behind the eagle, he saw a long scar running from head to tail, its back stained with blood.

“Dead?” he whispered.

Then, without hesitation, Yang Fan unleashed a fierce kick against the eagle’s body. The fifteen-meter beast collapsed with a thunderous crash, while Yang Fan, clutching his foot, hopped from side to side.

When his foot struck the eagle, it was like hitting a steel plate—an immense recoil shot through his entire leg, rendering it numb.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he looked at the fallen corpse. This journey had been terrifying and harrowing, as if he had been marching straight into the jaws of death, overwhelmed by fear and pressure at every turn.

He circled the Sky Blue Eagle once more, noting the pitiful sight of the beast’s death. A single blow had sliced open its back, and its spirit core had been taken.

After a moment, Yang Fan decided it was best to leave quickly. The Sky Blue Eagles were a clan. Judging by the size and the shockwave of his kick, this eagle had been formidable in life. Whoever could kill such a creature was certainly not someone he could confront.

Moreover, since the eagle died here, might others come searching? With that thought, Yang Fan gripped his blade tightly and began to run. He needed to return to the Kunpeng Tribe swiftly. The Kunlun Secret Realm and the Sky Blue Plains were far too dangerous.

Within the Kunpeng Tribe, although Kun Sha had his own plans, at least he did not intend harm toward Yang Fan’s group. Outside, Yang Fan felt utterly insecure.

Not far into his flight, a mournful cry rose behind him. Turning, he saw a dozen dark shapes zooming toward him from the horizon at incredible speed.

“Damn it...” Yang Fan cursed. Just as he had begun to recover from his fright, convinced he might still survive, now so many Sky Blue Eagles had appeared—and the lead one looked unmistakably like the Tenth Rank Sky Blue Eagle.

He stopped running, too afraid to continue. Without hesitation, he began digging a pit nearby, using his long blade as a makeshift shovel.

Once the hole was deep enough, he caused a tremor in his aura, sending loose earth tumbling down to cover the entrance.

In the pitch-black underground space, Yang Fan’s heart pounded in terror. He did not know if this would be enough to hide him, or if he would be discovered. Nor did he know what fate awaited him if found.

He gave a bitter smile. Perhaps death was inevitable.

...

In the forest, thirteen Sky Blue Eagles of varying sizes gathered around the fallen, lifeless eagle. At their head stood the ruler of the Sky Blue Plains—a Tenth Rank Sky Blue Eagle.

The leader’s cries filled the air, the sound so intense that surrounding trees snapped and were swept away by a raging wind.

Its sharp gaze fixed on the wound along the dead eagle’s back. It recognized the mark—it was not a result of a beast’s fight. No beast would dare challenge the Sky Blue clan here.

This was the work of human weapons—clean, smooth wounds, with the spirit core removed by a precise technique. Everything bore the unmistakable signature of human hands.

Suddenly, the leader’s eyes shifted downward, spotting a clear trail of footprints leading away.

With a mournful cry, it soared into the sky. The other Sky Blue Eagles did not follow but remained, staring sorrowfully at the corpse below. Their sharp eyes glinted with grief.