Mysteries of Immortal Puppet Master

Chapter 866: Chapter 297: What Cannot Be Forgotten Is the Path

Netherworld.

Wangchuan Immortal City.

The Wangchuan river rumbles below the city, flowing ceaselessly.

Green-black bones slowly grow from the riverbed of Wangchuan, surging up through countless ages, finally emerging above the water, forming numerous spires.

The Wangchuan Immortal City is built upon the foundation of these bone spires, constructed above the River of Oblivion!

The City Lord’s Mansion of the Lord of Wangchuan sits atop the tallest bone spire.

He sits upright on his lord’s throne, placing the jade slip in his hand onto the table.

The jade slip contains a report from the vanguard, mentioning the entire army is preparing for the siege by applying layers of deathly sound repelling ointment punctually.

"Nearly a century has passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye, it is the final juncture..." the Lord of Wangchuan’s gaze slightly unfocused.

Unconsciously, he had risen to his feet, walked to the window, and looked out, overlooking the Wangchuan Immortal City.

This is the highest point of Wangchuan Immortal City.

The nether wind brushed the bones, carrying the scent of rust and souls, and also stirred the pale long hair of the Lord of Wangchuan.

He was clad in a black robe, tall and thin, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the immortal city before gazing into the distance.

His face was somewhat gaunt, with wrinkles spreading from the corners of his eyes and cheekbones.

His eyes were profoundly deep, like the entrance to a dark abyss. Upon closer inspection, it seemed countless tiny, distorted faces silently wailed, laughed, and extinguished within his pupils.

Moreover, countless scenes appeared and vanished, playing out episodes of separation, love, hate, and enmity.

His lips were thin and cold, as if carved by a knife. Two deep nasolabial folds etched from the sides of his nose downwards, cutting into the tense corners of his mouth like heavy shackles sealing myriad words unspoken.

The unwillingness of years past, the heavy weight of solitude, the fatigue of seeking the way... all emotions transformed into these few furrows, engraved on his face, harboring a will more ancient and obstinate than death.

The Lord of Wangchuan had a very clear understanding of the situation: "This time, I have launched the Heavenly Ghost Transformation Sacrifice Ceremony to refine the Heavenly Ghost Skull."

"My adversaries and strong neighbors must have realized it after this period."

"Even if they do not know what innate talent exists in the Heavenly Ghost Skull, from my grand actions alone, they can deduce its value to me!"

"Therefore, they will surely interfere, attempting to thwart my path to enlightenment!"

Just as he thought this, a subordinate delivered urgent intelligence—

"Lord, there is turmoil in the Bone Transformation Border. A conflict has erupted between the Fungus Sect and the Corpse Marquis, with both sides allocating forces fully; the situation deteriorates too swiftly and demands immediate mediation."

"If not addressed timely, these two great forces might engage in severe strife!"

The subordinate looked at the Lord of Wangchuan with reverent and expectant eyes.

Yet the Lord of Wangchuan continued gazing out the window, musing silently: "So, you two are the first to cause me trouble."

The Fungus Sect Lord and the Corpse Marquis have been at odds normally, recurring with friction. The Bone Transformation Border, where these two forces reside, is one of the territories under the Lord of Wangchuan’s jurisdiction. Thus, he often personally mediated the disputes between the two.

Whoever was weaker, the Lord of Wangchuan would secretly aid them.

Thanks to his balancing strategy, a fragile equilibrium was maintained in the Bone Transformation Border, absent of any dominant regional power.

Presently, witnessing the Lord of Wangchuan preoccupied with refining the Heavenly Ghost Skull and having no spare time, they tacitly gathered personnel, arrayed their formations, and intended to eradicate one another to dominate the region!

Even though the Lord of Wangchuan saw through their scheming, he had to commend them for seizing this rare opportunity.

The Lord of Wangchuan, in this instance, indeed, could not personally mediate!

"This is also an apt probe."

"Once certain I won’t head to the border, these people’s follow-up schemes will unfold one after another."

The Lord of Wangchuan already predicted the subsequent changes in the situation.

Mortal World.

White Paper Immortal City.

The City Lord’s avatar led Ning Zhuo and Qing Chi to the city’s treasury.

"This is the Bone Blade Battle Flag." The City Lord’s avatar first presented a military flag.

The flagpole was neither wood nor iron but tightly assembled from numerous small, pale joints, the top ended not with a spearhead but with a cluster of Yin Fire, its flames a ghastly green.

The flag itself was so thin it was almost transparent, as though crafted from the skin flayed off wrongful dead victims, cold and slick. The flag was blank, without any depiction, until Qing Chi refined it, whereupon the characters Qing Jiao would manifest.

"This is the Crescent Moon Great Saber and the Sky-splitting Spear." The City Lord’s avatar continued.

The Crescent Moon Great Saber was as thin as a cicada’s wing, its blade not smooth and flawless but covered with intricate, dense patterns resembling cracked ice. Deep within the fissures, a dim blue moonlight flowed, flickering.

The Sky-splitting Spear’s tip was crafted from layers of talisman paper tightly rolled, compressed, and bonded. The tip was sharp, while the midsection appeared about to disintegrate, possessing a fluffy texture.

As Ning Zhuo swung the spear, a sound akin to tearing a book echoed.

"These are Black Blood Paper Horses."

Each paper horse stood tall, skeletal. Their frames were constructed from rolled black rigid paper, while their "flesh" was semi-transparent gray-white talisman paper, so thin one could faintly see the heart-sized, fiercely burning miserable green ghost fire inside the chest cavity as the driving core.

The eyes of the horses bore two fixed spots of deep ink, vacant and lifeless.

Finally, they reached the deepest part of the treasury, where a miniature paper military camp delicately sat, no larger than a palm.

The City Lord’s introduction was relatively brief: "This is a Ritual Camp, allowing the cultivation army to be excused from the pains and hassles of setting up camp in the wild. Merely by using it, a campsite can be instantly erected on flat ground."