Chapter Sixty-One: Why Not?

Jiang Yuan gazed at the sorcerous staff left behind after Shi Ye’s death. The staff had just been cleaved in two by Zhang Kui’s blade. With an expressionless face, he picked up the staff, which promptly vanished from his hand as Jiang Yuan stored it in his system space.

“Stupid system, can this staff be repaired?” This was Jiang Yuan’s actual plan. Although he could try to forcibly break the formation, he truly didn’t want to waste more time. The Corpse Tribe had even sacrificed their Grand Elder, a peak True Immortal, just to trap Grand Preceptor Wen. Jiang Yuan felt that if he delayed any longer, something terrible might indeed happen.

“It can be repaired for 50 Tyrant Points,” the system replied without hesitation.

Jiang Yuan had no patience to banter with the system. “Fine. How long will the repair take?”

“It will be completed as soon as you confirm the transaction.”

“Proceed.”

“Ding! Transaction successful. The host has received the repaired sorcerous staff. 50 Tyrant Points deducted. Current Tyrant Points: 649!”

From Zhang Kui and Nezha’s perspective, the staff that had vanished from Jiang Yuan’s hand moments before now reappeared. But this was no longer the shattered relic—it was the fully restored sorcerous staff!

Nezha could hardly believe his eyes. He rubbed them and circled the staff in Jiang Yuan’s hand several times, convinced that this could not possibly be the same staff as before.

Zhang Kui, though equally astonished, was far sharper than Nezha. He addressed Jiang Yuan directly, “May I ask, my king, is this the same staff I broke earlier?”

“In such a short time, where could I possibly find another just like it?” Jiang Yuan retorted.

Zhang Kui paused, staring at the now-pristine staff in Jiang Yuan’s hand. If his eyes had not deceived him, this was indeed the staff he had just severed.

“How did you do it, my king?” Zhang Kui asked in wonder.

Jiang Yuan replied with a mysterious smile, “I have my ways.”

“Truly, Your Majesty is a divine being.”

Zhang Kui’s respect for Jiang Yuan grew yet deeper.

Meanwhile, Nezha continued to examine the staff curiously, scrutinizing every detail. He looked up and questioned Jiang Yuan, “Did you just hide the old staff away?”

Jiang Yuan couldn’t be bothered to entertain Nezha’s questions—if he answered this one, there would be no end to the interrogation.

Instead, he turned to Zhang Kui. “Let’s prepare to rescue the Grand Preceptor.”

“Yes, I shall lead the way for Your Majesty,” Zhang Kui answered deferentially.

Jiang Yuan nodded in satisfaction—this was exactly what he had been waiting for. The young man was learning.

He was wary of possible traps ahead; after all, he hadn’t fully deciphered the sorcerous methods of the Wu tribe. What if he triggered something? Even Wen Zhong, a formidable figure, had fallen into their snare. From his exchange with Shi Ye, Jiang Yuan was nearly certain that Wen Zhong’s strength surpassed Zhang Kui’s by a fair margin.

The High Priest of the Corpse Tribe, a Golden Immortal, had combined his power with the Deadly Corpse Transformation technique, and still only managed to trap Wen Zhong and wear him down. If Jiang Yuan, with his current cultivation, were caught, the consequences could be dire. Better to have Zhang Kui take point and absorb any danger.

His own life was paramount. Zhang Kui could rest assured—should he fall under a curse, Jiang Yuan would certainly attempt a rescue.

Zhang Kui, clueless about Jiang Yuan’s thoughts, was simply eager to impress his king. It had nothing to do with Jiang Yuan’s hints, but it touched him nonetheless. With a follower like this, Jiang Yuan felt his position as leader was well worth it.

The three soon penetrated deep into the Corpse Tribe’s territory. At the heart of the tribe lay a sheer cliff. Just as Shi Ye had described, there was no sign of life or sound; not even the trace of a formation could be sensed.

Standing before the cliff, Jiang Yuan surmised that Wen Grand Preceptor’s group must be trapped within. This towering stone face was surely a façade for the formation. Without an entrance, all one could do was fret outside.

At the front, Zhang Kui turned to Jiang Yuan. “Your Majesty, I believe the Grand Preceptor and his people are imprisoned within this cliff. I can sense the fluctuations of life within.”

Jiang Yuan nodded calmly. “This must be the formation Shi Ye spoke of. Step aside.”

Zhang Kui respectfully made way.

Jiang Yuan once more produced the sorcerous staff he had seized from Shi Ye. As he gripped it, a faint luminous barrier emanated from the staff, enveloping him completely. The world before his eyes transformed—the cliff now seemed insubstantial, as if it were no more than an illusion.

Through the stone, he could see a winding, labyrinthine path stretching ahead. If they tried to break through by force, it would consume a great deal of time. No wonder entry required a token.

Jiang Yuan infused his own magic power into the staff, expanding the barrier until it encompassed Nezha and Zhang Kui as well.

Both were startled by the sudden change in scenery—what kind of formation was this?

Silently, Jiang Yuan handed the staff to Zhang Kui, thick-skinned as ever. “General Zhang, lead the way.”

“Yes, sire.” Zhang Kui had no inkling that he was being sent ahead as a shield. He thought his king simply valued his contributions.

Jiang Yuan’s satisfaction with Zhang Kui increased. Strength, loyalty, and a penchant for displaying his devotion—such a subordinate was indeed a treasure.

As for Nezha, he was always itching for a fight, but Jiang Yuan had his own ways to handle him.

Inside the cliff.

Grand Preceptor Wen’s group, besieged by the Corpse Tribe’s High Priest, was now making its last, desperate stand. Grand Preceptor Wen himself was nearly unrecognizable—his skin shriveled and wrinkled, his gaze dull and lifeless.

His eyelids drooped, as though he might slip into unconsciousness at any moment.

“Grand Preceptor, do you think His Majesty will arrive to save us?” Deng Zhong, at Wen’s side, asked anxiously.

“Do not worry. His Majesty will come,” Wen Zhong replied with conviction.

In truth, he was not at all certain whether that rascal Di Xin would make it in time—or even whether the voice he’d heard earlier had really been the king.

He knew they were trapped within a formation, and that Jiang Yuan might not be able to find the way in.

“Wen Zhong, you’d best resign yourself to death,” sneered the High Priest. “Still hoping your so-called Human Emperor will come to your rescue? Let me tell you, I sent Shi Ye out with my sorcerous staff to kill them, and there are those who have already performed the Soul-Slaughter Curse. That curse is no weaker than your own Deadly Corpse Transformation. Do you think your king can bear it?”

Wen Zhong’s face flushed with anger at these words, but he quickly retorted, “Don’t you know the Human Emperor is blessed by Heaven’s mandate, immune to all evil? You think your petty tricks can harm His Majesty? Dream on!”

Though he spoke bravely, Wen Zhong’s heart was troubled. After all, he had watched Di Xin grow up—he was as dear as family. How could he not worry?

“Hmph! You’d better worry about yourself. Even if your so-called emperor can find his way here, do you think you’ll last long enough in your state?” the High Priest sneered.

“And why not?” A voice, imperious and commanding, rang out.

All turned toward the source—and there stood Jiang Yuan and his two companions!