Volume One: The Outcast Sets Forth – Blazing Demon-Slaying Chapter Thirty-Two: A Hair's Breadth from Disaster, A Thread of Hope

Yang Chengzi and Chen San had been crouched in the corner for nearly an hour. After Wang Kui and Tu Sanguang descended into the tomb, the two of them gazed at the empty fields in silence. Chen San, only half awake from his nap, found the quietness in the fields soporific; he slumped to the ground, leaned against the wall, and dozed off.

Chen Wan’er, having no physical body, never felt fatigue. With the moon hanging high and spiritual energy abundant, she was far more comfortable than the two men. Yet, throughout the night, she never looked at the fields, her gaze fixed on Yang Chengzi, whose face now showed signs of exhaustion, his eyes no longer cold and impassive.

In Madam Fu’s household, Chang Yu slept soundly in this unfamiliar place, perhaps because Madam Fu was present; since she lay down, she had not stirred. In the outer room, Monk Chang sat with closed eyes, meditating on the Buddhist path.

…

Tu Sanguang and Wei Wudao together pried open the lid of the first golden coffin. As the cover slid back, a heavy scraping echoed through the chamber. Like the jade coffin before, only half the lid was moved aside, revealing a silver helmet within. Peering inside, they saw a full suit of armor lying in the golden casket.

Wei Wudao, frowning, could not make sense of it. Why was there armor? The silver suit lay there as if a person were inside. Tu Sanguang, surprised, asked, “How can there be armor in a coffin? I’ve only heard of coffins for people, never for armor—especially such a priceless golden coffin. Could this armor be a treasure? Let me take it out and see.”

He bent down and reached for the armor. Wei Wudao did not stop him; he too wondered why armor would be placed in the golden coffin. After years of tomb-robbing, he had seen many burial sites, including those with only clothes and no remains, but never a coffin containing armor.

Upon reflection, it dawned on him: armor is clothing. Perhaps the coffin’s owner left no remains, so his battle gear served as a substitute, making the golden coffin a cenotaph.

Meanwhile, as Tu Sanguang rummaged around, cracks began to appear on the Soul-Calming Ruler atop the coffin lid. As they spread, the ruler started to sink into the lid, as if being devoured. Wei Wudao reached out to grab it, but in the blink of an eye, watched helplessly as the ruler became embedded in the lid. The Ming King’s soul-calming spell ceased to emit its crimson glow, appearing lifeless, as if its spirit had departed.

Events unfolded too swiftly for Wei Wudao to react. Not far away, Wang Kui and Ma Zhong, both possessed by shadow spirits, suddenly sprang into action.

Wang Kui pressed his hands together and began chanting; Ma Zhong, one foot braced, leapt onto the coffin lid. Tu Sanguang startled at Ma Zhong, but the silver helmet within the golden coffin was like a whirlpool, drawing Tu Sanguang’s face inexorably downward. Though he struggled desperately, pure energy was relentlessly siphoned from Tu Sanguang’s crown into the silver helmet.

Wrinkles appeared on Tu Sanguang’s skin, and Wei Wudao was aghast. Ma Zhong, gathering his strength, slammed his palm onto the coffin lid. A thunderous shockwave rippled through the chamber, stirring souls. Wei Wudao was flung far away, landing amidst skeletal remains, unable to rise for a long time.

Tu Sanguang, too, was freed from the helmet’s pull by the shockwave, tumbling out unconscious.

The clay soldiers and horses surrounding the golden coffin were struck by the force. The souls sealed within them were expelled, losing their vessels and dispersing into pure soul crystals that faded into dust; the clay shattered and fell to the ground.

The general farthest from the golden coffin did not lose his soul; instead, the clay on his spear flaked away, revealing a silver tip. The runes on his armor faded, more dust fell, and his silver helmet grew clearer.

Within the helmet, a pair of eyes, dormant for a millennium, gazed ahead. The hand gripping the spear cracked, and with a thud, all the clay fell away as the spear struck the ground.

Sensing Ma Zhong behind him, the general executed a sweeping strike, his momentum grand. The spear arced through the air, its piercing roar reverberating throughout the tomb.

Had Ma Zhong not been possessed, he would have had no chance to evade and would have been cleaved in two.

The spear was not as sharp as a sword, but its length conferred power. In the hands of its master, it could split mountains and shatter stone, its formidable force compensating for any lack of blade’s keen edge.

But Ma Zhong now had the spirit of Fu Quan inhabiting him. With a backward flip, he dodged the sweeping spear, single-handedly vaulted over the general using the coffin lid, and landed beside Wang Kui, immediately reciting a spell.

