Chapter Forty-Four: Spreading the Faith Across the Grasslands (Part Four)

As Liaochen and his companions rushed toward the hill, on the other side of the tribe, the shaman had gathered his followers before the sacred totem pole. A bonfire blazed, casting flickering shadows over nine Han male slaves, bound tightly and helpless. Beside the slaves stood a host of warriors armed with curved blades—guardians of the shaman himself.

The slaves, still oblivious to the horror that awaited them, knelt in numb silence. Earlier, the shaman had administered drugs, and now they lingered in a stupefied haze, awaiting an unknown fate. The flames danced bright. The shaman began his ritual, circling the fire, his mouth uttering strange syllables, both hands raising and lowering a staff fashioned from human bone. It had been long since he last wielded this staff, for its appearance signified only one thing: a blood sacrifice of the living.

The moon climbed above the branches as the shaman's rite reached its climax. He halted by the bonfire and produced a fearsome idol, crudely carved yet emanating a sinister, purplish-black sheen. With reverence, he placed the idol upon the altar, then led the warriors in devout prostration, murmuring prayers to the deity. Only when several slaves, finally rousing from their drugged stupor, began to struggle and beg for mercy did the ritual proceed.

"You are to be offered to the great god—what an honor! You should be proud," the shaman declared coldly, eyes glinting with an eerie light. With that, he drew a bone dagger from his robes, its blade several inches long and covered with intricate carvings. At the hilt, a blood-red gemstone gleamed, casting a crimson glow in the firelight.

He placed the dagger carefully upon the altar, chanting incantations. At his signal, a warrior ceased his dance and seized one of the weeping, pleading sacrifices, dragging him before the altar and pinning him down.

"With living blood we summon the god's blessing!" The shaman raised the bone dagger high and plunged it into the victim's chest. A bestial scream tore through the night as the slave writhed in vain, eyes wide in terror, blood gushing from his chest as death overtook him.

Withdrawing the dagger, the shaman caught the flowing blood in a silver bowl, waiting until it was full. By now, the victim’s screams had faded to silence, though his body still twitched in spasms. Carefully, the shaman lifted the bowl to the idol’s head and poured the fresh blood over it. Beneath the moonlight, the dark idol began to emit a strange, red glow.

The ghastly fate of the first sacrifice left the remaining slaves stupefied with terror, faces drained of all hope. Even as they were dragged to the altar, not one resisted. Again and again, the bone dagger fell; dying wails mingled with the night wind, bowls of blood were offered, and the idol’s crimson glow grew ever more intense. When the last slave’s death rattle faded, the idol’s bloody radiance was so dense that not even moonlight could penetrate it.

At that moment, Liaochen reached the hilltop, only to be seized by a sudden sense of dread. For those who cultivate the Dao, such premonitions are never without reason. Alarmed, he quickly made mystical calculations with his fingers, seeking the source of danger.

The night was as cool and clear as water. Standing atop the hill, Liaochen gazed coldly toward the site of the blood sacrifice. “Such a petty demon dares to act with impudence? Tonight, you shall learn the true power of the Mystical Order,” he murmured.

Upon the ritual platform stood three sticks of incense, two lit candles, and a wooden sword. Liaochen rang his purple-gold bell, summoning the guardian generals, ready to confront the “evil spirit” that would soon appear.

“Righteous energies of heaven and earth, guardians of the Mystical Order, I summon the generals to protect the Dao and vanquish evil. I respectfully invoke the Grand Supreme Elder Lord—by urgent decree!” As he recited the incantation, the two wooden figurines on the altar suddenly radiated golden light, soared into the air, and transformed before the altar into two armored guardian generals. The crowd watching was wide-eyed in disbelief.

Once the generals appeared, Liaochen stood quietly behind the altar, peachwood sword in hand, awaiting the shaman’s summoned “evil god.” Yunhua also stood behind him, dressed in a Daoist robe and ceremonial crown, clutching a horsetail whisk, her eyes wide as she waited for the enemy her master had described.

On the grasslands, the night wind soon carried a heavy scent of blood. The stench thickened, until it seemed as if they stood upon a field of carnage. Only then did a towering, blood-red figure, several yards high, slowly materialize on the distant horizon, flying toward them at an uncertain speed.

“Just in time!” Liaochen shouted. “Guardians, heed my command—where my sword points, slay the evil and destroy the spirit! Go, go, go!” As he directed his sword at the approaching blood shadow, the two golden-armored generals instantly rose into the air, charging straight toward the specter.

A deafening roar issued from the blood shadow, as if sensing its ancient foe. It met the generals head-on, one side billowing with blood-mist, the other gleaming with golden light. The battle raged with neither side gaining the upper hand. The onlookers were enthralled, marveling at such a spectacle.

The golden light of the armored generals had the power to repel evil and suppress all malevolent spirits. Yet this blood demon was no ordinary foe; it radiated a thick miasma, countering the golden light and even corrupting its purifying power.

As time passed, Liaochen’s expression darkened. Though the others saw nothing amiss, he knew the truth: his golden-armored generals were nearing defeat. After all, they were but avatars, and as the divine power sustaining them waned, so too did their strength.

“By the authority of the Heavenly Thunder, as dragon and tiger clash and sun and moon bear witness, distant friends, heed my call: I summon the heavenly troops and generals, earth’s armies and gods, officials and warriors, the five thunder gods. By the talisman’s command, act without delay!” Without waiting for defeat, Liaochen began a new incantation, igniting a talisman in the candle flame. It burst into a ball of fire, and before the altar appeared a formidable formation of heavenly soldiers, their golden armor gleaming, their ranks bristling with might.

The blood shadow, still battling afar, could not fail to notice the arrival of these celestial reinforcements. With a furious roar, it ignored the agony of the golden light and lunged forward, seizing both golden-armored generals in its grasp and devouring them with a sickening crunch. The crowd, only moments before delighted by the spectacle, turned ashen-faced in horror. Were it not for their fear of disgrace, they might have fled in panic.

Liaochen’s face, too, went deathly pale. Bitterly, he muttered, “I underestimated this demon. Centuries of sacrifice—how could it not possess some true power?” Frustration aside, with his guardians destroyed, retreat was no longer an option; only battle remained.

“Heavenly troops and generals, heed my command! Where my sword points, slay evil and destroy spirits—go!” Again, Liaochen pointed his sword at the blood shadow. The celestial ranks surged forward, golden light blazing, launching themselves at the fiend.

But even as the celestial troops advanced, Liaochen dared not relax. Instead, he seized his purple brush and swiftly began drawing talismans on blank yellow paper.

If his suspicions were correct, he believed he was facing none other than a Blood Sea Asura.