Chapter 252 — The Loss of Heart
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 6
And that one look stopped him dead in his tracks. For in the deepest recess of that blood-crimson sphere, a faint white radiance had suddenly kindled—utterly unlike the savage, ferocious red glare around it. And scarce a moment after that white light appeared, the all-conquering, invincible monster of a red sphere began to change as well, like a bladder swollen to bursting that is suddenly pricked from within: in an instant it deflated, its red radiance dimming at breakneck speed. The red tentacles that filled the sky stiffened and hung motionless for a moment; the greater part dissolved into red mist, and a lesser part recoiled and shrank back. And the crimson blood sphere, which had been fully ten zhang across, shrank swiftly as well.
The red glare in midair churned madly, brimming with frenzy yet powerless; even at that distance Ming Li could faintly sense the crazed, grinding, venomous fury within it.
This sudden transformation was dizzying, stupefying to behold. But as the red glare in the sky gradually weakened, beneath Ming Li's fixed and unblinking gaze there was revealed at last, in the deepest heart of the blood-red sphere, a mass of uncanny red cloud. There the sanguine glare was darkest; from afar it looked so thick and vivid it seemed ready to drip blood. And it was precisely from the inmost heart wrapped in that red cloud that the white radiance—the light that had turned the world on its head—was shooting forth. Frail and delicate though it seemed beside the raging sanguine vapors, it showed no sign of faltering; on the contrary, all around that white light—like a dagger of radiance—the sanguine glare slowly paled and little by little dispersed.
Ming Li was startled to realize, too, that the earthquake that had shaken the ground beneath his feet and the stone walls of the vast cavern—that violent trembling—was now gradually subsiding. Only the stench of blood in the air remained as thick as ever, perhaps because of the sheer volume of blood in the pool at his feet.
The mass of sanguine vapor in midair was still steadily receding. Red glare kept streaking past with shrill whistling cries, as though in utter defiance yet utterly helpless. And at last, when the red cloud had scattered entirely, what lay at its heart stood revealed.
An ancient cauldron, archaic in form and breathing the hoary air of ages, its body inscribed with strange runes, and upon its face a monstrous demon visage. At the very center of that visage's brow, the white pillar of light—now dazzling, blinding-bright—was issuing forth.
The Dragon-Subduing Cauldron!
Ming Li recognized it at a glance. This ancient cauldron was the very treasure, the most prized and most mysterious of artifacts, that the Nether King had once held dearest.
Ming Li slowly turned. Drawing his gaze back from the Dragon-Subduing Cauldron suspended in midair, he looked all around him: the cavern walls on every side, long since battered and seamed with cracks; the vast blood pool at his feet, uncanny and hideous; and the four great spirit beasts imprisoned therein, listless, writhing in agony, plainly bound by some mysterious prohibition. Was all of this the Nether King's doing?
And that dreadful, uncanny power overhead, that formless monster—a thing that ought not to exist at all in this mortal world—could it be that the Nether King had summoned it too?
Conduct such as this—truly, there was no word for it but madness. Nothing else could describe it.
Xiao Hui, too, seemed to have lost its usual restless spirits after the fierce battle, and lay quietly on Ming Li's shoulder. Yet its three eyes kept gazing up at the Dragon-Subduing Cauldron in the sky, as though still shaken by that mysterious power.