Chapter Eighty-Eight: The Angel of Death

At eight in the evening, Gao Wu was, as usual, sparring with Song Mingyue in the martial arts hall. Their palms and fists pressed together in a pushing-hand exchange, their feet shifting in careful coordination below. Gao Wu could feel his dragon-style palm technique and swordsmanship had both advanced, and that he was not far from breaking through.

By rights, with his foundation, he should already have been able to gather source power, open his meridians, and rise to the rank of martial adept long ago.

Yet he could not sense source power at all, which made him suspect that his talent for martial cultivation was not very good.

Normally, someone without martial talent would never even get this far. But through the wondrous power of the Boundless Merit Tome, he had forcibly raised his basic attributes. His physique, strength, and spirit had all already surpassed the lower threshold for a martial adept. If he still could not sense source power, then the only explanation was that his cultivation method had not reached a sufficient level.

Once the Nine Forms of Dragon Shape broke through to a minor mastery realm, he should be able to sense source power and condense the meridians.

As long as he became a martial adept, the two divine spells alone would be enough to sweep through anyone of the same rank.

By then, people like Huang Hai would be nothing to worry about, and Anjing University would scramble to admit him, with no interview needed at all.

Martial masters would fight each other for the chance to take him in as a disciple, and he would no longer need to worry about that Wan Canglong.

Gao Wu’s thoughts were in complete disarray, surging like galloping horses and darting like a troop of apes; even with his mental strength, he could not fully concentrate.

“Let’s stop here,” Song Mingyue said, noticing that Gao Wu was not in good form. She took the initiative to withdraw and step back.

“Sorry, I spaced out all of a sudden,” Gao Wu apologized. They were practicing pushing-hands to hone their technique, yet he had drifted off into wild daydreams. That was far too unprofessional.

He gave a rueful laugh. “I just keep feeling like something’s off.”

“It’s nothing. Everyone has off days,” Song Mingyue said, not taking it to heart. Gao Wu trained with great seriousness and diligence, never slacking for even a single day.

An occasional lapse was perfectly normal.

Gao Wu asked, “I still can’t sense source power. Would it be any better if I switched over to the Illusory Realm?”

The source power concentration in the Illusory Realm was a hundred times that of the real world. By reason, it should be easier there to condense source power.

“No,” Song Mingyue shook her head. “The level of source power is different between the two worlds. If you condense source power in the Illusory Realm to open your meridians, that’s basically cheating.

“The meridians formed there aren’t solid or stable enough. Once you return to the real world, where source power is extremely thin, they’ll collapse and dissipate.

“It’s like breathing oxygen at the bottom of the sea. It seems to relieve your problem, but once you leave the high-pressure environment, your lungs will explode.”

“I see.” Gao Wu suddenly understood. Song Mingyue had explained it simply and clearly, and he grasped it at once.

Then Song Mingyue frowned slightly. “Something is indeed wrong.”

She looked toward the window. The hall was brightly lit, and through the glass one could only dimly make out the lamp above the main door; beyond that, nothing could be seen.

Gao Wu tensed as well. “What is it?”

“It feels like an otherworldly spirit’s aura, mixed with something else…”

A trace of confusion appeared in Song Mingyue’s bright phoenix eyes. Then her expression changed abruptly. “No good. It’s coming for us.”

Gao Wu also sensed a cold, sinister, blood-soaked aura slamming toward them. It felt somewhat familiar, like the otherworldly spirit from White Scale Lake, yet also somehow not quite the same.

He had no time to think. He turned and grabbed a sword from the side. Since they were at home, the Golden Thunderhawk was kept upstairs. But there was no time for that now; the enemy was too fast.

“Aunt Lan, trouble!” Song Mingyue’s voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached Aunt Lan, who was resting upstairs.

Aunt Lan was startled. Could the Wan family really dare to strike in Dongjiang?

Unable to make sense of the situation, Aunt Lan hurriedly took up her sword and leaped lightly down from the second floor. She asked Song Mingyue, “What is it? Should we notify Sister Ning?”

As she spoke, she took out her phone, only to find there was no signal. A bad feeling rose at once.

“The wireless communications are being jammed…” Aunt Lan’s expression also turned grave. “Wired lines won’t be affected. I’ll go upstairs and contact Sister Ning—”

As long as they could reach Shen Ning, her strength as a martial master would be enough to settle the trouble.

