"Hmm, let me think—"
Bao Dachai pinched his chin in contemplation for a moment. "He's a kid Miss Wen picked up. I heard his parents died early, and the two brothers caught Dreamloss Syndrome together and were dragged in together—
"Though his younger brother wasn't as lucky as him. He got eaten."
"Eaten?"
Ji Jue tilted his head slightly.
"Yeah, right. Literally eaten."
The old man mimed chewing. "Ever heard of the Wasteland Feast Order? Deeply rooted organization over in the Mid-Continent. One of its subordinate branches is called the Great Gluttony Cult. In some parts of the Thousand Islands, it's actually treated as a legitimate religion.
"Their doctrine and whatnot is all nonsense about how spirits were originally one, but after losing their true faces, they shattered into pieces. So everyone has to strive to merge together, awaken the gods from within their bodies, and all that rubbish.
"As for how they merge? By eating, of course. They treat it as a holy sacrament.
"Eat to attain life, eat to attain power, eat to achieve the completion and immortality of the soul."
Ji Jue's heart stirred, and he suddenly asked, "Punabantu?"
"Right, exactly. Punabantu is their turf too. It spreads mostly among natives and tribes. Their most famous follower is Ekonzo—that general who killed the president and took power himself. Word is he died mysteriously later on, but guess what?"
Bao Dachai clapped his hands and sighed with emotion. "The man was reincarnated!"
The spiritus plague spreading with Punabantu as its epicenter had been planned from the very beginning, including Ekonzo's rise to power...
Ji Jue was momentarily taken aback, then dawned with realization.
He finally understood why they had expelled the Church of Chongguang's medical team, only to abruptly reverse course and try to detain them—no doubt terrified they might catch wind of some news or clues.
"Nowadays, that esteemed general is a Saint within this Huangliang dream, a noble dwelling high in Tiancheng."
The old man said slowly, "They say his favorite pastime is personally scouting out delicious ingredients across the various dioceses, drafting them, bringing them back, and eating them slowly, savoring them with care.
"He eats once, and eats again, until he's sick of it, until they're hollowed out, eaten away until their consciousness and true self are utterly erased,
"never able to grow back again, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell—"
The two devoutly believing brothers had encountered such a man, yet thought they had met their savior and found their chance, brought along to serve the holy sacraments.
One labored hard outside, praying without cease, while the other served devoutly inside, bathed in divine grace.
What they believed to be a bright future and a beautiful dream was completely shattered on the day of their reunion.
In the trash heap, that eerily familiar empty shell.
Amid the stench of leftover scraps, the broken husk made sounds again and again, unable to remember himself, having forgotten everything else, yet still calling out his elder brother's name.
Again and again.
Echoing at the end of the dark...
"...Having gone through something like that, turning out only like this is, if you ask me, already entirely understandable."
The old man sighed softly, rolling tobacco leaf in his hand, licking the rolling paper, sealing it, and lighting it. After a gentle puff, the curling plumes of smoke surged, morphing into various illusions, dancing and dispersing.
He narrowed his eyes and murmured softly, "It's clearly just an illusory dream, so why is it even crueler than reality?"
Ji Jue didn't answer.
He merely lowered his gaze, staring at the flames in the furnace.
Black as night, red as blood.
In its silent churning, the fire had long since yielded the answer to resolve it all.
The heat was just right.
"Could you help me call him over?"
Ji Jue paused, then said softly, "Just tell him—
"There's a demon's gift I want to give him."
A few minutes later, the filthy youth arrived at the Chicken-Leg Hut. His face still bore some bruises; he seemed to have gotten into another fight.
Looking at the strange scene inside the Chicken-Leg Hut, he appeared somewhat uneasy, but then as if summoning his courage, he stomped roughly across the carpet, leaving several dirty footprints.
He glared coldly at Bao Dachai and Ji Jue,
looking ready to pick a fight at any moment.
Bao Dachai, unfazed as ever, puffed on his leaf cigarette. Glancing at them, he muttered, "You two talk," and laid back down on a rocking chair nearby.
"Tsk, playing the mystic—"
Hands shoved into his pockets, the youth eyed Ji Jue askance. "What is it? Spit it out, I've got things to do."
"Things to do? Fighting?"
Standing before the furnace, Ji Jue asked without looking back, "Fighting with people in the camp—win or lose, what does that change?"
"Mind your own business."
