Chapter Four: The Trap

The dark troops did not pay him any attention. They kept pressing their assault on the others as before.

Only then did he get a clear look at them. Zombies, skeletons, wandering souls—an odd jumble of all kinds of things.

They did not seem like any legitimate host of the dead at all. Rather, they looked as though some itinerant sorcerer had casually cobbled them together from corpses.

Should he get involved?

He hesitated. The spirits before him were clearly the sort that had devoured human flesh; if he had stumbled upon them alone, he would have cut them down without a second thought.

But the people beside them did not look like decent folk either.

After a moment’s consideration, he decided to treat each matter separately. He was a priest, not an all-seeing guardian who could tend to everything. Still, if he were to stand by and do nothing, he knew he could not bear it.

With a light push from the ground, his figure sprang outward.

During the month he had spent resting at home, he had done nothing but practice footwork.

Ordinary combat skills were of little use to him, but techniques for explosive power were invaluable, especially those used for swift movement.

At the very least, he no longer needed to unleash all his strength and crush the ground beneath his feet just to move at remarkable speed.

In a few leaps, he was already close to the dead soldiers.

Only then did those spirits notice him. At once, two archers twisted around and loosed two arrows straight at him.

But by now, even a handgun might not have been able to stop him, let alone a bow.

At a single thought, the power of his mystical ability moved as he wished; an unseen force seized the two arrows and sent them hurtling back to kill their owners.

Yet these creatures were all zombies and skeletons, and the arrows had no effect at all.

With another thought, he directly seized a skeleton and dragged it toward him, then hurled a fist down upon it.

With a crash, fragments of bone flew everywhere. The skeleton’s body could not withstand the force of his blow and burst apart at once. Within the skull, the two dim flames of soul-fire vanished in an instant. With the vessel that held its spirit gone, the dead soldier dispersed on the spot.

His eyes flickered. He drew a brand-new alloy staff from his back, slapped a talisman for slaying ghosts onto it, and flipped the staff over. Torrential force burst forth with the motion.

A touch meant injury; a hit meant death. All the enemy attacks were deflected away by his mystical power, unable to harm him in the slightest.

In such fierce combat, though he was splitting his attention, he remained perfectly composed. His spiritual power was abundant, and as it flowed into his spirit platform, it made his mind even clearer.

Add to that the month of training he had undergone, and he was exceedingly practiced in this style of fighting.

These dead soldiers had never been a match for him in the first place. They might have handled ordinary people, but once they met someone as unreasonable as him, their numbers dwindled in an instant.

The survivors no longer fought. They stowed their weapons and fled at once.

He had half a mind to pursue them, but still harbored some misgivings, so he stopped.

“Do none of you have anything to say?” he asked, turning to look at the people behind him, his words heavy with implication.

“Ah... thank you, Daoist, for your help.”

His brow furrowed deeply, then he let out a cold laugh. “Fine. If you won’t speak, so be it. We may meet again one day, though I suggest you never cross my path again. Farewell.”

With that, he turned and left.

By then the rain had ceased. After resting for half a day, he felt refreshed and clear-headed. Why should he care about these people’s troubles? Let them do as they pleased. A priest may be fond of meddling, but some messes are better kept at a distance.

Once he had gone some way from them, he pasted two purity talismans upon himself. The mud and rain on his body were repelled at once, leaving him dry and comfortable, pleasantly refreshed.

“The more unremarkable a talisman looks, the more practical it tends to be.”

He could not help but feel grateful to the masters of Green Peace Palace through the generations. Each had left behind only the most useful talismans; not a single one among them was for blessings or peace.

Green Peace Palace was devoted to practicality. Every talisman was chosen for usefulness alone. Even the process of making them was streamlined wherever possible, done in the easiest, most convenient way.

All of this was the accumulated experience of generations of experts who had gone out to slay demons and exorcise evil, proof enough that the words of the Carefree One were entirely true: the cultivators of Green Peace Palace, generation after generation, had all been a pack of battle-loving killers who delighted in going out to hunt monsters.

He slapped two purity talismans onto himself, then walked out of the small mountain and came to the edge of a brook. He took a waterskin from his person, preparing to draw some drinking water.

Just then he had only just begun to fill it when he heard the sharp whistle of an arrow cutting through the air. An arrow landed precisely not far in front of him.

He raised a brow and turned to look, only to see the same group from before being chased by the dead soldiers, once again heading in his direction.

Once may be chance. Twice, then thrice—he could not help but sense that something was amiss.

“Are they deliberately driving these people toward me?”

He frowned slightly. His reputation as the Celestial Daoist was not insignificant, but neither was he some world-famous figure. Surely no one so bored would go out of their way to scheme against him?

Besides, when he had destroyed the abyss earlier, he had not met with Zheng Xin and the others. By rights, both she and Wang Yue should have assumed he was dead.

“No, I seem to have forgotten something...” His thoughts stirred suddenly. “When I came back, I never saw Li Qingqing’s body. She must not have died. If she didn’t die and couldn’t find my body, then she would certainly know I was still alive.”

“Could it be the White Lotus Sect plotting against me?”

He glanced at the panic-stricken group fleeing toward him, yet it still did not feel quite right.

“The White Lotus Sect is no weak force. If they truly meant to deal with me, they could not possibly have sent only this many men. Could I have misunderstood? Then who, exactly, are these people?”

He never belittled himself, nor did he grow arrogant. There was still a considerable gap between him and the White Lotus Sect. If these were truly their demonic cultivators, they would only need to send an expert. His strength was not poor, but it was not invincible either; against a genuine master, he could easily fall into their trap.

Especially against a group like the White Lotus Sect, whose evil arts were surely manifold. If they truly set upon him, how difficult could it be to kill a single Shen Chang'an?

At that thought, he decided not to bother with the people being driven toward him. Instead, he intended to find the one controlling the dead soldiers from behind and force the truth from him, to see exactly what this person wanted.

His mind turned swiftly. Before those people had even reached him, he had already pieced it all together. With a sweep of his alloy staff, he rushed forward first by several steps.