Chapter 311 — The Eerie Corridor

At first glance nothing could be read in them, but let the mind sink into them ever so slightly, and at once the myriad mysteries of the world came crowding in, intoxicating, entrancing.

"It has the same subtle excellence as the Dao Sect's Dao Sword Stone Wall!"

Shen Mu and Ban Gongcuo could not help but marvel. The divine-ability and divine-weapon imprints left here were nothing less than a vast treasury of cultivation arts. Though not the equal of the Dao Sect's Fourteen Chapters of the Dao Sword, if one could comprehend every mystery hidden in the imprints along this corridor, the arts and divine abilities gained would surely be enough to found a holy land!

Both were greatly tempted, yet both were forced to pull back their attention. The enemy was at their side; if they sank into comprehension, the villain beside them would seize the chance to finish them off.

Much as each longed to do away with the mortal foe at his side and claim this place alone, the imprints on the walls were unstable. One careless touch, and the power stored within would erupt—enough to kill them a thousand times over!

The old man in the painting was still leading the way ahead. The corridor ran deep and seemed to have no end. Judging by the path they had taken, they had long since left the ship behind—yet still the corridor had no end.

This was a far deeper art of spatial alignment: space twisted by vast power, folded or stretched out, rather than expanded by taotie hide and bone.

Such a narrow corridor, and so many imprints of divine abilities and divine weapons upon its walls—one could well imagine how ferocious the fighting had been. But the crucial thing was this: when those powers clashed here sixteen years ago, their divine-ability force was gathered wholly into itself, erupting only upon striking an enemy's body; if it struck no one, not a thread of power leaked away!

That was a terrible thing.

It showed that their mastery over power had reached a pitch of the most exquisite, most delicate refinement—the least expenditure of force, the greatest harm. To achieve that was extraordinarily difficult.

Even a divine-ability user of the Six Harmonies realm, loosing a single divine ability, could sweep a radius of several zhang; but to make such a user confine the harm to the space of a palm—very few could manage that.

Yet compress a force capable of destroying several zhang down to the size of a palm, and its destructive power would surely rise a hundredfold!

And if a god compressed his divine ability to that degree, how dreadful would his destructive power be?

Shen Mu's and Ban Gongcuo's eyes both lit up, and at once they grasped the strength of it. If two men were of equal cultivation and equal divine ability, but one of them could compress his ability's power to that degree, then in a clash the opponent would be struck down in a single blow!

And with no force leaking away, the drain on one's power would be the least, letting one fight at full strength far longer.

Yet neither of their own arts and abilities contained such fine and delicate control. To bring a divine ability to such minuteness required the very highest attainments in the arts of calculation.

The Dao Sect had attained the very highest mastery in the arts of calculation, yet even the Dao Sect seemed unable to do this—otherwise it would long ago have stood unrivalled beneath heaven.

"Only one who has mastered divine calculation could control power to such a degree, I suppose?"

Suddenly a light wind swept down the corridor. Shen Mu and Ban Gongcuo each gave a muffled grunt, their bones crackling. It was not the wind crushing their flesh, but the breath of a god carried on it, pressing on them until they could scarcely draw air.

Shen Mu at once became a black shadow that merged into the wall and traveled along its surface. Seeing this, Ban Gongcuo privately called him clever and hastily became shadow and merged into the wall as well. The two carefully avoided the imprints on the wall, and they had not gone far before they saw the source of the god's breath.

It was a divine corpse—the body of a god. His skull was burst open; half his body had turned to stone, and half was still flesh. He had not yet had time to petrify fully before the enemy killed him.

The savagery of the fighting in this corridor exceeded their expectations.

They traveled along the wall surface, keeping pace with the old man in the painting, and after another few dozen zhang came upon a second divine corpse, then a third, a fourth...

Shen Mu and Ban Gongcuo, hearts pounding, walked on in fear and trembling—until at last they came to the end of the corridor, where a doorway stood.

The doorway suddenly opened of itself, creaking and groaning.

Shen Mu hesitated, then stepped down from the wall and passed into the doorway.

Ban Gongcuo hung back half a step, meaning to let Shen Mu go first and test whether danger lurked within. When Shen Mu went in and seemed to meet with none, he too came down from the wall. He was just about to step through when the door, with a creak, shut fast and left him outside.

Ban Gongcuo flung himself at the door, but he could not budge it however he tried. Only then did it occur to him that he should pull it open instead; the door opened at a pull, and he hastily forced his way in. He looked up, and his heart turned to ice; cold sweat poured down his brow.

Beyond lay a dark world of the underworld; far off, motes of light drifted to and fro in the air like stars in the heavens.

He was standing now on the deck of the treasure ship, and Shen Mu and the old man in the painting had both vanished!

Plainly, once that doorway had closed and opened again, the art of spatial alignment had shifted the space—it was no longer the room Shen Mu had entered!

"Damn it!"

Enraged, Ban Gongcuo turned and opened the door. Beyond it was no longer that eerie corridor, but a new room.