“Too late—” Song Mingyue had barely spoken when a massive floor-to-ceiling window exploded with a thunderous crash, glittering shards of glass bursting through the air.

A tall, burly man in black forced his way in.

He wore a long down coat, a fur-lined cap, and a mask covering most of his face, leaving only a pair of dark, ruthless eyes exposed.

Gao Wu thought the man looked familiar. His mental strength was now formidable, his senses sharp, his reactions quick. With a single thought, he recognized him at once.

“Huang Hai!”

The man who had barged in was indeed Huang Hai. He cast a glance at Gao Wu, who was holding a sword, and sneered. “You’re here too. That saves me some trouble.”

He had rushed over by following the guidance of the Death Angel’s resonance. His target had been Song Mingyue, and he truly had not expected Gao Wu to be here as well.

Last time, Song Chunqiu had suddenly struck, wiping out Lu Hongsheng and the others in one sweep. But Huang Hai had sensed something was off long before that. Because his public identity and standing were low, he had slipped past that calamity.

Once Lu Hongsheng died, Huang Hai took the otherworldly spirit away. They had been worshiping it for nearly two years, pouring in enormous resources to merge the spirit into the Wings of Death.

That weapon, somewhere between real and illusory, could already be regarded as a fourth-rank divine weapon. He truly could not bear to lose it.

Who would have thought that when he reclaimed the Wings of Death, it would summon the descent of the Death Angel and use him as its vessel?

The otherworldly spirit was the anchor used to draw in the divine power of the White Raven King. The Wings of Death was a divine weapon forged with borrowed power from the White Raven King, and also the weapon prepared for the Death Angel.

Their plan had been to use Gao Wu as the vessel to bear the Death Angel. With a flesh-and-blood body, the Death Angel could unleash the strength of a martial master in the real world.

The Death Angel would continuously devour the spirit and vital blood of the host it possessed. Gao Wu’s body was exceptionally tough, and with medicine he could be made to remain vigorous for a year or two. Even if he died midway, at worst they would simply change vessels.

If Huang Hai were the one bearing the Death Angel, he could not withstand such immense consumption.

After hiding for more than a month, Huang Hai had been on the verge of collapse in both body and mind. To satisfy the Death Angel, he had had to kill people frequently, yet he still could not restrain it.

With no other choice, he had risked returning to Dongjiang. First he found his elder brother’s family, using flesh and blood from the same bloodline to temporarily satisfy the Death Angel.

Once the pressure on the Death Angel was briefly eased, he could control it and seize Song Mingyue’s body, transferring the Death Angel out.

Choosing Gao Wu as the vessel had been their idea. But the descending Death Angel had its own choice. Thus Huang Hai had come directly for Song Mingyue.

After Lu Hongsheng’s annihilation, Huang Hai had thought long and hard, and finally pieced together the whole chain of events.

Ever since Song Mingyue fell into White Scale Lake, she must have formed a psychic resonance with the otherworldly spirit, which in turn drew in Song Chunqiu.

Time was short. This was Dongjiang; if things escalated, he would have a hard time getting away. He had to eliminate Song Mingyue and that female martial artist as quickly as possible. As for Gao Wu, there was no need to care at all.

Huang Hai’s gaze settled on Song Mingyue. The girl was striking and delicate, her expression calm, her beautiful phoenix eyes bright and sharp—there was not the slightest trace of fear in them.

Instead, it was the middle-aged female martial artist, sword in hand, whose face was full of vigilance and caution, her eyes carrying a hint of tension.

“Song Chunqiu slaughtered my brothers and sisters in the sacred sect. Today, I will sacrifice you to the Death Angel. This is your retribution,” Huang Hai said in a chilling voice to Song Mingyue.

Song Mingyue replied softly, “Retribution is a saying from Buddhism. The White Raven King teaches that death and cold are eternal, the final destination of all beings. There is no such thing as retribution. You don’t even understand the doctrine. No wonder you have failed to earn the favor of the demon god.”

Huang Hai’s expression changed. He could ignore many things, but he could not tolerate disrespect toward the White Raven King.

Normally, the White Raven King’s divine power could hardly enter the real world, much less pay attention to a mere believer like him.

But faith could not be profaned.

Huang Hai was already more or less prepared. He directly activated the Wings of Death.

Stirred by Huang Hai’s mental power, the Wings of Death spread out behind him, transforming into a pair of snow-white wings. The Death Angel temporarily dwelling within them was also provoked.

