Quinn Shepherd immediately sat up and looked toward the window. Libationer Barrett's snores were deafening, the yin wind blew into the room, but he remained sound asleep.
Outside the window came a strange chanting, the rhythm and pitch indistinct. Quinn acted decisively, instantly sealing his own soul with the Heaven-Forging Demon Art, then stirred his yuanqi. The Grand Guardian's Sword hanging at the bedhead whistled from its scabbard, silver sword light illuminating the room.
White shadows drifted and flickered outside the window. The Grand Guardian's Sword vibrated, shooting out lightning-like beams of sword light. Instantly, several human heads tumbled to the ground outside the window.
Witchcraft for harming people always sounds uncanny, but in the end it boils down to either targeting the soul or targeting the body.
Though Quinn was still young, he understood this much: if the attack targets the body, it means sneaking in with secret techniques to kill and slay the victim.
But when it targets the soul, there are far more bizarre methods: like soul-poisoning, where poison is placed on the enemy’s soul—colorless, tasteless, invisible, and traceless, impossible to guard against.
Or like the grass-effigy soul spell: writing the victim’s full name and birth date on a straw doll, worshipping it for ten days—each day strips away one soul fragment, seven days for seven fragments, then three days for the three souls.
There’s also the Yansheng Curse, which wounds the soul to injure the body: using needles or blades to harm the victim’s soul, and since soul and body are linked, wounding the soul wounds the flesh. For example, stabbing the soul’s hands or feet will cause physical wounds on the body; stabbing the brow disrupts the mind, and so on.
Being able to kill someone just by knowing their name sounds unbelievable, but it’s probably just one of these two methods.
Quinn sealed his soul and hung the Grand Guardian’s Sword at his bedhead precisely to guard against both methods.
Suddenly, eerie laughter sounded. Quinn quickly looked over to see dozens of bizarre little figures crawling in through the window, each jumping down to the floor, wielding knives, axes, and steel forks, riding tiny horses, and forming up in ranks like an army of several hundred.
This army of little people surged forward, crowding onto Libationer Barrett’s chest. He remained fast asleep, snoring like thunder.
The leader of the little figures held a spear, straddling a fine horse, and stood atop Barrett’s nose. He pointed the spear at Quinn, who was already sitting up in bed, his eyes gleaming with excitement. With a shout of unintelligible meaning, the rest of the little army instantly surged toward Quinn like a tide!
These little people were abnormally excited, shouting all sorts of strange cries, waving knives, swords, and steel forks as they charged in a menacing swarm. There might have been hundreds, but Quinn felt he could stomp them flat with just a couple of kicks.
He couldn’t help but laugh—was this really why Butcher was so wary of using his real name?
Quinn drew his sword and gave it a shake, sword light bursting forth, just as he was about to sweep away the little army—when suddenly, he heard someone calling his name.
The voice came from within the yin wind, drawn out and stretched as if from a great distance. Quinn said nothing, but the sound rushed closer.
When someone calls your name, even if you don’t answer, your heart can’t help but respond. This voice must be using that subtle resonance to locate him!
Just as Quinn’s sword light was about to cut down the oncoming army, an icy chill pierced his brow. He reached for his sword, but his soul was already frozen.
With his soul locked tight, his body froze as well, and the sword light died away.
The little figures cheered and climbed onto him, crawling into his body through his mouth, ears, and nostrils.
In the next moment, Quinn "saw" these little people carrying "him" in flight—not his physical body, but his soul, which they had entered and hoisted inside him!
The little figures had run inside his body, bound his soul tightly, lifted it above their heads, and, chattering in strange syllables, dashed off at full speed.
Quinn felt utterly unable to move; the scenery whirled by, then everything suddenly went black. All light vanished, leaving only darkness.
In the darkness, he saw light bloom beneath him—a sacrificial altar, with himself lying upon it.
The little figures set him down, each looking up at the sky. The leader chattered at the darkness, and suddenly the altar rose. Looking around, Quinn saw huge faces all around—like wooden puppets, their expressions ambiguous, neither fully laughing nor crying.
The altar shook again and rose higher, a massive hand lifting both the altar and the four puppet faces together. Quinn saw a blazing giant eye in the darkness behind the puppets—just the eye alone was bigger than any of the puppet faces.
Then more enormous single eyes ignited the darkness, floating eerily in the air.
"Yansheng Curse?"
Quinn saw this scene and felt a shock in his heart. Ben Coates must be using the Yansheng Curse, sending these little figures into his body and trapping his soul—sealed inside his own flesh—upon this altar!
This method was truly uncanny—even if you didn’t answer the call, it would still find you, transforming into an altar inside your body. Not even sealing your soul within could block it!
