6kv Chapter 250 Now, it's your turn to spit it out.
Chapter 250 Now, it's your turn to spit it out.
Chapter 250 Now, it's your turn to spit it out (4600)
As soon as the altar spirit pressed down, it seemed as if the entire stone path collapsed by half an inch.
It wasn't a fissure in the earth, nor a landslide, but a kind of "collapse" that was more sinister, more oppressive, and more chilling to the bone.
A living person standing on this spot could have barely held on thanks to a little bit of yang energy.
But when it completely pressed down on the entire altar, everyone felt as if they had suddenly stepped into someone else's mat, and even breathing became difficult.
Lu Yuan was the first to give up.
He held his sword horizontally in one hand and pressed his right shoulder with the other, his whole body forced to the point that he could barely straighten up by that invisible pressure.
The magic sword is still there, but the gold patterns on its spine have darkened to gray, like a dying ember.
Every time he tried to gather his breath, the altar eye on the altar spirit's forehead would turn slightly, and the blackness would immediately sink a little, like an iron nail pinning down his breathing points.
"It's suppressing the positions of our three souls and seven spirits."
Lin Zhaoxuan gritted his teeth, his voice already weak.
"It's not just pressing down on people, it's pressing down on the divine gates—it wants to push all our divine gates into the ground."
Before he could finish speaking, his legs gave way, and the Thunder Token crashed onto the stone with a loud thud.
The lightning patterns on the surface of the ring still had a bit of bluish-white residue, but after this impact, that bit of light seemed to be swallowed up by something, and was instantly extinguished by more than half.
Lin Zhaoxuan felt a tightness in his chest and a sweet taste in his throat. He knelt down on one knee, his arm trembling violently, his knuckles turning white.
Song Qinghe fared even worse.
The yin energy plate in her arms had already developed fine cracks. Now, forced by the yin energy, the center of the plate suddenly tilted, and the yin-yang fish on the plate seemed to come alive, thrashing about wildly and emitting a very faint tremor.
She held on tightly with both hands, but the plate only felt heavier and heavier, as if she were holding a cold coffin stone, pressing down on her wrists, shoulders, and...
My chest started to hurt.
"The plate is about to flip!"
Her voice trembled, and her face was deathly pale.
Zhou Heng gritted his teeth and tried to help him up, but his long sword was still stuck in the crack in the stone. Xi Ying had already circled around the sword's spine, like a black hand gripping the iron handle.
As soon as he exerted force, his wrist went numb from the shock, and his entire arm felt like its bones had been removed; he couldn't even lift it.
"I can't pull it out."
He cursed under his breath, cold sweat rolling down his forehead.
"This thing welded my sword to the earth's energy."
Xu Erxiao and Wang Chengan had retreated to the edge of the stone path, with the churning black soil and the paper hands constantly pushing upwards behind them.
Both of them had lost all color in their faces. Xu Erxiao's short blade trembled like a withered leaf in the wind, while Wang Chengan gritted his teeth, his palms sweating profusely, and he even had difficulty standing.
The altar for the spirit stands in the center of the altar, like a moving altar of the underworld.
It didn't rush to continue its attack; it simply tilted its head slightly and watched them crumble little by little.
Although there were no real eyes in those eye sockets, they were colder than real eyes, as if they could see through, pull out, and strip away the last bit of life in a person.
"You can no longer stand."
It slowly said, "If I hold on any longer, it will only allow me to watch a little longer."
Lu Yuan raised his eyes, his gaze as cold as frost forming in a crack in the rock.
He knew he couldn't continue like this.
The ritual of offering sacrifices to the spirits at the altar is no longer simply about exerting force, but rather about "sitting on the altar."
Once it has completely solidified its hold on the entire seat, it will not only suppress, but also take lives.
At that time, not only will those few people be dragged into the Yin Altar, but even this mountain path will probably be dragged into a true death trap.
But right now, there's no road left.
To the left is the lantern, to the right is the shadow surrounded by paper banners, in front is the altar for worshipping spirits, and behind is the black earth slope that was just forced back.
There is nowhere to retreat, and nowhere to advance.
Lu Yuan suddenly looked down at the magic sword in his hand.
The sword is still there, but its aura is almost gone.
It had just been devoured several times by the altar spirit, and now the golden patterns on the sword were flickering, like a lamp about to be blown out.
His throat tightened; he knew that if he fought another round, the magic sword might not be able to hold on.
If we don't fight, we can only wait to die.
"Lu Yuan————"
Song Qinghe's voice was hoarse, almost as if it were being squeezed out of her throat.
