劍問蒼天 - 第138章 頹廢 - 翰墨軒

The Ten Thousand Wild Mountains, the Ancient Cave of Demon Suppression.

After the beast-fiend's resurrection, the Ancient Cave of Demon Suppression was no longer as it had been—no longer capped by pressing black clouds, no longer howling with cold winds. The sky remained dim, but the mass of black miasma that had gathered at the cave mouth had dispersed, and the chilling wind that had poured ceaselessly from the cave year in and year out was gone without a trace.

Apart from the still-barren mountain range, only the stone statue of the woman standing at the cave mouth remained, standing there unchanging through wind and rain. And before it stood one clad in brilliant silken garments—a youth of extraordinarily handsome features, one might even say bearing a trace of effeminate beauty.

On a face paler than most women's, fine brows and crimson eyes, thin lips and a pointed chin—and if one looked closely, this face faintly, obscurely resembled the stone statue of the woman.

Only, the air the two faces carried was utterly different!

This youth was the beast-fiend resurrected from the Ancient Cave of Demon Suppression. No one could have imagined that the demon who terrified countless Southern Border folk was such a handsome-looking youth.

From the day of his resurrection, for some reason, he had done nothing at all—no great slaughter, no joyous howling—but merely stood there in silence before the statue of the Linglong shamaness, gazing at it without a word.

A dark shadow flickered, and the shaman-fiend drifted soundlessly over from the distance, coming to a stop behind the youth.

"Lord Beast-Fiend."

The youth did not stir, did not turn his head. "How goes it?"

The shaman-fiend watched his back. "The Thirteen Fiend Kings have already subdued all the remaining barbarian tribes in the Ten Thousand Wild Mountains. They await the Lord Beast-Fiend's commands."

Only then did the youth move, slowly turning around. "How many tribes remain in all?" he asked mildly.

"Only thirty-seven now," said the shaman-fiend. "For a hundred years the Ten Thousand Wild Mountains have had no leader, and the barbarian tribes have slaughtered one another. Many were wiped out."

The youth gave a cold laugh. No disappointment showed on his face—on the contrary, there was a deeper, wilder arrogance radiating from within him, and his gaze was like lightning as it slid over the shaman-fiend's black-veiled face.

The shaman-fiend suddenly felt as though his face had been seared by flame.

"Actually, there should be thirty-eight," the youth said leisurely. "Are you not the last heir of the Black Shaman Tribe?"

The shaman-fiend lowered his head and said nothing.

The youth slowly turned his head, his gaze falling once more upon the face of the Linglong shamaness's statue. He gazed a long while, then suddenly called out, "Heimu."

The shaman-fiend's body gave a violent start. That name was like a wound carved deep into his heart—every utterance of it hurt him anew.

The youth, still gazing at the Linglong statue, suddenly spoke with a note of world-weariness in his voice: "All these years—standing before Linglong—have you ever regretted it?"

The shaman-fiend was silent. At length he said in a low voice, "I have."

The youth did not turn. Strange lights flickered unceasingly in his eyes. "In this world, apart from that elder brother of yours who became a vengeful spirit, only you know of the bond between Linglong and me. Back then, the eight of you chased me across a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers. Thinking of it now, it seems like only yesterday."

Beneath the black veil, the shaman-fiend's body suddenly began to tremble faintly, as though the past had risen vivid before his eyes.

But the youth paid no heed to the shaman-fiend's reaction at all. What he said was less spoken to the shaman-fiend than murmured low to the statue—for in his eyes, at this moment, there was only the statue of the Linglong shamaness.