Chapter Forty-Six: Choosing Soldiers

As the fiendish beings such as Six-Chou and the others fell into their slumber, the final three days of the examination silently came to an end. Out of the more than 1,900 monsters who had participated from the Ten Heavenly Stems Camp of Ghost Valley, fewer than a thousand ultimately reached the Cloud Vessel. Some had perished to the deadly embrace of the Corpse Clan, while others failed to arrive at all—awaiting the same grim fate.

The three Cloud Vessels began their silent ascent, then fanned out in different directions, each bound for its own destination.

After many days of travel, the Cloud Vessel finally began its slow descent one early morning—Loyang was near.

A throng of lesser demons crowded onto the deck, gazing out over the railings at the sprawling, boundless city below: a vast metropolis, filled with countless houses and towering pavilions stretching for dozens of miles.

Loyang, the third largest city in all of Great Zhou, surpassed in scale only by Haojing and the ancient capital Chaoge. Yet it was the greatest industrial hub of the empire; apart from the Mohist School, famed for their mechanical beasts, nearly every other guild devoted to smelting, forging, armoring, and weapon-crafting was gathered here, imbuing the city with extraordinary prosperity.

As far as the eye could see, a forest of grand structures rose like waves on the sea, pierced everywhere by shining metallic chimneys belching white smoke into the sky. Enormous mechanical beasts lumbered in from all directions, while the city’s countless streets teemed with smaller mechanical contraptions scurrying like ants. Voices thundered in the air; though it was merely morning, the city already buzzed like a hive.

Loyang knew no night, nor did it ever rest—its toils went on, day and night, without cease.

The Cloud Vessel gently turned, revealing ahead a massive black tower, glimmering with a sinister luster—a jagged colossus thrusting into the clouds, bristling with countless branches and docks. Upon each branch, three or five or seven Cloud Vessels were moored in pairs, some coming, some going, in an endless flow.

The white smoke rising from the city gathered about the tower’s waist, forming a suspended cloud that seemed to anchor the structure half in the heavens. The tower’s base alone stretched for a mile, a true behemoth.

Its name was the Sky-Piercing Tower.

For many monsters, this was their first time beholding a human achievement of such magnitude, and they could not help but marvel. Yet they did not know that the very heart of this city, the power that sustained the Cloud Vessels’ flight, the speed of the mechanical beasts, and even the luminous devices below, all depended on the tiny demon cores within their own kind.

The Cloud Vessel drifted toward the great tower, slowing as it approached. The number of vessels increased, each of different design; many were large, but among them were also numerous medium and small vessels. One, forged entirely of bronze, sped past in a flash, beautiful beyond compare.

The Ghost Valley Cloud Vessel received no special welcome in Loyang; the instructors aboard seemed in no hurry, hovering the vessel in the air. Before long, a small Cloud Vessel approached for verification, then guided them into a berth on the tower.

From afar, Six-Chou had found the tower impressive; upon setting foot upon it, he was utterly awed.

Their branch dock was set mid-tower, just above the swirling clouds. The dock itself was tens of yards wide, flanked by chest-high wooden railings. The wind howled as they walked, making the place seem even more formidable. Several enormous Bixi mechanical beasts stood along the way, as unremarkable as tea cups upon a chessboard.

Under the instructors’ orders, the monsters boarded the Bixi beasts. As the beasts’ bellies closed, they began their slow descent into the tower’s spiraling corridors.

Six-Chou keenly noticed the absence of Corpse-Walker and Fei-Fei, but the instructors betrayed nothing. He vaguely sensed something had happened, yet since no one mentioned it, he dared not ask—never suspecting the matter was linked to himself.

Facing the uncertain future, Six-Chou cared for nothing else, devoting himself to cultivating the Myriad Demon Codex, now gradually entering the second stage...

※

The hall of blue stone was imposing and austere, stripped bare but for a few exposed bronze girders. At its center stood a solid wooden table, massive and unadorned.

Several men sat around the table in small groups. Hundreds of scrolls lay scattered atop it, but each group kept only a few before them, exchanging and inspecting them, sometimes arguing, then ultimately making their selections.

These men were all Senior Captains of the Upper Four Armies, come to choose the finest candidates from among the top two or three hundred Ghost Valley initiates. The scrolls contained their names, heights, weights, true forms, special traits, and the level reached in the Myriad Demon Codex—nothing was omitted.

Those whose records had not arrived were already sent to the Middle and Lower Armies. The rejected would soon follow, assigned to the God-Hunting Corps as reserves.

The Upper Four Armies had no God-Hunting Corps; they selected only the elite. Though Six-Chou and his companions had not yet arrived, their fates were sealed.

Four captains presided: one, a pale-faced scholar-general with feather fan and silk cap; another, a tall, red-haired man, broad and imposing; the third, with high cheekbones and narrow, icy eyes; the last, a one-eyed man with a scarred, fearsome visage. They left the squabbling and debate to their lieutenants, conversing and laughing among themselves, above the fray.

Suddenly, a wailing like a child’s cry sounded from outside. The scholar-general’s fan stopped mid-swing, his face changed, his voice caught in his throat, and he could not utter another word. The narrow-eyed captain reacted the same—silent, even his breath stilled.

Both turned their heads to peer outside.

