Survivors

Blood Fiend flowed through the sword. As the calamity of death swelled, the Sha Sword in An Jing's hand grew much more solid.

Though the boost was only temporary, this was indeed a Supernatural Ability whose intricacies became clearer the more one killed. The surging Killing Intent allowed An Jing to delve more deeply into the essence of his ability.

"Good!"

Seeing this, the Sword Spirit's voice rose with approval. "Such swift, decisive demon-slaying! You truly are the 'Sword-Bearer' I've waited so many years to find."

"An Jing, your talent for martial arts exceeds my expectations."

"Thanks for the praise." An Jing took a deep breath. The bloodlight in his eyes only deepened as he said calmly, "But now isn't the time to celebrate. If Instructor Han and the others don't return soon, they'll definitely send more people."

"We have to pick up the pace."

With that, An Jing strode toward the dungeon.

But along the way, he spotted a dark golden vessel lying on its side.

The Life-Nurturing Vessel lay quietly on the ground, with more than twenty Blood Pill Great Medicines scattered around it.

An Jing stopped. He thought of the medicinal sludge in the vat, of all those faces. The bloodlight in his eyes flared, and he headed for the Life-Nurturing Vessel with his sword.

Thud!

The Sha Sword swung, piercing the dark golden Treasure Vessel. An Jing's expression remained blank as he felt a strange sensation, like stabbing flesh that was incredibly tough.

The pierced vessel let out a wail like a sob. Its sheen faded, and it turned into an ordinary black iron vessel.

But a dark golden gleam lit within the Sha Sword in An Jing's hand. Blood surged and ground it away. The sword's glow dimmed, yet it became purer, and even gained a trace of profound, shadowy energy.

An Jing also vaguely gained a "sense" of how to control this shadowy Killing Intent. He didn't understand the principle and could only rely on instinct, so it was a sense.

"You can control Soul Fiend too?"

The Sword Spirit sounded a little surprised. "Blood Fiend comes from killing, so it's no surprise that your Fate Star, Yinghuo, can control it. But Soul Fiend is one of the Spirit Fiends, belonging to the Zhensui Two Stars... You aren't simply an Yinghuo Star Fate, are you?"

The Sword Spirit had reached the same conclusion as Manor Master Yao, but didn't seem to care. "As expected of my Sword-Bearer. The Fate Grid you awakened is no ordinary one."

"I don't really understand this stuff either. They seemed pretty excited about it." An Jing shook his head slightly and continued toward the dungeon.

With his strength now, he didn't need a key to open the door.

A condensed flash of Blood Fiend swordlight struck the lock and shattered it.

An Jing pushed open the doors and walked from the light into hell.

Darkness. Gloom. The air reeked of death and decay. Bloodstains covered the uneven bluestone floor, with black smears crisscrossing it.

Moans and sobs. The children in the dungeon had long since grown too weak to raise their voices. The Demonic Cult had used Heartless Water to suppress their bodies, leaving their hands and feet numb and their movements sluggish. They didn't even have the strength to harm or kill themselves.

Crack! An Jing cut through the cell door nearest the entrance. Inside was a gaunt young girl. She raised her head woodenly and looked at An Jing. Beyond the fear in her eyes was a hint of madness. "Y-you're..."

"I'm An Jing. Your Senior Brother."

An Jing felt a little embarrassed saying that title. The name the Demonic Cult had given him carried a cruel irony for him, because he hadn't accomplished anything—not when it came to saving all those children.

But now, so they would recognize him as quickly as possible, he used it to comfort her. "I'm here to save you. Hurry and get out. The dungeon isn't safe."

"Senior Brother... Senior Brother... Waaah—"

After a brief hesitation, she recognized An Jing, grabbed his hand, and burst into tears, her voice nearly a scream of anguish.

An Jing couldn't tell how many emotions were tangled in her sobs. He could only imagine: the lonely terror of being trapped in this dungeon day after day, watching friends and companions led away one by one, never to return; the resistance, the blood, the rolling heads...

"I'll get you out of here."

An Jing made the promise in a low voice. Holding his sword in one hand, he supported her with the other. She was so light she was little more than a skeleton. He helped her out of the dungeon.

Then came the next. And the next. Until the last.

Only eleven boys and girls were still alive in the dungeon. There should have been four more, but they had died. Today was the day of the Ritual Sacrifice, and the Red Armor Guards had launched a surprise attack. No one had brought them food or medicine, so they had died before An Jing arrived.

Two hundred and forty-eight children had been sent into the mountains.

Of these, one hundred and eight were selected to take part in the Ritual Sacrifice, and sixty-six survived.

One hundred and forty were rejected. No one knew how many of them had ended up imprisoned in the dungeon, used as sacrificial materials for the Blood Pill Great Medicine. In the end, only eleven survived.

Of those seventy-seven survivors, fourteen chose to follow Bai Qinghan and join the Demonic Cult. That left sixty-two.

Had Heartless Water not suppressed the minds and bodies of the children in the dungeon, even children who had endured the Frost Calamity in the Northern Frontier couldn't have borne months of confinement. They would certainly have suffered mental collapse.

Now, their thoughts were still affected by the medicine, so the children obediently followed An Jing's instructions and came outside.

The Demonic Cult probably needed these boys and girls for medicine, so although the children were emaciated, they were actually in slightly better shape than they'd been while fleeing the Northern Frontier. They simply had no body fat.

Once outside the dungeon, they regained some of their strength. Their eyes still couldn't handle the light, though, and needed time to adjust.

"I know a path that leads out of the manor... Wait?"

An Jing had meant to get the survivors out of Xuanming Manor as quickly as possible, but soon his brows furrowed.

He heard footsteps—hurried, uncertain whether retreating or rushing toward them. "Someone's here..."

An Jing leaped up, using the frame of a shanty for leverage to reach the wall. He saw a group of Demonic Cult members hurrying down the road toward the dungeon.

"Five mounted guards... and Red Armor Guards chasing them from behind?"

An Jing narrowed his eyes, sensing the Internal Breath still surging through him and the sharper Sha Sword. "Looks like there's no avoiding this."

"Stay here and protect yourselves."

After warning the survivors behind him, An Jing lifted a leg and stepped forward.

Dust billowed. His figure vanished.

"An Jing?"

The Demonic Cult squad retreating toward Dongshan Manor heard the rush of wind. Their leader was a mounted guard who knew An Jing, and he looked startled. "Weren't you taking part in the Ritual Sacrifice..."

He broke off, his expression changing as he saw An Jing's calm, almost indifferent face—and the Sha Sword in his hand.

Then he remembered that An Jing had been at the eastern manor, and what his expression now meant. "Wait, let me explain. The medicine..."

Before he could finish, the mounted guard reached for the hand crossbow at his waist and glanced around, signaling his companions to attack.

But he failed to notice the disappointment in An Jing's eyes, where there had once been nothing but calm.

He failed to notice the sheer horror in the other four men's eyes.

What... was wrong?

Before he could even raise his crossbow and fire, his body was already tilting. Half of him fell to the ground, splashing blood everywhere as the light in his eyes went out.

"I didn't want to kill you... Why couldn't you just run when you saw me?"

The Sha Sword flashed. Before his enemies could strike, An Jing cut the mounted guard down with a single blow. He strode forward, stepped on the man's body, and crushed his spine.

"Are you going to fight too?"

Speaking softly, he held his sword and continued toward the Demonic Cult party, whose faces had changed as they instinctively backed away.