Chapter 667: Forbidden Spell

Was this a threat?

Oh, no.

At least in A’Ming's eyes, it was not.

This was a choice. A friendly act of mutual aid between members of the same race.

The Blood Clan possessed their own pride, along with an extremely strong sense of identification with their own kind. They believed their level of existence stood above humanity's, while humans themselves were sustenance, blood banks, essentially... meals.

And right now, there was no need to weigh benefits against costs. First, there was no time. Second, there was no point.

A’Ming did not know who the saber wielder before them was, though he suspected the old man knew something. But in the end, no matter who captured the old man, his fate would probably be the same: locked inside a cage.

The difference was that if A’Ming put him in a cage, he would at least give the old man an exquisite goblet, pour fine red wine into it, and elegantly clink glasses with him.

So.

Would he choose the saber wielder before them, or choose red wine?

The old man gave his answer.

Even though the two of them had been fighting to the death only moments ago, even though the old man had nearly fused A’Ming into himself, the instant circumstances suddenly reversed like this, everything somehow became perfectly natural.

The old man laughed.

First, he pierced his own palm with a fingernail. Then he punctured the newly regenerated skin on A’Ming's neck and pressed the two wounds together.

"My unfamiliar eastern-faced kinsman, I admit that I smell something exceptionally refined upon you. But I still must remind you that the man before us is not an opponent the present you can defeat. Of course, with my blood replenishing yours, you can at least endure a few more cuts. Perhaps this is the final warmth and greeting I can offer a fellow member of my race."

"Oh, that damned translated-dialogue accent."

A’Ming sighed with emotion, then continued:

"And yet it's so wonderfully nostalgic."

The saber wielder's face turned cold, so cold it seemed as though a layer of dead skin had settled over it.

He raised his saber.

But he did not charge forward.

Instead, he began gathering power.

A layer of astral force gathered and rolled along the blade.

The cellar was cramped. The saber wielder also appeared to understand how vampires fought. In close-range grappling, they generally gained the advantage. Trading injury for injury was their favorite and most effective way to fight.

So he had chosen the safest approach.

Use astral saber force to bombard them from range, little by little, and grind them down.

The Blood Clan's immortality was not true eternal life. Their methods of dying simply differed from ordinary humans. Their sustenance came from blood rather than vital organs. Setting aside the brain as a fatal weakness, injuries elsewhere on the body could be endured through regeneration.

All that meant was that killing them once was not enough.

"East-faced kinsman, there is another passage beneath the bed in this cellar."

The old man passed the information in a voice almost too faint to hear.

A’Ming did not even glance that way.

Right now, he was effectively carrying a blood bag on his back.

Mm.

To use a description Fan Li would prefer, it was like having an extra mana bar.

At last...

A’Ming could recover a sliver of his former glory.

Run?

Impossible.

Right now, he desperately wanted a proper opponent to appear before him so he could test himself. He was not afraid the opponent might be strong.

He was afraid the opponent might be too weak.

The saber wielder continued gathering force.

A’Ming brought both hands together before his chest.

A solemn sound emerged from his throat.

At first, the old man sprawled across A’Ming's back had already given up hope. But when A’Ming began chanting, the old man was actually amused.

"You're chanting a forbidden spell? Hehehe... hahahaha... Faced with death... have you really fallen this far...?"

A’Ming ignored him.

He continued the incantation.

Continued the magic.

The next moment... a black six-pointed star appeared beneath A’Ming's feet.

The old man froze.

He could feel the blood inside his own body surging madly into A’Ming!

"Damn it... damn it... damn it... You actually activated a forbidden spell... How is that possible... how is that possible..."

Across from them, the saber wielder who had been gathering saber force also revealed uncertainty in his eyes.

The sensation accumulating around the man before him carried an enormous threat.

"No... stop... stop... What is happening... Why would a member of the Blood Clan in the East know how to use forbidden Blood Clan magic...?"

The old man felt as if his entire understanding of the world had shattered.