The scarred and red-haired captains, surprised, demanded, “What’s the matter? Why do you two look so pale?” They too looked to the door.

Nothing was there. But when they looked back, they saw a swirl of black smoke at the head of the table, coalescing swiftly into the form of a child perched atop a chair. Barely two feet tall, beautifully featured with bright eyes and scarlet lips, his twin braids stuck up adorably. Upon his shoulder rested a massive, broad-bladed sword, over a yard long and nearly a foot wide, its edge chipped and notched, scraps of flesh still clinging to its breaks.

Two giant characters were inscribed upon the blade:

“Heaven’s Lament!”

Heaven’s Lament was both the name of the blade and the child.

The boy glanced around, nodding casually. “Changsun Luan, Tu Zhengsha—why is it you two again? Does Tiger Guard and Dragon Cavalry have no one else?”

Changsun Luan, the pale scholar-general, forced a smile. “Whether Tiger Guard has others or not, whoever comes, it’s all the same. We’re but captains—if the Marshal himself were here, even he’d let you choose first.”

The child laughed, rocking back and forth on the chair without losing balance. “You’re clever. I heard last time—who was it—someone snatched a lot, didn’t they?”

His gaze drifted to the cold-eyed Tu Zhengsha.

Tu Zhengsha shivered, bowing hastily. “General, you mistake me! Though he was nominally under Dragon Cavalry, his loyalty wavered long ago. We’ve wanted him gone for ages. We’re grateful to your sister for dealing with him!”

The child laughed all the harder, delighted. Tu Zhengsha and Changsun Luan responded with sycophantic grins, their obsequiousness astonishing the other two.

Changsun Luan was known for his pride and reserve; Tu Zhengsha for his cunning and aloofness. Before Zhao Meng, the red-haired man, and Xu Han, the scarred one, they maintained their dignity—who would have thought a mere child could reduce them to such fawning?

Zhao Meng, though rough in appearance, was sharp-minded. As he pondered their words, his eyes flicked to the ancient script on the boy’s blade. Suddenly, cold sweat broke out on his back.

Heaven’s Lament? Heaven...Heavenly Demon?

“Could this be the very Heaven’s Lament of the Ghost Banquet Seven from the Tianshan Vanguard?”

The Tianshan Vanguard—one of the Four Guards—was as mysterious as the others. It was said to be divided into four divisions: Ghost Banquet, Blood Sea, Corpse Liberation, and Mirage, each with seven chief commanders and eighteen deputies, with innumerable subordinates. Their organization differed from the Sixteen Armies. The Tianshan Vanguard boasted only these twenty-eight chief and seventy-two deputy commanders, each leading a small private force. In battle, even a deputy could face a hundred, while a chief was said to rival an entire brigade—truly fearsome!

The name Tianshan Vanguard derived from the thirty-third hexagram in King Wen’s Book of Changes, “Heaven Above, Mountain Below.” When Grand Duke Jiang Ziya established the Guard, King Wu named it in memory of King Wen, signifying it should retreat rather than advance. So the Grand Duke kept the Guard separate from the main army, yet it earned undying glory in the campaign against the Shang, and became one of Great Zhou’s Four Guards.

For instance, when the brothers Gao Ming and Gao Jue aided Yuan Hong, using their supernatural senses to spy on Zhou’s military movements, it was Yang Jian, with the Tianshan Vanguard’s help, who traveled a thousand miles to Qipan Mountain, uprooted the demon trees, destroyed the clay ghosts, and slew the two fiends.

Legend held that the first commander of the Tianshan Vanguard was the Grand Duke’s disciple, known as the “Tiger with the Dragon’s Beard.”

The Tianshan Vanguard had no lieutenants; each chief was the head of a division. Heaven’s Lament was the seventh-ranked of the Ghost Banquet division, honored as “Heavenly Demon Seven.”

Zhao Meng glanced at Xu Han, who was wiping his brow, his tunic soaked with sweat.

Clearly, the Sixteen Armies knew much about the Four Guards, especially the bloodthirsty Tianshan Vanguard—perhaps as much as he did, if not more.

Suddenly, crisp, rhythmic footsteps echoed, like a gentle melody in each ear. Startled from their awe, the four captains looked anxiously toward the door, where two Cloud Vessels were moored on the training field outside. Upon them, dozens of people milled about: some perched idly on the wings, some washed up, others drank, ate, and laughed boisterously.

Two vessels...

At that moment, a slender hand appeared at the door, fair and radiant as moonlight, pushing it open with elegant grace. Entering was a woman clad in pleated Sichuan brocade embroidered with golden patterns, her hair piled high and adorned with swaying ornaments. She appeared barely seventeen or eighteen, her skin so flawless it seemed to glow—a beauty rare in all the world.

Behind her came the garrison’s commander, trailing respectfully, head bowed, hardly daring to breathe. Though he, too, was a captain, compared to those of the Upper Four Armies, a mere garrison officer was nothing. He had slipped away on a pretext, only to witness Heaven’s Lament descend from the sky. Seeing the strange vessels and the characters on their hulls, he hurried to meet them.

To offend a captain of the Upper Four Armies risked demotion, even prison—but to cross the Ghost Banquet division of the Tianshan Vanguard meant only death.

Or worse—wishing for death, but being denied even that.