Chapter Thirty-Six: The Supreme Treasure for Revitalizing Nanmao

Once again, as I clashed with the Nine Heavens Dark Yin Fiend, I sensed that its power had grown yet again. But a puppet was still a puppet; no matter how much energy it wielded, it could never match the flexibility of its true master. Relying on my unique speed, I assaulted the fiend's back. Before long, I had forcibly torn off one of its wings, then seized it and hurled it down from hundreds of meters above. It crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, sending up billowing clouds of dust.

The area was in the outskirts of the city. Save for a few dozen low houses, the surroundings were nothing but forest. Most of the people living here were laborers, and at this hour, most were still out working, so few would return for the night. Thus, the boom of the fiend’s fall did not draw any curious onlookers.

It was the same tactic as before, but this time, the result was not as ideal. When the dust finally settled, I saw the fiend’s figure buried up to its shins in the earth, one of its wings torn and oozing a pitch-black fluid. It stood motionless, as if entirely numb to the pain in its back.

At that moment, Uncle Mao shouted to Wang Sheng, “Quick! Use the Dao Ancestor’s steel sword to release the vengeful spirits inside her. That'll cut her power in half!”

Only then did Wang Sheng remember the sword. He dashed into the house, rummaged it from his bag, and lunged at the unmoving fiend.

Uncle Mao was astonished by Wang Sheng’s haste and shouted, “What’s wrong with you? That’s not how it’s done—there’s an incantation!”

But Wang Sheng was already upon the fiend, close enough to see the scornful glint in her eyes, mocking his powerless weapon.

The sound of steel piercing flesh rang out sharply in the silent night. Wang Sheng muttered in frustration, “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” But before he could finish, the fiend sent him flying, and he landed ten meters away.

Fortunately, the ground here was not paved. Had Wang Sheng crashed onto concrete from that height, it would have been no different from a car smash at high speed—he’d be lucky to escape with his life.

The fiend, having freed her legs from the earth, could no longer fly, but her prowess on the ground was not to be underestimated.

What surprised me was that instead of pressing the attack on Wang Sheng and Uncle Mao, the fiend strode toward the house, as if searching for something. I suddenly remembered: Zhou Runfa was still inside!

I swooped down, placing myself five meters from the fiend at the entrance to the house, blocking her path. I believed I was the only one present capable of opposing her now—Uncle Mao and Wang Sheng were both out of commission.

Seeing me standing in her way, the fiend halted and spoke in a voice that was neither male nor female, “Step aside. I must deal with the traitor first, and then I’ll destroy the rest of you slowly!”

A traitor? Her words puzzled me even more. Could Zhou Runfa also be a descendant of some ancient curse? But he didn’t seem the type—a refined gentleman, impossible to associate with such ancient evils. I replied, “The traitor you speak of—how could that have anything to do with Zhou Runfa? Stop slandering others. In any case, if you want to hurt him, you have three choices: one, kill me; two, kill all three of us; three, wait for him to die on his own. Take your pick!”

I wasn’t truly seeking an answer; I was buying time for Wang Sheng, who I saw was already picking himself up from the ground. After his blood dripped onto the steel sword and he chanted the incantation, “By the law, act swiftly!” the Sanskrit inscriptions on the blade began to glow.

The fiend regarded me with scorn, completely oblivious to the danger behind her. She said, “If you won’t move, I’ll send you to your death early. According to the records of our ancient curse, your demon ancestors were nothing but our test subjects. Dealing with you takes no effort at all for us curse-wielders!”

Her words rubbed me the wrong way. I raised my middle finger at her and then pointed behind her. “Looks like today’s the day we KO you.”

She didn’t understand at first. As she turned in the direction I indicated, she saw Wang Sheng already half a meter away. It was too late to dodge; she could only watch as the steel sword inscribed with Sanskrit plunged into her abdomen.

Because she was a puppet, she lacked the agility of a living being and could only watch helplessly as the blade pierced her.

What followed was almost comical—Wang Sheng was sent flying again, hitting the earth another ten meters away.

In the Mao family tradition, this move was called “Yin Release”—any ghost or fiend struck by it would lose half its power. I thought of it as some massive damage skill out of a game.

Realizing she had been struck and her power was greatly diminished, the fiend began plotting escape. The wound in her abdomen oozed black fluid, which pooled on the ground in the moonlight, eerie and unnatural.

Despite his injuries, Uncle Mao was still sturdy as ever. He hurried to Wang Sheng’s side, picked up the sword, bit open his own finger and smeared blood on the blade, then chanted the incantation and charged into battle with the fiend.

Despite being over fifty, Uncle Mao was robust—strong enough to make even me, a scrawny young man, marvel at his chest and eight-pack abs.

As he rushed in, Uncle Mao called out to me, “Xiaodong, stay back. Tonight, I’ll show you the Mao family’s accumulated Maoshan arts!”

I nodded and flashed over to Wang Sheng’s side. He was still spitting mud from his mouth, so I teased, “How’s the taste of the earth today, Wang Sheng?”

He shot me a disdainful look, then grabbed a handful of dirt and said, “It’s cheap today—want some?”

I chuckled. “Wang Sheng, hurry, look at how Uncle Mao fights!”

Now, Uncle Mao, facing a fiend whose power was halved, had the upper hand, while the fiend could only defend herself, constantly on the back foot.

She was in such a predicament that whenever she guarded her rear, her head took a blow; and when she shielded her head, she got kicked from behind.

At last, unable to endure the humiliation, the fiend raised her hand in surrender, “Stop, stop, stop, enough! I give up, alright?”

But her plea was met with another slash, almost depleting her remaining power. In her frustration, she trembled as she glimpsed the true nature of the sword and stammered to Uncle Mao, “That sword you’re holding—is it really the Sword of the Human King?”

…