Starting with The Eagle Shooting Heroes: I gain a year's worth of skill every day.

When Feng Jin looked up, the courtyard was empty.

Only that pure white jade pendant, bathed in moonlight, shimmered with a soft glow, like a fragment of a star fallen from the sky.

He didn't know where that real person had gone.

But he knew that things were about to change in Fanyang.

……

Even for ordinary people traveling by fast horse from Chang'an to Fanyang, it would take ten days to reach the destination, even if they traveled day and night.

For Shen Mo, mountains and rivers are but a step away.

His figure blended into the night wind, and the mountains and rivers rushed past him like ink lines.

This was not a deliberate rush; it was more like a journey through the human world.

With each passing day, the true qi within his dantian and dantian increases by one year.

On the fifth day after leaving the capital, as the first rays of dawn tore through the sky, Shen Mo's internal energy had already reached the level of 210.

His innate true energy became increasingly solidified, forming an invisible and intangible absolute barrier a few inches away from his body.

He stopped in his tracks.

Ahead, the outline of a magnificent city lies on the horizon.

Fanyang.

Unlike the elegant prosperity of Chang'an, this majestic northern city is imbued with the fierce courage of blood and fire.

The city wall to the north is built of massive rocks, higher and thicker, covered with knife marks and arrow holes, and dark brown bloodstains have long since seeped into the deep crevices of the rocks.

At the city gate, merchants and travelers came and went in an endless stream, seemingly indicating a thriving business.

However, the soldiers defending the city wore thicker armor, and the curved blades at their waists were more conducive to slashing.

The leisurely and carefree life of the people of Chang'an was rarely seen on the faces of the city's inhabitants.

They walked hurriedly, their brows furrowed with a mixture of fervor and awe.

He walked silently through the streets, his aura blending with the surrounding world, like a speck of dust, unnoticed by anyone.

In an instant, a myriad of images flooded into my heart.

He "saw" the palpable, menacing aura of the military in the governor's mansion, like a lurking ferocious beast.

He "heard" the prayers of countless believers in the streets and alleys, the chaotic and disordered incense and vows flowing in the same direction.

Beneath these two forces, a third aura lurks.

It was cold, eerie, and filled with the barbarity and bloodshed of ancient times.

Shen Mo's gaze fell thirty miles outside the city.

That solitary peak is Baihu Mountain.

That is where the spider web is nested.

"Let's trace the source first."

Before the thought even formed in his mind, his figure had already disappeared from the bustling street.

……

Worship at the foot of Hu Mountain.

An army surrounded the entire mountain, making it completely impassable.

They rode tall northern warhorses, clad in heavy black armor, their faces adorned with hideous demon masks, revealing only a pair of indifferent eyes.

Hundreds of people, yet they exuded a fierce and murderous aura that could only be gathered by a thousand troops.

The river flows away.

An Lushan's most elite personal guards.

Their mission is singular: to protect the sacred mountain, ensuring that no living creature may set foot on it except during sacrificial periods.

A centurion was patrolling on horseback when his warhorse suddenly let out an uneasy neigh, its hooves pawing restlessly at the ground.

"What's wrong?" The centurion frowned and pulled on the reins.

He cautiously scanned his surroundings; the winter forest was deathly silent, with only the sound of the wind.

"Strange thing..."

Unbeknownst to him, just three feet away, a figure in blue was climbing the mountain steps.

Not a gust of wind was stirred, not a single leaf was trampled.

Shen Mo's steps were slow.

He could clearly feel that the higher he went, the stronger the cold and eerie aura became.

The vegetation in the mountains has a sickly dark green color.

A very faint smell of blood lingered in the air, mixed with the strange aroma of burning fat.

He quickly reached a platform halfway up the mountain.

At the center of the platform stands a huge and rough stone altar, its surface covered with twisted symbols, neither seal script nor Sanskrit, full of the eerie beauty of primitive totems.

At the center of the altar, a human-shaped groove was carved, and the blood grooves extending around it had long been stained blackish-brown.

Before the altar, a figure stood motionless with his back to him.

The man was draped in a wide black robe, the hood covering his entire head. He stood motionless in the biting mountain wind, like a statue that blended into the mountainside.

He seemed to have been waiting there for quite some time.

Shen Mo stepped onto the platform.

The man slowly turned around.

"You've arrived."

The voice was hoarse, like dry bones rubbing together, and didn't belong to any living person.

It was He Qiannian from the intelligence report.

Shen Mo's gaze was as calm as an abyss: "You were waiting for me?"

"It is 'God' who is waiting for you." Under the shadow of He Qiannian's hood, two points of scarlet light seemed to shine. "The scent on you displeases 'God'. That pure yang Daoist aura is the sacrifice that 'God' hates the most, yet also desires the most."

His words carried a scrutinizing air, as if he were examining an offering about to be sacrificed.

She remained silent, simply watching him quietly.

It turned out to be the case.

It is neither a fox-headed human nor a faceless deity.

This so-called "god" is an evil spirit that feeds on the pure yang essence and soul of cultivators.

He Qiannian enjoyed this silence, interpreting it as the fear and awe that mortals feel when facing divine messengers.

His head, hidden beneath his hood, tilted slightly: "Mortal, this is the forbidden garden of the gods, not a place you should tread. Now, kneel down, open your soul, offer your essence, and 'God' will grant you... eternal death."

Before he could finish speaking...

A jet-black stream of air surged wildly from beneath his black robe.

That wasn't smoke, nor was it fog.

That was a turbid stream of souls formed from countless miniature faces contorted in pain!

A silent shriek exploded on the spiritual level. Wherever the black energy passed, the hard rocky ground instantly lost all color and vitality, silently turning into grayish-white powder.

This was the power that allowed him to slaughter three hundred Khitan cavalry and kill the Xuan-level spy of the Bad People.

A bizarre power that directly obliterates the soul.

A black wave of death swept towards Shen Mo, attempting to completely engulf and dissolve him.

However, Shen Mo remained standing in the same spot.

His clothes remained still, and his breathing remained unchanged.

He stared at the black torrent that represented despair and the end, his gaze unchanged.

Until the black mist was only three feet away from him.

He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but it clearly drowned out the piercing mental scream.

"Evil spirits are also divided into different levels."

The moment the words fell.

Shen Mo drew his fingers together like a sword, his index and middle fingers joined, and casually slashed towards the surging black tide.

He wielded the innate true energy, refined over two hundred and ten years, using the supreme essence of swordsmanship to transform it into an invisible sword aura of utmost yang and strength.

The dark, turbid stream of souls crashed into this invisible wall without making a sound, just like thin ice meeting boiling oil, instantly evaporated and purified, leaving not even a wisp of smoke behind.

"And you, you are the lowest of the low."