The word “clansmen” sent a tremor through Shi Hao’s heart!
The old man had white hair and beard, a frail and withered body with only one arm, dressed in tattered, bloodstained clothes. His face was deeply wrinkled, his eyes clouded, and his body was in a state of severe decline.
That single word—”clansmen”—filled Shi Hao with a bitter ache, unsettling his heart. Were these truly his clansmen, fighting relentlessly on the front lines?
How much suffering had they endured? How many hardships had they faced? Even children and feeble elders stood atop the city walls. Where were the able-bodied warriors? Had they all perished in battle?
“Elder!” Shi Hao called out, gazing up at the elderly, weak, and wounded on the battlements with deep reverence and a surge of emotion. He yearned to change their fate.
On the walls, children with grimy faces—some as young as eight or nine, others no older than fifteen or sixteen—stood vigilant, their hair unkempt, their eyes fixed warily on those below.
Their expressions were numb, save for a faint glimmer of curiosity deep in their eyes as they stared at the figures beneath the wall.
One could only imagine how these young children had already grown accustomed to life-and-death struggles. This place must have witnessed countless brutal battles.
The faces that should have brimmed with youthful vigor were now marked by numbness and wariness. The youngest among them trembled with nervousness.
An elderly man on the wall waved his hand—his only hand. His severed limb could not regenerate, as some terrifying force corroded his flesh and bones. His ragged clothes bore dark, dried bloodstains as he motioned for the children to step back.
“You… are from outside… our clan?”
His voice was hoarse, his words slurred, as if he had not spoken in a long time. Here, it seemed, there was only battle—blood and merciless slaughter.
Even Shen Ming and San Zang were moved. How many years had it been since these people last spoke? What had they endured? Had they been holding this line, fighting endlessly?
This place felt like a forsaken land. The outside world believed this city had withered into ruin, yet here stood a group of the elderly, weak, and wounded, steadfast in their defense.
What kind of willpower drove them? What kept them standing?
“You… are not a True Immortal. How did you enter?” the old man asked, his murky eyes suddenly emitting two beams of light as he gripped a bronze battle-axe with his single arm.
From these words, Shi Hao and the others drew a startling conclusion: unless one was at the True Immortal level, approaching this place was impossible.
They glanced at the ground beneath the walls, where skeletal remains burned with an undying aura, locked in place by formations—confirming their suspicions.
“It’s a strange tale, but…”
Facing his clansmen, these defenders of a lone city, Shi Hao held nothing back. He recounted everything, no matter how convoluted or unbelievable it might sound.
“Clansman, stand upon that blue stone.”
The old man pointed to a plain, three-foot-square bluestone at the base of the wall. Shi Hao stepped onto it without hesitation.
Whoosh!
The stone instantly glowed, engulfing Shi Hao in flames that surged through his meridians, limbs, and even his soul.
Shen Ming nearly intervened but restrained herself.
Strangely, the flames did not harm Shi Hao. Instead, they warmed him, intensifying the fiery runes on his forehead as if empowering him.
“Not an imposter from the other side,” the old man nodded. The tension on the wall eased, and even the children exhaled in relief.
This stone could verify true members of the Shi Clan!
“Now, look up,” the elder said gravely.
A bone mirror hung above the city gate, smooth and lustrous. A beam of light shot down, piercing Shi Hao’s sea of consciousness and delving into his soul.
Shi Hao offered no resistance, standing calmly.
Behind him, the two Golden Burial Guards paled and retreated swiftly, unwilling to be exposed by the mirror’s gaze, which could lay bare their secrets and leave them at the mercy of others.
But Shi Hao remained unguarded, trusting completely.
“A clansman, bearing goodwill and speaking truth,” the old man declared, his voice trembling with emotion. The others on the wall rejoiced, the children cheering softly.
“Will you submit to inspection, or will you withdraw?” the elder asked the Golden Burial Guards.
Shen Ming and San Zang exchanged glances before retreating to a safe distance.
Whoosh!
Blue flames erupted from the ground, like netherworld fire, exuding an undying aura and forming an impassable wall.
The two Golden Burial Guards could no longer see or hear anything.
At the base of the wall, Shi Hao stood alone, waiting.
Suddenly, light flashed, and the one-armed elder appeared before him, having opened the defenses to step out alone.
“Sit. The city is stifling, and I’ve nearly forgotten how to speak after so many years,” the old man said, settling onto a bluestone.
“Why do you hold this place? Where are the others? Why not retreat to the new Imperial Pass?” Shi Hao asked.
Some answers he already knew, but he sought confirmation.
“Our ancestors’ command—to hold until the end. A group was sent away to ensure our bloodline’s survival. That is enough,” the elder replied, studying Shi Hao.
Shi Hao felt as if struck by lightning. Those sent away were his ancestors, tasked with preserving their lineage.
The elderly, weak, and wounded in this lone city were the ones who stayed behind—and their descendants—fighting to the last, until death.
“How fare the clansmen outside? Do they thrive?” the elder asked.
Shi Hao’s expression stiffened. He tried to smile but failed. How could he tell them that, though not exterminated, their kin were oppressed, branded as descendants of sin?
“What is it?” the old man pressed.
After a pause, Shi Hao spoke the bitter truth. This was no time for lies.
“What?!” The elder roared in fury, rising to his feet before sinking back down with a sigh.
“The Human King among the Seven Kings—the Stone King and others—beheaded some mighty figures of the Nine Heavens. That must be the source of the misunderstanding,” the old man said.
“What? Why?” Shi Hao was stunned. He had not expected to uncover such secrets so soon.
“Those men were tainted by corruption, on the verge of transformation. They begged the Stone King to strike, to end them before they fell,” the one-armed elder sighed.
A chill ran down Shi Hao’s spine. The so-called corruption, the dreadful malevolence—its reach was so vast? Several memories surfaced.
The bloodstained black ship adrift in the void—where Shi Hao first learned of the Seven Kings of the Frontier. Aboard it, corruption festered, and a king’s corpse suppressed the evil.
Even more horrifying was the stone cauldron filled with the dripping heads of immortal beings.
When were they slain? Were they, too, victims of corruption?
And not long ago, in the Immortal Realm, he had been scorned and distrusted, its inhabitants fearing contamination from the lower world.
These were monumental revelations!
“Some knew the truth back then. The surviving True Immortals of the Nine Heavens—why did they not speak?” the elder demanded, his face grave.
Shi Hao was aghast. True Immortals in the Nine Heavens? Why had they not joined the war?
“What of the Dragon-Slaying Dao Gate and the Sword Valley? What stance did they take?” the elder asked.
“They are the ones who branded us descendants of sin!” Shi Hao spat.
The elder’s expression turned icy. “And the slumbering True Immortal of the Bronze Immortal Palace—did he not rebuke them?”
“The Bronze Immortal Palace has a True Immortal?” Shi Hao was thunderstruck. He had clashed fiercely with that sect’s disciples.
The elder understood everything then, sighing deeply.
“Did their feud with the Kun Peng lineage blind them with bloodlust?” he murmured before erupting in rage.
Who wouldn’t be furious? They had bled here, fighting until only the weak remained, while their kin were slandered and persecuted, branded with shame!
“The Vermilion Bird King died young. His fiery temper would have driven him back, consequences be damned!” the one-armed elder said.
Shi Hao was lost in thought, his mind reeling from the secrets unveiled—revelations that could shake the ages.
“Alas, we lack the strength now. Even if we wished to leave, we cannot. The city stands with us, and falls with us,” the elder sighed, his voice heavy with resignation.
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