"The sealing disc can't hold on any longer—"
Before she could finish speaking, the altar spirit suddenly raised its hand and waved.
A patch of grayish-white flame shot out from the paper banner, like an inextinguishable rag, heading straight for Song Qinghe's face.
Song Qinghe instinctively raised the plate to block, but when the yin flame hit the plate, it felt as if countless fine needles were piercing her wrist at the same time.
She screamed, the sealing disc slipped half an inch from her hand, and she was jolted back three steps, her back slamming heavily against the stone wall.
"Junior Sister!"
Lin Zhaoxuan's eyes were bloodshot, and he tried to step forward but was entangled by the black mist beneath his feet.
The black mist, like a live rope, crept up the cuffs of the trousers, cold as ice and sticky as oil.
Lin Zhaoxuan tried to pull him away, but was instead dragged and stumbled, falling to his knees.
Just as he was about to urge the order again, the altar's spirit eye suddenly contracted.
"Thump."
The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like it had struck Lin Zhaoxuan directly in the chest.
He froze instantly, then spat out a mouthful of blood, and the Thunder Token slipped from his hand, crashing heavily onto the stone.
The crack on the surface widened further, and the thunderous intent completely went haywire.
"Your little bit of mine isn't even enough to light the way."
The spirit of the altar said indifferently.
As it spoke, it flicked its finger.
Suddenly, two thin cracks appeared in the black soil beneath the ground, and several paper hands silently reached out from the cracks, as if grabbing a piece of living flesh, and climbed onto Lin Zhaoxuan and Zhou Heng's ankles respectively.
As soon as the paper hands were wrapped around them, the two of them felt a hundred times heavier under their feet, as if they were being dragged to the bottom of a coffin.
Zhou Heng roared, but unable to draw his sword, he simply drew a short knife from his waist and chopped it hard at the paper hand.
The blade fell, but only managed to slice off a corner of the paper.
The paper hand didn't untangle; instead, it wrapped around the body tighter and tighter, like a damp, cold shroud.
Zhou Heng felt a chill on his calves. Looking down, he saw black energy creeping up the edge of his cloth shoes, making his scalp tingle.
"This is using our feet to get into position."
He gritted his teeth and said in a deep voice.
"It's making it impossible for us to even retreat."
Lu Yuan's heart sank upon hearing this.
That's right.
The spirits at the altar don't just attack; with every step they retreat, they gain an inch more ground.
Every struggle is just paving the way for the other side.
Now it has completely taken over the middle section of the stone path, and if it were to push it down any further, everyone would be forced into the darkest part of the path.
Just then, Lu Yuan suddenly sensed something was wrong.
It wasn't that the pressure outside was heavier, but rather that his own magic sword suddenly felt lighter for a moment.
That lightness wasn't a feeling of letting go, but rather like something slowly drawing away the last bit of true essence from the sword.
He suddenly looked down, his heart pounding.
The gold patterns on the sword's spine had somehow been forced into a thin black mark by the yin energy of the altar's spirit. The black mark resembled a living worm, crawling upwards along the sword's edge.
With each inch the sword energy climbed, it weakened by a fraction.
"It's gnawing at the sword intent!"
Lu Yuan spoke sternly.
But as soon as he said this, the altar spirit seemed to hear him, and with a slight turn of its eye, it let out a very low laugh.
"You only realized it now?"
"It's too late."
The next instant, it took a step forward.
As the foot landed, all the shadows on the stone path suddenly shrank, as if twisted into a single bundle by an unseen hand.
Lu Yuan felt as if someone had squeezed his chest hard from the inside, his breath caught in his throat, and his right knee buckled, almost causing him to kneel down.
Zhou Heng, Lin Zhaoxuan, and Song Qinghe all let out muffled groans almost simultaneously, clearly shaken quite by the impact.
The altar spirit gave them no chance to catch their breath, slowly raising its arms, the shadows of the mats hanging down like a waterfall from its sleeves.
The shadow didn't just cover down, it "pressed" down.
Like a dark mountain looming over us, the air along the entire stone path felt suffocating, blurring our vision and leaving only a low, buzzing sound in our ears.
Lu Yuan forced himself to look up and saw that all the white faces on the paper banners on both sides of the stone path were turning towards them.
His lips curled into a slight smile, as if he were waiting to see how they would be forced into the seats.
"Enter the table."
The spirit of the altar uttered those two words again.
This time, there was no trace of playfulness in his voice, only utter coldness and wolfishness.
It gently pressed down with its right hand.