In the West, even a Third-Grade mage could not cast a forbidden spell alone without external aid.

Forbidden-spell magic was normally activated through group casting or ancient magical scrolls.

To cast a forbidden spell through one's own strength alone... was equivalent to an eastern swordsman or Martial Artist opening Second Grade by himself.

It was rarity within rarity.

Almost nonexistent.

But the old man knew perfectly well:

Was this a group spell?

Fine. If you counted him, there were two of them.

But did he count as a person?

All he was doing was supplying blood.

And the old man could see perfectly clearly that the vampire beneath him, this fellow clansman carrying that strangely exquisite aura, had not taken out a single scroll or magical artifact.

He had merely interlocked his fingers.

Merely chanted the incantation.

And then... simply prepared to unleash a forbidden spell.

It felt like someone reading the Four Books and Five Classics once, then walking into the State of Qian's imperial examinations and taking first place in all three stages.

What came next... made the old man's breath stop altogether.

A profound indifference entered A’Ming's eyes.

Indifference toward life.

Toward nature.

Toward all things.

Softly, he said:

"Forbidden Spell: River of Death."

The six-pointed star beneath him began expanding.

A blood-red radiance appeared beneath A’Ming's feet, as though the ground below them had opened directly into the underworld and only a single pane of glass separated one realm from the other.

Looking down, the old man could see dead souls pushing their heads out from within that sea of crimson, arms reaching upward as they screamed and roared, desperately trying to break into the realm of the living.

"This is... Blood Clan magic... fused with... necromancy... dual-system... a dual-system forbidden spell!"

"Oh?" A’Ming replied. "I always thought it was simply an especially satisfying Blood Clan spell."

"Hehehehehe..."

A’Ming bent down and crouched on the floor, bringing the old man lower with him.

Surrounded by crimson light and shrieking souls, A’Ming looked as though he sat at the center of a blood-soaked netherworld. Beneath him, the dead clawed desperately upward, begging him to unlock the restraints and let them enter the mortal world to feast.

Unfortunately, the sea of blood was a little small.

Perhaps it could not even be called a sea.

Or even a pond.

At best... a blood puddle?

There was no helping it.

A’Ming did not dare begin by throwing out a true ultimate move. He certainly could not create some enormous spectacle merely because it felt good.

If he did... the old man's blood would not be enough.

Worse, A’Ming himself might be drained dry in return, becoming the first Demon King to literally play himself to death.

But feeling that familiar aura surrounding him once more... was like a child in the old days switching off the lamp, facing the darkness all around, then pulling the blankets over his entire body and gaining an absolute sense of security.

This feeling... had been gone for far too long.

A’Ming was moved.

Moved enough that he wanted to cry.

Unfortunately, he did not possess tears.

Just as he did not possess sweat.

At this moment, what surfaced in his mind was the image of himself in Tiger Head City's inn, staring at a basin of spicy blood stew.

For a moment... he felt profoundly emotional.

Now... he had finally come back.

Just a little.

"Who are you... Who exactly are you... Impossible... impossible..."

The old man was completely shocked.

Perhaps anyone who spent too long lying in bed had his brain grow sluggish.

Or perhaps it was merely the Blood Clan's innate tendency toward melodrama.

Either way, the questions that absolutely should not have been asked right now just kept spilling from his mouth.

Unfortunately, A’Ming could not afford to be too cold toward him.

He still needed the old man's blood to sustain this tiny forbidden spell.

"Follow me, and I will grant you true glory."

A’Ming imitated Master and tossed out a stiff, badly baked pie-in-the-sky promise.

The old man frowned, then smiled miserably.

"My blood... is almost gone."

No matter how miniature the forbidden spell might be... it was still a forbidden spell.

The old man was visibly changing before A’Ming's eyes, shrinking from the plump figure he had been into something gaunt and withered.

A’Ming nodded.

"So is his life."

Buzz!

The next instant... the saber wielder unleashed his gathered saber force.

A’Ming raised his left hand.

A dead soul was dragged up from below and flung against the saber force.

