Благословение Небожителей. Том 6 (ЛП) - Мосян Тунсю

“I hate…”

“I hate…”

“Kill…I want to kill them!”

The white-clothed man opened his arms toward them and extended both hands. “Come to my side.” He then made this vow, saying the words slowly and clearly: “I promise the people of Yong’an shall never know peace!”

The shrieking, the howling, the snarling—it shook the ground and crashed the heavens. The souls of the dead had answered him; fallen Xianle soldiers mingled with those who had died from Human Face Disease. And in that sky choked by black mist, they took shape!

The old cultivator witnessed the whole thing from afar in terror. “This… This is…!”

In an instant, only three words appeared in his mind.

White-Clothed Calamity!

Suddenly, the white-clothed man heard a young man’s voice.

“Your Highness…”

He looked back, only to find that a black-clad young man was already standing there. And then, the young man bowed his head and bent one knee to the ground.

Chapter 102:

White-Clothed Ghost Appoints Black Warrior as General

BASED ON HIS VOICE and physique, he was determined to be a “young man.”

He was dressed in neat and orderly warrior gear, his physique tall and slender. Like new, fresh bamboo, he had an aura of the innocence of youth. Robes as black as ink, hair as black as ink, tied high. From his waist hung a saber, long and slim. He raised his head slowly, and upon his face there was a snow-white mask painted with a crescent-eyed smile.

Ball after ball of black mist took shape amidst all the hissing and wailing, which were all sucked cleanly into the array within the white-clothed man’s qiankun sleeve. It was like he took an entire river into a small jade bottle. As for the young man, he remained steady and still within the chaotic black whirlwind.

“Who were you calling?” the white-clothed man asked.

The black-clad young man was still down on one knee. The pose was one of servile submission but also of swearing an oath. “I was calling you, Your Royal Highness.”

“I’m not Your Royal Highness,” the white-clothed man said coldly.

“You are,” the black-clad young man replied. “I would never forget your voice or your form.”

The white-clothed man’s voice was now laced with anger. “I told you, I’m not him.”

The white-clothed man was naturally Xie Lian, who had donned the funeral garb and put on the cry-smiling mask. No one could recognize him with his face hidden behind the mask, and he didn’t want to be recognized. And yet, on this battlefield, a wandering black-clad warrior had identified him straightaway.

Suddenly, the white silk band wrapped inside Xie Lian’s expansive sleeve lunged like a viper at the black-clad young man. Although it looked like soft white cloth at first glance, it was savage when it attacked and its evil qi burst forth. But just as the black-clad young man was about to be wrapped and bound, he reached out and firmly caught the white silk band.

One end of the white silk band was wrapped around Xie Lian’s wrist, and the other was caught around the wrist of this black-clad young man. The silk band was gradually pulling itself taut. It was trying to break away, but the black-clad young man had a tight hold on it, like he was squeezing a venomous snake at its fatal point. Chilling qi flowed endlessly from his hand.

There was no doubt that this was a soul of the dead. And it was an extremely powerful one!

Xie Lian could tell that the strength passing through the white band was not to be underestimated. “What is your name?”

He remained silent for a moment, then the black-clad young man replied, “I do not have a name.”

Xie Lian didn’t push further. “No name would make you ‘Wuming.’”6

“You may call me whatever you desire,” Wuming said.

“Are you a soul of this battlefield’s dead?”

“I am.”

Only then did Xie Lian slacken his attack. The white silk band instantly leapt back to Xie Lian, swaying at Wuming to show off its might from afar, like it was lashing a venomous tongue.

If he was a soul who had died in battle, no wonder he had heeded Xie Lian’s call. This black-clad warrior must have also been filled with resentment toward the people of Yong’an. In other words, he could be used because their objective was the same.

Thus, Xie Lian said, “Then follow me.” He extended his hand to Wuming. “I will give you what you want.”

Wuming’s face was also hidden behind a mask, so his expression couldn’t be seen. They were indeed the same.

After a moment of silence, he grasped Xie Lian’s extended hand with conviction, bowed his head deeply, and pressed his cold forehead to the back of Xie Lian’s fingers.

A long moment later, he vowed sincerely, “I swear to die following Your Highness.”

Xie Lian, however, pulled back his hand and tucked his arms into his sleeves. He turned around and said coolly, “You’re already dead. Come.”

Wuming rose to his feet, and when Xie Lian looked back, he discovered that the young man was much bigger than he had expected. He was probably only around sixteen or seventeen years old but was enormously tall already. He was even a bit taller than Xie Lian. That was unimportant, though, and Xie Lian only took a glance before turning back around and continuing onward.

Xie Lian took the lead, and the nameless black-clad warrior followed right behind as expected.

“Your Highness, where do you want to go?”

Xie Lian gazed into the distance. “The Palace of Yong’an.”

***

The Palace of Yong’an sat in a large city to the west. It was once a flourishing city in its own right, but it had been overshadowed by the imperial city of Xianle in the east. Now that Xianle had fallen, the new king had moved the capital here. It wouldn’t be long before it overtook the old imperial city, basking in its newfound glory.

Xie Lian arrived at the new imperial city deep in the night. Beneath the moonlight, he was like a white cat soundlessly flying across the ridges of the densely packed rooftops, and Wuming was like a black spirit fox following closely behind. Soon, the two shadows landed before a large gate.

Xie Lian sensed something amiss. There was faintly ominous air surrounding the gate, and he paused. He was about to reach out to check it when Wuming stepped in front of him.

The black-clad man extended an open palm and said quietly, “Break!”

A line of firelight leaked from around the edges of the door as if something had been burnt away. Only after that did Wuming reach out and push the gate open.

“Your Highness.”

Xie Lian crossed the threshold and looked at the ground. Just as he expected, there were some burnt shreds scattered there. Xie Lian picked a bit of it up to inspect, and he smelled the scent of herbs and talisman paper. He stole a glance at Wuming.

This ghost was indeed formidable.

These were the burnt remnants of charms, which obviously indicated there was someone on the other side of the door who had woven a defense spell—a strong one. If ordinary little minions tried to intrude or break the array, their innards would have burnt to ashes. Yet it only took this black-clad warrior an instant to destroy it completely.

Perhaps because it was newly erected, the Palace of Yong’an wasn’t extraordinarily magnificent—it was even a little shabby. It couldn’t be compared to the Palace of Xianle. But that wasn’t the strange part—the truly strange thing about this building was the massive number of evil-warding traps and defense arrays set up throughout the palace. Still, every time Xie Lian noticed something blocking the way ahead, Wuming would immediately step forward and break through the obstacle to clear the path for him. In the end, his journey was entirely unimpeded.