The inside of the desolate city had a strangely muddy feel to its streets.
Crushed rotting flesh and offal were scattered everywhere, filling the air with a stomach-turning stench.
Sparse passersby moved through the filth as though they could neither see nor smell it, trudging across the muck with dull, numb faces, each footfall producing a wet slap against the ground.
These were the abandoned.
South Peak City, once the principal city of its prefecture, no longer belonged to Great Qian. No longer stood under the Demon Suppression Division’s protection.
The Flower Leopard General, serving under the Red-Eyed Divine Lord, had smashed apart the plague on the Demon Suppression General’s residence, then taken the old man’s head — the old soldier’s eyes still wide with fury — and hung it on a pike at the gate.
From that day forward, South Peak City had acquired a demon magistrate.
Chanting the Red-Eyed Divine Lord’s title day and night, attending the temple every three days to offer worship — this was the only path to keeping one’s life. Of course, alongside the chanting, one ought also to pray that the invitation to the next banquet would not land on oneself.
The demon magistrate had a habit of throwing grand banquets.
The guests had gradually shifted from the distinguished powerhouses of great clans and sects, who had grown too scarce, to ordinary people like these.
Protecting the people of one’s territory, in exchange for satisfying one’s appetite. Such was the Divine Lord’s reward to a diligent demon magistrate — to be chosen as a guest, to become the dish on the table, was the honor of the protected.
“…”
A thin, ragged man in a patched hemp shirt, head bowed low, made his way down the street, only to be stopped by two people.
He looked up. The two of them gave him a small nod.
The man’s hands slowly opened. The incense sticks he’d been clutching scattered to the ground. He made no struggle, no plea. His knees simply gave way beneath him, and the two men caught him by the arms.
To be drawn in the lottery was only a matter of poor fortune, or perhaps insufficient sincerity the last time one had worshipped the Divine Lord.
He was half-dragged, half-walked toward the most conspicuous estate in the city.
The Demon Suppression General’s residence.
The man’s knees slid across the ground, and he looked toward the pike at the gate — the skull on it now nothing more than a shriveled scrap of dried skin wrapped around bone. He looked at the others who had been drawn alongside him, and all the way until he was led into the back kitchen, he couldn’t help but turn his gaze upward one last time.
“The Divine Lord is a demon.”
If there were truly gods in the heavens, why did no punishment come down?
The sky was clear and bright, and utterly empty.
The estate’s roof had been torn off in rough, blunt fashion; the council hall repurposed as a dining room.
A figure over a zhang-and-a-half tall sat in the seat of honor, back straight, draped in smooth, lustrous silk robes — though even the wide-cut long robe tailored specially for it was stretched taut over its bulging musculature, threatening to burst at any moment.
The Flower Leopard set both hands flat on the table. Until all the dishes had arrived, it would not touch its chopsticks.
It had risen to the rank of a general beneath the Divine Lord’s banner — it could hardly go on behaving with the manners of some crude demon.
Great wooden platters, requiring several men to carry, were brought up one after another to the wide table — braised, roasted, boiled, seared, every preparation present and accounted for. Tonight was a modest gathering; thirty-six dishes were required to make up the full count.
“And the main course?”
The Flower Leopard waited a moment, then glanced sideways at the empty space still remaining at the table.
Mere common folk wouldn’t be enough to satisfy its appetite.
Even for a modest gathering, at least one dish prepared from a cultivator of Jade Liquid realm or above needed to be arranged.
“The cities elsewhere won’t be sending anyone in time today — so I suppose it’ll have to be me. I’ll go make the preparations.”
The middle-aged man waiting at its side in attendance had once been a renowned martial powerhouse in his own right. Now he reached up and loosened his outer robe without a word, dressed underneath in nothing but clean, plain white — he had evidently come prepared — and turned to walk toward the back kitchen.
“Be quick about it.”
The Flower Leopard gave a small nod, urging him mildly along.
“…”
The middle-aged powerhouse’s steps faltered slightly. The hands hanging at his sides tried to close into fists, but he found that the familiar, once-proud technique his fists had always known — he couldn’t seem to remember how to use it anymore.