The black soil beneath their feet suddenly seemed to come alive and began to rise.
The exposed white salt, withered grass, gravel, and bloodstains were all rolled inside, causing the stone path to sink by an inch.
Lu Yuan missed a step and lurched forward, his magic sword almost flying out of his hand.
If he hadn't gripped the sword hilt with all his might with his right hand, he probably would have lost even his last weapon.
"Lu Yuan!"
Song Qinghe's voice changed from shouting.
"I can't back out!"
Lu Yuan gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot.
He knew, of course, that he couldn't back out.
The altar was surrounded by paper shadows, with a dark mat overhead and turned black soil underfoot. The spirit of the altar stood on the very center of the altar, which was almost as if the stone path had become its lungs.
The people are not fighting against it now, but being ground down by it bit by bit.
Lin Zhaoxuan propped himself up on one side, staring intently at the altar spirit, his voice hoarse.
"Lu Yuan—it's trying to crush us to death in this jar."
Lu Yuan did not answer.
He simply raised his head slowly and looked at that face that had almost no eyes.
Then, he clearly saw something slowly wriggling deep within the blood-red crack on the altar spirit's forehead.
Like a lump of black meat being roasted over a fire, or like a living well, slowly opening up.
It's going to really eat people.
They had almost lost even the last bit of will to resist.
Just as Lu Yuan was being pressed down by that dark, oppressive force, almost to the point of kneeling in the black soil, he suddenly raised his head.
His face was frighteningly pale, blood was still hanging from the corner of his mouth, and his right arm was so numb that he could barely lift it.
But just before the dark, heavy eye of the altar spirit was about to completely press down, his eyes suddenly lit up as if by something.
That wasn't the madness of someone on a dead end.
It's a coldness that seeps into your very bones.
"You want to eat the magic sword?"
Lu Yuan spoke in a low voice, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against wood.
"Then let me show you what a real weapon is."
He suddenly reached his left hand into his sleeve.
The next instant, a cold light seemed to emerge from his palm, forcing the surrounding black energy to retreat half an inch.
It was a sword.
It was not an ordinary longsword, nor a wooden ritual implement displayed in a Taoist temple, but a truly ancient sword that had seen blood, thunder, and the passage of time.
The sword is three feet and seven inches long, with a narrow and straight blade and seven dark, star-like rivets embedded in its spine.
The sword guard is simple and unadorned, while the scabbard is made of old black sharkskin with copper trim, and the scabbard opening is engraved with very shallow Bagua patterns, which have long been dulled by the passage of time.
Even before the sword was drawn, an extremely cold, metallic aura emanated from it.
Like old ice buried under a snow crust in the depths of winter, or like the lingering chill of the wilderness beyond the Great Wall.
The moment the sword appeared, even the spirit of the altar paused slightly.
Lin Zhaoxuan looked up blankly, his lips pale.
"This—this is no ordinary magical artifact—"
Zhou Heng ignored the pain in his chest and stared intently at the sword.
"The family heirloom has been brought out?"
Lu Yuan did not answer, but simply tapped the sword with his thumb.
"Zheng—"
The sword is drawn three inches, its cold light preceding it.
The light wasn't bright, it was cold, as cold as moonlight falling on a frozen river, instantly turning the surrounding shadows white.
The seven rivets on the sword shone brightly one by one in the black mist, as if they had been asleep for many years and were only truly awakening tonight.
"This sword is named One."
Lu Yuan spoke slowly and deliberately, raising his eyes to look at the altar and the spirit, his eyes showing no sign of retreat.
"The Seven Stars Guarding the Pass"
"It was originally a treasure sword kept in an abandoned Taoist temple in Laosongling outside Fengtian City."
"In its early years, the Taoist temple suppressed the evil spirits caused by war outside the pass. Later, the temple collapsed, the incense offerings ceased, and only this sword remained buried under the beam."
"The spine of the sword is inlaid with seven nails from the Big Dipper. The year it was sharpened, it coincided with the first autumn thunder outside the pass."
"The old Taoist priest said that it is not for display to the living, but for finishing off things that cannot be suppressed."
As he said this, he flipped his wrist, and the swords were finally fully drawn.
In an instant, the yin energy along the entire stone path seemed to be pricked by a needle, and suddenly receded.
The paper hand inside the lantern stiffened, and the gray flame of the wick began to waver slightly for the first time.
The black aura in the altar spirit's eye sockets noticeably deepened.
"A real weapon?"
It slowly uttered two words, and its tone finally revealed a hint of genuine apprehension.
"How do you have something like this?"