The two collided and exploded apart.

Immediately afterward...

A’Ming flicked up his right hand.

Another dead soul was hauled free and launched toward the saber wielder at horrifying speed.

Having just released his saber force, the man naturally brought his long saber crosswise to block.

But the dead soul ignored the blade.

It passed straight through it.

And then directly through the man's body.

A cloud of black mist rose from the saber wielder.

Within it, one could faintly see a face twisted by fear and shock.

Whoosh...

There was no wind in the cellar.

Yet the mist still dispersed.

Thud!

The saber wielder collapsed to the floor.

"Ah..."

The old man went completely limp against A’Ming's back, both hands instinctively clutching around his neck.

The bloody curtain beneath A’Ming's feet vanished.

A wave of dizziness struck him as well.

He had borrowed the old man's blood, but it was impossible to cast something like that without consuming some of his own reserves too.

Exhaustion swept over him.

Yet inside... there was a deep and satisfying fullness.

Very interesting.

Very fun.

Like a rich young master who had once squandered fortunes amid wine and luxury, spent years hauling sacks on the docks, and at last got to taste one cup of rare vintage again.

You might say he should have seen through such pleasures long ago.

But he truly had not.

He still liked the person he had once been.

"A dual-system forbidden spell... Who are you... From the beginning... you've given me this strange sense of familiarity..."

The old man asked weakly.

He was, after all, the one who had been drained the worst.

"The fight's over. You can move your claws away from me now."

A’Ming stood.

The old man slid off his back and hit the ground.

The scene was profoundly unfilial, like a rebellious son squeezing his father dry of every last coin of savings, then immediately throwing him aside.

The old man laughed.

He was not surprised in the slightest.

This... was the true flavor of the Blood Clan.

The distinctive hypocrisy that belonged to nobility.

"Do you know... who that saber wielder was?"

"I think we'll have plenty of time to talk slowly in the future. I can give you a coffin. I can provide you with a steady supply of fresh blood. Your only task will be to take good care of yourself and fatten back up."

The Marquis Residence's ice cellar was merely where summer drinks came from for everyone else.

For A’Ming, it was home.

His furnishings were there.

His things were there.

His food and drink already had to be stocked there anyway.

Now there would simply be one more companion.

Very convenient.

The old man coughed.

"Should I... crawl at your feet... and kiss your boots...?"

"If you still have enough strength to do it, I won't object."

The old man laughed.

At exactly the moment his smile appeared... the saber wielder, whose soul had already been annihilated and whose body had collapsed lifelessly on the floor... slowly climbed back up.

A’Ming heard the movement and turned.

Then he said:

"My dear kinsman and intimate friend, it seems the moment has come for us to fight shoulder to shoulder again and bear witness to our friendship."

"Hehehe..."

The saber wielder who had risen again did not retrieve his fallen weapon.

Instead, he held his body in an unnaturally twisted posture, maintaining a bizarre equilibrium.

A’Ming stared at him.

"His soul should already have been annihilated."

Even a miniature version of a forbidden spell was still a forbidden spell.

Against a single target who had neither recognized the attack nor understood how to resist it, destroying the soul should not have been difficult.

The old man said:

"He's like... a bug... a bug that can smell me... He's chased me... for a very, very long time..."

"A bug?"

Thoughtfulness entered A’Ming's eyes.

"A puppet? Gu cultivation? Or something like a gu worm raised inside his own body?"

Then A’Ming asked:

"You didn't come from the West through the desert, enter Yan, then reach Jin directly, did you? You've been to the State of Qian. To Qian's... southwest."

Southwestern Qian had its native chieftains.

Among those chieftains were saintesses.

And those saintesses were skilled in raising gu.

Legend had it that the Tattooed-Face Chancellor had once been afflicted by gu. But the saintess who successfully placed that gu on him was later attracted to the man herself and became one of his concubines.

Later, the Tattooed-Face Chancellor entered the Bureau of Military Affairs, was framed by others, imprisoned, and died there.

