However, the banner is clearly still lacking some refinement before the ritual can be successful.

He was once the Puppet Sect Leader and has read quite a number of the Thousand Crane Sect's texts, so he is proficient in various basic techniques. Although artifact refining is complex, he understands the fundamentals.

The process of "refining the banner" before him is extremely intricate, but now it's at the final step.

He glanced around, pondering on what to do next.

Soon, he understood: he needed some Crimson Palace souls.

Sikong Seal saw him fall silent, thinking his words had an effect, quickly said, "Senior, those six mortals are currently in the formation..."

Before he could finish speaking, Song Yan waved his hand, and a crimson hand suddenly reached across the void.

This time, the target was Sikong Seal!

Sikong Seal swiftly flashed down to the defense shield below, thinking to himself: 'Within the defense shield are several Thousand Crane Sect cultivators, and those six mortals that the Purple Mansion elder cares about, perhaps... the opponent will slightly restrain his attack, right?

Although I used mortals to threaten the Purple Mansion elder, there was no other choice.'

However, the crimson hand showed no sign of slowing down.

Its momentum was fierce, and while it grasped Sikong Seal, its back also brushed against the defense shield.

The surface of the shield cracked with long fissures.

Fang Qingmeng, the white-haired elder, and others were spitting blood, faces red, but forcefully endured, hurriedly attempting to repair.

Outside the cave, the formed Myriad Souls Banner evil soul instantly surged inwards.

A dozen or so Thousand Crane Sect cultivators near the fissure were struck by the soul attack, clutching their heads in agony. Soon, their divine souls were shattered, dragged outside by the attacking evil souls, becoming muddled.

Fortunately, the defense shield was repaired in time.

Above, Song Yan seemed oblivious to the events, merely clutching Sikong Seal.

Sikong Seal was shocked, struggling, attempted to speak again.

But as his lips moved...

Bang!!

This cultivator, who had schemed for so long, planning to become the uncrowned king of the Great Chu Southern Land, had his body crushed!

His Crimson Palace divine soul was pulled by a powerful soul-soaking force, rushing towards the black banner.

At this moment, he finally understood one thing: which elder would fear threats? Which elder truly cares about mortals? Which elder would bother wasting words with you? All along, he was playing his little game alone; the elder didn't even listen.

At this moment, the person he hated the most wasn't Song Yan, but Fang Qingxue.

In his heart, he roared: 'You deceitful woman, if it weren't for you fooling me, how could I truly believe that those six mortals were related to the Purple Mansion elder and use them as shields at the last moment?!'

His divine soul violently trembled upon touching the black banner, electric shock-like intense pain surged, filled with endless rage, lost all reason, memories blurred, his soul ferocious, desiring to tear apart every life he saw.

The last scene he witnessed was Profound Robe floating above the blood smoke, overlooking the rolling black smoke in the city, expression cold, gaze greedy, as he pulled a coffin from the void, carefully placing his body inside, like he was storing a piece of quality material.

Afterwards, the elder let out a fierce laugh, swooping down from the sky...

Below, Bi Chuanfei, engrossed in his refinement, along with the two Sect Leaders of the Demon Sect, seeing the soar like frightened chicks beneath an eagle, jumped up in terror, scattered in frantic escape, and the sect disciples involved in aiding the ritual were so terrified they couldn't move.

Bi Chuanfei, take off.

A large hand crushed, death!

Body placed in coffin, flown into storage bag.

The Sect Leader of the Blood Corpse Sect, fused into the black smoke.

A large hand slapped, death!

Body placed in coffin, flown into storage bag.

The robust man in Skeleton Armor used some kind of treasure, evil qi swirling around, countless skin-and-bone ghosts began flying chaotically, blocking the view.

A large hand reached in, grabbed, lifted the man like pinching an ant.

The man screamed miserably, shouting, "Senior spare me, spare me."

Song Yan looked at the evil qi around him and asked, "Which sect are you from?"

"Ghost... Ghost Slaughter Sect."

"What position?"

"Sect Leader."

"Ghost Slaughter..." Song Yan showed a thoughtful expression, then glanced at the banner, sensed briefly.

With the three Crimson Palace souls inside, the banner was satisfied, any more wouldn't make a fundamental change.

He thought for a moment and said, "A ghost cultivator, hmm?"

"Yes yes yes... Little Crow is a ghost cultivator."

"I am fate with my station." Song Yan showed a gentle smile, then kindly said, "Don't be afraid, I am also a ghost cultivator."

The robust man in Skeleton Armor showed a face full of joy, trembling with delight, "Ancestor, Little Crow finally found the ancestor. With the ancestor here, the sky is bright! With the ancestor here, our ghost cultivator lineage can finally be peaceful and strong!"

The ghost cultivator named Little Crow wept with emotion, unsure if it was out of fear, pretense, or joy.

Song Yan landed from mid-air, dusting off Little Crow's armor, tidying his collar, kindly smiling, "Boy, don't be afraid, I am not a murderous person."

"Yes... Yes, ancestor!" Little Crow's voice trembled, hastily followed respectfully behind Song Yan.

Tang Fan watched in awe at this scene, then revealed an expression of realization.

This elder just came to snatch the treasure.

Song Yan's eyes moved slightly, looking at the defense shield on the other side, meeting the gaze of Fang Qingmeng at the lead, casually said, "Begone."

Fang Qingmeng and others quickly withdrew the defense shield then swiftly retreated.

From beginning to end, Song Yan stood with his head high, eyes filled with cunning and indifference, never glancing at Shuang Yun, Li Huai, or Xiao Huan, not even once.

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