Chapter Twenty-Three: Messenger of Hell

A young man dressed in black, a red spider lily embroidered on his back, wielded a silver scimitar as he sped toward the Demon Child Boss, slashing for its head.

After the black-clad youth burst through the gap, the opening remained, but the air there shimmered and rippled, growing unstable. Dense, chilling yin energy spilled out in waves.

“Hell’s Messenger—Shadow!” Lin Hai exclaimed in alarm.

Though surprised, he relaxed upon recognizing the newcomer. The heart that had leapt to his throat finally settled. He mused to himself:

“Defenders of the Way subdue demons for the living, the path between yin and yang opens to the heavens; seeking immortals and dreams is a hollow pursuit, only with a heart empty of self can one wander free. So, he’s a colleague from Hell! Business is pretty much settled, and soul-harvesting isn’t my concern. I’ll just watch how a professional catches ghosts, maybe get some inspiration, and vent my frustrations. But this bastard’s timing is almost too perfect—only shows up when I’ve beaten the guy half to death. Probably not that strong—just a professional picking on those weakened by others. My respect!”

“…What the hell is that?” Lin Fan, though clueless about the situation, could tell the newcomer meant trouble.

“It’s none of our business. I’m warning you, this is their family affair, don’t stick your nose in it. Just watch from the sidelines; mind your own business and let others mind theirs. Don’t be a fool!” Lin Hai, worried Lin Fan would do something reckless, warned him preemptively.

Meanwhile, the Demon Child Boss had prepared himself, raising both claws to meet the black-clad youth’s furious charge.

As blade met claw, a thunderous boom erupted. The Demon Child Boss was sent flying like a cannonball.

A deep rift gouged through the floor, and the Boss’s underlings, exerting all their strength, couldn’t halt his explosive retreat.

With a deafening crash, they tumbled together, smashing straight through the bone tower behind them.

Fragments of white bone rained down like hail in the grand hall, accumulating over a foot thick.

Lin Hai and Lin Fan ducked into the stairwell, covering their heads to avoid the fallout.

The Demon Child Boss had already spent most of his energy fighting Lin Hai one-on-one. Now, forced to defend against this thunderous blow, he was utterly spent, left virtually powerless.

After the downpour of bone, the Demon Child Boss propped himself up with one hand, panting heavily. The little ghosts crawled from the bone heap to regroup around him.

He was at his limit now—so much so that his form had grown translucent; one could vaguely see the debris on the floor through him. His body, held together by spiritual force, had been battered into a mere shadow.

The black-clad youth showed no mercy. With a kick, he surged forward in a blur, silver scimitar flashing white as he lunged at the Demon Child once more.

At this, a few larger little ghosts stepped forward to shield their leader. The others formed a circle around him, determined to protect him from further harm.

“Uncle, I can’t stand bullies like this—picking on the weak, outnumbering the few! I’m going to help!” Lin Fan set Xin’er down, eager to join the fight.

Lin Hai hurriedly grabbed him, shouting, “Help my ass! Do you even know what’s going on? He’s here to collect souls, to take those little ghosts home. Do you want them to stay here and wander as lonely ghosts forever? Mind your own business!”

Lin Fan paused, recalling a passage from the “Chronicle of Creation”: “When the red spider lily blooms, the Shadow appears; as the flower opens, the soul departs, never to return. Love is already dead, dreams long since broken; what remains is sorrow, but regret is useless. All things are destined for death and rebirth, and souls depart to other realms; past and present sown and reaped, the cycle of life and death never ends…”

The black-clad youth hesitated for a moment upon seeing the scene, then spun around and halted.

A boy with ear-length curls and a face cold as ice stood proudly in the center of the hall. If Lin Qi were present, he would surely recognize that pale, grim face—it was Yan Shaotian, Young Master of Hell.

Yan Shaotian’s lips curled with a cold smile. He raised his silver scimitar and brought it down.

The casual blow split the space before the black shadow, tearing open a rift taller than a man.

Lin Hai was stunned—could that butcher’s blade be the legendary Blade of Time and Space?

