Chapter 66 — The Vampire Fiend
劍問蒼天 Page 1 of 4
~r期:~09月21r~
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In the net. This hideous old man was in truth a veteran devil of the demon cult who had hidden from the world for many years, styling himself the "Ancestral Vampire." Among the orthodox cultivators—and many within the demon cult itself—he was known behind his back simply as the "Vampire Fiend." The chief reason lay in the sinister demonic art he practiced, the "Vampire **," which required the draining of living men's essence and blood into his own body before he could cultivate it—a thing most monstrous and terrifying.
Yet though this demonic art was formidable, it also brought a backlash upon the cultivator himself. Thus every man who practiced the Vampire ** bore a hideous visage and was shunned by the world; even within the demon cult, many whispered against it in private.
Still, when all was said, this art was no small matter. A hundred years ago, when he first emerged into the world, he had stirred up a storm of blood and slaughter that left the orthodox cultivators clutching their aching heads. Only later did the demon cult lose its power and the orthodox schools press them back one after another; to escape the pursuit of the orthodox masters, the Vampire Fiend withdrew from the Central Plains along with the demon cult, and after that no word of him was heard again.
This time the demon cult had revived, and all the devils danced together. The Vampire Fiend, who belonged to the "Ten Thousand Poisons Sect," one of the four great branches of the demon cult, had been summoned forth as well. But before he came out from his mountain, his only disciple, the blood-sucking Jiang Laosan, because he shared the same foul tastes as the Wild Wolf Daoist, Liu Hao, and their lot, had been dragged along by them to lend a hand—and had, to everyone's astonishment, been killed for no apparent reason beneath the Ten Thousand Bats Ancient Cave.
When the Vampire Fiend learned of it, his fury knew no bounds. You must understand that in his lineage, because the vampire demonic art bore so foul a name and its cultivation was so perilous and unpredictable—one slip and the art would backlash, bursting the body in a welter of blood—very few even among the demon path were willing to practice it. This Jiang Laosan was a disciple he had searched ten-odd years to find; the man's temper had happened to suit his own strange humor, and so he had cherished him in his heart. And now he had died so inexplicably—how could he not explode with rage?
In recent days there had been great stirrings in the demon cult. The Nether King Sect had opened the way first, coming to this desolate place by the Eastern Sea, Mount Liubo, and afterward the other three great branches had sent reinforcements one after another. The Vampire Fiend was among them, and by reckoning he had come to Mount Liubo only today. As chance would have it, he had run straight into the Wild Wolf Daoist and that crew of the Blood Refining Hall.
Elder Nian, Liu Hao, and the rest were all cunning sorts. The moment they saw the Vampire Fiend's face, so strange and savage, they guessed that he must still be nursing his hatred over his disciple's death, and every one of them greased his heels and ran.
But the Wild Wolf Daoist's temper—to put it kindly, was blunt; to put it unkindly, was slow on the uptake. He actually stepped forward to greet the Vampire Fiend and pay his respects, saying such things as: "Ah! Senior, so many years without seeing you, I never thought you would still be as hale as ever..."
Before he was halfway through, the Vampire Fiend, listening, felt that this dog of a Wild Wolf truly deserved killing—not only had he dragged my disciple to his death, but he dared come and mock me for being old and not yet dead? In a great rage he seized the Wild Wolf Daoist and hauled him up. Only then did the Wild Wolf Daoist realize something was wrong, and he was so frightened that he begged for mercy without cease.
The Vampire Fiend wasted no words on him. He said only: "We are going now to the Canglan Sect to find that bastard who killed my disciple. If we find him, count yourself lucky. If we do not, I will first drain your blood dry and make an offering of it to my disciple's spirit."
These words left the Wild Dog white as death, wailing over his misfortune.
Since coming to Mount Liubo, Zhang Qingyue had caught sight of the Wild Wolf Daoist several times, but each time the Wild Wolf Daoist had either been dueling with others or fleeing through the air, and had not seen Zhang Qingyue. Counting that time in the hidden cave, Zhang Qingyue had been hiding in the darkness as well, and by the time he came out, the Wild Dog had long since rushed out with the others and was trading "bang-bang-clang-clang" blows with the orthodox disciples in fine style.
The Wild Dog thought to himself: who knows whether that little bastard has even come to Mount Liubo? If he has not, then when the Vampire Fiend flies into a rage, will I not die a wrongful death? So he begged and pleaded without cease. But the Vampire Fiend's heart was iron and stone, and he turned a deaf ear; he simply carried him off and flew stealthily to where the orthodox cultivators dwelt.
Then, in that dark forest, the Wild Wolf Daoist suddenly caught sight of Zhang Qingyue's figure, and his joy was beyond all expectation—gladder than if he had seen his own father and mother. At once he shouted aloud: "That's him! That's the one—I'd know him even if he were burned to ashes!"
The Vampire Fiend gave a cold snort, tossed him lightly from his hand, and sent the Wild Dog flying far off like so much rubbish. Only after a good while did Zhang Qingyue hear a muffled thud from the distance, followed by a cry of pain—whether the man had landed on the ground or crashed into a great tree, there was no telling.
The Vampire Fiend looked the young Canglan disciple up and down, yet did not strike at once. Instead he knitted his brows. Savage as his temper was, he was not wholly without reason. On the day he saw Jiang Laosan's corpse, which the Blood Refining Hall had sent men to carry back, amid his furious grief he had also noticed something strange. The way Jiang Laosan had died, his flesh and blood dried to husks, looked in every way like the work of the vampire art of his own sect—could it be that besides himself and Jiang Laosan, someone else in this world practiced this "rare art"?
He of course did not know that in Zhang Qingyue's hand, on that dark iron staff, was the "Blood-Devouring Bead" handed down from the demon cult's elder, the Black-Hearted Old Man. But with the experience and insight of several hundred years of cultivation, he had soon concluded that this "killer," even if he had not used the vampire art, had at least used a spell akin to it, and that his cultivation was by no means low—perhaps not even beneath his own. So now, seeing Zhang Qingyue, he had instead held his temper and first examined the man carefully: what, after all, was strange about him?
Yet look he east and look he west, his brows knit tight, and still he could see nothing to the point. From head to foot and foot to head, this youngster was still only an ordinary Canglan disciple, with not one outstanding feature, and not the slightest trace of the cruel, savage aura of the vampire art.
Zhang Qingyue stood where he was, and being stared at by this ghastly old creature, he felt his heart crawl with unease. He did not know who the man was. But seeing him with the Wild Wolf Daoist, he guessed he must be of the demon cult, and from the way the two had spoken, it seemed they had come looking for him on purpose.
The red skull floating in midair, glowing with red light, had at some point begun to rotate slowly again, and the Vampire Fiend's voice came coldly from behind that red radiance: "Little whelp of the Canglan Sect, was it you who killed my disciple Jiang Laosan?"
Zhang Qingyue was taken aback and said in surprise: "Who is Jiang Laosan?"