Chapter Sixty-Four: The Grand Preceptor Has Awakened!

A dog will always be a dog of your system.

At this moment, a shadowy gloom flickered across Jiang Yuan’s face, which made the High Priest secretly rejoice; he believed his threat was finally having the desired effect. His expression grew smug.

“What now? Do you finally recognize the gravity of the situation? If you beg me, I might still be able to save Wen Zhong’s life,” the High Priest boasted.

He couldn’t help marveling at Wen Zhong’s tenacious fate—clinging to life even in such dire straits. Yet, it was precisely this stubbornness that had saved him; otherwise, the High Priest himself would be doomed.

Jiang Yuan looked at the High Priest, shaking his head with a cold sneer. “Do you truly think these matters can threaten me?”

“Do you really believe I’d let you go over such things? The atrocities your Corpse Shaman tribe has committed against my Great Shang’s borders over the years—a hundred deaths for you would not suffice!”

“So you care nothing for the lives of those under your command? If you are truly such a cold-blooded Human Sovereign, perhaps your Shang dynasty will not even have time to gasp its last breath,” the High Priest retorted with scorn.

“Isn’t it clear to you, Human Sovereign, what a dilapidated state your Shang dynasty is in? Even if you’re blind to it, ask those subordinates of yours whose powers are greater.”

“Ask about your Great Shang’s national fortune. Feel for yourself the ebbing aura of the Human Sovereign within you.”

Jiang Yuan listened expressionlessly, then fixed the High Priest with a grave gaze and asked, “You’ve incited the Corpse Shaman tribe to harass Great Shang’s borders for years—surely someone else prompted you?”

The High Priest’s eyes flickered with a momentary panic, but he soon regained composure and said indifferently, “With your Great Shang’s national fortune crumbling, why shouldn’t I seize a share for myself?”

“Speak—who commanded you to do this? By my estimation, only someone of the Witch God’s rank could induce you to act so willingly.”

“Back then, were it not for the calamity orchestrated by the Sages, your Witch tribe would still be a dominant power in this world. Surely resentment festers within your hearts. This must be the work of a Witch Ancestor, am I right?” Jiang Yuan speculated. Even if the Sages wanted to trip up Great Shang, they’d never urge the Witch tribe to act; besides, the Witch tribe would hardly obey them anyway.

Everyone knew the Witch tribe’s current plight was due to the Sages’ machinations—just as they now schemed against Great Shang, one step at a time.

Perhaps the memory of the Witch-Demon Calamity stoked the High Priest’s fury. He glowered at Jiang Yuan and sneered, “And what if I told you? Yes, I acted on the orders of Lord Shebishi! He commanded me to sow unrest along your borders—what will you do about it?”

“Do you dare seek trouble with Lord Shebishi?”

Jiang Yuan snorted. “Seek trouble with him? Would you even dare tell me where he is? I suspect you don’t even know the true whereabouts of your master, Shebishi—perhaps you’ve never even seen his real form.”

“Nonsense! How could I not recognize Lord Shebishi’s true form?” the High Priest retorted instantly.

“Ha! After the Witch-Demon Calamity, who can say how many Witch Ancestors survived? Are you so certain Shebishi isn’t dead?” Jiang Yuan mocked.

The High Priest stared at Jiang Yuan, no longer riled. He had realized Jiang Yuan was provoking him, hoping to coax more information the less Jiang Yuan knew.

Seeing the High Priest fall silent, Jiang Yuan felt a twinge of disappointment; he hadn’t expected the man to catch on so quickly.

Given the current situation, it seemed the Twelve Witch Ancestors had not all perished.

It made sense—back then, the Witch tribe was the strongest race in the world; they could not have vanished so easily.

“Shebishi? I will remember that name. I will settle this debt with him sooner or later!” Jiang Yuan declared with regal authority.

“You’d best pray your Great Shang survives this disaster,” the High Priest jeered.

“Whether Shang endures this calamity or not, I know one thing for certain—you will not survive it,” Jiang Yuan replied with a faint smile.

He then summoned the aura of the Human Sovereign, instantly shrouding the High Priest in its power, and brandished the Thunderlight Sword.

The High Priest, thrown into disarray by this sudden shift, was caught off guard as Jiang Yuan’s sword slashed across his chest.

Furious, the High Priest bellowed, “Whelp of the Human Sovereign! Come and die!”

Dark mists billowed from his body as he charged at Jiang Yuan, especially dense around the wound on his chest.

Zhang Kui was aghast—he hadn’t expected the High Priest to have any strength left to retaliate. He blamed himself for failing in his duty.

“General Zhang, no need to worry about me. The black mist shrouding the High Priest is a plague—warn the soldiers to steer clear!” Jiang Yuan ordered.

“Yes, my king!” Zhang Kui replied solemnly. He trusted his king implicitly—if the king said he was unharmed, then so it must be.

Jiang Yuan faced the charging High Priest, a layer of Celestial Dragon Armor instantly covering him, filling him with renewed confidence.

“Let me see for myself what strange powers the Witch tribe possesses!”

He hadn’t expected, in the end, to have to test this himself. Jiang Yuan mused on life’s unpredictability—the cannon fodder wasn’t even used, but at least the High Priest was already at the end of his rope.

His power was a shadow of its former self; after sacrificing several bodies to gain this last burst of strength, he’d also lost his mind, reduced to a beast with only brute strength and no intelligence.

Jiang Yuan moved with the lightness of a breeze, the Thunderlight Sword in hand transforming him into a streak of lightning. Within the space encompassed by his sovereign aura, he darted wildly, his opponent unable to properly defend himself and forced to take blow after blow.

Jiang Yuan cursed inwardly—the sword was indeed useless, its lethality far too low.

He had cut the High Priest dozens of times in a short span, yet still saw little effect.

Such was the physique of a Golden Immortal—ordinary magical weapons could barely harm him.

Still, Jiang Yuan’s precision paid off; he struck the same spot over and over.

At last, the High Priest’s defenses crumbled! The black mist around him thinned, and clarity returned to his eyes. Seizing the opportunity, Jiang Yuan drove his sword through the High Priest’s chest.

In his dying moments, the High Priest fixed Jiang Yuan with a venomous glare and spat out a curse: “I curse you and your Great Shang, may you never rise again!”

Jiang Yuan merely glanced at him, then twisted the Thunderlight Sword, silencing the High Priest’s cries of pain.

“Die quietly, won’t you?”

With a horizontal slash, Jiang Yuan cut the High Priest cleanly in two.

“Ding! Congratulations, host, for slaying the High Priest of the Corpse Shaman tribe. You have gained 300 Tyrant Points. Current total: 919!”

How satisfying! The Tyrant Points were his true objective—who would willingly kill otherwise?

Just then, a cry arose from the Great Shang soldiers:

“The Grand Preceptor is awake!”