Wang Kui’s chanting ceased. His skin began to transform, scales like those of a snake appeared, becoming unnaturally tough. The moment his spell completed, he charged the general, leaping high to deliver a punch to the armored warrior.

With a resounding thud, his fist struck the armor, but the general did not retreat.

The blow was clearly insufficient; Wang Kui hesitated, kicked off the armor, and retreated, but before he could get far, the spear cleaved down from above, like a thousand-pound axe, striking the airborne Wang Kui who could not dodge.

The spear descended; Wang Kui, seeing no way to evade, raised his hands to block. The booming sound echoed like a great bell through the chamber.

Wang Kui was slammed to the ground, but with the shadow spirit’s protection, he suffered no mortal harm. Yet before he could stand, the silver spear came crashing down again.

This time, the general gripped the spear with both hands, clearly exerting greater force. As the spear descended, Wang Kui did not roll aside but raised his hands to withstand it.

Meanwhile, Ma Zhong had finished his incantation. His scales were darker, and with a powerful leap, he shot toward the general, grabbing the yet-descending spear in midair.

Wang Kui, still on the ground, kicked off and, with Ma Zhong’s help, twisted the spear back. Before the general could react, Ma Zhong wrapped around him like a serpent, his body supple but irresistible, binding the general tightly.

Wang Kui, propelled by Ma Zhong’s momentum, slid back and rose to his feet, forming a special mudra, then slammed his palm onto the floor.

Where his hand touched, complex runes appeared; dark red energy surged from the dust, converging into the runes. As the energy pooled, the runes shifted, and from beneath the dust, a heavy, dark-red blade was drawn forth.

The blade was as wide as a tiger’s mouth, thick as a bludgeon yet its edge razor-sharp and imbued with murderous energy. The serpent’s pattern on its body was eerily sinister.

Wang Kui leapt high with the blade, aiming for the general’s head now tightly bound by Ma Zhong.

Seeing Wang Kui wield Fu Yan’s soul-binding blade, Ma Zhong prepared to release his hold.

This blade was famed among shadow spirits; if struck by it, even souls not strong enough to resist heavenly thunder would be absorbed and sealed within the blade’s scaly pattern, with almost no hope of escape—akin to the soul-locking pillars of hell.

As Wang Kui brought the blade down like a thunderbolt, Ma Zhong released the general and flipped back onto the coffin lid.

Though their teamwork was perfect and the blade was already at the general’s brow, the battle-hardened general, though dormant for a millennium, showed no fear in the face of certain death.

The moment Ma Zhong let go, the general leaned back, holding his spear horizontally, and with a resounding crash, took Wang Kui’s mighty blow head-on.

The force drove the general further back; he spun his spear and kicked at Wang Kui as he landed.

Unable to dodge in midair, Wang Kui could only retract his blade to block.

With a heavy thud, he was kicked flying, slamming against the tomb’s stone wall. As he fell, the wall caved and fractured, cracks spreading throughout the chamber.

The blow weighed a thousand pounds; Wang Kui knelt on one knee, the soul-binding blade half-buried in the earth, unable to rise for a long time.

With Wang Kui’s attack halted, the general swept his spear toward Ma Zhong on the coffin lid.

Ma Zhong, seeing the soul-binding blade fail to capture the general’s soul and himself kicked into the wall, was momentarily stunned. When the spearhead was upon him, there was no way to dodge.

Desperate, he poured all his strength into his right arm, hoping to block the spear. His arm instantly thickened, then with a heavy crash, he was sent flying.

Though he had braced himself, the spear’s force was overwhelming. Ma Zhong’s small stature, compared to Wang Kui’s bull-like build, was no match for such power.

Though possessed and protected by invincible magic, the spear’s sweep was far stronger than the kick.

Ma Zhong was severely injured, smashing into the side of a stone pillar, breaking it to pieces, crashing through the pillar and into the wall, bouncing back to land face-down, motionless.

Both shadow spirits were defeated at once. Wei Wudao, still recovering from Ma Zhong’s earlier blow, was stunned by the general’s strength as repeated crashes echoed. Seeing Wang Kui kneeling by the wall and Ma Zhong unmoving, dread washed over him.

Wei Wudao knew both had summoned shadow spirits and fortified themselves with spells against blades and bullets, so death was not immediate—but he could not be sure about injuries, especially Ma Zhong, who had not moved since landing.

Tu Sanguang lay near the coffin. Without a spirit’s protection, his skin had recovered some from its earlier wrinkling, but he still had not awakened.

Wei Wudao glanced at Tu Sanguang and felt a spark of hope. Tu Sanguang’s complexion had improved; though unconscious, he was not dead, and if alive, there was a chance.