A white phantom with a bird’s head and human body appeared above Huang Hai’s head, and the Wings of Death naturally merged into the Death Angel.

The main reason was that Huang Hai had no way to control the Death Angel; he could only indirectly stimulate it through the fourth-rank divine weapon, the Wings of Death.

The process seemed complicated, but in fact, while Huang Hai had been speaking with Gao Wu, the preparations were already complete. Before his words had even faded, the Death Angel had already appeared.

Aunt Lan, cautious by nature, had not struck first. Though she did not know Huang Hai, she could sense the evil, bloodthirsty aura radiating from him and was certain he was a servant of the demon god.

No matter whom he had come for, this was not the moment for rash action. Delaying time was more advantageous for them.

But when she saw the Death Angel manifest, Aunt Lan finally realized the danger. She raised her sword and was about to act when the Death Angel spread its wings and tilted its head back to unleash a shrill, piercing cry.

A powerful mental shock swept indiscriminately over Aunt Lan, Song Mingyue, and Gao Wu.

Aunt Lan, a mid-ranked martial adept, felt a stabbing pain in her brow, as though an invisible ice cone had pierced her skull. The mental power she had gathered was directly destroyed by that cold and sinister force.

Not only could she no longer condense source power, even her consciousness was struck violently. In an instant, her mind went blank, and she stood frozen, unable to make any movement or response.

Gao Wu was likewise stunned by the savage mental assault. He felt as though his brain had frozen into a lump of ice, then been crushed into fragments; even his awareness seemed to freeze solid.

Yet the mental shock also stirred the yin spirit deep within Gao Wu’s brow. His frozen consciousness naturally transferred onto the yin spirit. This instantly restored his clarity, freed him from the oppressive mental suppression, and once more gave him control over his body.

A sharp, piercing cry entered Gao Wu’s ears at the same time, and a razor-sharp silver wheel of light flashed into his eyes.

“It’s the Frost Moon Sword!”

Gao Wu reacted instantly. The sharp silver wheel was spinning and shooting toward him from behind; it had to be Song Mingyue’s attack.

He had always felt it odd that Song Mingyue did not carry a firearm. With her intelligence, she could not possibly fail to understand how convenient firearms were as a long-range weapon.

But at this critical moment, Gao Wu finally witnessed Little Song’s true strength.

The Frost Moon Sword, transformed from a silver bracelet, looked small, but in truth it weighed close to ten kilograms. Gao Wu had noticed that Song Mingyue often had to switch wrists to wear it, so that neither arm would become imbalanced from prolonged weight-bearing.

He was both shocked and delighted. With the Frost Moon Sword’s weight and its terrifying spinning speed, it would absolutely tear Huang Hai to pieces.

Huang Hai, on the other hand, was filled with alarm. This girl’s mental strength was far too great; not only could she withstand the icy storm released by the Death Angel, she still had the power to activate a flying sword from a distance. Truly terrifying!

He considered his own mental strength to be formidable, and with the blessing of the White Raven King’s divine power, it was comparable to that of a high-ranked martial adept. Only then could he barely control the Wings of Death.

He had not expected Song Mingyue’s mental strength to be even greater and more steadfast than his own.

Huang Hai knew he could never block this blow. With no time to think further, he could only pour everything into the Wings of Death to drive the Death Angel.

The provoked Death Angel indeed responded. Its snow-white wings, half real and half illusory, beat once as it took the initiative to meet the spinning silver wheel of light.

The wings formed by the Wings of Death crossed and caught the silver wheel head-on. With a deafening crash, the snow-white wings shattered violently, and the silver wheel burst into a storm of lightning. Its fierce and cutting momentum was abruptly slowed.

The bird-headed, human-bodied Death Angel reached out and seized the silver wheel, which instantly transformed into a long, slender silver sword.

The exquisitely sharp Frost Moon Sword still buzzed and trembled in resistance, yet it could not break free from the Death Angel’s phantom-like grip.

Suspended in midair, the Death Angel’s form flickered between substance and illusion, yet there seemed to be an inviolable, all-commanding divinity about it.

Huang Hai looked again at Song Mingyue on the opposite side. The girl’s face was deathly pale, the light in her bright eyes dimmed, utterly unlike the sharp brilliance she had shown before.

His black face twisted with ferocity. If not for the Death Angel blocking the flying sword, he would have been finished.

Song Mingyue.

Damn her.