Chapter Twenty-Six: The Corpse Fiend

The combined forces of the Pitt family legion, the Holy Light Church’s militant order, and the Imperial legions were locked in a bloody struggle. At that moment, human life was the cheapest commodity; war, that monstrous beast, crushed living souls into a pulpy mixture of blood and flesh, strewing it across the merciless earth like so much refuse. Spirits and bodies were ceaselessly poured into the soil, which seemed almost sentient in its greedy absorption of their vital essence.

Blood seeped into the earth, following the lines of subterranean veins and slowly gathering beneath the pyramid.

“Something’s wrong—there’s something coming from underground!” Lingmei’s expression turned grave as she keenly sensed the shifting energies of heaven and earth.

“Ah, really, I feel it too—it’s a big one this time!” Music, somehow producing a wooden-handled bell that looked more like a toy than a mystical artifact, began to sway and shake it with a dancer’s grace. The bell’s rhythmic chimes sent visible ripples through the air.

“No need for you to keep probing—it’s already coming out,” Wu Ming tugged at Music's sleeve, pointing to the base of the pyramid.

With a grinding crack, the pyramid split down the middle. From the gaping, pitch-black crevice, a titanic claw scrabbled its way out, accompanied by earth-shaking roars that made the ground tremble and quake. As the pyramid began to collapse, the group hastily summoned their powers and leapt onto the shoulders of the Vajra statue as the ground gave way beneath them. Watching the total collapse of the pyramid, they were left unsure of what to feel.

“Amitabha, this is truly a moment when the seas turn to mulberry fields in an instant,” said Monk Lokong, gazing at the ruins with a sense of melancholy. Behind him now stood eighteen statues of bronze monks, gleaming with golden light—clearly, the eighteen shadow guards had been transformed, or perhaps redeemed, into these bronze warriors. Each was robust and powerfully muscled, like a perfect sculpture. If you swapped their monk’s robes for suits and sunglasses, they would make the most dashing bodyguards imaginable.

“Hahaha! The ancestral soul of my Pitt family has been resurrected! So what if you’ve refined my eighteen shadow guards, now that the ancestral soul is here, you’re all doomed!” Pitt, having noticed the bronze monks fashioned from his former guards, blustered with bravado—he could hardly let it go without a threatening retort.

The monstrous roars continued to echo from within the ruins, and Pitt became ever more excited, hovering above the debris and mumbling incoherently, either with delirious excitement at his ancestor’s return or in the midst of chanting some ancient, forgotten spell.

“That’s obviously a world-class boss! Are we supposed to fight it? Can we even win? Are we going to get wiped out? Does anyone have a resurrection scroll? Will it drop any loot?” Wu Ming began to grumble.

“You’ve played too many games, haven’t you? Still talking about bosses and loot drops—keep dreaming!” Director Tyrannosaurus tried to swat Wu Ming on the head, but a glare from Music made him hastily withdraw his hand and smooth back his slicked hair instead.

“Brother Wu Ming, do you think we should take this boss down?” Music’s big eyes sparkled with an irrepressible fighting spirit. Good grief, Wu Ming thought, this little girl is a battle maniac at heart—if I suggest retreating, my plans for raising a sweet, obedient girl are doomed. I’ll have to teach her to be gentle, not as violent as Senior Sister Lingmei. Casting a surreptitious glance at Lingmei, Wu Ming couldn’t help but notice her sensuous curves—an absolute stunner, if only she weren’t so fierce.

Sensing Wu Ming’s gaze, Lingmei turned and crooked her finger invitingly. “What’s the matter, missing your big sister? I’ll be waiting for you tonight.” She licked her red lips and thrust out her chest, making the buttons strain as if they might burst at any moment, swaying provocatively. Wu Ming felt his mouth go dry.

Just then, the peach pit on Wu Ming’s wrist grew hot, almost painfully so, snapping his mind clear. Looking back, he saw Director Tyrannosaurus clutching Lokong’s monk staff, drooling with a silly blush on his cheeks. With that idiotic expression, Wu Ming instantly realized he’d been ensorcelled.

“Amitabha, my staff cannot be given to you,” Lokong intoned, nodding at the dazed Director Tyrannosaurus.

“He’s under a spell—look at the others!” Wu Ming pointed at Music and the rest.

“That thing below is too powerful. Just a few roars and we’re all losing our minds!” Wu Ming was relieved he hadn’t embarrassed himself like Director Tyrannosaurus, nor made a fool of himself like the soldiers and rebels below, writhing in undignified poses. That thing wasn’t a world boss—it was a super obscene monster!

“Monk, doesn’t your order have some ‘Purity Chant’ or ‘Calming Mantra’? Chant something for them! We can’t go on like this!” Wu Ming shoved Director Tyrannosaurus away from the staff and watched, entertained, as Music and Lingmei clung to each other in a compromising embrace.

