The two treasure pouches were massive—far larger than ordinary storage bags—and at a glance, it was obvious they could hold an astonishing amount.
The pouch belonging to the "Crescent Thief" was embroidered with a curved moon, tied shut with a single silk thread knotted into an intricate formation.
Fang Han didn't bother studying it. With a single grasp of his left hand, the delicate knot and the embedded micro-array turned to drifting black ash. The Heaven-Shrouding Demon Hand didn't merely break seals—it obliterated them. Now fused into his own flesh, nourished by the Five-Emperor Great Demon Qi, the demonic hand grew more responsive with each passing moment.
The bag opened.
Xingyun Baobao immediately leaned in, eyes shining with curiosity—
A blast of golden light erupted from the pouch.
It condensed into an enormous golden fist that shot toward Xingyun Baobao's face, forcing the little one to shriek and jump back. The golden glow then swirled into the shape of a warrior—ten feet tall, muscles knotted like tensed ropes, skin gleaming like oiled bronze. In his hands he wielded a bizarre iron polearm, half crescent blade, half shovel, all brutality.
With a roar, the golden titan swung down at Fang Han.
The strike churned the air like a collapsing waterfall.
"A puppet?" Fang Han immediately recognized it. The towering warrior was nothing more than a construct—its true body a fist-sized golden figurine. Yet even as a puppet, the illusionary giant it projected carried tremendous force, far surpassing the mechanical monsters and iron golems of ordinary sects.
But to Fang Han?
It was nothing.
His left hand snapped upward. Fingers closed.
The giant froze, captured like an insect between the jaws of a beast.
It roared, shrinking rapidly.
Then the treasure pouch burst open again—seventeen more golden streaks shot out, materializing into seventeen additional golden warriors: long-browed, long-armed, big-footed, tall, short—each different, each radiating a strange sacred aura.
Together with the first, they formed eighteen.
In an instant, their energies locked together in a formation, encircling Fang Han.
"Impressive strength… but puppets are puppets."
Fang Han tore his left hand outward. The Heaven-Shrouding Demon Hand split their formation apart like breaking dry twigs. A vortex of demonic force dragged all eighteen golden warriors into his grasp.
Their true forms revealed: palm-sized golden statuettes exuding a sandalwood scent, heads shaved, torsos bare—unmistakably foreign, not from the mortal world at all. Twisting runes were carved into their bodies, along with craftsmanship that far surpassed ordinary puppet-making.
Yan's voice echoed from within:
"Fang Han, if I'm not mistaken, these eighteen golden puppets are also relics from the foreign Buddhist domain—just like the Great Brahma Radiant Ship. They're called the Eighteen Arhats. They devour celestial demons to grow stronger. The more they consume, the more terrifying they become."
"Good treasures," Fang Han muttered, tucking them away. "But I'll study them later. Let's see what else this thief was hiding."
With the golden puppets settled, he delved deeper into the pouch.
This time nothing leapt out.
Instead, the bag contained piles of pills—mostly Infant-Forming Pills—along with vials of Nine-Yang and Six-Yang Holy Water. There were also heaps of high-grade spirit crystals, shimmering with pure mana, perfect for restoring energy.
Useful, but not particularly exciting.
What did catch Fang Han's attention was a jade sword manual carved with dancing patterns. Tiny sword-wielding figures moved within the jade's texture—some meditating, some exhaling sword qi, others slicing phantoms apart.
"The Crescent Sword Codex."
The title characters were bold and sharp. It was a sect's treasured inheritance, containing sword-cultivator arts and techniques.
But Fang Han had no interest in swordsmanship. He had no time to branch out.
He set the manual aside and continued.
Behind the manual lay eighty-one sword sheaths, each holding a sword whose hilt bore the same crescent symbol.
And behind those—
A massive formation diagram.
Its surface was filled with thousands of radiant moons, each shining with cold, cutting light. At the bottom was a crimson seal with four characters:
Crescent Sword Array Diagram.
Fang Han whistled softly.
"A complete sword array… with all eighty-one swords and the original diagram? How much effort did it take to forge all of this?"
The Crescent Sword Array.
Its power was immense—so immense that even he couldn't easily guess the upper limits. Someday, he'd find a worthy target to test it on.
With the Crescent Thief's pouch fully examined, Fang Han turned to the next one—
The treasure pouch of the Star-Destruction Thief.