Survivors

Blood-red baleful energy swirled, and as the baleful aura of death grew thick, the Sha Sword in An Jing's hand condensed significantly.

Although this strengthening was only temporary, it was truly a divine ability that revealed more of its brilliance the more one killed; the churning baleful aura allowed An Jing to gain a deeper understanding of the essence of his own ability.

"Good!"

Seeing this, the Sword Spirit's tone rose, and He praised, "Such clean and efficient demon-slaying methods—truly worthy of the 'Sword Holder' I have waited so many years for."

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

"Thanks for the compliment." An Jing took a deep breath, the blood-red light in his eyes intensifying. He said calmly, "But it's not time to celebrate yet. If Instructor Han and the others don't return after a while, they will definitely send more people."

"I must pick up the pace."

Having said that, An Jing stepped forward and headed toward the dungeon.

But halfway there, he saw the dark golden vessel that had fallen to the side.

The Life-Nurturing Vessel lay quietly overturned on the ground, and more than twenty Blood Pill Great Medicines rolled across the floor.

An Jing's footsteps paused. He thought of the medicinal paste in the vat, thought of those faces, and the blood-red light in his eyes flared. He then raised his sword and headed toward the Life-Nurturing Vessel.

Thud!

The Sha Sword swung, and the dark golden treasure vessel was pierced through. The expressionless An Jing felt a strange sensation—it was the feeling of extremely tough flesh and blood.

The pierced vessel let out a wailing sound like a cry, its luster fading until it transformed into an unremarkable black iron basin.

However, a dark golden luster lit up within the Sha Sword in An Jing's hand. The blood-red energy surged, grinding it down; while the Sha Sword's luster dimmed slightly, it became even purer, and even gained a trace of profound, eerie energy.

A faint 'feeling' of how to control this eerie baleful energy also emerged in An Jing's heart. He didn't know the principle, relying only on instinct, so it was just a feeling.

"You can even control soul-baleful energy?"

The Sword Spirit's voice was somewhat surprised: "Blood-baleful energy follows the path of killing, so it's not strange that your 'Yinghuo' star can control it, but soul-baleful energy is one of the spiritual baleful energies, subordinate to the 'Zhensui Two Stars'... Are you not purely a Yinghuo star fate?"

The Sword Spirit reached the same conclusion as Manor Master Yao, but He didn't mind: "As expected of my Sword Holder, the Fate Grid you awakened is truly extraordinary."

"I don't really understand these things either. They seem quite excited, though." An Jing shook his head slightly and continued walking toward the dungeon.

With his current strength, he no longer needed a key to open the door.

A condensed flash of blood-red sword light flickered, and the iron lock was destroyed.

An Jing pushed open the heavy door, walking from the light into hell.

Pitch black, gloomy. The air was filled with the rot of death, and the uneven bluestone floor was covered in patches of blood scabs and crisscrossing black marks.

Wailing, crying. The voices of the children in the dungeon were already weak; the Demonic Cult used Heartless Water to suppress their motor functions, leaving their limbs numb and their movements sluggish, so they lacked the strength even to self-harm or commit suicide.

Snap! An Jing cut open the cell door of the outermost chamber with a single strike. Inside was a girl with a withered, gaunt figure. She raised her head blankly to look at An Jing, her eyes filled with not just fear, but a trace of madness: "You, you are..."

"I am An Jing. Senior Brother."

An Jing said this, feeling a sense of shame in mentioning the title. This title given by the Demonic Cult felt exceptionally ironic to him, as he hadn't accomplished anything or saved many children.

But now, in order for them to recognize him as quickly as possible, he still used the title to comfort them: "I'm here to save you. Let's get out quickly; the dungeon isn't safe."

"Senior Brother... Senior Brother... Waa--"

After a brief hesitation, the girl who recognized An Jing grabbed his hand and burst into loud sobs, her voice sounding almost like a wail.

An Jing couldn't distinguish how many emotions were in those cries. He could only imagine—imagine the days and nights spent imprisoned in this dungeon, the lonely fear of watching her companions and friends being taken out one by one and disappearing, and those resistances, that blood, those rolling heads...

"I will take you all away."

An Jing promised in a low voice. With one hand holding his sword and the other supporting the frame that was so light it felt like a skeleton, he sent her out of the dungeon.

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

There were only eleven boys and girls left alive in the dungeon. There should have been four more, but they had died. Today was the day of the ritual, and with the Red Armor Guards' surprise attack, no one had delivered food or medicine, so they had died before An Jing arrived.

Two hundred and forty-eight children were sent into the deep mountains.

One hundred and eight were selected to participate in the ritual, with sixty-six surviving.

One hundred and forty were eliminated, and it was unknown how many of them ended up imprisoned in the dungeon, becoming sacrificial materials for the flesh-and-blood medicine, with only eleven finally surviving.

Of these seventy-seven survivors, fourteen chose to follow Bai Qinghan and join the Demonic Cult, leaving sixty-two in the end.

If not for the Heartless Water suppressing the spirits and bodies of these dungeon children, even children who had survived the Frost Calamity of the Northern Frontier would not have been able to endure months of dungeon life; they would surely have suffered a mental breakdown.

And now, because their minds were still under the influence of the medicine, these children were still 'obedient' enough to follow An Jing's instructions and come outside the dungeon.

Perhaps because the Demonic Cult also needed these youths to make medicine, although the children were gaunt, their condition was actually better than when they were fleeing in the Northern Frontier; they simply lacked body fat.

After leaving the dungeon, they all regained a bit of strength, though their eyes couldn't handle the light and needed time to adapt.

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

An Jing had intended to take the survivors and leave Xuanming Manor as quickly as possible, but he soon frowned.

He heard footsteps—hurried footsteps, though he couldn't tell if they were retreating or rushing toward them: "Someone is coming..."

An Jing leaped up, using the support of a shed to reach the top of a wall. He saw a squad of Demonic Cult personnel following the road, rapidly approaching the direction of the dungeon.

"Five mounted guards... and there are Red Armor Guard pursuers behind them?"

An Jing narrowed his eyes, feeling the Internal Breath still surging within his body, as well as the sharper Sha Sword: "It seems there is no avoiding this."

"Stay here and keep yourselves safe."

After instructing the survivors behind him, An Jing lifted his leg and stepped forward.

Dust billowed, and his figure vanished from sight.

"An Jing?"

The Demonic Cult squad retreating toward Dongshan Manor sensed the wind, and their leader, a rider who recognized An Jing, looked on in astonishment: "Aren't you supposed to be at the ritual..."

Halfway through his sentence, his expression shifted violently, for he saw the calm, almost indifferent look on An Jing's face, and he saw the Sha Sword in An Jing's hand.

Furthermore, he realized what An Jing's presence at the manor and his current expression truly signified: "Wait, listen to me, those Yao..."

Before he could finish, the rider reached for the hand crossbow at his waist and signaled his companions with his eyes to attack.

Yet, he failed to notice that the look An Jing directed at him had shifted from calm to disappointment.

He failed to notice that the other four men were looking at him with absolute terror.

What... was happening?

Before he could even raise the crossbow to fire, his body tilted, half of his torso falling to the ground, splashing blood everywhere as the light in his eyes faded completely.

"I didn't want to resort to violence... why couldn't you just run when you saw me?"

The Sha Sword gleamed brightly; having killed with a single strike before the enemy could even act, An Jing strode forward, stepping onto the rider's body and crushing his spine.

"Are you all going to attack as well?"

He spoke softly, sword in hand, as he continued toward the group of Demonic Cult members, whose faces had changed drastically as they instinctively backed away.