Lu Yuan merely sneered and did not reply.
I have plenty of these kinds of things!
The reason he didn't bring it up earlier was because the situation hadn't reached a critical point yet; Lu Yuan felt he could still turn the tide on his own.
After all, Lu Yuan didn't want to rely entirely on magical artifacts, but now—he had no choice but to use them.
He raised his hand and held the sword horizontally in front of his chest, then stomped his right foot on the ground, as if he had suddenly gained a breath.
The true yang that had been almost completely suppressed was drawn back up from the dantian by the Seven Stars of the Gate.
The sword is an old sword, and the technique is not a new technique.
But what old objects fear most is never rust, but slumber.
Once awakened, it is even more ruthless than the newly forged one.
Lu Yuan's eyes sharpened, and he whispered, "There are seven stars in the sky and seven evil spirits on earth."
"Ahead lies a dark place, behind lies a dead end."
"Borrowing the light of the Big Dipper, I will sever the very root of your spirit!"
As the last word fell, he had already charged out with his sword drawn.
This sudden rush felt like a gust of cold wind being pulled out of the ground.
The altar spirit immediately raised its hand to stop him, its sleeves billowing with black energy forming a wall.
But when the Seven Star Sword of Zhenguan was thrust forward, it actually managed to cut a thin slit in the dark wall.
The opening wasn't large, but it was extremely sharp. When the sword energy passed through, even the air seemed to crack as if it had been frozen, producing a very faint, crisp sound.
A long gash was cut into the sleeve of the altar spirit, and black smoke billowed out from the crack, like a leaking paper lantern.
It took a half step back for the first time.
Lu Yuan had already stepped into that half-step.
He didn't seek fancy tricks or powerful techniques; he simply treated this old sword as a true cleaver, following the straightest path.
They launched a fierce attack on three points: the forehead, heart, and eyes of the altar, the wrists where the spirit breathes, and the base of the seat.
Each sword strike is not about being flashy, but about being ruthless, accurate, and short, like an old swordsman chopping down wolves in the snowy night, each strike cutting to the bone.
The spirit of the altar was extremely angry, and with both arms outstretched, a cold wind once again swept up the entire stone path.
However, every time the Seven Star Sword of Zhenguan collides with the Yin energy, one of the seven dark stars on the sword's spine will light up, and with each light, the black energy will be forced back a little.
The oppressive force that had been suffocating everyone was actually torn open by this old sword.
"Back off!"
"laugh"
Lu Yuan shouted without turning his head.
"Don't let its winds touch you!"
Song Qinghe and Lin Zhaoxuan almost instinctively took a half step back.
As soon as they stepped back, Lu Yuan swept his sword horizontally, slicing the three paper shadows that rushed towards them into pieces.
The moment the shredded paper hit the ground, the surging eerie flames paused briefly, as if some righteous energy had suppressed their throats.
The altar spirit stared at him darkly, the blackness in the crack on his forehead churning even more violently.
"This is not a borrowed method."
"This is the old trump card for suppressing evil spirits."
Lu Yuan's lips twitched, his expression as cold as frost on the back of a knife.
"You only recognize me now? Too late."
Having said that, he shifted his stance, and his sword suddenly became more forceful. Instead of directly attacking the altar and the spirit, he first slashed at the bottom of the lamp and then picked at the base of the paper banner.
The final sword strike aimed directly at the center of its forehead, three inches below its eye.
That sword strike was extremely steady, as steady as an old river that never bends and only flows towards the most dangerous spot.
The altar spirit was furious, and the black aura on its face was forced to rise up, like a pot of boiling yin water.
But Lu Yuan was no longer the one who was being suppressed and beaten.
Once the Seven Star Sword of Zhenguan is activated, it is as if it has brought up the frost and fire that have been buried underground for many years.
With each strike of Lu Yuan's sword, the tip of the sword would emit a tiny white glint, which, when it landed on Xi Ying, would seem to scorch through a layer of old paper.
When it lands on the black soil, it's like nailing down an inch of the yin vein.
When it landed on the altar spirit, it caused its entire body of evil spirits to twitch and retreat continuously.
The crowd watched, almost forgetting to breathe.
The situation, which had previously been so oppressive that they couldn't even lift their heads, was forcibly torn open by this old sword that suddenly appeared.
Lu Yuan stood at this intersection, his clothes stained with blood, his sword gleaming, like a living demon who had risen from a pile of corpses.
He raised his sword, his gaze as cold as frost.
"The altar is dedicated to the spirit."
"You ate too fast just now."
"Now, it's your turn to spit it out."