Nine Venoms Sect Founder - Chapter 130: Hymn of the Soulless World (Final Part)

Mehran couldn’t contend with the Landgraves. At best, he would stay underneath the barrier and control the situation within the city’s wall. This was Gulseni and many other experts’ initial appraisal of the situation. After all, if he couldn’t even handle the Soul Refining Hall, what could he accomplish here? And at first, Mehran’s creased brows seemed to agree with the others’ thoughts. But soon after, as if he’d received critical information, Mehran smirked, dispatched directives, and watched the Landgraves’ misdeeds with a cool, almost detached stance—his calm stiffed the atmosphere.

Unlike Harun who projected his emotions to his entourage, Mehran filled his people with inconsistent feelings. Whenever he idled, someone felt unsettled. When he smiled they flinched, when he laughed they trembled, when he raged they smiled and perhaps—if he ever sobbed—they’d feel relieved. The mane of black hair trailing at his back—an atypical trait for a monarch—was only one of many details that convinced Gulseni…that behind the collected demeanor, Mehran was insane. And now, he’d prove her right.

“What…do you mean by th—” Gulseni started, but saw in Mehran’s distant gaze that she’d never receive an answer. If the body still stood beside her, his mind had already left the balcony. Heaving a sigh, Mehran stepped on the handrail and leaped across dozens of meters of altitude to land within the city proper. While he no longer had any cultivation base, thanks to the mighty Birusk blood he received from Harun, Mehran received superhuman abilities.

Arranged in arrays, the 120 Desolate Corpses, which Harun gave Mehran command of, formed 4 organized platoons before the high king. Walking between two platoons, a Desolate Corpse stepped forward, dragging a ten meters long coffin to Mehran’s feet. Behind the platoons, Mehran’s royal guard had gathered the 12,960 inmates, keeping them in line with chains and arms.

As ordered by the high king, each prisoner had a talisman stuck on his bare chest. Outrage and uncertainty twisted in their eyes, for though they no doubt belonged to the worst of scum, each believed that they possessed unalienable rights Mehran violated by imprisoning and executing them without trials. Worse, he now dragged them, against their will, into some awful ritual. How could such a man lead the state? Alas, the gags blocking their mouths didn’t allow them to make noise.

Mehran didn’t care. Ever since he rejected his Dao Truth, his heart felt liberated. Yet, the high king also realized that the Nihility Realm wasn’t about abandoning the Dao, but escaping its trappings. Although he no longer stood on that cultivation path, the Dao Heart wouldn’t change, and his truth remained the same. He existed to protect, and if not his people, then at the very least…his liege.

A royal guard brought Mehran a brush and ink. Receiving it, the high king drew several eldritch patterns on the coffin’s lid, then pushed it open. Lying in the coffin, Mehran let the Desolate Corpses shut him in the darkness. Strangely, the cold silence put him at ease. Closing his eyes, he started chanting ancient incantations. Black mist poured out of the talismans stuck on the prisoners’ chests. Their eyes glazed over, becoming a pit of darkness as their souls bound to a world of death, torments and abominations. A formless force tore the gags to shreds, and as Mehran’s incantations flowed out, the prisoners sang a soul-stirring hymn; a hymn of regret, hope, of vengeance and madness. Their strikingly melodious voices blended with Mehran’s incantations to form an orb of condensed dark clouds that hovered above his coffin.

Mehran’s Inheritance contained three Forbidden Formations. The first created several months of positive climate in exchange for years of excruciating conditions. The second sucked all the Qi across a city for a country-destroying nuke that even the Formation Master might not survive. And the third established a connection with an infernal world to target the unliving. Undead, puppets and other soulless abominations couldn’t resist it. For obvious reasons, Mehran named it, the Hymn of the Soulless World.

As soon as the melody started, the Landgraves stopped their refugee slaughter and cast trembling gazes at the Dark Stone City’s center. By now, the royal guard and army had sent the citizens back to their homes. A few glanced at the upcoming confrontation, but the many merely carried on with their prayers—pleading Lord Revelation to destroy the fiends.

A veil of foul energies spread across the ground, dragging the capital into a world of endless darkness. Wielding iron javelins, the Desolate Corpses stepped forward, and by groups of 12, stabbed Mehran’s coffin! Each time the set of 12 spears stabbed through his skull, neck, trunk and limbs, Mehran gasped—then lost consciousness. But right afterward, the coffin’s energies would suppress the lethal wounds and keep Mehran’s soul bound to his body—forever a step away from death.

Fresh blood streamed down the coffin’s holes, but the remorseless Desolate Corpses didn’t stop, and carried on till the 120 undead had shoved a spear through the buried king’s flesh. Absorbed by the darkness, Mehran’s dripping blood vanished. 120 tendrils flew out and stabbed the Desolate Corpses, turning their barbarous eyes into dancing black flames. Mehran’s eyes opened. Ebony rays shot out, and from the orb of darkness hovering above, an onyx gate emerged.

For the first time in eons, the 10th, 11th and 12th Landgrave, felt their chests tighten and the urge to flee. Alas, the pride so typical for Sanguine Dolls made them dismiss their heart’s warnings—that rejection sealed their fate.

The gate sprang open, unleashing three collared hounds tied to a massive skeletal hand by 12 wires. If the infernal beasts’ jet-black fur and crimson eyes could deter many, it was their cider-like scent that made the trio panic. The 12,900 singing criminals atrophied till they turned into skeletons, collapsed, and broke into swarms of flies that rushed to and trapped the Landgraves. Unleashing guttural howls, the hounds lunged at the Sanguine Dolls, sinking their shark-like teeth into the three.

“AAAAAAAARGH!” Terror-stricken, the three dolls struggled against the flies, attempted to activate their golden bolt marks, but realized that they couldn’t gather the tiniest bit of strength. Even now, it was the flies that held them in suspension. What a pity that knowing and accepting were often opposed matters. The Sanguine Dolls could never tolerate falling in such a place, and tried all they could to challenge reality. The hounds’ fangs tore through their limbs, turning their fleshly bodies into energy sources they then transferred to the Desolate Corpses. So while the Sanguine Dolls crumbled, the Desolate Corpses’ fleshly bodies improved by leaps and bounds.

Within several breaths, the 10th and 11th lost their minds. The 12th held strong, but soon succumbed to the same fate, and by the time the hounds were done munching them, the Sanguine Dolls had turned into hollow, skeletal shells. Kept alive by their crystals, the Sanguine Dolls tumbled toward the ground and burst into thousands of pieces—their crystals shattered instantly.

The skeletal hand pulled the hounds back. The onyx gate vanished, and a desolate guard pulled open Mehran’s lid—revealing the high king, who’d went from a handsome youth to a shriveled old man. “It’s in moments like these that you should ask for a raise. Don’t worry little bro, I will fix you later,” Harun teased Mehran in a mental message, despite his ongoing clash with the last Landgraves.

“Worry about yourself. Your plan is either the stupidest or the boldest thing I’ve heard in a long while,” to remain aware of the outside situation, Harun routinely communicated with Mehran, Gulseni and the Birusk clansmen. And with the former, he also shared his attack plan—Mehran disaproved, but as surbordinates could never impose their will on the Lord—at least not without a convincing plan, he kept his mouth shut.

“That said, the new guard is ready for the final strike. Oh and, I’m not your brother,” The high king leisurely replied.