At that moment, Ma Zhong’s hand moved, slowly pushing himself up.

Wei Wudao breathed a sigh of relief, turned to Wang Kui, and shouted, “I beg Fu Yan, Shadow Lord, to hold off the general for a moment while I summon Fu Ming, Shadow Lord!”

He hurriedly pulled out chicken blood and a talisman brush, rolling toward Tu Sanguang’s prone body.

Wang Kui, hearing Wei Wudao, twisted the soul-binding blade embedded in the ground.

With a metallic hiss, the blade was pulled free, and as he rose, he kicked off the wall and charged the general, each step pounding, swinging the blade in repeated attacks. The already cracked wall was dented by his forceful kicks.

The general, who had begun stepping toward Wei Wudao, sensed Wang Kui’s fierce aura and turned back, swinging his spear to defend. Blow after blow, Wang Kui’s attacks were steadily repulsed; his strength insufficient, he remained at a disadvantage.

Not only was he outmatched, but each time the general’s spear struck, it hit Wang Kui’s upper-body meridian with uncanny precision, causing him visible pain and soon making him spit blood, unable to continue.

Wei Wudao, having just exposed Tu Sanguang’s back, began drawing a talisman. Though the runes were simple, it still took time. Wang Kui’s flurry of attacks failed to buy much time, and he was already gravely wounded.

Ma Zhong, seeing Wang Kui in trouble, leapt up, kicking a shattered pillar. Huge chunks of stone flew at the general.

The general ignored the stones, kicking Wang Kui away once more.

Turning, Ma Zhong was now within reach. The general spun his spear, stabbing at Ma Zhong. Ma Zhong, unarmed, dodged aside, then wrapped himself tightly around the general’s arm and spear.

Though bound and unable to wield his spear, the general did not surrender. He leapt high, smashing his back down onto the ground, bone fragments scattering.

Ma Zhong was pinned beneath the towering general, lost from sight, though his serpent-like arms still held fast.

At this point, Fu Quan’s spirit remained within Wang Kui, but his meridians were shattered. Still expressionless, Wang Kui sat up, drew the soul-binding blade across his palm, and in an instant sacrificed his soul to the blade, causing his body’s meridians to recover. Soon, he stood again.

Wei Wudao finished the talisman and began chanting:

“Lords of the Five Directions reveal their spirits, Heaven’s officials bow to the Three Bright Ones, Divine Water swallows Three Gold, I beseech the Three Shadows to bind the nether spirit.” With that, he tapped Tu Sanguang’s back several times, bit his finger, and drew the talisman’s eye at the end, completing the spell.

Tu Sanguang lay prone, as fragments of souls gathered toward him. Soon he stirred, and Wei Wudao, seeing the spirit had taken hold, retreated behind a pillar, nervously watching the general.

This was Wei Wudao’s last resort. Against a war god dormant for a thousand years, fancy tricks were useless. If the three shadow spirits, revered for centuries, failed, death was inevitable.

Tu Sanguang stood, glanced at Ma Zhong entangled beneath the general and at Wang Kui with the soul-binding blade, clenched his fists, and began forming seals. Serpentine patterns spread across his body.

These markings were larger than those on Ma Zhong and Wang Kui, his skin darker, with barbs appearing at many joints.

Tu Sanguang’s gaze grew cold; as the spell finished, Ma Zhong sensed Fu Ming’s spirit arrive and released his grip.

Feeling the restraint vanish, the general sprang up, spinning and stabbing his spear at Ma Zhong. With a sharp cry, the general parried; the soul-binding blade spun several times in the air, embedding itself in the stone wall atop the tomb chamber.

Ma Zhong seized the opportunity to roll free, leaping beside Wang Kui, behind the general.

Tu Sanguang’s eyes sent chills through the onlookers. With a heavy thud, he struck the coffin lid, which stood up at his blow. Another resounding slap echoed through the chamber.

The lid was flung at the general, its overwhelming force nearly made Wei Wudao’s eyes pop out. Among the three shadow spirits, everyone knew Fu Yan’s blade could seal nearly all ghosts, and Fu Quan’s speed was unmatched, but none realized Fu Ming possessed such earth-shaking strength—a coffin lid weighing several hundred pounds was launched with a single strike.

The general did not dodge; his spear struck the ground with a thud, and he caught the lid with both hands.

Clutching the lid tightly, with a muffled roar, he planted it upright in the earth. The rock beneath the golden coffin burst instantly, fragments flying like arrows in all directions.

Ma Zhong, Wang Kui, and Tu Sanguang, protected by shadow spirits, had no need to dodge. Wei Wudao, lacking such protection, nearly stumbled, but hiding behind a pillar, was unharmed.