Chapter 129: Strange

Wang Shi’s pupils contracted as he witnessed the scene before him. He realized with chilling clarity that the young man’s murderous intent was not merely talk; he was a man of action. To a cultivator, slaughtering mortals is a grave sin in the eyes of any, yet this youth acted without the slightest hesitation.

Baili Mo’s cultivation level, as sensed now, was identical to Wang Shi’s—no more than the peak of the Foundation Establishment stage. Yet, their combat prowess was worlds apart. The fact that the boy could pin him down with nothing more than a longsword indicated a level of strength far exceeding that of an ordinary peak Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Wang Shi was nothing more than a rogue cultivator, already on the weaker side among his peers. To engage a master who far surpassed the limits of their stage would be suicide. Making an instant decision, Wang Shi turned and sprinted away in a desperate flight.

"Leaving? Did I say you could go?" Baili Mo called out coldly, watching the retreating figure. "My master once said, 'Those who kill shall themselves be killed.' This is your sin, inescapable and unavoidable. The debt owed to Lotus’s parents must be repaid in kind. If you must harbor hatred, save it for the blood staining your own hands."

Baili Mo’s gaze was icy as he watched Wang Shi grow smaller in the distance. He walked forward seven steps. With each step, the ground beneath his feet emitted a faint glow, shimmering with blinding intensity in the dark of night.

"Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie, Zhen, Lie, Qian, Xing! Form, arise!" Baili Mo shouted, his hands weaving a complex seal.

The seven points of light intensified, and within a few breaths, they saturated the entire space.

Wang Shi continued his frantic flight. Had his cultivation been any higher, he might have been able to sustain brief flight, but as it stood, he could only run. Suddenly, his vision blurred, and a surge of white light, originating from nowhere, flooded his eyes.

"Are you there?" Baili Mo muttered, holding his sword as he approached a spot near him. Despite the emptiness before him, he swung his blade down with lethal force.

At the moment the sword fell, a figure suddenly materialized. Wang Shi stared in horror as the blade neared his neck. The speed was beyond his ability to react, and in an instant, his head was severed from his body.

The gap between two cultivators at the same peak stage was so vast that a life could be extinguished with a single stroke.

"A bit too fast. No, that won't do," Baili Mo whispered, looking down at Wang Shi’s corpse, whose eyes remained fixed in a wide, lifeless stare.

He shook his head slowly, then suddenly snapped his gaze upward. His eyes were suffused with blood. "Are you ready to struggle yet?"

Blood-red mist permeated the air. Baili Mo had surrendered to his madness, to his slaughter. Ultimately, his experiences were too few, and with a single step, he had strayed onto a different path.

Zhao Wenshang watched, trembling, as the man he once considered omnipotent fell with such pathetic ease. His pupils quaked, and as he watched Baili Mo approach, he was unable to utter a sound or move a muscle.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die! Father, save me! Father, help me!" Zhao Wenshang retreated, his voice raw and raspy as he struggled to cry out.

"Does it hurt? Is it very painful?"

Zhao Wenshang froze as Baili Mo whispered directly into his ear.

"She was in pain, too. Why couldn't you let her be? Why did you refuse to listen to my words? Why do you insist on courting death over and over again?"

The voice was soft, hollow, and freezing.

"Ah!!! My leg!!!" Zhao Wenshang collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball and screaming. A severed leg lay a few feet away, the wound smooth and clean.

"Don't be afraid. It doesn't hurt much. That’s what you thought, isn't it? That’s why you kept hurting others, over and over again." Baili Mo shook the blood from his blade and slowly walked over to retrieve the severed limb.

"Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie, Zhen, Lie, Qian, Xing! Restore!" Baili Mo pressed the leg back against the stump.

A faint white light flashed across the wound. The bleeding stopped, the skin sealed, and it was as if the leg had never been severed at all. Zhao Wenshang watched in disbelief as his limb was restored, the pain vanishing just as quickly—a feat of healing far more efficient than what Wang Shi had once used to restore his own manhood.

"Not running? If you don't run, it will break again," Baili Mo said softly, staring expressionlessly at the man on the ground.

"No, no, don't come near me," Zhao Wenshang shrieked, pushing himself up with his only remaining hand.

"Oh?" Zhao Wenshang watched as he tried to rise, only to collapse once more.

"Ah! My hand!!!" A raspy roar tore from his throat. He had lost his only left arm.

"Why so careless?" Baili Mo stood up and watched him with cold eyes. He felt a strange sense of relief, though he frowned when he caught his own reflection in the sword's blade. He looked like a stranger.

"Get up. Don't lie on the ground; it's unsightly. Aren't you the son of General Zhao Yuan? Don't be such a coward." Baili Mo reattached his arm with the same method and spoke in a cold, detached voice.

"Ah! Devil! You are a devil!!!" Zhao Wenshang cried out in terror, feeling for the first time the helplessness and fragility of a mere mortal.

"A devil? Where? Zhao Wenshang, what right do you have to call others that? Do you have any idea how many people you have tormented, too terrified to speak out?"

"I was a fool. To let a piece of human trash like you go... I was truly an idiot."

Baili Mo covered his face, his eyes, visible through the gaps in his fingers, glowing with a terrifying crimson.

"It is my fault. It is because of me that Lotus lost everything. I promised to protect her, but I failed. I broke my word. If only I had killed him sooner, none of this would have happened."

Yes, sooner. Just a little bit sooner. If only he had killed him.

"My fault... my fault... my fault..."

Baili Mo hung his head, his long hair veiling his face as he repeated the words, consumed by self-reproach. The night breeze caught his hair, revealing a face that had once been strikingly handsome, now twisted into a mask of anguish.

Run! I must run!

Zhao Wenshang stared at the man who had suddenly fallen into such a strange state, standing there in a daze. He scrambled to his feet and bolted into the distance.

"I don't recall saying you could run," Baili Mo roared, noticing the escape.

A sudden, violent gale erupted. Zhao Wenshang was slammed back to the ground as he clutched his bleeding right shoulder. Above him, Baili Mo hovered in the air, his expression fierce and predatory.

"Do not go. Your sins have not yet been paid in full."

The wind howled, whipping his long hair and billowing his cyan Daoist robes. Baili Mo floated in the air, his blood-red eyes locked onto the man below.

His expression was monstrous. In the dark of night, he was the very image of death.