The Cold and Aloof Palace Master's Daily Demon-Slaying Life

The silver-robed cultivator wielded a massive thunderous dharma form, raising the thunderous war hammer in his right hand high. Endless silver lightning gathered from the void, coiling around the hammer and emitting a deafening roar.

He wanted to finish the job and completely blast this suspicious female cultivator, along with the area within a hundred feet around her, into dust.

However, just as he was about to swing his thunder hammer—

A sudden change occurred.

He suddenly realized that the lightning magic power within his body, which he had controlled like an extension of his own body for hundreds of years, was now sluggish as if it had encountered some kind of invisible obstacle.

It was as if a subject had encountered a monarch, instinctively feeling fear and obedience, unable to muster even the slightest thought of resistance or attack.

The originally flowing and about-to-burst thunder magic was as if it had been choked by an invisible hand, and was forcibly trapped in the meridians. No matter how much it was urged, it could not be released.

"What?!" The silver-robed cultivator was shocked, and his expression changed drastically.

He frantically activated his cultivation technique, trying to mobilize the power of thunder, but the thunder power within his body was like a sleeping giant beast, ignoring his commands. Instead, it emanated an instinctive, soul-deep tremor and... submission.

How is this possible?!

His lightning is the Nine Profound Silver Lightning, forged from the most powerful and yang heavenly lightning. It is domineering and violent, and he has always been the only one who controls it. When has the lightning ever "disobeyed"?

unless……

An absurd yet chilling thought suddenly surged into his mind like ice water being poured over his head.

He suddenly looked down at the figure standing calmly in the rain below, who had even slightly raised his straw hat to reveal a pair of deep blue eyes.

Rainwater slid down the edge of her straw hat, dripping onto her shoulders, but it didn't wet her at all. Her eyes were too calm, so calm that there wasn't a ripple in them, as if she were watching a clumsy performance that had nothing to do with her.

"Who...who are you?!" The silver-robed cultivator's voice emanated from the thunderous dharma image, filled with barely concealed panic. "What...what kind of sorcery is this?!"

Zuo Qingqiu gently lifted her bamboo hat, revealing her completely unremarkable face after the disguise. The corners of her mouth seemed to curve upwards very slightly, forming an almost mocking arc.

"You couldn't even guess that?" Her voice was soft, yet like a cold awl, piercing the silver-robed cultivator's heart. "I thought you'd be a bit smarter than those two from before."

The silver-robed monk's pupils suddenly contracted.

Can't guess?

No.

He guessed it.

I just can't believe it.

I don't want to believe it.

In the instant his mind faltered, his "supernatural vision"—a perception ability that transcends the naked eye, gained by cultivators of the Purple Mansion after comprehending the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth—seemed to be forcibly pierced through a layer of mist.

In his "eyes," the image of the plain-looking, weak-breathing female swordsman below suddenly underwent a dramatic transformation.

That was no longer just a mere Purple Mansion cultivator.

Instead, it was a supreme phantom that reached the heavens and the earth, whose greatness could not be described in words...

The illusory figure was surrounded by a vast abyss of laws, illuminated by boundless purple-black lightning, and enveloped by endless chaotic energy.

It was merely a blurry phantom that crushed the eternal blue sky and severed the long river of time, as if the laws of heaven were manifesting, dominating the world, and worshipped by all the heavens.

The enormous phantom seemed to stand on the eighteen levels of hell and have the thirty-three heavens above its head, like the four poles of the universe supporting the entire world.

Before this illusory figure, his own Dharma form, which was over four hundred feet tall, was as insignificant as a firefly at the feet of a giant, laughably weak.

"Yin Lei... Fruit Position..." The silver-robed cultivator's lips trembled as he uttered a few broken syllables, his mind blank.

As a cultivator specializing in thunder magic, he knew better than anyone what the illusory figure before him meant.

That was the manifestation of the Yin Thunder Dao.

It is the supreme being who wields the power of Yin Thunder.

That is why thunder magic cultivators need to worship the supreme ruler!

I actually... I actually toyed with lightning in front of this being?!

This is simply overestimating oneself!

Overwhelmed by boundless fear, he almost lost the ability to think.

He wanted to beg for mercy, to say "Please spare my life, my lord," to say "I was ignorant," but it was as if an invisible hand was gripping his throat, and he couldn't make a sound.

Just then, he saw the "female swordsman" below simply raise her right hand, extend her index finger and thumb, and casually snap her fingers in the air.

"Smack."

The sound was very soft and crisp.

But to the silver-robed monk, it sounded like the death knell of Judgment Day.

The next moment, he was horrified to discover that his Dharma image, which he had painstakingly crafted and which was intertwined with his life, was... out of control.

No.

It's not out of control.

Instead, the thunderous power that constituted his Dharma form, which was originally connected to his mind, seemed to hear the command of the supreme monarch and instantly broke free from his control, disintegrating on its own.

"No--!"

The silver-robed monk let out a desperate roar.

But it was all too late.

The towering thunderous Dharma image, over four hundred feet tall, melted and dissipated rapidly, like ice and snow under the scorching sun, at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Countless silvery-white bolts of lightning detached from the Dharma body, transforming into free-floating electric snakes that darted erratically in the air before merging back into it and disappearing.

In the blink of an eye, the previously overwhelming thunderous Dharma form vanished as if it had never existed.

The silver-robed cultivator's true form fell awkwardly from mid-air, his body devoid of any lightning, his aura extremely weak.

His face was ashen, and his eyes were filled with endless fear and confusion.

He had cultivated his lightning power for hundreds of years, taking pride in it and regarding it as his lifeblood. But now, it was like the most rebellious traitor, abandoning him, or even... perhaps turning into a weapon that killed him.

Because he clearly felt that the dormant, uncontrollable power of thunder within his body was now going berserk at a terrifying speed.

He reached out in vain, trying to grasp something, to hold onto something, to beg for mercy from that figure.

But Zuo Qingqiu just looked at him calmly, her eyes indifferent, as if she were looking at an insect about to be crushed.

"Boom—!"

The silver-robed cultivator's body exploded suddenly from the inside out, like a powder keg that had been ignited.

It wasn't an external attack, but rather the pure and violent thunder power that had accumulated within him for hundreds of years, which, after losing all restraint and suppression, completely went out of control and backfired.

A violent, silvery-white lightning burst forth from every pore and every inch of his flesh, tearing his body, meridians, bones, internal organs, and primordial spirit apart.

"ah--!"

The piercing screams, so shrill they were almost inhuman, lasted only a moment before being drowned out by an even more violent thunderous explosion.

Blood rained down, mixed with charred bits of flesh and broken bone fragments, accompanied by raging silver lightning, shooting out in all directions.

His primordial spirit didn't even have a chance to escape. In this most thorough backlash explosion originating from his own power, it was torn to shreds, turning into the most primordial light particles, and dissipating in the wind and rain.

A mid-stage Purple Mansion level lightning magic cultivator died under the very lightning he was most skilled at.

He died a miserable death, an ironic death, a death... utterly powerless to resist.