Chapter 43
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Silent Foes - 2
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To recap, the righteous sects always operated differently from the unorthodox ones. Their foundations were built on entirely different grounds.
The Huangfu Clan didn't sweep through back alleys with combat squads. They quietly posted notices.
Hear ye.
The evil cultists plotting before the east gate of Mount Bul are fools seeking to sow chaos across the world, bewitched by a wicked spirit who calls herself the Divine Maiden.
This so-called Divine Maiden has already slaughtered thirty innocent souls in Jiangming, her crimes reaching to the heavens. Her guardian, that protector of hers, roams with human blood staining his blade, utterly shameless.
The renowned White-Clothed Divine Hero Nangong Dan personally sought to turn their hearts, yet they refused to repent and repaid him with blood—shameless beyond measure.
Punishing them is the sacred duty bestowed upon the Great Huangfu Clan by the Emperor himself. As the martial world watches over places beyond the law's reach, we fulfill our original mandate. Let the people straighten their minds and behold the light.
In three days, upright heroes of the martial world shall unite to deliver judgment. We announce this now so no innocent blood is shed.
— Huangfu Clan Patriarch Iron Blood Fist King Huangfu Hu
— Zhuge Clan Young Lord Little Divine Dragon Zhuge Min
— Hebei Peng Clan Young Lord Azure Clarity Blade Peng Xiaoying
— Plum Blossom Sword Hand Cloud Wind Sword Zhen Ming
The righteous didn't force submission through fear and tears. They used money, legitimacy, making people nod in agreement of their own accord. To them, threats with blades were just one tool among many.
Their own affiliations boldly listed at the top. Even the most ignorant villager would have heard of these mighty groups, now united in condemnation.
It was no different from denunciations pouring in from across the world.
And that wasn't all. The joint declaration bore the signatures of Zhuge Liang's descendants and direct disciples of Mount Hua Taoists, joining in solidarity. Whispers spread inevitably among the cultists. More and more people began to waver. Some vanished without a trace overnight.
Yet no one tried to stop them.
Zhang Ping smiled knowingly, as if half-aware. Bai Hui stood sentinel like a wooden statue. And the Divine Maiden, as always, tended to the people's ailments. They acted as if they heard nothing.
The next day, famed heroes appeared on the streets, alongside rice brought by Huangfu Clan servants.
As the servants ladled out the freshly cooked rice, they shouted.
"Hear this, you cult followers!"
"You still know you're innocent, so flee by night, and no punishment shall come! This is the word of the Iron Blood Fist King himself!"
"But the ringleaders—the Divine Maiden, her protector, and that silver-tongued deceiver Zhang Ping—are exceptions. You lot must pay dearly for your crimes!"
The shouters were all Huangfu Clan warriors, few without nicknames.
Reading from sheets of paper, their words rang true and well-written, swaying even some toward the Huangfu side. Countless ate their rice and slipped away. Some, believing the promise of amnesty if they fled now, even bowed their heads in surrender.
Yet the Divine Maiden showed no reaction.
Huangfu Clan's vast intelligence network caught nothing. No signs of tightening security inside, no attempts to sneak away. Even encircled by slums, nothing changed.
"It doesn't make sense."
Little Divine Dragon Zhuge Min.
Famed as Shaanxi's top prodigy. Without his clan's tradition of aiding the world unbound by office, he'd surely hold high rank.
His predictions of human hearts and schemes were eerily perceptive—hence his title, Divine Dragon. But now, he couldn't read the enemy's setup at all. Their intent was foggy as mist.
"Word was he's narrow-minded and twisted..."
To the poets and romantics, the Zhuge Clan's influence was absolute. In short order, he'd gleaned intel from Zhang Ping's academy peers, dubbed the cult's brain.
Anecdotes, physical traits, even Hanlin Academy submissions—all reviewed, yielding Zhang Ping's profile.
Impatience.
His writing brimmed with the desperation cripples often showed. Why do the flawed claim to save the world? At root, a burning desire to prove themselves. Such people fixate on trifles, blind to the broader view.
Born lame, ignored lifelong. So until two days ago, Zhuge Min had been certain. He could read the man like a book.
Pity stirred, but paradoxically, that made him predictable.
They'd set a tight three-day deadline. Slandered his revered Divine Maiden. Insulted the cult.
Time, worship, ideology. Any Zhang Ping he'd profiled would lash out under such multifaceted threats.
"We've shaken them this much, yet they sit still."
But silence.
Thud. The young lord folded his fan, frowning. He pondered hidden forces at play. Was someone pulling invisible strings behind Zhang Ping?
Or did Zhang Ping trust someone enough to ignore his own nature?
Then a familiar voice from behind.
"Zhuge brother, what's troubling you so?"
"Ah, brother. When did you arrive?"
"Quite a while ago. Didn't want to interrupt your thoughts."
"How could you be a bother? Has the cult finally moved?"
"No. Uncle Huangfu's hosting a pre-battle feast. Thought you'd be missed."
Peng Xiaoying shook his head. His thick hand tapped the sheath; the Hebei Peng Clan's signature red hilt swayed.
At noon, they'd strike the cult with Huangfu elites. If Iron Blood Fist King swiftly took the Divine Maiden and they eliminated key figures, it'd end in under a day.
Confidence ran high. Even diminished, it was Huangfu's warriors, the world's top five fist masters. With their aid, defeat was impossible.
"Time's come. Today's the last chance for talk."
Checkmated pieces on a laid board. Tomorrow's victory would be glad tidings for his father, preparing the Martial Alliance's founding.
Night.
The full moon cast blue light; folk slumbered in silence. Bai Hui felt the chill wind, gazing at his battered sword.
Its state was wretched.
Untended since Jiangming's bloodbath, the blade reeked of rot. Nicked edges like jagged sawteeth clung with gobs of corpse fat and clots.
The Tian Clan's sacred heirloom, handed to him by the girl herself. Meant for the World Dragon. All the more reason to ruin it. Defile it utterly.
Yet it still gleamed silver under moonlight. Bai Hui traced the flat with a finger. The caked blood felt foul.
"Not enough yet..."
Needed more blood to feed it.
His dazed gaze roamed the blade.
Daytime, they'd found deserters. Some the girl had healed personally, yet he let them go unpunished.
Not because he agreed with Zhang Ping's view of culling weak faith. Some just needed an out from this path.
Those without grudges. Gluttons sharing Dragon Star Clan wealth for free meals. Aching bodies queuing for aid.
Thousand Kills Star's senses painted horrors beyond hell's grasp. He'd lost count of blood to feed this blade.
Those unable to follow should flee now. Come dawn, no turning back.
'My role's crucial, he said...'
Zhang Ping's plan was too straightforward to critique. Success hinged not on details, but their skills with the girl.
Bai Hui trusted himself.
His hatred would never fade.
In sentiment, he recalled his late mother's touch. When resolve wavered, that day's cold grip sufficed. Matricide's grudge ran bottomless.
Not his tale alone. The whole cult yearned.
Prison arms reaching out. Warm voice in darkness. Hands guiding when lost.
For the girl.
—Let's burn the world together.
Tomorrow, vengeance on the world.