Chapter 83 — Ten Years

The black-clad man saw Elder Nian's hesitating look, and his manner turned cold. Suddenly he said, "Elder Nian, let me advise you: you're facing me now, so count your luck. But do you know who is in charge of the assault on Kongsang Mountain this time?"

Elder Nian gave a shudder. The black-clad man was already sneering. "You've guessed, haven't you? Quite right—it's the Vice Sect Master of our Underworld King Sect, Ming Li. If he comes, your fates will be..."

He had said but half when someone beside him gave two soft coughs. The black-clad man's face changed, as though he had thought of something, and he too went a shade pale—as if even he held a deep dread of that name.

Just then a thick reek of blood suddenly came drifting—from where, none could tell—but all at once it filled the whole vast space. Every black-clad man of the Underworld King Sect instantly went taut. The leader's face too went faintly pale, and looking closely, one could see the corner of his eye twitching slightly.

What sort of man could frighten him so?

Footsteps gradually sounded, seeming to come from the endless dark depths of this abyss, slowly walking out.

One step, one bloody print!

All the black-clad men parted suddenly like the tide, opening a passage between them.

A faint, ghostly blue light, carrying a reddish blood-glow, rippled gently in the darkness, advancing slowly.

The faces of the Blood Refining Hall people were ashen, drained of all color.

Ten years ago there had been no such figure as Ming Li in the Underworld King Sect. But word went among the sect that after the great bloody war of righteous and demon ten years before, the Underworld King Sect Master had taken in a traitor of the righteous path as though he were his own son, and had passed on to him in full the second volume of the Heavenly Book, that scripture of the Holy Church which was said to have fallen into the Underworld King Sect's hands.

And this Ming Li, apart from a progress in cultivation beyond belief, had changed in temper as heaven is from earth—so fond of killing and so bloodthirsty that even the Demonic Sect's own people were shaken to the soul.

In recent years the infighting within the Demonic Sect had grown ever more savage, and Ming Li—that plain, honest disciple of Canglan Sect—had risen starkly to become the Underworld King Sect's foremost warrior, leading its disciples in slaughter near and far and wiping out countless houses. The "Soul-Devouring Rod" in his hand (a name coined privately by the Demonic Sect's own people) had drained the blood of who knew how many, and with the Underworld King's special favor he had soon become a man second only to one and above ten thousand in the Underworld King Sect.

And this man, ten years ago, these people of the Blood Refining Hall had all seen.

Among the crowd, the Daoist Wild Wolf looked toward him—that man slowly emerging from the darkness, bearing so thick a reek of blood it seemed to seep out from deep within his body.

Countless people stood in that place, yet not a whisper of sound.

His features were as they had been that year, unchanged; the look of his brows and eyes was vivid before them all. Only Wild Dog's heart had begun to pound, pound without cease, as though what stood before him were no man at all, but a ferocious, rabid beast.

"You..."

He slowly said his first words, his voice level yet carrying a ghostly, harsh edge, echoing in that place: "Will you submit, or not?"

Countless men stood behind him, yet none drew near him.

The Blood Refining Hall people looked at one another. Elder Nian's sweat poured down; he did not even feel the wounds on his body. But just then a strange cry suddenly rang out in the hall: "Go to hell!"

Everyone paled. In that instant, on the ground beside Ming Li, a blade-flash suddenly burst up and thrust at his belly. The assassin's hair was unbound and disheveled, his look wild and vacant, and both his feet had been hacked off—blood gushing like a fountain.

By the look of him, this seemed to be a disciple of the Blood Refining Hall, gravely wounded, who in his terror and agony had at last lost his reason, and with mad shrieking lunged at Ming Li. But a moment later, a dark blue light mingled with bloody red streamed from Ming Li's right hand and enveloped the man.

The reek of blood in the air grew heavier.

The withered body toppled limply to one side. The faces of the Blood Refining Hall people went paler still; some of the young disciples began to tremble. But in Ming Li's eyes a faint red glow gradually rose, and once more he said slowly, "You—will you submit, or not?"

And the ugly black Soul-Devouring Rod in his hand (a dark iron cudgel...) slowly began to shine.

Behind him, all the men in black seemed to draw a single breath, and at once stepped forward as one.

An incomparable, monstrous aura came surging over them like a flood from heaven and earth, drowning every last soul of the Blood Refining Hall.

Suddenly a shout burst from among the Blood Refining Hall's people: "No—no, I, I, I surrender!"

On the heels of that voice, a young disciple came running out, left the ranks of the Blood Refining Hall, and dashed over to the side of the Nether King Sect—though by instinct he kept himself far from where Mingli stood.

Once that first crack had opened, the reaction came at once; the people of the Blood Refining Hall looked at one another, and from time to time someone stepped forward. Elder Nian gave a long sigh, knowing that in the end the tide had turned against them, and said with a bitter laugh, "Enough. Enough!"

With that he stepped out from the crowd, the others following at his back, and walked slowly up before Mingli. From his breast he drew a black iron token the size of a palm, graven with a black heart. He held it out to Mingli with both hands and said with a bitter laugh, "This is the Blood Refining Hall's Black Heart Token. Eight hundred years of the Blood Refining Hall's foundation—as of today, it is finished..."

"Nonsense!"

At that very moment a great shout rang out, though the voice carried a faint tremor of dread, and it came from behind them. Everyone started and turned to look—and there, before the great boulder, a man still stood who had not gone forward with the rest.

Daoist Wild Wolf!

Daoist Wild Wolf glared at Elder Nian, breathing heavily, but his voice came out loud: "Elder—when you first brought me into the Blood Refining Hall, we swore a solemn oath together before the image of Patriarch Black Heart, that we would hold to it all our lives without swerving. How—how can you do this?"

A flicker of shame crossed Elder Nian's face; he lowered his head and said in a low voice, "Wild Dog, circumstances are stronger than men. Don't go looking for your own death—come over here, quickly!"

Under the gaze of countless eyes—and above all those eyes ahead, faintly shedding a terrible red light, that pierced him to the heart like needles—every hair on Daoist Wild Wolf's body stood on end; even his feet trembled uncontrollably, so great was his fear.

Yet in the midst of that trembling he slowly shook his head: "No, Elder, no. Whatever you ask of me, I will do—but to betray the Blood Refining Hall, no. That I cannot do!"

Facing forward, his eyes blank and hollow as though everything had crumbled to nothing, he said softly, "Since I was small I looked like a freak; everyone spurned me, and even my own parents cast me off. I was raised by wild dogs and knew every kind of torment and humiliation. Only after I entered the Blood Refining Hall did it fall to me to bully others, to hold my head high. So I swore a great oath before the Patriarch—that in this life I would follow the Blood Refining Hall, and die without regret..."