Mysteries of Immortal Puppet Master

Chapter 1554: Chapter 641: Defiant Demon Soul! (Part 2)

"Hahaha!" He let out a wild laugh, the face condensed from his remnant soul still strikingly handsome, brows sharp, eyes blade-like, lips thin and severe.

"Back when this seat was a youth, I was pinned against the green stone in the workshop street and whipped thirty times until the bones of my back showed. In Blood Crow Ridge, the remnant souls of Demon corpses gnawed on this seat for three days and three nights. In the Ancient Altar, Blood Ash burned this seat for seven days, my bones crackling in a continuous brittle clatter. In the Golden Glow Valley of Pure Yang Palace, a Sword net covered my head—half my body’s Essence Blood was burned clean. Never once has anyone heard this seat beg for mercy!"

"And today, with just those few mouths of yours, a few Soul Lamps, a few soul needles, one small Array, and a tattered soul banner, you think you can make this seat bow his head?"

"Hahaha, hahaha!"

Qiu Lei snorted coldly: "Demon Path is defiant and unyielding, dying yet never repenting."

You Yunshou spoke directly in a deep voice: "Activate the Array."

The next instant, the cloud patterns within the Cave Mansion flared abruptly.

White cloud-silk drooped from the stone walls, wrapping around the edge of the soul banner; on the ground, circles of earth-yellow Array Patterns sank layer by layer, a heavy pressure suppressing the Black and White Soul Fire.

Several Soul Lamps ignited at the corners of the Array. Beams of green-white, red-black, earth-yellow, water-blue, silver-gray, pale-gold, ghostly-violet light intertwined and flowed, casting multiple overlapping shadows of the Red Robe Guest’s soul body.

That Heart Inquiry Hall cultivator, Mirror Heart Daoist, tossed out his copper mirror.

The mirror surface spun, its light shining into the Red Robe Guest’s brow, and a blood-colored network of memory veins surfaced upon the mirror face.

Those memory veins were like dark crimson underground rivers, wrapped in cries, laughter, blade-cries, and the roar of flames, surging and crashing across the mirror surface.

Mirror Heart Daoist’s expression grew solemn: "This Demon thief has gone through far too much, his killing intent is immensely heavy. Each of you take a segment of memories; do not try to show off. Take only the images, and steady your Heart Spirit."

Everyone’s faces turned grave.

Soul Search was a troublesome and perilous thing. Not only would the one subjected to it meet a miserable end, those performing it had to bear the memories as well, which was highly risky.

A lifetime of another’s experiences, memories, and feelings pressed into one’s Divine Sea, joys, angers, sorrows, and fears surging like a tidal sea, all crashing down at once. If one was the slightest bit careless, the memory-bearer might forget where they themselves came from, even be led along by the other party’s obsessions and sentiments.

Especially for a Nascent Soul Demon Cultivator like the Red Robe Guest—the depth of his memories, emotions, and obsessions was something ordinary people could hardly endure.

The Cultivators filed into the Array one after another.

The Soul Search began!

First, a soul needle as fine as ox hair, its tail trailing green-white flame, pierced into the Red Robe Guest’s brow.

The Red Robe Guest’s soul body shuddered; searing pain surged up, making his teeth clamp tight, blood-light in his soul pupils flickering without cease.

The Red Robe Guest’s life memories, under the guidance of the copper mirror, poured into the Array through the breach opened by the soul needle.

Vast torrents of memories and emotions surged like the sea, storming into the Divine Seas of the gathered Cultivators.

After only a brief moment, a Female Cultivator from White Cloud Village turned deathly pale.

She felt as though she stood amid the green-stone-paved streets of the workshop.

The youth’s clothes had been washed until they faded white, the hems frayed, yet he had tied them with meticulous neatness. He was exceedingly handsome, brow-bones sharp, the tips of his eyes slightly upturned; walking through the workshop street, people would always turn back to look.

The crack of a whip exploded.

Pa!

The whip tip lashed across his back, flesh splitting and rolling up, Blood Pearls splattering to dampen the green stone ground.

The youth was beaten to the ground, any resistance brutally Suppressed.

A disciple of a small sect bent down, the Spirit Jade Ring on his finger glinting harshly.

He was enjoying the beating immensely; patting the youth’s cheek, he smiled with unrestrained glee: "Just a mere Loose Cultivator, and you still dared to run your mouth at the stall earlier—truly cheap! If you’re not convinced, then after you form your Golden Core someday, come find me."

"Hahaha." He strode off at his leisure.

The onlookers held their tea bowls—some laughed, some shook their heads, some turned and walked away.

The youth lay prone on the green stone, unable to rise, his fingernails digging into the cracks in the stone.

His face was crisscrossed with blood and filth; he clenched his teeth with all his might, roaring within his heart: "Good! I’ll remember this. I will definitely come for you!"

The Female Cultivator of White Cloud Village sucked in breath after breath.

This humiliation and the rage in his heart were like a sky-swallowing inferno, nearly consuming her Heart Spirit.

She swallowed a Pill, only then suppressing the pounding of her heart.

The copper mirror shuddered, and a second soul needle pierced into the Red Robe Guest’s heart.

Red and black lamp-flames surged skyward, the stone walls of the Cave Mansion taking on a dark crimson sheen.

A middle-aged Cultivator of the Territorial Expansion Alliance felt his Heart Spirit suddenly sink.

The scene of Blood Crow Ridge imprinted itself into his Divine Sea.