The saintess concubine of native birth burned herself to death inside the family residence, following her husband into death.

"Yes... I've been to Qian..."

"So what did you go there for?"

The old man had left the West to escape pursuit.

And somehow... he had managed to entangle himself in this mess while in Qian.

The old man answered:

"Qian... has excellent wine..."

A’Ming opened his mouth and drew in a breath.

He actually had no way to refute that.

Only yesterday, he himself had been lamenting when he would finally get the chance to openly visit Jiangnan in Qian and enjoy its famous wines to his heart's content.

Even so...

A’Ming was still very angry.

The saber wielder was dead.

More precisely, the existence known as that particular saber wielder was dead.

The poor man had not even managed to announce his sect or name before he was gone.

But only his soul had died.

At that moment, perhaps sensing its host's disappearance, the gu creature living inside the man's body gradually began taking control of the corpse.

More precisely, because the attack earlier had been soul magic, the physical body itself remained in fairly good condition.

The saber wielder stood.

Two feelers emerged from his ears.

Others extended from his nostrils and mouth.

A’Ming checked his own condition.

Right now, merely remaining on his feet and preserving a little dignity was already difficult.

As for continuing to fight... he could probably still swing his arms and throw two punches.

But there was little point.

Of course, this was no longer the same saber wielder as before.

Now he was merely a body whose nest had been seized by another creature.

Whether he could still display even Eighth-Grade combat strength was questionable.

Unfortunately... this was a trade of pieces.

A’Ming's side had already played every card it possessed.

The other side... still had a measly four left.

The old man said:

"You... what a pity... I can sense... your greatness..."

A dying man's words were supposed to be sincere.

But the old man went on, laughing weakly.

"So... to perish alongside such a great kinsman... is also my honor..."

Yes.

Perish.

Once the gu worm took full control of the saber wielder's body, it would not bind them.

It would not take prisoners.

It would only instinctively kill any target carrying hostile intent.

A’Ming felt helpless.

He tried to take a step.

Instinctively, he applied a little force and tried to accelerate.

But the emptiness inside his muscles, or more precisely inside his blood, made his body sway so violently that he nearly dropped to his knees.

Right now, he really was a blank sheet of paper.

Not in the sense of innocence.

In the sense of thinness.

"Do you believe in God?" A’Ming suddenly asked.

The old man reacted as though he had heard the world's greatest joke.

"Those... red-robed archbishops... probably don't even believe... Don't tell me... you do?"

A’Ming nodded.

"If He'll protect me, then I believe."

"What a... practical eastern man... a great kinsman... without faith..."

Creak.

At that moment... the hatch above the cellar opened.

Then came a low shout:

"I'm here!"

Fan Li, foremost shock-assault general under the Marquis of Pingxi Residence of Great Yan, Garrison Commander of Fengxin City, greatest warrior among the Demon Kings, and part-time God... stuck his enormous head down from above.

Yes.

A’Ming's earlier guess had been correct.

When the fighting upstairs ended and the saber wielder descended into the cellar, A’Ming had not mourned Fan Li.

Because he did not believe Fan Li would fight to the death merely to cover A’Ming's retreat.

For Master, perhaps.

If Master died, all of them might suddenly drop dead anyway. If you were going to die whether you fought for Master or not, you might as well die fighting.

So, just as A’Ming had guessed...

Fan Li ran.

The saber wielder had no time to chase him and came down into the cellar instead.

The reason Fan Li, after running away, had now come back was that he had sensed the terrifying magical aura that had erupted from Leopard Gate Inn.

So... had that troublemaking vampire colleague of his succeeded?

Thus... in the name of God...

Fan Li had returned.

But when Fan Li stuck his head down... the gu-possessed saber wielder standing below happened to raise his head as well.

Their gazes met.

He's actually not dead!

That damned vampire failed!

Fan Li let out an angry growl.

Bang!

He slammed the hatch shut again.

From the other side of the wooden cover... came his voice.

"Sorry to bother you."

[End of Chapter 667]