Chapter Eighteen: Violence

“Ha, haha, hahahaha!” Ji Hao raised his arms high and roared wildly, his eyes suddenly blazing crimson.

It was terrifying—Ji Xia’s talent for cultivation was as monstrous as a demon’s. Ji Hao remembered vividly: years ago, right at the ancestral temple on Golden Crow Ridge, Ji Xia and Qing Fu were ambushed by the Blackwater Serpent Tribe; more than twenty witch acupoints carved into Ji Xia’s chest and abdomen were pierced by their venomous sorcerous weapons.

For any other clansman, the destruction of a single witch acupoint meant a lifetime of crippling weakness. Yet Ji Xia endured ten years in hiding, avoided the ruined acupoints in his chest and abdomen, and ingeniously forged forty-eight new acupoints throughout his limbs. Not only did his witch power not wane, it had grown many times stronger than a decade before.

No wonder Ji Xia was regarded by the Blackwater Serpent Tribe—the mortal enemies of the Fire Crow Clan—as a thorn in their side, a menace in their flesh. Their shamans and elders called him the most terrifying foe in a thousand years. After losing more than twenty acupoints, he still rose again, stronger than ever!

“Brother Xia, you are the mightiest warrior in our Fire Crow Clan!”

“Roar! Only Xia deserves to be our leader!”

“Crush him, smash his skull! Xia, break his spine, snap his neck!”

Just like Ji Hao, countless Fire Crow guardians stationed at Golden Crow Ridge’s sacred ground erupted in shouts, weapons brandished, voices echoing with excitement. Blood surged in every clansman’s veins, faces flushed crimson; some even awakened their bloodline powers, fire halos swirling around them, mouths emitting sharp ‘caw’ cries like crows.

“Damn you, damn!” Ji Shu, who had just stomped his own son to death, was in emotional turmoil. Suddenly seeing Ji Xia unleash his wild power, the shock sent burning waves through his heart—he almost coughed up blood.

“Ji Xia! Your acupoints were destroyed, how can you possibly still…” Ji Shu’s mind spun. Ji Xia now possessed forty-nine witch acupoints, far exceeding his own thirty-two. Naturally, Ji Xia’s strength dwarfed his.

His ambitions for the Fire Crow Clan’s warrior chief now seemed like a joke!

“The ancestors’ bloodline has granted us strength!” Ji Xia breathed deeply, his shriveled skin stretched tight over bone gleaming like molten lava. “Attune your heart to the call of the ancestral spirits—so long as the blood flows within us, so long as we live, we have endless hope!”

“Well spoken, Xia!” Ji Kui stood at the entrance of the ancestral temple, nodding in approval. “The power of our bloodline is our clan’s greatest treasure. As long as we live, as long as the bloodline endures, infinite possibilities remain.”

Ji Hao stared at Ji Xia wide-eyed. Was this the miraculous power of bloodlines?

From Ji Hao’s previous life, he knew that if dozens of vital points in a person’s chest and abdomen were destroyed—or even a single meridian severed—one would become a cripple. But in this world, blessed with wondrous bloodline powers, Ji Xia had suffered such devastation and yet rebuilt himself within ten years!

“The power of the bloodline?” Ji Hao’s own blood surged, multicolored light flickering as his strength steadily increased. His body became like a black hole, drawing in the spiritual energy of heaven and earth from all directions.

The multicolored flame in his abdomen suddenly doubled in size, devouring all spiritual energy around and transforming it into streams of light that sped through his body. Deep from within, he heard the clear sound of dragon song; muscles beneath his skin rippled like water.

“Enough of this nonsense—let’s fight!” Ji Shu bellowed madly, his body suddenly erupting into a blaze that soared skyward, trailing a dazzling arc as he landed in a forest dozens of miles away.

“Fight!” Ji Xia laughed heartily, leaping after him; with a single stride, he crossed dozens of miles and landed in the same forest as Ji Shu. Before he even touched the ground, Ji Shu, who had arrived first, let out a roar, stamped fiercely, and transformed into a ball of blazing fire as he charged.

Four powerful arms collided with a thunderous impact, and in the blink of an eye, their fists crossed hundreds of times.

The earth quaked violently, the surrounding forest for miles was engulfed in wild flames, countless ancient trees as thick as ten men burned instantly to ash. The ground groaned under the strain, huge swathes scorched into magma; boiling lava splashed outward in waves, some even flying dozens of miles away to the foot of Golden Crow Ridge.

The deafening ‘bang, bang, bang’ was the sound of Ji Xia and Ji Shu’s fists pounding each other’s bodies.

No technique, no dodging—this was the wild and direct combat of the southern barbarian shamans: standing face to face, neither retreating nor flinching, no fear at all, using the purest, most savage strength to batter the enemy, shatter the enemy, slaughter the enemy!

Ji Xia’s cheeks split open, blood spraying forth, sparkling teeth flying out like jewels; yet instantly, new teeth grew from his gums.

Ji Shu’s face also cracked and even caved in—Ji Xia’s fists were far heavier, his cheekbones shattered and fragments scattered. Yet the shaman's vital essence was boundless as the sea; broken bones regenerated, splattered flesh rapidly grew anew.

Both men belonged to the same bloodline, both awakened the Fire Crow Clan’s ancestral power; golden-red fire enveloped them, so intense that weaker clansmen’s eyes burned, forcing tens of thousands to see only a blazing mass, only a sky full of raging fire.

Suddenly, with a thunderous crash, Ji Xia took a deep breath and unleashed nearly a hundred blows upon Ji Shu.

Ji Shu’s chest muscles exploded, a dozen ribs shattered with a roar, and his body shot backward like a shell, trailing a straight line of fire.

The earth shook again; Ji Shu’s body slammed into a mountain over three hundred feet tall, instantly blasting apart the dense forest, countless rocks turning to boiling magma. Ji Shu spat blood in gulps, lying helpless in the molten lake.

The battlefield was now a lake of magma twenty miles across. Ji Xia stood on a patch of fire, hovering above the magma, coldly watching Ji Shu, who was still vomiting blood miles away.

“Ji Shu… little brother, you are still no match for your elder. The title of warrior chief of Golden Crow Ridge, it seems, still belongs to me!”

Blazing flames raged; Ji Xia’s shattered cheek rapidly healed, and in the blink of an eye all wounds were gone.

“Ji Xia… elder brother, if I don’t try, how can I accept it?” Ji Shu laughed madly, a streak of fire bursting from his left arm as he gripped a strangely shaped wooden staff wreathed in flames.

“I have obtained a new inherited sorcerous treasure—elder brother, try to take this blow!”

Ji Shu’s body rose into the air, his wounds healing swiftly as well.