Survivors

Blood Killing Aura circulated, and with the deathly aura swelling as people died, the fiend sword in An Jing's hand grew much more condensed. Though the strengthening was only temporary, this was indeed a divine ability whose subtleties could be appreciated the more one killed. The surging Killing Aura let An Jing gain a deeper understanding of the true nature of his own divine ability. "Good!" Seeing this, the Sword Spirit's tone lifted, and it said in praise, "Such clean demonic-slaying methods. You truly are the 'sword bearer' I've finally waited all these years for." "An Jing, your Martial Technique talent exceeds my imagination." "Thank you for the praise." An Jing drew a deep breath, but the blood light in his eyes grew only thicker. He said calmly, "But this isn't the time to be happy. In a while, when Instructor Han and the others fail to return, more people will surely be sent." "We have to hurry." Saying this, An Jing strode toward the dungeon. But along the way, he saw the dark gold vessel that had fallen to the side. The Life-Nourishing Vessel lay quietly toppled on the ground, and twenty-odd Blood Pill Great Medicines rolled all over the floor. An Jing's steps paused. He thought of the medicinal sludge in the water vat, thought of those faces one after another, and the blood light in his eyes blazed. Then he raised his sword and headed toward the Life-Nourishing Vessel. Thud! The fiend sword swung, and the dark gold treasure vessel was pierced clean through. The expressionless An Jing felt a strange sensation—it was the feeling of extremely tough flesh and blood. The pierced vessel let out a wailing cry like weeping, its luster fading, turning into a plain, ordinary black iron vessel. Yet in An Jing's fiend sword, a dark gold luster lit up. The churning blood ground it away, and the fiend sword's luster dimmed considerably, but it also grew purer, even gaining a trace of deep, gloomy aura. Within An Jing's heart there also faintly emerged a "feeling" of how to control this kind of deep, gloomy Killing Aura. He didn't understand the principle and relied only on instinct—so it was a feeling. "You can control Soulsouled Aura too?" The Sword Spirit sounded a little surprised. "Blood Killing Aura comes from slaughter, and your Destiny Star 'Huohuo' being able to control it isn't strange. But Soulsouled Aura is one of the spirit auras, belonging to the 'Age-Suppressing Two Stars'... Are you not a simple Huohuo Star Destiny?" The Sword Spirit had reached the same conclusion as Manor Lord Yao, but it didn't care in the least. "As expected of my sword bearer. The Destiny Pattern you awakened is truly extraordinary." "I don't really understand these things either. They just seemed pretty worked up." An Jing shook his head slightly and continued toward the dungeon. With his current strength, he no longer needed a key to open the door. The condensed Blood Killing Aura sword light flashed, and the iron lock was destroyed. An Jing pushed open the gate and walked from the light into hell. Pitch black and gloomy. The air was thick with the rotting stench of death. The uneven gray stone floor was covered with patches of dried blood, dark traces crisscrossing everywhere. Wailing, weeping. The children in the dungeon had long since lost their strength. The Demon Sect had used Unfeeling Water to suppress their ability to move, numbing their limbs and slowing their movements, so that even if they wanted to harm or kill themselves, they lacked the strength. Crack! An Jing cut open the cell door of the outermost cell with a single strike. Inside was a withered, gaunt girl. She woodenly raised her head to look at An Jing, her gaze holding fear along with a trace of madness: "You, you're..." "I'm An Jing. Eldest Senior Brother." An Jing said this. He felt somewhat ashamed to mention the title—a title given by the Demon Sect that carried an unusual irony to him, for he had not truly accomplished anything, had not saved many children. But now, so that they would recognize him in the shortest time possible, he still used the title to comfort her: "I've come to save you. Hurry and get out. The dungeon isn't safe." "Eldest Senior Brother... Eldest Senior Brother... waaah—" After a brief hesitation, the girl who recognized An Jing clutched his hand and burst out crying loudly, her voice bordering on an anguished howl. An Jing couldn't make out how much emotion was in that crying. He could only