The youth frowned, glaring impatiently at his profile. Ji Jue took no offense, calm as ever, not even the slight upturn at the corner of his lips shifting.
Seemingly genial.
Hypocritical, pretentious bastard—
He intended to say that, but the words stuck in his throat before slipping out. For some reason, looking at this man who appeared fragile enough to collapse after two punches, he felt a faint dread. Yet the more frightened he became, the more desperately he sought to futilely prove his courage.
He glared fiercely.
"I fight when I want to fight. What of it? Why all the bullshit?"
"Then go ahead and fight. Finding something you want to do is fine too." Holding his tools, Ji Jue turned the contents within the furnace fire, speaking unhurriedly: "If you can find a way to escape nightmares, that's all the better. But can you really forget? The things you want to forget, that is."
For a fleeting instant, the youth's face flushed red, and his fists clenched subconsciously. Glaring with fury, he froze on the spot, seemingly hesitant, yet also appearing... terrified.
"None of your business!"
"Mm, true." Ji Jue nodded, offhandedly brushing aside the suffering that had nothing to do with him, only asking, "By the way, what was your name again?"
None of your fucking business! What's wrong with your head? Go act cool somewhere else, I'm out of here, I'm not playing your games!
Yet when the words came to his lips, he twitched, gritted his teeth, and forced the answer through them: "Yan... Yan Fei."
"Mm, hello, Yan Fei."
Ji Jue finally turned around from the furnace, smiling as he introduced himself: "I'm Ji Jue."
Yan Fei pressed his lips tightly together, staring straight at him, unwilling to speak.
Then, he heard his voice.
Like an echo rising from hell, so distant, yet so cold.
"Do you want to avenge your brother?"
The wounds concealed beneath soil and oblivion were brutally torn open once more. Pain, resentment, hatred—like blood, they poured forth again, drowning everything, choking him, making him forget how to think.
Instinctively balling his fists, he stepped forward, wanting to swing his punch and smash that hypocritical smiling face.
Yet he met Ji Jue's eyes.
Amid the pure pitch-black, scarlet flames seemed to burn. In the scorched earth burned to ashes, only cinder rose and fell, just like hell itself. At this moment, that dark hell reflected his face.
Small as dust.
He stiffened, frozen, unable to breathe. He struggled to open his mouth, again and again, but all that came out was a muffled, incoherent sound.
Like a dying whimper.
Yet it made Ji Jue unable to help smiling.
The tongs submerged in the roaring flames lifted, slowly drawing out. From the blast of scorching wind that rushed forward, a glowing-red golden chalice appeared before him.
Within the scalding golden chalice brimmed a dreamlike red.
The blood and soul, agony and despair, and all else of the Angel of Wheels and the Great Tree—all were gathered here.
"Then drink, Yan Fei."
A distant voice arrived, bearing celestial revelation, telling him: "This shall be the first drop of blood shed by the Holy God, right in your mouth—"
In a daze, Yan Fei subconsciously tried to take a step back, but before he could, he had already stepped forward uncontrollably, cupping the scalding golden chalice. It was as though he held tight to his own life, his soul, his everything, even as flesh and blood sizzled against the searing gold.
Without a second thought, he tilted his head back and drained it in a single gulp!
Smash!
The empty golden chalice fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.
In that instant, a shriek rang out—from his vessel, his soul, his consciousness. It was as if he had swallowed a ball of flame, incinerating everything. He collapsed to his knees in agony, screaming aloud.
Yet there were three shrieks.
It was as though three people filled his body, wailing in anguish. But gradually, his expression twisted into savagery, like an unleashed glutton, ravaging and devouring without restraint.
The other two voices vanished entirely amid their howls of despair.
Even his own voice fell utterly silent.
His throat had already been scorched away by molten iron, his esophagus and stomach reduced to charcoal. Collapsed on the ground, clinging to his last breath, his right arm suddenly detached from his shoulder—the flesh and blood that didn't belong to him was expelled.
His maimed body convulsed and surged in agony.
The screech of metal scraping against metal rang out.
From his skull, sharp iron thorns burst forth one after another, tangling, shedding, and transforming into a crown of iron like thorns, hovering overhead.
Behind his back, beneath the shredded flesh, white bone was revealed. Yet steel grew over the white bone, iron crystals proliferating and extending to construct sharp skeletal spines. In flowing silver light, flesh formed anew, and atop that flesh grew metallic feathers of iron gray.
Wings of steel snapped open, so colossal they shrouded his entire being.
