Chapter Ninety-Six: The Living Dead [Subscription Requested]

As the elder shouted, a number of cultivators gathered at his side, all charging toward the summit. The Black-robed Grandmaster, his expression entirely concealed behind a mask, simply raised a hand, and the horde of corpses seemed to respond, surging toward the elder’s position.

The battle below grew ever fiercer. The group blocking the mountain pass had almost been wiped out, whereas the number of zombies showed no sign of diminishing—in fact, they seemed to increase. After all, in this valley, corpses were the most plentiful resource. Under the Black-robed Grandmaster’s control, even the dead had risen, joining in to besiege the cultivators.

Zhou Yi bit his lip, confusion written on his face. Sophia nudged him.

“What are you thinking?”

Glancing at her, Zhou Yi replied, “I remember records describing situations like this, though I don't know if this world follows the same rules. Generally, for corpses to transform into zombies, not only must there be a gathering of sinister energy—even with someone controlling them, it should take time. For all the dead to rise in just an hour or two is nearly impossible. Perhaps, as that old man suggested, the Black-robed Grandmaster has mastered some secret art. Like how we use spirit stones, he must be expending his own energy, or cultivation, to orchestrate all this for one purpose: to wipe out every cultivator on Mount Qingcheng.”

Sophia cast a worried glance at the battle below, a teleportation disk already resting in her palm.

“It looks like the old man and his allies can’t hold on much longer. We’re no match for them. Perhaps we should go back?”

Zhou Yi shook his head. “Let’s wait a bit longer. Controlling so many zombies must cost him something. I don’t believe he can keep this up without consequence. We can still leave in a few seconds if we must—there’s time.”

He left other thoughts unspoken. When the snipe and the clam fight, the fisherman profits—he hoped to sneak in when both sides were weakened. Mount Qingcheng was clearly a stronghold of cultivators; perhaps it, like the Five Elements Tomb, hid spirit stones. If they turned in five as tribute, and pocketed any extra, no one would notice. After all, he was destitute, with two newly initiated slaves in tow—some savings would be best.

Moreover, that green-robed woman was a minor figure, yet she wielded a wood attribute. This suggested Mount Qingcheng had its own cultivation methods—something Zhou Yi found deeply enticing.

Seeing Zhou Yi disagree, Fatty grew anxious. But with the leader’s word given, he dared not argue. He picked up the binoculars from the ground and quickly focused on the scene below.

“Boss, look! That old man seems really formidable!”

Zhou Yi grabbed a pair of binoculars and looked where Fatty pointed. The Black-robed Grandmaster had already descended, engaging the elder directly. Yet, through several exchanges, it seemed the Grandmaster was consistently dodging the elder’s attacks.

It was nothing like Fatty claimed; the old man wasn’t overwhelmingly powerful. The elder was attacking with all his might, but the Black-robed Grandmaster was only probing, lurking like a venomous snake, waiting for a weakness to strike fatally.

Zhou Yi’s heart tightened. For some reason, he found himself hoping the elder wouldn’t die—perhaps it was the terrifying aura emanating from the Black-robed Grandmaster.

A group of cultivators fought desperately to repel the zombie horde rushing the summit. One after another fell, flashes of colored light flickering through the chaos, but their efforts were futile. The number of zombies remained undiminished, while only a dozen or so cultivators survived, all gravely wounded.

The elder, too, seemed spent, standing near the Black-robed Grandmaster, breathless and pale, gazing at the zombies below with a solemn, helpless expression.

He spun his longsword, point aimed at his own chest, as if realizing all was lost. He threw his head back and let out a long, mournful cry.

“Never did I think I would meet my end here with the disciples of Mount Qingcheng. But if I must die, I won’t die alone! You fiends—living dead though you may be—do not forget: evil can never triumph over good!”

With that, he drove the sword into his chest, blood spurting forth. He struck himself several times, using the blood to draw runes in the air.

Golden runes shimmered and floated upward, converging into the shape of a six-pointed star, with several larger runes settling at the star’s points.