Lin Fan, too, was astonished. So young, yet so powerful. Thank goodness his uncle had stopped him earlier; otherwise, he’d have been killed instantly, maybe even had his corpse watched over. Clearly, he still had a long way to go.

Little did he know, although Yan Shaotian looked young, by human standards he could’ve been Lin Fan’s great-grandfather.

As the rift appeared, a tremendous suction issued forth, instantly drawing in the little ghosts shielding the black shadow.

The rest of the little ghosts, though clinging together, couldn’t resist the force. One by one, they were swept into the rift by the violent wind.

“Boss, save me…” the smaller ones cried out for help.

“Big brother, take care of yourself…” The larger ones, aware of their fate, smiled and bade their leader a final farewell.

But the Demon Child Boss couldn’t let go. He clawed, kicked, bit, and blocked with his body, doing everything he could to stop the relentless pull—yet all he could do was watch as his siblings vanished before his eyes. He knew this was the best ending for them, but he couldn’t control his sorrow at the parting.

Curiously, the energy storm had no effect on him…

As the last little ghost disappeared, the rift slowly closed and vanished.

Yan Shaotian stood silently where he was, as if nothing had happened, thoughtfully regarding the final, most troublesome “bone” left before him.

The Demon Child Boss, after watching the last little ghost enter the rift and seeing it close, started calculating his escape plan at lightning speed.

But when he looked up, Yan Shaotian was staring directly at him, the silver scimitar in his hand radiating a deadly aura. The Demon Child Boss abandoned his escape attempt, not daring to make a move.

Lin Hai watched calmly from the sidelines.

Lin Fan, however, worried for the Demon Child Boss’s safety.

The hall was deathly quiet. All of them, as if in silent agreement, stood motionless, locked in a tense stalemate.

Lin Hai, uncomfortable with the awkward silence, broke in: “What is this—telepathic communication? If you don’t start fighting soon, the audience will leave. Don’t act like a pair of old women—be men about it! Fight it out, use your best moves, throw your hidden weapons and traps, don’t hold back. There’s someone here to collect your corpses, anyway!”

Lin Fan stared ahead, heart pounding anxiously. He didn’t know whether his concern was for the Demon Child Boss or just a strange sympathy—his mood seemed to follow the Boss’s fate.

Yan Shaotian shattered the silence first, his tone icy: “Thinking about running? It’s useless. No soul escapes my blade. Will you come quietly, or will you be utterly destroyed?”

“Sorry, but I’m not choosing either. I’m going to cut down this arrogant bastard!” The Demon Child Boss gave a wicked grin and lunged at Yan Shaotian, unleashing his full speed—wind howled, his momentum unstoppable.

Yan Shaotian looked down on him with a sneer, raising his scimitar for a fatal strike.

But suddenly, the Demon Child Boss’s form blurred, and seven more figures split off from him. Already somewhat insubstantial, he now appeared even more feeble—this was clearly his limit.

“Damn, this trick again? Don’t you have anything new?” Despite the tense atmosphere, Lin Hai couldn’t help but make a sarcastic comment.

Lin Fan, palms sweating, was silently praying the Demon Child Boss would make it out alive.

Arrogant as ever, Yan Shaotian watched as the charging figure split into eight, a bad feeling rising in his chest.

Sure enough, only one figure attacked him; the other seven scattered—some dove into the floor, others into the walls, the ceiling, or the stairwell—each fleeing in a different direction.

“Damn, what is this? Running away with such bravado—almost admirable!” Lin Hai marveled at the Demon Child Boss’s extravagant use of the “Golden Cicada Sheds Its Shell” escape technique.

Lin Fan, meanwhile, quietly let out a sigh of relief.

Yan Shaotian, realizing he’d been played for a fool, swept his blade through the illusion before him, then slashed a rift in space and hurled the black scimitar into it. Forming hand seals at lightning speed, he bellowed, “Soul-Chasing Slash!”

At that moment, the rift vanished. From all directions in the building came the anguished howls of ghosts.

In an instant, the silver scimitar, flashing with cold light, shot out from the stairwell. Without turning, Yan Shaotian extended his right hand with practiced ease; the hilt landed squarely in his grasp. Satisfied, he nodded, turned, and strode back toward the portal from which he had come.