imagine—imagine the days and nights imprisoned in this dungeon, watching their companions and friends taken out one by one and vanishing, the lonely terror of it, and those resistances, that blood, those rolling heads... "I'll take you away from here." An Jing promised in a low voice. Holding his sword in one hand, he supported with the other this body so light it was nearly a skeleton, and sent her out of the dungeon. Then came the next one. The next. Until the last. Only eleven youths remained alive in the dungeon. There should have been four more, but they had died. Today was the day of the sacrificial rite, and then the Red Armored Guards had launched their surprise attack; no one had brought them food or medicine, so they died before An Jing arrived. Two hundred forty-eight children had been sent into the deep mountains. Of them, one hundred eight were chosen to take part in the sacrificial rite, and sixty-six survived. One hundred forty were eliminated. How many of them were ultimately imprisoned in the dungeon, becoming cauldron-slave material for this flesh-and-blood Great Medicine, was unknown; in the end, only eleven survived. Among these seventy-seven survivors, fourteen chose to follow Bai Qinghan and leave, joining the Demon Sect, leaving sixty-two in the end. Had the Unfeeling Water not suppressed these dungeon children's minds and bodies, even children who had lived through the Northern Frontier's Frost Calamity couldn't have endured dungeon life lasting months—they would surely have broken down. And now, because their minds were still under the drug's influence, these children more or less "obediently" followed An Jing's instructions and came outside the dungeon. Probably because the Demon Sect also needed these youths as medicine, the children, though emaciated, were actually in somewhat better shape than when they'd been refugees in the Northern Frontier—they simply had little fat left. After leaving the dungeon, they had all recovered a little strength, though their eyes couldn't bear the light yet and still needed to adjust. "I know a small path that leads outside the manor... wait?" An Jing had wanted to lead the survivors out of Suspended Fate Manor as quickly as possible, but he soon frowned. He heard footsteps—hurried ones, and he couldn't tell whether they were retreating or pressing forward: "Someone's..." An Jing leaped up, using the shed's frame for leverage to reach the top of a wall. He saw a group of Demon Sect people rapidly closing in on the dungeon along the road. "Five Riders as escorts... and Red Armored Guards giving chase behind?" An Jing narrowed his eyes, feeling the Inner Breath still surging within him and the fiend sword grown sharper. "Looks like there's no avoiding it." "Stay here and keep yourselves safe." With this instruction to the survivors behind him, An Jing lifted his leg and stepped forward. Dust rose, and his figure vanished. "An Jing?" The Demon Sect squad retreating toward East Mountain Farmstead caught the sound of the wind. Their leader was a Rider who recognized An Jing, and was therefore somewhat astonished: "Aren't you in the middle of the sacrificial rite...?" Halfway through his words, his expression suddenly changed, for he saw An Jing's calm, nearly indifferent look, and saw the fiend sword in An Jing's hand. And then he thought of it—the fact that An Jing was here at the East Farmstead, and what his current expression truly represented: "Wait, let me explain, those medicines..." Before he finished, this Rider reached for the hand crossbow at his waist and swept his eyes around, signaling with a glance for his nearby companions to strike. But he didn't notice that An Jing's gaze toward him had shifted from calm to disappointment. He didn't notice that the other four were looking at him with utter horror. What... is going on? Before he could raise the hand crossbow and fire, his body had already tilted, half his torso falling to the ground, throwing up blood everywhere, the light in his eyes vanishing completely. "I didn't want to act... why couldn't you just run when you saw me?" The fiend sword shone bright. Before the enemy could strike, An Jing killed with a single powerful blow. He strode forward, stepping onto the Rider's body, crushing his spine. "Are you going to act too?" He said it softly. Holding his sword, he walked on toward the Demon Sect group, whose faces had changed drastically as they instinctively backed away.