When the city had fallen, all the ones with any fight left in them had already died.
What remained were only those who had hesitated, and kept on hesitating.
He could turn around and throw a punch right now — die with a little more dignity to it. But the price of that dignity was the barely-surviving lives of everyone who shared his blood.
A frog in warming water, and it had long since lost the ability to jump.
The middle-aged powerhouse moved forward again and walked out of the dining room.
Maybe it was just his imagination — but his eyes caught something quietly taking shape in the sky.
A long blade, hovering in the air.
Still and silent. Its sleek body etched with jagged scale-patterns, emanating a faint, pale light, black mist curling upward from its edge.
“…”
The middle-aged powerhouse’s strength left him all at once, his entire body swaying as though he might crumple to his knees.
He fought with everything he had to stay upright, not letting the Flower Leopard notice anything wrong.
A blade didn’t just appear in the sky on its own. Someone had to be holding it…
The General had come!
The Demon Suppression Division, which had no longer been able to protect the remaining four prefectures, had finally come back.
And yet there was not a sliver of accumulated faith left in this place.
Shk.
The Flower Leopard looked up at the sky. Its opulent long robe tore open as the muscles beneath swelled outward. It reached to take up the weapon at its side.
By rights, a Martial Immortal held overwhelming dominance over a Core-Nurturing demon lord — but a General who’d lost four prefectures, with no accumulated faith to supplement him, was still something the Flower Leopard had confidence it could block, just barely.
“Old bastard, ready to give up the rest of Song Prefecture while you’re at it?!”
With the roar, the Flower Leopard surged to its feet.
In the same instant, the blade in the sky plunged straight down.
No vast, earth-shaking presence.
Before the Flower Leopard had even raised its weapon, the blade pierced clean through the top of its skull, drove out through its jaw, and pinned its massive head firmly to the one section of the table that had been left empty.
Overwhelming accumulated faith spilled through its skull.
The Flower Leopard’s throat produced a wet, gurgling sound, blood gushing from eyes, nose, ears, and every other opening, like a fat fish nailed to a cutting board, nothing left of it but reflexive spasms.
Amidst the banquet of severed limbs and broken bodies, the main course had at last arrived.
Outside the city gates.
Zhang Xuan watched Commander Shen close his eyes, then saw the long blade at his waist shoot from its sheath and streak upward into the sky.
He processed what had happened a full breath later — the man had simply sent out his divine spirit directly.
Wait — he trusted his own assessment this much?
Zhang Xuan swallowed hard, then vaulted off his horse on the spot, throwing himself into a tense, protective stance at the Commander’s side.
He hadn’t even steadied his footing yet.
A streak of light flashed past from above, and a massive shape came crashing down from the sky.
The streak of light clinked back into its sheath.
And before the massive shape had even finished falling, Shen Yi opened his eyes, gave a casual sweep of his hand, and tucked it away into the storage pouch at his waist.
“Let’s go.”
Shen Yi tugged his reins and rode into the city.
He’d only wanted to test something — the divine spirit was his, but with Lady Qinghua at the controls, he’d wondered whether demon lifespan would still accrue to him in the end.
【Core-Nurturing Flower Leopard slain — total lifespan 8,700 years, 2,900 years remaining — fully absorbed】
“…”
Zhang Xuan looked at the demon-horse. The demon-horse looked at Zhang Xuan. Then it snorted.
A divine spirit out of the body was, in substance, a full Martial Immortal.
That much, at least, fit the profile of a War Temple disciple.
The problem was, he’d seen Martial Immortals before — and without accumulated faith to back them up, none of them had ever managed anything this swift and decisive.
From the moment Commander Shen closed his eyes to the moment the blade came back: no more than sixty breaths in total.
Factor out travel time, and what that meant was — the leopard demon hadn’t lasted even a single exchange?!
“Commander Shen, wait for me!”
After barely a moment’s hesitation, Zhang Xuan found the man had already vanished from view. He scrambled back into the saddle and set off after him.
(End of Chapter)