Chapter Sixty-Three: I Let My Guard Down!

Nezha’s sudden strike with the Universe Ring caught the High Priest off guard. Once so imposing in mid-air, the priest now staggered, barely able to keep his footing. Zhang Kui seized the moment, closing in swiftly to deliver a sweeping kick. And so, the High Priest of the Corpse Fiend tribe was captured by the two of them.

Zhang Kui stared at the captured priest, heart pounding with lingering fear; it had been a close call, nearly letting this man escape. If the King were to hold him responsible—he would regret it forever, and likely never regain the King’s trust. Gratitude welled up in him for Nezha; if not for that crucial blow, the High Priest might truly have gotten away.

“Thanks,” Zhang Kui said to Nezha, his tone neither warm nor cold. It was no small thing for Zhang Kui, a proud general, to thank a child.

Nezha, however, replied with unguarded cheerfulness, “Of course I’d help! Didn’t I say before, General Zhang? You’re my good brother now!”

Zhang Kui only curled his lip at that, uncharacteristically refraining from any rebuttal. After all, Nezha had helped him; whatever the boy said was right.

Meanwhile, the High Priest glared at the pair, eyes filled with venom. He had no methods left to resist. Facing Wen Zhong had already left him desperate; who could have expected the Empress to bring such a formidable duo? Zhang Kui alone was more than he could handle, to say nothing of that monstrous child Nezha. How could a child possess so many innate treasures? Did they not covet them themselves, or did the Human Sovereign possess something even more powerful?

None of that mattered now. What mattered was survival.

At this point, he almost hoped Wen Zhong would hold out—if Wen Zhong died, his own death was certain.

Zhang Kui stepped before the High Priest, voice icy: “Still planning to resist?”

The High Priest let his staff fall in resignation. “Do as you will.”

Though he said so, he was determined that if the Human Sovereign decided to execute him, he would resist to the last.

“It’s not up to me how you’re dealt with; the King will decide,” Zhang Kui replied coolly.

“Then let me meet your King,” said the High Priest, who now, stripped of his magical aura, looked like nothing more than an ordinary, elderly man—perhaps even older, with white hair and beard. Yet his face, untouched by many wrinkles and somewhat ruddy, betrayed the use of longevity arts. No one knew how many years he had lived.

With that, the High Priest strolled off calmly toward Jiangyuan, seeming utterly unafraid.

Jiangyuan regarded the composed old man with a smile. “You don’t seem afraid that I might kill you.”

“You won’t kill me,” the High Priest replied, utterly certain.

“Oh?” Jiangyuan arched an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Lightning flashed as he summoned his Thunderblade, channeling his power so that arcs of electricity danced along its length like living snakes.

“You’d best give me a convincing reason,” Jiangyuan said impassively. “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee you’ll live long enough to finish your next sentence.”

The High Priest’s estimation of the Human Sovereign rose. He hadn’t expected such composure.

“My tribe excels not only in witchcraft, but in plague as well. If you kill me, the pestilence in my body will erupt. I don’t know how you mighty cultivators will fare, but your common soldiers will not escape disaster.” The threat was clear in his tone.

Jiangyuan’s expression did not change. He gazed at the High Priest and asked in a level voice, “Any other reasons?”

The High Priest frowned at Jiangyuan’s reply, but quickly relaxed. He was the Human Sovereign—why would he care about the lives of a few soldiers? No wonder. The priest himself would sacrifice his entire tribe if need be; he naturally assumed the Human Sovereign was the same kind of man.

Gathering his thoughts, the High Priest looked deliberately at the unconscious Wen Zhong behind Jiangyuan and raised his voice: “You may not care for these soldiers, but what about Wen Zhong’s life? Does that mean nothing to you either?”

The soldiers, hearing this calculated provocation, wore conflicted expressions. Did their lives truly mean nothing to the King, for whom they fought and bled at the border? And what of Wen Zhong, the venerable Grand Tutor—if the King cared nothing for his life either, would that not chill the heart?

Yet to their surprise, Jiangyuan did not even frown at the High Priest’s accusation. He answered with a smile, “If you have no other reasons, I’m afraid you won’t live much longer.”

The High Priest was stunned, then burst out laughing. “So, the Human Sovereign and I are the same after all! Every life can be sacrificed except one’s own? Even Wen Zhong, who treated you like a son, can be cast aside? Is this what it means to be the Human Sovereign? Is this your Heaven-ordained destiny? Your dynasty is doomed!”

He spat the curse bitterly.

“That’s none of your concern,” Jiangyuan said, as calm as ever.

In truth, he was urgently calling out to the system within. He was confident Wen Zhong’s life was not at risk, since the Grand Tutor had swallowed the Supreme Evil-Dispelling Pill. As for the soldiers’ doubts—those would resolve in time. But the question of their lives troubled him.

He was not the tyrant who treated lives as grass. He could not ignore the lives of these soldiers—not only because it would chill their hearts, but because they fought to defend humanity; they were heroes who deserved better than a pointless death.

He could hardly afford to exchange vast numbers of Supreme Evil-Dispelling Pills to cure them all; that would be too great a drain on his resources.

“System, get out here!” Jiangyuan called inwardly.

“What does the host wish to know?” the system replied coolly.

“Is it true that the priest’s body will explode with plague when he dies?” Jiangyuan asked urgently.

“Yes.”

“Is there a way to prevent the plague from spreading to the soldiers after his death?”

“There is.”

Jiangyuan’s eyes lit up with relief. If the system had a solution, there was nothing to fear—spending some Tyrant Points was a small matter. Now he could deal with the priest without worry.

“What’s the method? How many Tyrant Points? Just tell me,” Jiangyuan said without hesitation. There was no use appealing to the system’s conscience; points were all that mattered.

“For 30 Tyrant Points, the system can provide a solution,” the system answered coldly.

Jiangyuan was surprised. Had the system turned generous? Thirty points was cheap!

“Deal,” Jiangyuan agreed readily.

“Ding! Transaction complete. 30 Tyrant Points deducted. Current balance: 619 points!”

“Now tell me the method,” Jiangyuan pressed.

“The host can use the Human Sovereign’s aura to envelop the priest. The Human Sovereign’s aura repels all evil; thus, the plague cannot spread,” the system replied.

Jiangyuan was exasperated at this answer. The system had swindled him again! It didn’t have to do anything, yet it pocketed his 30 points. No wonder the price was so low! If only he’d thought of this sooner—he’d let his concern get the better of him and been tricked by the system yet again!

“Since you were so forthright with the transaction this time, the system will gift the host an additional method for free.”

“If you had a free method, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Jiangyuan demanded angrily.

“Young man, you must learn self-reliance. How can you hope to achieve greatness by relying on handouts? Besides, if I gave you the free method first, would you still be willing to spend Tyrant Points?” the system retorted, entirely reasonable.

Damn it!

“Hurry up and tell me,” Jiangyuan said, expressionless.

“Dismiss the soldiers. Without them present, the plague cannot spread to them.”

“…”

Jiangyuan was left speechless. Why hadn’t he thought of such a simple solution? Was the system mocking his intelligence? He had truly been careless this time—thirty Tyrant Points, lost for nothing!