Chapter Seventy-Six: The Bloodthirsty Fiend

Chapter Seventy-Six: The Maniac Killer

Today was the day set for the crusade against Wu Hong. News of that night—when Wu Hong launched a surprise attack on Blackwood Cliff—had spread like wildfire throughout the martial world. Nearly everyone had heard the rumors, but among those who discussed the tale, few knew the truth: whether the intruder at Blackwood Cliff was truly the infamous Wu Hong, or if it was the real Wu Hong, Li Ruolan’s friend.

On the plaza of Blackwood Cliff, tens of thousands stood at attention, brimming with vigor. Among them were martial artists and imperial soldiers alike, numbering no fewer than a hundred thousand. Such was the evidence of Wu Hong’s countless misdeeds, that the affair had drawn the united attention of both the court and the martial world.

Yet what weighed on everyone’s mind was not whether Wu Hong could be captured if he appeared, but whether he would dare to face such an overwhelming force at all. If he did not show, would this grand assembly have been for naught? Although Young Dongfang had ultimately persuaded the masses, should Wu Hong fail to arrive, they could always host a martial tournament, selecting a new leader for the alliance. All would then follow the new leader’s command, uniting the might of the martial world to hunt down the demon Wu Hong.

Clearly, some schemer had orchestrated this gathering as a ruse to unite the martial world under one banner. But most of these heroes held personal grudges against Wu Hong, and so, despite their suspicions, they had no choice but to accept Young Dongfang’s conditions.

Young Dongfang thought to himself, “Wu Hong, whether you come or not today, I will execute your lover, Li Ruolan, before all eyes! I will make you suffer unbearable pain. Even if you do not come, I can still unite the martial world and help my father raise an army. Hmph—”

The crowd waited through the morning for Wu Hong, but there was still no sign of him.

“Do you think that demon Wu would dare to come? Look at all the martial world’s top masters gathered here—not fewer than a hundred thousand, and even Prince Yangwei, the Emperor’s third son, has come in person, leading ten thousand imperial guards. If Wu Hong dares to show his face, isn’t he throwing his life away?”

“That’s hard to say. Rumor has it Wu Hong is obsessed with women, valuing them above his own life.”

“Even so, such a lecherous fiend, after sneaking onto Blackwood Cliff alone in the dead of night and now seeing this overwhelming force, would hardly dare show himself again.”

The crowd murmured in low voices, discussing every possibility. Some grew impatient with the wait and began cursing loudly.

“Chief Dongfang! Drag out Wu Hong’s little lover and behead her before us! Wu Hong must have been frightened out of his wits—he won’t dare come again!”

Cries like this rang out from the crowd. Young Dongfang frowned at the ceaseless chatter below and gave a subtle nod to a servant at his side, who slipped away silently.

“Very well! Everyone here despises Wu Hong to the bone. Today, before all our martial brethren, we shall execute his lover. Perhaps Wu Hong is too terrified to appear. Once we’ve killed her, we’ll hold a tournament to select a martial leader, who will guide us in our united quest to destroy the demon Wu Hong!”

Soon after, Li Ruolan was brought forth, her clothes ragged, ankles shackled, escorted by two servants to the open ground before the crowd. Though her face was haggard, her beauty remained undiminished, her allure undimmed.

With a clatter, the servants withdrew, leaving her standing alone. Her hands were free, but blood-red whip marks marred her once-lustrous skin, a grim testament to the tortures she had endured. Her hair hung loose, yet her bearing was no less heroic for it.

The assembled martial artists could not help but sigh inwardly at the sight of Li Ruolan—such a beautiful woman, and yet the lover of the demon Wu Hong. Young Dongfang’s face twisted with malice, hatred seething in his heart: “Wu Hong, I’ll let you taste what it is to lose your beloved.”

He raised his right hand, and from behind Li Ruolan strode a fearsome executioner, his head wrapped in a red scarf, shoulders broad, waist thick, gripping a ghastly broadsword, exuding a murderous aura. He came to stand beside her.

“Execute!” Young Dongfang’s raised hand dropped, and his voice rang out.

The executioner took up a bowl of wine, spat it upon his blade with a hiss, and a wave of murderous intent surged from him, chilling the air. Those in the front rows shuddered involuntarily. Though they were no strangers to executions, none had ever felt dread like this.

“This executioner is no ordinary man—is he one of those who practice demonic arts?”

Yet the executioner hesitated not a moment before the crowd. Raising his blade high, he swung it with a gust of wind toward Li Ruolan’s neck.

