Not everyone who joined the Holy Spirit Cult was steeped in wickedness, with countless murders to their name.
There were also people like Zhang Peng and Wu Yun, who had merely eaten blood stew a few times, or had been driven out like good money by bad and had nowhere to go after defecting.
The eight elders were birds of the same foul feather, not a decent soul among them, and weak besides. Thus, Xu Cheng had never tried to win any of them over during these past few years. Even if he had, the Second Elder, Nangong Wan, was a reed swaying with the wind; she might turn around and spill his plans immediately.
So Xu Cheng had focused solely on the twelve offerings.
By now, at least five of them had been swayed.
The plans Xu Cheng proposed were simply too enticing. His series of visions promised a name that would echo through the ages, and merely hearing them made their blood surge.
Moreover, some of the Holy Spirit Cult's Evil Soul Masters went around reveling in slaughter. Though these offerings said nothing, they inwardly disdained keeping company with them.
Thus, they served only as offerings, accepted certain missions, and kept to themselves.
They had no sense of belonging to the Holy Spirit Cult whatsoever. After all, who could live normally among a pack of lunatics whose lives revolved around betrayal, conspiracy, trickery, and slaughter?
Had those two towering mountains not loomed above them, they would have long since sought another path.
Inside the room.
A tall man stood with his hands behind his back. With his hood drawn back, his handsome face and black-and-white hair were exposed, lending him a faintly uncanny air. He looked through the window toward the street below the hotel.
He was the