This initiation ceremony had been prepared months in advance, and those joining were people of considerable standing within the Federation government.
Ordinarily, the Primordial Church was more than willing to accommodate such figures. While rituals were important, the Primordial Sect placed its deepest emphasis on the fundamental desires and emotions buried in the human heart.
They constantly guided believers to unleash their inner thoughts and cravings, so when a convert harbored a heartfelt yearning, there was no need to deny them.
The priest overseeing the ritual signaled, and from a distance, someone produced a bell and began shaking it.
As the chiming echoed through the chamber, Lao Zheng felt an uncanny force course into his body, seeming to urge him into action.
He did not budge. But several people who had arrived alongside him stepped numbly out of the crowd, slowly walked over to the rectangular pool nearby, and leapt inside.
A shroud of crimson mist hung below. After each person plunged in, not a sound emerged. In Lao Zheng's eyes, however, there was actually a layer of viscous liquid down there. The moment someone entered, flesh and blood dissolved with startling speed, reducing them to bare white bones in barely a dozen seconds before sinking out of sight without a trace.
This act seemed to trigger something, causing two stone pillars flanking the pool to light up. Though the glow was faint, it steadily radiated a certain field power outward.
Lao Zheng could tell that this field power did not stem from the deaths of those people; rather, it was provoked by the emotions surging through the spectators upon the circular terraces as they watched the spectacle.
After a dozen or so people had leapt down, the priest glanced at the light on the pillars and gave another signal. The bell finally ceased ringing, and no one else stepped forth from the crowd.
The remaining captives looked on with utter indifference. Beyond their own numbness, the drugs they had been given had reduced their responsiveness and senses to the bare minimum; aside from specific ritual implements, they would hardly react to external stimuli.
At that moment, two more attendants stepped forward, carrying long golden poles toward the golden drapery. Hooking the curtain's seam with the tips of their poles, they lifted it just a crack. Instantly, a sliver of light spilled out, illuminating the ground outside, and those standing near seemed bathed in a trace of that radiance.
Lao Zheng saw it clearly: the rays escaping from within were the brilliance of a fissure. Behind that curtain lay what was likely the path to a fissure, while the drape itself served to conceal its aura.
From the moment he had been given his mission, his objective had been to confirm the existence of a fissure here. Yet he had no way of knowing whether this fissure was only temporary or permanent.
If it was temporary, it might vanish as soon as the ceremony concluded, meaning finding it would be meaningless. He had to verify its nature, which required closer inspection.
Standing where he was, that was obviously impossible.
He looked ahead and surveyed the area. Aside from the ceremonial staff, three guards who looked like fighters stood nearby, but they held little vigilance toward the captives. After all, every single one of these offerings looked as though they were clinging to their last breath.
Judging from the priest's posture and stride, he was merely an ordinary man, possessing at most some peculiar mental abilities.
They were separated by roughly fifty or sixty meters. If Lao Zheng unleashed his full power, he could close that distance in an instant and breach the curtain. Once inside, he would be able to see the true situation.
Gazing at that spot, Lao Zheng slowly stood up.
Perhaps because the energy contained within each seed differed, or perhaps because the host bodies were different, even Chen Chuan had not realized that each vessel manifested a distinct personality.
In this situation, had it been the doll Bloodstaff, he would have charged forward without a second thought.
Yet Lao Zheng first looked around to see what he could turn to his advantage.
With a subtle nudge, he shoved the person in front of him. Caught off balance, the man pitched forward.
The captives had been huddled closely together, most of them sitting on the floor. When the person in front lost his balance and toppled sideways, he instinctively grabbed at the person beside him, triggering a wave of disorder.
Feigning that he had been pulled along, Lao Zheng threw his body forward, catching himself with both hands on the ground. But in doing so, he adjusted into a posture optimal for exerting force, while the mutated tissue inside him began expanding rapidly, spreading across the muscles and bones throughout his frame.
Though a slight commotion broke out, neither the people on the terraces opposite nor those standing ahead paid it much mind, merely glancing over once.
They knew what kind of wretched material these captives were—merely a ritual primer rather than anything of high intrinsic value. By now, these people were on their deathbeds, their lives sustained solely by drugs.
Besides, their backgrounds were crystal clear, and they had been thoroughly drugged upon arrival. What trouble could they possibly cause?