“That won’t be necessary—a few slaps should do the trick!” The monk’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Damn, Wu Ming thought, I knew this monk was up to no good. If I hit those two girls, my days as sect leader would be over.

“Just chant something, monk. Hitting people isn’t right.”

In the end, Monk Lokong acted. He struck the air with his staff, sending a sound like a massive bell ringing through the sky. Everyone caught in the wave snapped awake, staring in embarrassment at their own disarray. That monster’s powers were truly revolting.

“Don’t stop me—I’m going to skin that filthy boss alive! How dare it mess with me!” Lingmei, exasperated, clung to Music’s slender waist as Music flailed her limbs furiously, jaws snapping toward the monster’s direction as if she could actually take a bite out of it, her little fangs gleaming adorably in the sunlight.

“We should do something, right?” Wu Ming watched Lokong, who stood silently, observing the monster.

Following his gaze, Wu Ming saw the creature had fully emerged from the ruins, still wreathed in black smoke. Its form was vaguely humanoid but covered in thick fur and tipped with razor-sharp claws. Even at a distance, its fur was visible through the mist, and its claws gleamed like polished steel through the smoky haze. Most striking were its lantern-red eyes, glaring with such ferocity that anyone looking its way felt chilled to the bone.

“What on earth is that?” Wu Ming shuddered.

“It looks like a drought demon, though I don’t know why it’s so enormous. Maybe it’s a side effect of this magical world. The fools of the Pitt family believed for generations they could resurrect their ancestors—probably using our eastern corpse-preserving rituals. Still, you have to admire their ancestors; somehow they managed to channel the world’s energies into their forebear’s body, producing this abomination,” Lingmei explained, seemingly an expert on all things supernatural.

“It really is one of our eastern corpse demons. But how do we deal with something this huge?” Director Tyrannosaurus moved to Lokong’s side. The monk quickly shifted his staff to the other hand, wary after having it hugged by Tyrannosaurus.

“What do we do now? It’s draining the soldiers’ blood!”

The massive corpse demon seized dazed soldiers, drained them dry in a single gulp, and tossed them aside like rubbish. The surrounding soldiers and knights fled in terror, wishing they had more legs to run on.

“Bite them! Drain their blood!” Pitt screamed madly, only to be stomped into a bloody pulp by the demon. The once-mighty mage was crushed without warning by his so-called “ancestor,” a truly pitiful end.

“Damn, it’s too strong! We need to run for it—there’s no way we can handle this!” Director Tyrannosaurus tried to drag everyone away. If even the powerful Grand Mage Pitt was killed instantly, they stood no chance; staying would be suicide.

“Should we just leave? We’ve already got what we came for,” Wu Ming agreed, feeling that their strength was simply on another level from this monster.

“Amitabha, if not me in hell, then who? At times like this, we must step forward!” Monk Lokong declared righteously. Wu Ming thought to himself: Don’t be fooled by his pious appearance—this monk is shrewd. There must be something in it for him, or he’d never act so selflessly.

“Then you go to hell!” To everyone’s shock, Director Tyrannosaurus actually kicked Lokong in the rear.

Thunder boomed across the clear sky, and a bolt of lightning struck Director Tyrannosaurus, leaving him blackened and smoldering, smoke pouring from his mouth.

“The world’s will is favoring the monk! He’s going to strike it big in this world!” Lingmei observed slyly.

“Amitabha, Buddha is merciful. I vow to rid this world of calamity and protect all living things. I will not attain Buddhahood until peace is restored!” Monk Lokong’s voice grew ever louder, echoing in the minds of every living creature in the realm. Countless beings felt his compassion and turned to bow in worship.

“A classic Buddhist move—making a great vow. This monk is no ordinary man!” Lingmei’s eyes sparkled flirtatiously. “Looks like he’s about to become a great Bodhisattva in this world!”

Vast golden light began to gather above Lokong, spiraling ever brighter.

Ecstasy shone on his face; after all, this was what cultivators pursued—once one attained the fruit of a Bodhisattva, one became nearly immortal, even in this magical pocket world!

But the swirling merit light and the wishes of all living things hovered above him without descending. It was maddening. Finally, with a thunderous roar, a torrent as thick as a barrel poured down from the sky. Lokong quickly spread his arms to receive the flood of merit and grace—but nothing happened. Peeking out, he saw everyone pointing at his Vajra statue. His massive, wrathful Vajra was still in a pose of blissful receptivity—clearly, all the merit had gone to the statue instead of him.

Lokong was reduced to tears, forgetting his monastic dignity as he shook his fist at the heavens and cursed: “You blind old sky, are you mad? I made the vow—you should reward me! Even if you want to reward something living, fine, but you poured all the power into a machine! Idiot!”

The only response from the world’s will was seven or eight thunderbolts, frying the monk until he was charred on the outside and black as coal within.