Sharp shrieks of friction sounded in endless succession.
And when the iron wings parted once more, that emaciated, maimed youth had vanished without a trace.
In his place stood a slender giant over three meters tall, clad entirely in steel and metal. Like flesh and blood, the metal coated his face, supplanted his mortal form, and molded a new body.
On either side of his countenance, six eyes slowly opened, blazing with shrill crimson light.
He roared at the top of his lungs.
Tangible ripples expanded, surging and sweeping through, roiling in all directions and reducing the entire wooden hut into a shambles.
Yet at the very center of the storm, Ji Jue smiled, admiring the monster before him. Filled with delight, he gazed quietly until the steel giant slowly knelt to the ground.
Offering up to him his remaining reverence and his only dignity.
Prostrating in worship.
As if audience before a god!
"It seems you have made your choice, Yan Fei."
Ji Jue reached out and pressed his hand against the skull, as if administering baptism.
Beneath that palm, the steel monster rapidly dissolved, reverting once more to the form of the youth.
"Whether it is hatred or courage that emboldens you matters not.
"The path left to you is only one. Once you set foot upon it, there is nothing left in this world worthy of your kowtow, whether gods or demons.
"Today, I bestow this power upon you."
He leaned down, lowering his head, and whispered one final time into the youth's ear: "From this day forth, for the rest of your life, you have only one thing to do.
"—Wreak vengeance upon those who made hell, until every last one of them is slaughtered to extinction!"
Vengeance, until death.
So cruel, yet in that instant, the youth who woke as if from a dream could no longer suppress his smile.
Laughing almost maniacally, dancing in wild ecstasy, two streaks of bloody tears meandered down his face.
Like scars, piercing through joy and torment.
In a corner of the workshop, the old man quietly watched it all. For a fleeting instant, he narrowed his eyes—through the observation of Tale Alchemy, he saw once again...
Something flowed from Yan Fei into Ji Jue's hands, coiling around that illusory dream power opened by Awakening, melting into the fire.
At this very moment, when he looked at Ji Jue, seeing through the veneer of his physical form, he finally sensed that terrifying gravitational pull—
Like a black hole.
Merely existing here, it ceaselessly eroded this dream of Huangliang, expanding its own reach.
That manner of being looked as if it was seizing another person's dream!
No, rather than seizing, it was assimilation!
Yes, how could he have forgotten this?
Yet ultimately, an anomalous phenomenon of this scale was far too rare; even upon witnessing it, one would only doubt their own eyes.
The erosion and assimilation of Heart Pivot by Ascension—
Admittedly, this fellow before him had zero affinity for Heart Pivot, Aether, or Mirror. But he had overlooked the interconnectedness between the Sovereign Virtues.
The entanglement between Ascension and Heart Pivot.
The flux between desire and ideal, the intertwining of divinity and bestiality—sometimes repelling each other in opposition, sometimes complementing one another.
Both originated from the soul, both stemmed from true nature. One sought inward, marching toward the heights in arrogance or humility; the other expanded outward, embracing all in greed or restraint.
Just as pure ideals easily rotted when steeped in desire and stray thoughts, determination that had never lost its way or shattered in illusory dreams held an incomparable attraction for those dreams as well.
While Heart Pivot dissolved Ascension, Ascension could also, conversely, assimilate Heart Pivot.
Just as what he witnessed at this very moment—
Making others willingly offer up their dreams, their desires, their souls with both hands!
Some people, merely by existing, would unceasingly draw others toward them. When their determination and presence manifested, it was enough to assimilate all ambition and longing, turning everything into a part of themselves!
"Twisting and corrupting the power of an angel, then bestowing it upon someone else?"
In the long night, the old craftsman sighed softly. "You certainly don't waste a thing. Quite the masterful method—"
After all, weren't so-called angels, so-called god-given powers, born from the dreams and fantasies of everyone? In that case, compared to that god who sought to monopolize all dreams and fantasies, this sort of method was far more satisfying to behold.
"Though looking like that, rather than an angel, it's more like a demon, isn't it?"
"Then let's call it a Demonic Armament."
Ji Jue gazed at the flickering lights across the camp, suddenly chuckling. "Reigning in hell isn't so bad either."
After all, what was left to lose in hell?
Rally the demonic host, forge armaments.
The long, arduous journey had only just begun—
Spanning this fall of nine days and nine nights, we shall ultimately return above the clouds!
Chapter 506