Nine Venoms Sect Founder - Chapter 163: Xerzan's Fury (1)

“Ain’t this a bitch? Why does her Holy Majesty never listen to our advice? In the history of our clan, who dared break into the Million Emperor Tomb? And now that the world will expect her to make a statement, she’s nowhere to be found!”

“Language! According to her Soul Lamp, she’s neither dead nor alive. I suppose it’s fair to prepare for the worst. Once those vultures realize that we’ve lost our strongest pillar, we will automatically become the cannon fodders of this so-called coalition.”

“Correct. Since the Saint-Empress Court’s formation, too many hungry wolves have been eying us, tracking all opportunities to capture our disciples. As far as I’m concerned, falling into those mutants’ hands is much safer than what awaits once news of Her Majesty’s disappearance spread.”

In a magnificent hall of tall silver walls, four Goddesses sat on sky-high golden thrones, dressed in radiant-white court robes that firmly hugged their perfect curves. The two at the left shared the textbook white hair and blue eyes of the Empyrean clan, while their peers at the right proudly displayed the jet-black hair and flaming-gold eyes of the Golden Crow clan.

Though Dilnaz most despised the Golden Crow clan, she never underestimated the power and influence they wielded in Heaven. Thus, long before Agiri’s death, she used an age-old enmity to plant the seed of rebellion in two of Nakula’s daughters. Why the Golden Crow’s flesh and blood would rather surrender to Dilnaz is a longer story than we have time for. But though they gave Dilnaz unquestionable loyalty, serving a dead leader was rarely the wise choice.

“Let’s pull back our disciples and nominally agree to the coalition. We will use them to buy ourselves the time we need to secure our defenses,” Nakula’s eldest daughter proposed, and the three others agreed instantly.

…

Last but never the least, the Serpent Domain received the invitation. Sitting crossed-legged in his Heavenly Cave, Silav, the Immortal Emperor, communicated with his clan’s elder council.

“Reject the coalition,” he ordered, prompting a wave of confusion to sweep through his elders’ ranks. “From beginning to now, the Truth Scrying Grotto has always been our number one shackle. That Soul Emperor alone shouldn’t be much weaker than me, and is likely not their strongest expert. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had twice our Emperors. Once we lead the Holy Lands against those mutants, regardless of victory or defeat, our forces will suffer extreme damages—leaving us vulnerable to the Truth Scrying Grotto. And for what? The cultivation world? Nonsensical.

I always had the nagging suspension that the grotto’s plans require our cultivation world to go far beyond its current limits. They want us to grow in a controlled environment. The prompt descent of 30 Sage Kings is a warning sign we cannot overlook. That being the case, if the mutants threaten to wipe out our cultivation world prematurely, the Truth Scrying Grotto will confront them—thereby revealing its arsenal. Order a complete retreat of our branches. We will use this opportunity to probe that mysterious faction’s depths,” Silav declared.

Naturally, the Serpent Domain’s elders didn’t all appreciate this turn of events. For millions of years, they hid. When the Empyrean clan lost control of the Mandate of Heaven, they returned, only to hide again at the first major threat. Were the descendants of the Serpent Emperor no better than a rabble of cowering turtles?

The hegemonic blood coursing through the World Devouring Serpents’ veins demanded a brutal war. And if Silav couldn’t provide that…perhaps it was time to find better leadership. Thus, cracks formed in the Serpent Domain’s leadership. But though he could foresee the problem, Silav didn’t doubt his ability to suppress his kin.

“What about the young master?” A loyal elder probed, and for the first time since the beginning of the assembly, Silav’s face twisted into a frown. “He will never listen to us. Leave him be. So long as I breathe, no one can harm him.” Though laced in supreme confidence, Silav’s words hid a sour taste that didn’t escape the elder council.

None doubted that, if not for that “young master,” Silav would never go to such lengths to attack the Truth Scrying Grotto.

…

If the threat of the rising horde was more than enough to make Holy Lands rethink their positions, it couldn’t stop Xerzan from clinging on and challenging his fallen friend’s fate. Xerzan didn’t care for Sangar’s death, but he absolutely couldn’t tolerate Weeping Soul’s. Few could understand the bonds uniting the hedonistic stronghold master and Truth-seeking reverend. Perhaps the uncanny circumstances of their births brought them closer than Nakula ever expected them to become. Perhaps Xerzan just had a thing for monks. Nevertheless, the stronghold master set up a massive ritual circle across the Soul Refining Hall and Obsidian Soul Stone mine’s ruins, gashed his wrists, and let his ever-replenishing blood sink into the ritual circle’s bizarre patterns.

Floating above the center of the ritual circle, Xerzan raised his arms at the sky and unleashed his Heavenly Qi. The shapeless energies spread across the ruins, fusing with the ritual circle and Xerzan’s fresh blood to breed ominous energy waves that carried an ancient feel. Dark-gray steam billowed from the ritual circle. Coiling as it shot upward, the steam morphed into the face of a demonic ogre whose curved black horns reached an adult man’s height. Staring at that fiendish face, Xerzan joined his hands in a prayer sign. The demonic ogre opened its jagged mouth, revealing a foot-long blue tongue that stretched toward Xerzan.

Depending on their potential and worth, each of Nakula’s disciples inherited sinister arts and forbidden techniques. Xerzan’s arsenal naturally ranked high above his peers’, and to reward his outstanding results, Nakula taught him a unique Forbidden Ritual, enabling him to roll back time across a surface of 150 square kilometers. But as expected of a forbidden technique, the ritual came at a hefty price. Only immortals could cast this ritual. First, the demonic ogre devoured their immortality, left 100 years behind, and for every 10 years it rolled back, stole one more year from its contractor.

Cultivation breakthrough wouldn’t restore the lost lifespan. Thus, unless the contractor became immortal again through Mysteries or some lifeform change, they’d have a maximum of 100 years left. To say nothing of the consequences of time disruption. The lifespan blow alone made sure that few ever resorted to this ritual.

But as Xerzan prepared to sign the pact, bright golden flames surged from his chest, revealing a golden feather embedded in his heart. Unleashing a storm of golden flames, the feather laid waste to Xerzan’s ritual, sent the ogre back into the void, and forced Xerzan onto his knees.

“Damn it you cantankerous old man! Mind your goddamn business!” Clutching his burning chest, Xerzan barked at the golden feather. The blurry figure of an armored old man, of Nakula, appeared before him, and though he couldn’t see through his master’s blurry figure, Xerzan could feel the disapproving gaze weighing on him.

“Devil Essence builds on a steady heart. The more potent your diabolic energies, the steadier your heart should be. These ruins are not going anywhere. In 99 years, if you still want to do this, I will not stop you. But for now, I need you to quiet your deranged mind and bring me the candidate. The situation doesn’t look favorable. Weeping Soul’s failure could cost us more than expected. If you truly want to undo his death, you know what to do,” Nakula stated, then vanished from the ruins.