"Drip. Drip."
Crimson blood ran down the blade, gathered into round beads at its tip, and fell one drop at a time into the pool of blood below.
The blade trembled. An instant later, the hand gripping it thrust the curved sword high, accompanied by a frenzied howl as indistinct as an animal's cry.
The blade reflected the wielder's bloodshot, clouded eyes and the crowd drenched in blood. The survivors gazed at Xia Lun with fervor, but his expression was decidedly strange.
Though he had set this absurd scene in motion, events had gone far beyond anything he had expected. Looking at the people who now worshipped him, even Xia Lun, usually so decisive, found himself torn. He had founded a religious order in the Pilgrimage World, but the Lightbearers were nothing like this. Most of their believers had been ignorant, but at least they were sane. The soldiers in Temple Square were raving cultists whose minds had broken under fear. They had killed their former comrades without a second thought. Their loyalty was questionable, and their behavior impossible to predict. Once things settled down, killing them all would be the sensible way to reduce the risk.
On the other hand, he had driven them mad with his Aura of Fear. Killing them outright did not sit right with him. Was he really going to seize this opportunity and play an Evil God in this Scenario?
Xia Lun's gaze shifted to Derino, the High Priest beside him.
His original plan had been to kill the High Sun Priests who refused to cooperate, then work with the remaining ones, who would not dare resist. Using the old hierarchy would let him gather people quickly, quell the unrest in the Golden City, and pool resources against the army of Withered Dead. But