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Chapter 488: Gathering Sands Become a Towering Obstacle

A head-on collision.

No more words were needed.

The enormous spider, its body dark and glinting like steel, had cultivated for hundreds of years, far surpassing the strength of ordinary monsters. There was no doubt—it was formidable.

In the hierarchy of monsters, any creature above level forty was deemed formidable. Yet, levels alone were deceptive.

The bloodline of a monster was cloaked in mystery, carrying the lineage of fierce beasts and strange creatures of the Great Wilderness. For ordinary monsters, the limits of cultivation were predetermined, tied to the boundaries of their bloodline. Most would never advance beyond level twenty or thirty. Only those with ancient, powerful bloodlines could dream of reaching levels forty or fifty. Activating such dormant bloodlines was the only way to break through these natural caps.

Level fifty.

This was the threshold where ordinary strength transformed into overwhelming power. Below level fifty, capabilities were still finite. Beyond it, the difference was night and day—a world where a single fist could shatter the void.

But even this did not make them invincible.

While “comprehensive level” served as a reference, it ignored the mysteries—those unique, unpredictable abilities that could alter the balance of power.

Take Little Green, for example. She was not yet level thirty, yet Bi Fang’s fire could burn through most demons’ defenses. Once ignited, it could not easily be extinguished.

Combat power was not a fixed number. Strength shifted like the tides, especially in the chaos of real conflict. In the arena of life and death, there was no certainty. Hype and assumptions crumbled when faced with the reality of the battlefield.

Bai Wei stood motionless, gripping the Crouching Tiger Sword lightly at his side.

The giant spider descended.

It was Pansilk Cave Lord—a legendary figure among demons.

Its twelve eyes scanned the scene, puzzled. News of intruders had reached it, prompting the old spider to rush to its cave’s entrance. Yet, what it found was unexpected.

Rainbow Pearl, one of the demon captives pulling the carriage, let out a blood-curdling cry:

“Ancestor, save me!”

The Pansilk Cave Lord fixed its gaze on Bai Wei. Its voice boomed, “How dare you—”

Before it could finish, Bai Wei made his move.

With a single swift motion, the Crouching Tiger Sword was “sheathed.”

The sword had no scabbard, but Bai Wei made do, tucking it into his sleeve with the effortless grace of a seasoned swordsman.

Clang.

The sound reverberated through the air.

Nearby, Mu the Taoist continued pulling the cart, oblivious to the strike’s brilliance. Demon Taozhong, however, watched in awe, his eyes filled with reverence.

Dozens of translucent threads appeared in the air. These were the remnants of Bai Wei’s sword energy—a move refined through countless battles and inspiration from long-forgotten martial arts legends.

Ultimate Technique: Silk Flow.

The threads shimmered, encircling the Pansilk Cave Lord. The old spider sneered, charging forward, confident in its legendary defense.

It underestimated the sword’s power.

The threads tightened around the spider’s massive exoskeleton, embedding themselves inch by inch. Cracks began to form on its shell, faint but undeniable.

“You dare—!”

The spider roared in defiance, unleashing a surge of demonic energy. Flames erupted along the threads, clashing with Bai Wei’s Zhu Rong Fire. The heat was blinding, the ground beneath them melting into scorched earth.

The bronze mask on Bai Wei’s face cracked slightly, revealing calm, determined eyes.

With one final motion, he fully “sheathed” the sword.

Crack.

Deep fissures spread across the Pansilk Cave Lord’s body. The once-invincible exoskeleton had been pierced.

The old spider froze midair, stunned. It had never encountered a force capable of breaking its legendary armor. Fear crept in as it realized the fight was far from over—and the stakes had shifted.

Before it could retreat, the air grew heavy.

A golden-armored figure descended from the shadows, landing with a resounding thud.

It was a flying zombie, its skin gleaming like polished bronze.

From another mountain peak, a thousand-legged centipede emerged, its segmented body coiling like a grotesque staircase.

Above, the skies darkened as a silver-winged eagle soared into view, its wingspan blotting out the sun.

Three ancient demons had arrived, each exuding an aura of overwhelming power.

The Pansilk Cave Lord faltered.

“Why are you here?” it asked, its voice trembling.

The flying zombie sneered, “No grudges, no debts. But I must stop this one.”

The centipede hissed, “We all have our reasons. But the people in that carriage—”

“—belong to us,” the eagle interrupted, its voice sharp as steel.

The four ancient demons stared each other down, the tension thick enough to cut.