Li Ruolan let out a tragic smile in that instant—who could say whether it was regret, or something else?

Just then, two voices cried out from the crowd, one after the other: “Report! Stop—!”

The first was long and drawn-out, but the second, brimming with inner strength, boomed in every ear like thunder, making all heads ring.

With a whoosh, an old man in white leapt from the crowd, landing on the open ground before Li Ruolan, spanning several dozen paces in an instant. The executioner paused, his face twisted with malice, but was not deterred by the old man’s appearance. He raised his blade once more, aiming for Li Ruolan’s head.

This old man was none other than the Elder of Ten Thousand Poisons—Li Ruolan’s master.

“How dare you?” cried the Elder of Ten Thousand Poisons, seeing the executioner undeterred, blade still descending toward his disciple. The old man’s eyes nearly burst from their sockets.

With a hiss, he flicked his hand like lightning, sending a stream of dazzling, multicolored energy at the executioner, who responded with a flash of blood-red force from his blade. The two forces collided with a thunderous crash, dispersing in all directions.

The crimson and multicolored energies burst outward, covering dozens of yards. “Ah—!” Those martial artists in the front rows fell to the ground, writhing in agony, faces pale and green, clearly poisoned.

Yet the executioner ignored them, driving his broken blade down even faster toward Li Ruolan’s neck.

The Elder of Ten Thousand Poisons felt his inner energy shudder, his organs shaken, nearly coughing up blood. For the moment, he could summon no more strength to attack.

In that instant, he bitterly regretted his earlier hope that Wu Hong would appear to save Li Ruolan, giving him the chance to sow poison among the crowd in the confusion. He had never expected such caution from the other side—a mere executioner was a notorious demon in his own right and moved with uncanny speed.

What could be done?

With a metallic clang, Li Ruolan’s head remained on her shoulders, while the executioner’s blade snapped in two. The martial artists looked on in confusion. The Elder’s multicolored energy had clearly been shattered by the executioner’s skill, so how had the blade broken without warning?

The burly, ruthless executioner turned to the dais where Young Dongfang stood, his face livid. “Chief Dongfang, what is the meaning of this?”

Only then did the crowd realize that Young Dongfang had orchestrated the executioner’s intervention.

“Isn’t that executioner the infamous Ma Dewen, known as King Yama Ma, who gathers murderous energy through slaughter?”

Though Ma Dewen’s name sounded virtuous, he had risen to infamy through a sinister martial art, gaining strength by killing. Few remembered his original name.

A sudden commotion rippled through the crowd as some recognized the executioner’s identity.

Rumor had it that King Yama Ma was monstrously cruel, his reputation no better than that of the demon Wu Hong. He had killed his own parents and siblings in pursuit of a demonic cultivation technique, one that grew stronger the more loved ones he slew. He never left survivors, no matter their age or innocence. Thus, few in the martial world could recognize him, but those who did were usually the lucky few who had escaped his vengeance.

The man who had called out Ma’s identity now wore a grim expression; in his excitement, he had likely brought trouble upon himself. Quietly, he slipped away into the crowd as the discussion continued.

Young Dongfang smiled slightly. “Old Ma, there’s no hurry. Seize the old man first—we’ll settle accounts with master and disciple together.”

The messenger who had just rushed forward, only to be caught between the Elder of Ten Thousand Poisons and Ma the Demon, now stood rooted to the spot, at a loss. Young Dongfang signaled him, and the man hurried up onto the dais.

Ma the Demon immediately lunged at the Elder of Ten Thousand Poisons. The latter wanted to save Li Ruolan, but with her untrained in martial arts and standing so close to Ma, he dared not act rashly.

King Yama Ma knew that Young Dongfang, though recently risen to fame, was no lesser martial artist than himself—perhaps even superior. His face darkened, but he grudgingly accepted the order. After all, “Killing two is better than killing one,” he thought.

Brandishing the broken blade, he slashed at the Elder of Ten Thousand Poisons, sending a wave of crimson energy through the air, chilling to the marrow, like the wailing of ten thousand ghosts.

The Elder’s face changed. He, too, had heard of the infamous maniac—King Yama Ma—and dared not be careless. Channeling his multicolored energy, he swept his sleeve, sending a mighty surge to clash with the blood-red blade. The two strange energies collided with a boom, sending the Elder reeling, his blood surging violently.

“Ha! Poisonous old man, your tricks are useless on me. I, King Yama Ma, am invulnerable to all toxins! Your paltry skills are nothing to me!”