Within the Ancient Burial Ground, the rotten earth rose over the boot soles, shattered bones stabbed into the mire. At night the blood crows cried, their voices shrill. The young Red Robe Guest cultivated half a fragmented technique amidst the ridge, swallowing and exhaling Blood Evil. Each night of cultivation, threads of black blood would seep from the corners of his lips, his whole body stabbed with pain, making the middle-aged Cultivator of the Territorial Expansion Alliance feel it all as if it were his own, a look of agony surfacing on his face.

The scene of a certain blood pit followed upon that.

Behind a collapsed stone wall, a withered demonic corpse clutched a Blood Jade Scroll. The Red Robe Guest reached out to take it, and the remnant soul of the corpse suddenly hurled itself into his Sea of Consciousness.

The middle-aged Cultivator’s body went rigid.

The feelings the Red Robe Guest had back then were now savagely battering his Heart Spirit!

Divine Soul against Divine Soul, tearing at each other, pain and torment taken to the extreme.

Before his eyes there was nothing but mountains of corpses and seas of blood, the corpse’s remnant will roaring in his mind!

The Red Robe Guest knelt in the depths of the blood pit, blood running from his seven apertures, ten fingers clawed into the stone floor, his nails split and turned up.

For three days and three nights, the mist outside the blood pit rose and sank, blood crows circling.

There was no master protector, and no sect Spirit Pills—relying only on one breath of ruthless resolve, the Red Robe Guest forcibly swallowed the corpse’s remnant will instead.

The middle-aged Cultivator felt sweetness surge up his throat and spat out a mouthful of fresh blood on the spot.

Yet this made his gaze regain clarity. He panted again and again, stopping there, not daring to continue bearing the memories.

The copper mirror tilted, the third soul needle stabbed in from the side, drawing forth a blood feast under the moonlight.

Qiu Lei took up this memory.

Years later, the Red Robe Guest returned to the workshop. That night the moonlight was cold, and outside the workshop a wine table was laid. The Red Robe Guest wore a newly made red robe, his features handsome, his smile gentle; when he raised his cup his sleeves fell, revealing long, slender fingers.

The sect disciple who had framed him back then had already become a minor steward in the workshop, a Jade Token at his waist, attendants following behind.

The Red Robe Guest poured wine for him, his voice mild: "You once said, after you achieved cultivation you’d come back and find me. So, I have returned."

The wine fragrance was very strong.

The next instant, the reek of blood drowned the wine’s aroma.

The Red Robe Guest pressed down on the little steward’s shoulder; the man’s blood surged backward through his body, his face flushed red, his eyes bulged. The guards drew their blades, but bloodlines flashed from within his sleeve; several throats split open at the same time, fresh blood splashing onto the Stone Bowl, a dark red ripple spreading across the surface of the wine.

The little steward knelt before the same bluestone of that year, snot and tears streaming.

The Red Robe Guest bent down and asked him: "Is a Loose Cultivator’s life still so cheap?"

No forgiveness, no gentleness. Only the savage exhilaration of having crawled up from the mire of life with teeth clenched to the death, then personally pressing his enemy’s head back down into that same mire!

The sense of release surged so violently, carrying the scent of wine and Blood Qi, that it flushed Qiu Lei’s chest with heat; for a time he was immersed in it, unable to extricate himself.

The Soul Search continued, and yet another soul needle drew out the memory of the Blood Ash Tinder.

You Yunshou received it.

A hundred li of scorched earth.

The red-and-black ground was torn and wounded, fissures spewing bursts of hot wind. The wind carried ash, scraping across the Divine Soul like coarse sand against skin, stirring waves of burning pain.

At the center of the scorched earth, an Ancient Altar lay half-sunk in the ground. On the altar sat a broken Stone Bowl, the flame within deep crimson, its heart a sunken black, burning alone for ten thousand years.

Blood Ash Tinder!

The Red Robe Guest stepped onto the altar, the Broken Ban activated. A Red and Black Fire Ring closed in, the Ancient Souls of a bygone people prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads to the ground, while heavy stone drums boomed one after another, pounding until You Yunshou’s chest felt tight and smothered.

Chants of prayer rose.

With each line that fell, the blood within the Red Robe Guest’s body burned another inch.

The image of burning blood was far too vivid. Crimson lines crawled ceaselessly beneath his skin, as though molten sand had been poured into his veins.

The Red Robe Guest’s red robe was burned through; his flesh and skin cracked and charred, his bones giving off faint, splintering pops.

He stood at the center of the altar, yet his gaze only grew brighter, locked deathly tight on the flame within the Stone Bowl.

Seven days of bitter endurance, his posture straight as a spear, never once kneeling!

You Yunshou bore the memory with difficulty, the white clouds in his sleeve already a tangled mess.

Fine beads of sweat broke out on his brow, a scorched bitterness rising in his mouth.

The ultimate agony of burning blood passed through the memory, making him feel as though his entire being had been burned to ash.

On the seventh day, the Red Robe Guest lifted the black-red Stone Bowl and staggered out of the altar. His Cultivation Level had plummeted, his lifespan damaged, his flesh body left with horrific injuries, yet he laughed with unspeakable exhilaration.

You Yunshou was drenched in cold sweat; when he looked toward the Demon Soul of the Red Robe Guest, his expression had already changed: "This Demon Path thief is so vicious and ruthless, so untamable—wanting him to bow his head to the likes of us is sheer delusion!"