Lao Zheng kept his head lowered, refusing to let his gaze wander forward. Inside, however, dense networks of mutated tissue crept across his body.
Thick cords of muscle swelled beneath the unremarkable, scrawny man's frame, blue veins bulging across them, all concealed beneath the smock provided by the Primordial Sect so that nothing showed on the surface.
By this point, guided by the ritual master, the elderly woman had arrived before the curtain. As the light fell upon her thoroughly covered body, her parched spirit seemed to regain its vitality in an instant.
She felt as though she had returned to her late teens, possessed of a boundless, vibrant soul and youthful vigor.
"Yes, yes, this is what I want," she stammered, raising a withered, slack-skinned hand in an attempt to caress that beam of light. For such power, she was willing to surrender everything—everything, of course, except herself.
The ritual master beside her said, "Madam, once all the offerings are sacrificed, you may walk along here to the other side and touch that entity. Then the ritual will be complete."
"Yes, yes, I can't wait!" The old woman trembled all over, her voice rife with frenzy and longing. "Cast the offerings down at once! I don't want to wait any longer! Not a second longer!"
Right at that moment, the power stored within Lao Zheng finally erupted, his body shooting forward like an arrow released from a bow!
The guards stationed ahead reacted instantly, displaying remarkable caliber. One of them materialized almost instantaneously directly in Lao Zheng's path.
The mutated tissue inside Lao Zheng had been bestowed by Chen Chuan. Though sparse, a sudden burst was enough to reach the tier of a martial artist. Yet facing the obstruction ahead, he did not unleash it.
His current body could not sense the distant surroundings, and he could not be certain whether a martial artist lurked behind the curtain. As long as he refrained from showing overwhelming power now, such an opponent would not intervene immediately.
All he needed to do was close the distance—get as close to the curtain as possible. Once within range, even if a true martial artist stood behind it, he could force his way through with a full burst of strength.
Seeing the guard blocking his path, Lao Zheng suddenly leaned to one side as if attempting to skirt around him. His sheer speed inevitably drew everyone's reactions after him.
Yet in that very breath, he abruptly accelerated in the opposite direction. Everyone before him was caught flat-footed; even those experienced enough to anticipate the feint simply could not match his speed.
Leaving the guard behind, he charged straight for the curtain.
Because it had all happened in the blink of an eye, the elderly woman still had no idea what was transpiring behind her, still standing right before the entrance.
A dark silhouette flickered past. With a sickening crunch, her body—unaltered by implants or pharmacological enhancement—was obliterated into mangled pulp.
A gale of displaced air sent the curtain whipping wildly inward, instantly spattering it with flying blood and gore.
The sudden turn of events stunned everyone standing before the curtain.
Though this initiate's official standing was not exceedingly high, her lineage was unique. They had specially selected an auspicious date and spent a long time preparing for her sake. Who could have anticipated such catastrophe striking from within, turning the entire affair into this gruesome spectacle?
Lao Zheng paid it no heed. The moment he burst inside, his vision blurred, and a figure abruptly appeared directly in his path.
The mutated tissue within him sent a jolt of alarm through his nerves. There was no need to guess—this was definitely a martial artist, one who had likely been sequestered inside the fissure until now, either cultivating or standing guard.
Having reached this point, however, Lao Zheng had nothing left to hold back. Every strand of mutated tissue across his entire body violently twisted and detonated!
Cutting through the air along a sharp, angled trajectory, he surged forward. The figure reached out an arm to intercept him, but under Lao Zheng's all-out sprint, the power he brought to bear was far beyond what an ordinary martial artist could withstand—and half of the man's arm was severed clean off, flying into the air.
By now, the flesh across Lao Zheng's frame began dissolving; the mutated tissue could no longer sustain this frail, crumbling body.
Yet his objective had been achieved.
Directly ahead of him, a luminous rift gleamed open upon a wall of writhing biological matter—unmistakably a stable fissure.
He had the answer he came for.
Gazing at the radiant light shining upon him, he willingly dissipated his remaining strength. His body collapsed like a sandpile, crumbling into a heap of fine gravel upon the ground, before dispersing into a human-shaped silhouette of dust.
Snatching his severed arm out of midair, the martial artist pressed it back against the stump. The raw flesh on his arm wriggled with sprouting granulation, knitting back together in short order.
With a grim expression, he stared down at the human-shaped pile of dust. After observing it for a moment, he turned and walked out.
Chapter 1192