Chapter Sixty-Five: Following the Plan

“Hao!” The sudden action of Ji Hao startled Qingying so badly that his soul nearly left his body.

Thousands of enemy tribal warriors stood at the base of the cliff, separated by a dense, poisonous thicket that spanned several miles. Across the river, hidden in the dense forest, even more powerful foes lay in wait, their eyes fixed hungrily upon them.

Ji Hao was completely alone, and had suddenly charged straight into the enemy ranks—an act that was nothing short of suicide!

Cold sweat instantly drenched Qingying from head to toe. Behind him, a great gust of azure wind burst forth, and in the blue gale, the faint outline of a pair of Roc’s wings could be seen. His figure flickered, and streaks of blue wind markings rippled outward, leaving dozens of afterimages shimmering around him.

Qingying was about to lunge forward to seize Ji Hao and drag him back, when the fat bear lying motionless on the ground abruptly lifted a paw.

Unfortunate Qingying failed to watch his step and tripped over the bear’s paw, landing flat on his face with a resounding smack. Having just summoned his bloodline powers in preparation for a dash, he was brimming with momentum—so when he hit the ground, the impact was terrifying. The warriors of the Qingyi Tribe were not known for their strength or resilience, and Qingying practically fell to pieces upon landing, forming a human-shaped pit in the ground. Within the pit, a vivid pool of blood stood out starkly—it was his own nosebleed.

“Damn you, fat bear! I’ll roast your paw!” Qingying was so shaken he could barely speak, and with great effort, he lifted his head, gritting his teeth as he growled in a low voice at the bear, “Hao… is in danger!”

The fat bear blinked its small eyes, regarding Qingying with the look one gives an idiot.

Seeing the complicated expression in the little bear’s eyes, Qingying suddenly shivered, a chill running through him. “Do I really look that foolish?”

The bear grinned, yawned with a deep “gawk,” and leaned over to give Qingying’s face a hearty lick with its long, greasy tongue. Qingying’s face darkened as he squinted toward the ancient tree spirit standing motionless in the poisonous thicket.

“Right, I nearly forgot. Where are all those mountain and river spirits this brat gathered along the way? Where are they now?”

In Ji Hao’s mind, shadows of blood flickered, accompanied by a piercing, shrill call that echoed incessantly. The voice kept summoning his name, and with each call, an inexplicable force assaulted his very soul, as if countless knives sought to rend his spirit to shreds.

Within the space of his spirit, a mist of white vapor churned and gradually condensed into a round disc.

A phantom figure sat upon the disc, gazing down at Ji Hao’s purple-glowing core, muttering in a muffled tone, “Little one, what are you up to? Hm? Someone is casting a soul-summoning curse? But your soul has already coalesced into a purple core—you won’t be so easily controlled, will you?”

Ji Hao sent a wisp of his divine sense to the phantom shadow, letting out a few chuckles.

The phantom crossed his arms and shook his head gently. “You’re bold, little one… Hmm? That soft armor you’re wearing?”

Flames burst from Ji Hao’s back, condensing into fiery wings. With a trail of afterimages, he swiftly darted past the enemies lunging to seize him. Countless warriors shouted, stretching out their arms to grab him, but Ji Hao slipped through like a greased eel—too quick for their clumsy attempts.

“A friend named Abao gave it to me!” Ji Hao’s body became a streak of fire as he flashed past the Fire Leopard Tribe’s camp, over the small river, and evaded the interception of the Fierce Ghost Tribe’s Chijiao and his warriors, bounding lightly into the dense forest. “I had my father test it—the armor is very sturdy.”

“Sturdy…” the phantom muttered with a hint of dissatisfaction. “Sturdy armor is nothing compared to one’s own resilience. I, for one, have never worn any kind of armor.”

Chijiao swung his heavy wooden club, thundering after Ji Hao in relentless pursuit. He roared behind him, his club whirling like a tornado, tearing through grass and trees with its gales. Splinters of wood, large and small, whistled toward Ji Hao, only to be incinerated by the blazing wings of light.

Ji Hao paid Chijiao no mind, his face tense and eyes blank, feigning the vacant look of one whose soul is not his own as he sped deeper into the forest.

As he darted through the dense woods, Ji Hao asked the phantom with genuine curiosity, “You’ve never used armor? That’s impressive… But can you forge armor or other sorcerous tools? Abao is a master smith—I rather envy his skill.”

Before the phantom could reply, Ji Hao continued, “I traded the Nine Syllable True Word Pill Scripture for the Heaven-Mending Unleakable Formula, so I’m not taking advantage. I have other cultivation methods too—if you know any fitting forging techniques, let’s trade. Even if you think these methods aren’t worth much, I wouldn’t mind if your forging art is of a lower grade—I don’t know any, after all.”

A long silence ensued. Ji Hao had already reached the forest clearing where the soul-summoning altar was set. At last, the phantom said slowly, “The art of forging… a minor technique, hardly worth mentioning. With a casual punch, I can break any armor—what need is there to forge?”

Ji Hao paused at the edge of the clearing, a trace of astonishment in his voice. “You… don’t know how?”

The phantom fell silent again, arms crossed. The disc beneath him swiftly dissolved into wisps of white mist, merging into the depths of the spirit space. Then, soundlessly, the phantom vanished without a trace, leaving Ji Hao unable to sense where he had gone, as always.

“Ji Hao~~~!”

Upon the altar, a twisted face shrieked itself hoarse.

Ji Hao’s body convulsed violently, as if a puppet, shrouded in a soft glow of fire, he walked toward the altar step by step.

A gaunt elder standing before the altar cackled, tapping the stone with a black bone staff. He turned to Jiang Yao with a deferential grin. “Honored Sorceress, this boy’s soul is now utterly under my control—he is my puppet. About the benefits you promised our Wraith Tribe, what say you?”

With a thunderous crash, a colossal ancient tree—so thick it would take a dozen men to encircle—was smashed to splinters by Chijiao’s club. The howling wind swept the wood chips across the clearing as Chijiao, panting, stormed in and pointed at Ji Hao, shouting, “Heiyin, don’t think you can monopolize the reward! What the Sorceress promised us, we will not let go!”

Stomping his foot, Chijiao glared at Jiang Yao and barked, “Woman, don’t forget—even if you catch the boy, you’ll still need our help to capture his father alive when he comes!”

Jiang Yao cast a look of disgust at the blustering Chijiao, raised her chin arrogantly, and strode up to Ji Hao. She cupped his chin with her hand, her tone impatient. “Enough, enough, you fools… What I’ve promised you, you’ll receive every bit.”

Her fingers dug into Ji Hao’s face as she sneered through clenched teeth, “Ji Hao, you damned wretch!”

Suddenly, the blankness vanished from Ji Hao’s eyes, replaced by a blazing gold-red light.

With a ringing note, Ji Hao drew the sharp sword he’d seized from the Blackwater Serpent Tribe’s high shaman and drove it straight into Jiang Yao’s heart.

He twisted his wrist, ruthlessly stirring the blade within her chest, and snarled in disgust, “Jiang Yao, you vile woman, enough is enough! If I don’t kill you, you’ll never stop plaguing my family!”

Jiang Yao stared at Ji Hao as though she’d seen a ghost.

The old shaman before the altar was so terrified he could only let out a shrill scream.

***

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