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Chapter 979 - 951 The Gate of the Demon

Chapter 979: Chapter 951 The Gate of the Demon

The scorching wind gently swayed the tattered cloth hanging by the door.

This was a desolate land.

Due to excessive development, the surroundings had been reduced to a sea of golden sand, leaving only this stubbornly surviving village on the brink of disappearing into the desert.

But it wouldn’t be long before it, too, completely vanished.

Nevertheless, the dilapidated village was now teeming with people.

"A world of demons—it sounds fascinating!"

"But the spots are rather limited. Mr. Charlie, do you plan to participate as well? This is a true life-and-death showdown, you know!"

"Monte, do you really lack confidence in my skills?"

"Of course not." A flash of cold light streaked past, leaving a thin crimson line across Charlie’s throat. His incredulous gaze froze before he slowly collapsed.

"I’m simply not confident in your intelligence."

"Thunk!"

The door closed, and an elderly man with silver hair and a pronounced nose turned his gaze toward the young man inside the room.

"Have you truly decided?"

The young man slowly raised his head, his eyes as still and lifeless as a dead lake, devoid of any ripple or emotion. "It isn’t my decision; this is my destiny."

The old man scratched his sparse hair, showing helplessness. "The fools outside may not know, but I do. The participants this time aren’t limited to ordinary idiots. It’s said that monsters from the Dark World will be present—some of them even being legendary figures, like werewolves of the Silver Wolf Bloodline and the Vampire Duke himself!"

"You’re still young; there’s truly no need to rush into this."

A rare touch of warmth flashed in the young man’s eyes. "Uncle Matt, thank you."

Hearing the young man’s words, the old man shook his head in resignation. He knew the youth’s decision was final, and no amount of persuasion would change his mind.

"Uncle Matt, I’ve said it before: this is my destiny. It isn’t up to me. That place—I have to go."

The youth stood up, his hand brushing the hilt at his waist as he murmured, "In truth, I haven’t belonged to this world for some time now. That place is my only home."

He looked down at his black windcoat—the favorite color of a certain individual. At some unknown point, he too had been influenced, gradually growing fond of this shade.

Black coat, black trousers, black sword.

In the Dark World, he was called the Dark Sword Demon, and now, he was about to embark on a journey toward the true Demon World.

Ning Wangyang slowly walked to the window, his eyes sweeping methodically across the figures on the streets nearby.

Everyone who came here was a scoundrel of the Dark World—some driven purely by their love of slaughter and chaos, while others had reached a dead end in life, leaving them with no other option.

He, too, was a man with no other path to walk.

"You’re still young; you don’t need to compete with those worn-out, dying old folks! Besides, whether the so-called Demon World even exists remains uncertain. If you truly do go there, will it really be better than the world you have now?" Matt tried to make one last appeal.

Ning Wangyang smiled faintly at his words. "I don’t know if that world is better than this one. But I am certain of one thing—it exists."

As he spoke, Ning Wangyang’s hand rested upon his chest.

There, a sinister, menacing black beast-head pattern was imprinted. Whenever the magic pattern emerged, it spread across his entire body; once the battle was over, it receded, leaving behind this indelible mark.

He didn’t know what the mark meant, but he understood one thing: he no longer had a choice.

"Death—or departure." The beast-head magic pattern had given him this ultimatum.

Looking down at the long sword hanging at his waist—the weapon that had been with him for countless years, transforming from gleaming silver to pitch-black—Ning Wangyang’s lips curved into a barely perceptible smile.

"Old friend, it seems you’ll be the only one accompanying me to the very end."

"Uncle Matt, this place isn’t safe. Please leave. Thank you for your care these past days." Ning Wangyang spoke softly from the doorway.

Then, pulling open the door, he walked calmly toward the village exit.

Everyone in the Dark World had their connections, and he was no exception; it was Matt who had used special channels to send him here. Matt had been his sole contact during his time as an assassin.

That Matt, renowned for prioritizing safety above all else, had personally escorted Ning Wangyang here surprised even him.

"Good luck." Watching Ning Wangyang’s retreating figure, Matt seemed lost in his own thoughts and let out a faint sigh.

"Kid, are you the so-called Dark Sword Demon who’s been causing such a stir lately?" A man with an incredibly exaggerated physique suddenly blocked Ning Wangyang’s path. Looking down at him, the man sneered menacingly.

"My name is Levifridge; I’ve inherited the Arctic Bearman Gene..."

"Shh—"

A flash of sword light streaked past. Ning Wangyang slowly sheathed his long sword and walked around the man, continuing toward the village exit.

After several steps, Levifridge’s face stiffened as he clutched his chest in astonishment.

An elongated red line stretched across his chest from left to right.

Levifridge desperately pressed the skin around the wound, but no matter how he applied pressure, he couldn’t stop the blood from seeping out.

"Thud!!"

A column of blood erupted, spraying violently as his heart—cleanly severed in half—collapsed within his chest cavity. Blood spattered onto everyone nearby.

Yet Ning Wangyang’s blade hadn’t cleaved Levifridge’s body in two; there was something perversely terrifying about leaving him intact, his condition making onlookers shudder even more.

Around Levifridge’s lifeless body, many stared in horror at the black-clad figure walking away, none daring to utter a single word.

They seemed to grasp that this so-called opening of the Demon World wasn’t going to be as simple as they had imagined.

This time, it might truly become a battlefield—a true Asura Field.

Having slain a man, Ning Wangyang’s expression remained utterly unchanged. And because Levifridge’s body wasn’t cleaved in half, not a trace of blood had touched him as he walked away, unsoiled.

Serene as a man on a stroll, step by step, Ning Wangyang approached the exit.

He was a swordsman, devoted to the sword in life and love.

But ever since meeting a certain man, he had been exposed to things beyond the sword—things he had never known.

Friendship, family, and...

A stern, commanding, radiant face flashed briefly in his mind—a face chastising the generals of the Palace of the Nether King. Ning Wangyang shook his head slowly and stepped into the barren desert as if crossing into another world.

"Meeting you all was worth it."