In an instant, the entire valley and Mount Qingcheng were enveloped beneath this glittering, golden hexagram.

Zhou Yi straightened at once. Wasn’t this the same mark that appeared when he received his own imprint? Except his lacked runes. He recalled Sophia mentioning that the City Lord of Time and Space bore runes upon his mark—could this be the same as this formation?

Now was no time to ponder. Though the runes were obscure, Zhou Yi forced himself to memorize them, his heart pounding. But they were outside the barrier now.

Desperate, Zhou Yi scrambled forward to touch the shield, but Sophia yanked him back by his belt, pinning him down.

He stared at her in confusion, a chill running through him. What had come over him just now? Had he been drawn by the hexagram?

“What are you doing?” Sophia demanded.

Shaking his head vigorously, Zhou Yi replied, “I don’t know. My heart started pounding and I just wanted to rush in. The runes and the formation—they feel connected to me. I wanted to ask the elder.”

Sophia gritted her teeth. “Did you not see he’s planning to die with them? This is no time to get involved—and we’re not inside the shield anyway. How would you go in, or ask him anything?”

Fatty and the others crawled out as well, curious about the shield. Fatty stretched out a finger and poked the shimmering barrier.

Bang!

With a thunderous crash, Fatty was hurled away, slamming into the ground so hard that stones shattered. Cheng Zhi rushed over, helping him up.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Fatty looked baffled, glancing around innocently. “I just poked it lightly. Who’d have thought it was worse than a high-voltage fence? The moment I touched it, it bounced me right off. I’m over two hundred pounds, and I’ve never flown like that before!”

Zhou Yi had no time for Fatty now. Previously, the battle inside had nothing to do with him; he’d even hoped to profit from their conflict. But now, everything had changed. He desperately hoped the elder would survive.

What did this mark really mean? Why was he able to draw it? And this power of control—did it mean his own mark was some kind of seal or restriction?

He hoped the elder could answer these questions. Sophia knew little, and the so-called City Lord of Time and Space was someone on an entirely different level. Even their slaves were respected—Zhou Yi had no access to such people.

Down the mountainside, as the runes and the hexagram formation activated, the elder’s face grew whiter still. Yet his hands did not stop; again, he wrote runes in blood. The Black-robed Grandmaster lost his earlier composure, stretched out her arms, and howled at the zombie horde below. The shrill sound caused Sophia to crouch, covering her ears.

Then, with a leap, the Black-robed Grandmaster landed in front of the elder, wielding a staff seemingly assembled from human bones, and swung it at the elder.

The moment the staff touched the elder, it disintegrated to dust, stunning the Grandmaster. Staring at her now-empty hand, she reached up, tore off her mask, and revealed a cold, striking woman’s face.

The elder’s hands never paused; he did not seem surprised by the Grandmaster’s identity. But the cultivators below were all stunned.

“Isn’t that the imperial consort who came to pray at Mount Qingcheng last time?”

“Yes, Consort Shu of the Liang Emperor. She’s not the empress, but she rules the harem. How could she… be the Grandmaster?”

“How is this possible?”

The Black-robed Grandmaster regarded the elder with scorn.

“So what if you’ve set up a barrier? I am Consort Shu of the Liang Emperor—the Black-robed Grandmaster of Liang. If you kill me, don’t expect Mount Qingcheng to survive. Not only your paltry sect, but every disciple and descendant throughout Liang will be executed.”

The elder’s hands did not falter. Two smaller barriers spun out—one enclosing the zombie horde (and, inevitably, some of Qingcheng’s own), the other sealing himself and the Grandmaster together.

“Does it matter that you’re a consort? Or a Grandmaster?”

Only then did the elder pause. He drew the sword from his chest; his robe was soaked in blood, and drops fell steadily from the blade.

With a sweep of his sword, runes flowed along its length like living dragons coiling around it. He swung at the Black-robed Grandmaster.

“With my soul, I subdue the fiends. Let the Demon-Subduing Formation move—may all evil perish! Dust to dust, earth to earth—let all be annihilated. Seal!”