Still, his soul was inside his own body. As long as it stayed there, Quinn believed he had a chance to turn the tables.
"No matter what witchcraft you use, you still need your own power. Inside my body, your power can't surpass mine—so you can forget about killing me!"
Quinn flipped up from the altar and shouted, "Sword, come!"
Suddenly, a Sword Pill whistled through the darkness, hovering before him. It was the same Sword Pill the Mute Smith had given him for New Year. Quinn had used it to channel the Imperial Preceptor’s remnant divine powers, wearing it down so it was now much smaller.
Sword Pill in hand, Quinn unleashed sword qi, sweeping the little figures in all directions, sending them tumbling and flying.
He split open the little figures, spilling their guts, but they still didn’t die. Severed limbs crawled and reassembled, rushing Quinn again. The puppet faces around the altar grinned eerily, stiffly raising their arms and smashing down on Quinn, sparks flying everywhere.
Quinn pushed the Sword Pill against the strange puppets, feeling their strength was overwhelming—each blow almost more than he could bear.
Some little figures were smashed by the puppets, flattened like paper, but in the next moment they reinflated and kept swinging their blades, charging at Quinn.
Meanwhile, the monstrous eyes in the darkness burned fiercely, shooting beams of fire from all directions.
Quinn gritted his teeth and endured, nearly blasted into soul-dispersal. The little figures, puppets, and monstrous eyes seemed able to revive endlessly, impossible to kill or destroy, attacking him without pause, never tiring.
Quinn, exhausted and close to despair, grew furious: "Is Libationer Barrett still sleeping?"
Unnoticed, a rooster suddenly crowed, then he faintly heard the watchman's clappers—the fifth-watch dawn.
Then Quinn heard Barrett’s yawning voice drifting in as if from far away: "Waited all night, but Ben Coates never showed up himself. Disappointing. The kid’s too cautious—he didn’t cast the spell himself, just sent another great shaman to do it."
Quinn was startled: "Barrett knew I was trapped?"
"Shame we only hooked a Seven Stars realm great shaman."
Quinn heard Barrett draw his saber—the Heavenblade unsheathed.
"Golden-inlaid saber with white-jade hilt, at night it pierces windows to send out light. A man of fifty with no merit to his name, stands alone with saber, gazing over the Eight Desolations!"
With the song, a majestic blade of light suddenly split the darkness, falling from the sky, striking the altar with a mighty crash—heaven and earth roared, shook, and collapsed!
It was as if the blade cut open two lines, slowly drawing apart left and right—Quinn’s eyelids, opening sideways instead of up and down.
"This is Loulan Golden Palace’s Yansheng Curse. I just broke it for you. The curse twisted your eyeballs halfway, so everything you saw was flipped sideways."
Libationer Barrett seemed to stand on the wall before Quinn and said, "Move your eye muscles slowly and adjust your eyeballs back."
Quinn followed his advice, slowly rotating his eyes. After a moment, his vision returned to normal. He quickly said, "Brother Barrett, I was hit by the spell!"
Barrett nodded and pointed ahead. "That’s what trapped you."
Quinn looked down, surprised. The altar wasn’t really an altar—it was a silver plate, surrounded by four palm-sized puppets. The little figures who carried him were yellow beans, and their horses were bean sprouts.
The floating single eyes were actually the eyes of a giant spider, clustered together. Beneath the plate was a weasel.
Both the spider and the weasel had been severed by a single blade—dead and gone.
"I thought Ben Coates would act himself, but it was a Seven Stars realm great shaman instead."
Barrett shook his head. "Ben Coates didn’t act himself—he sent a Seven Stars realm shaman, probably worried about me being beside you. He’s extremely cautious."
Quinn got up and looked out the window. The heads he had cut off with sword light were actually straw men draped in white cloth.
Quinn asked, "Brother Barrett, what happened to that Seven Stars realm great shaman?"
"Dead."
Barrett said, "He cast the spell in his dreams, using the Yansheng Curse against you. My saber broke his spell, and the saber’s intent followed his magic into his dream, killing him there. He passed very peacefully."
Quinn was skeptical. "You can train saber techniques to that level?"
Barrett laughed. "Heavenblade Master’s saber skills are legendary. He can cut open the void—I can’t."
By dawn, the Imperial Academy was abuzz. Another Wild Di envoy had died—reportedly dropping dead at the fifth watch, blood pouring from his seven orifices, dying a gruesome death after screaming three times.
Quinn muttered inwardly, "Didn’t Brother Barrett say he passed peacefully?"
By noon, a shaman arrived, bowing. "The prince invites Master Quinn to a banquet."