Infinite Fire Record

Chapter 21: Emptying The Pavilion of Sutras

The man who had raised his sword had a vacant gaze, his lips trembling as he whimpered incoherently. In the end, his body slowly collapsed to the ground, and a thin trail of blood trickled from his throat.

At that moment, a flicker of excitement stirred within Yutian’s cold gaze—silent, yet unmistakable.

“After all these years without taking a life, I have finally killed again. This feeling of joy has returned. It seems that today, I must kill more. I will vent the hatred I have suppressed for so long.” As the words fell, Yutian stepped forward, his blade slicing horizontally through the firelit air.

The sword light converged into a single point, its sharpness absolute and unstoppable.

“Stabbing—!”

The blade cut through flesh. Another fell, their gaze filled with unwillingness, their face frozen in shock. A thin red line marked their throat, a silent testament to injustice.

The corner of Yutian’s mouth curled into a cold smile. “These people are not even satisfying to kill. However, anyone who dares to stand in my way today will die.”

In his previous life, Yutian had been ruthless. Possessing the ‘Devouring Ability,’ he had absorbed the Fire Ability and cultivated it to the realm of the Yan Emperor, even though it was never meant to be his. On this path, he had slaughtered countless people and devoured their abilities without hesitation.

For that reason, while he could not be considered purely evil, neither could he be called merciful.

Now, he swung his sword once more. A crimson light flickered along the blade, and when it vanished, another life had been extinguished.

With an ice-cold gaze, Yutian turned his attention to the towering bookshelf before him. A hint of amusement tugged at his lips.

With a wave of his hand, the Daoist scriptures vanished before his eyes. On his right hand, an ink-black ring pulsed with energy—

The Dragon Devouring Ring.

Once belonging to the ancient medicine master, this ring was now his.

In the Divine Eagle World, spatial rings were a rarity.

The Pavilion of Sutras held an immense collection of Daoist scriptures, none of which were martial arts techniques. However, Huang Shang had once comprehended the ‘Nine Yin True Sutra’ after immersing himself in three thousand Daoist texts. It was proof that within these scrolls lay the principles of heaven and earth.

This was the advantage of the martial arts world. The most gifted could comprehend peerless techniques from mere Daoist philosophy. But if these scriptures were taken into the world of Dou Shu, it would change everything. Perhaps some genius would one day derive a Heavenly Ranking Technique from these texts.

For that reason, Yutian did not hesitate. He stored the entire collection in the Dragon Devouring Ring. After all, the ring had ample space.

Not long after, he had ascended to the top floor of the Pavilion of Sutras. The flames around him had grown fiercer, yet they recoiled from him as if fearing a predator. The supreme fire—the Bone Spirit Cold Flame—radiated from his body, rendering him impervious to the blaze.

The Pavilion had three floors. The first contained ordinary Daoist scriptures, the second housed precious texts, and the third held works written by Daoist masters, alongside the martial techniques of the Quanzhen Sect.

By the time Yutian reached the third floor, the first two had already been emptied by his hand.

His cold gaze swept across the chamber.

Only a single bookshelf remained, lined with sparse yet invaluable tomes:

Light Skill: 《Golden Goose Skill》

Sword Techniques: 《Quanzhen Sword Technique》, 《Yi Qi Hua San Qing》, 《Cang Lan Sword》, 《Determined Yang Needle》, 《Tong Gui Sword》

Palm Techniques: 《Hao Tian Palm》, 《Three Flowers Gathering Palm》

Internal Martial Arts: 《Quanzhen Great Dao Song》, 《Quanzhen Heart Technique》

A smirk formed at the corner of his mouth. “All the martial arts of the Quanzhen Sect—except for the worthless ‘Heavenly Kung Fu’—are here.”

As he spoke, the Dragon Devouring Ring pulsed with dark light, and in an instant, the entire bookshelf was empty.

Not only the martial arts manuals but also the remaining Daoist scriptures had vanished into the void.

Surveying the now barren chamber, Yutian waved his sleeve.

A surge of fiery red energy burst from his right hand, fusing with the surrounding flames.

“Whoosh—!”

A gale rose, and the inferno roared.

The Blowing Fire Palm was a technique meant to fan flames, to amplify them. Now, wielded by Yutian, it melded perfectly with his destructive intent.

The blaze surged wildly.

Through the flames, Yutian strode toward the pavilion’s lower levels.

Outside the building, a dozen Quanzhen disciples struggled desperately to douse the fire.

“How can this be? We have done everything to suppress the flames, but they only grow stronger! What sorcery is this? Could it be the work of ghosts or demons?” one of them cried out.

Their confusion turned to dread when a trembling voice gasped, “Senior brother… there are ghosts.”

A dozen heads turned toward the flames—and terror gripped them all.

A black-haired youth, clad in pristine white, walked unscathed through the inferno.

His sharp brows framed icy eyes, and between them, a silver flame burned ever so slowly, like the brand of a god of fire.

A disciple shuddered. “Senior brothers… what should we do?”

Yutian’s cold smile widened as his gaze darkened. Killing intent flared in his eyes. “Interesting. I enjoy watching fear consume others. I delight in seeing them tremble.”

His footwork shifted, weaving through the flickering flames in patterns akin to the Five Elements and the Eight Trigrams. He stopped, then raised his hand.

In an instant, the fire surged, twisting into a great, blazing sphere. The fireball detonated violently, scattering into a thousand burning petals.

The embers swirled, forming crimson blossoms—peach blossoms, burning with ethereal beauty.

Yet the most beautiful flowers hid the deadliest thorns.

Yutian’s expression remained devoid of emotion as he uttered coldly, “Die.”

At his command, the fiery petals burst forth, enveloping the Quanzhen disciples.

As the flames parted, Yutian stepped away, heading toward the rear mountain of the Quanzhen Sect.

Behind him, the peach blossoms had vanished, leaving behind only their victims.

The dozen disciples stood in eerie silence, their bodies still, their eyes wide with terror.

Drip—

A single drop of blood fell, followed by another, and then a dozen more, pooling like a crimson fountain.

Their robes were in tatters. Their flesh, punctured by unseen force, bled from countless wounds.

And then, one by one, they collapsed into the blood-stained earth.