Chapter 83 — Ten Years

Elder Nian's body gave a shudder, and the black-clad man sneered. "You have guessed it, have you not? Indeed—it is the vice sect master of our Hall of the Nether King, Ming Li. Were he to come, your fate would be..."

He had spoken but half when someone beside him gave two soft coughs. The black-clad man's face changed; he seemed to think of something, and his face went a shade whiter—as though even he held a deep dread of that name.

Just then a thick stench of blood suddenly came drifting—from where, none could tell—yet in an instant it filled the vast space entire. Every black-clad man of the Hall of the Nether King straightened at once; even the leader's face went faintly pale, and if one looked closely, the corner of his eye could be seen twitching slightly.

What manner of man could make him so afraid?

Footsteps slowly sounded, as though coming from the fathomless dark depths of the abyss, walking slowly out.

One step, one bloody print!

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

A dim blue radiance, tinged with a faint red blood-light, rippled gently in the darkness, drifting slowly forward.

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

Ten years ago, the Hall of the Nether King had known no figure named Ming Li. But rumor in the sect held that after the great bloody war between the righteous and the demonic ten years ago, the Nether King, sect master of the Hall of the Nether King, had taken a traitor of the righteous path under his wing, cherishing him as his own son, and had transmitted to him entire the second volume of the Heaven's Book, the classic of the Holy Sect said to have fallen into the Hall's hands.

And this Ming Li, besides advancing in cultivation beyond all belief, had changed utterly in temper—so bloodthirsty and murderous that even the Demonic Sect's own were struck with horror.

In recent years the infighting within the Demonic Sect had grown ever bloodier, and Ming Li—that plain disciple of Canglan Sect in former days—had become the foremost warrior of the Hall of the Nether King, leading its disciples through slaughter after slaughter, annihilating countless factions. The "Soul-Devouring Rod" in his hand (a name the Demonic Sect's people gave it in private) had drunk the blood of untold numbers, and favored as he was by the Nether King, he soon became the man in the Hall of the Nether King second only to one and above all others.

And this man—ten years ago, every one of the Blood-Refining Hall's people here had seen him.

Among the crowd, the Wild Wolf Daoist looked toward him—the man slowly emerging from the darkness, bearing that thick reek of blood, as though it rose from deep within his very 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 brow was vivid still. Yet the heart of the Wild Dog began to pound—as though what stood before them was no man at all, but a savage, ravening beast.

"You..."

He spoke his first words slowly, his voice level and grimly cold, echoing through that place: "Will you submit, or not?"

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

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

Everyone's face changed. In an instant a blade-flash leaped up from the ground beside Ming Li and stabbed at his belly; the assassin's hair was loose and wild, his face frantic and blank, and both his feet had been hewn off—blood gushing like a fountain.

The man appeared to be a disciple of the Blood-Refining Hall, gravely wounded; in his terror and agony his reason had at last given way, and with mad shouts he lunged at Ming Li. But a moment later a dark blue radiance shot with bloody red light burst from Ming Li's right hand and enveloped the man.

The smell of blood in the air grew heavier yet.

The withered husk of a body slumped limply to one side. The faces of the Blood-Refining Hall's people went whiter still; some of the younger disciples began to tremble. Yet in Ming Li's eyes a faint red glow slowly kindled, and once more he said slowly, "Will you submit, or not?"

And the ugly black Soul-Devouring Rod in his hand (the dark iron staff...) gradually began to glow.

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..."

The crowd was stunned. Elder Nian noticed Mingli's face slowly darkening and grew anxious at heart; he had never expected that this Wild Dog, who all his days had bullied the weak and feared the strong, who clung to life and dreaded death, should suddenly turn like this.

Yet he could hardly throw away his own life for the sake of this one Wild Dog; steeling his heart, he said, "Fine. You are noble, then. You hold up the Blood Refining Hall alone!"