Vol. 2 - Ch. 59 - Demon Execution
Raising Orphans, Not AssassinsThis chapter is broken. Please report this on discord.
This chapter is broken. Please report this on discord.
Dawu Dynasty.
Southeastern riverside region.
A dilapidated shack.
Inside, the cramped space was filled with refugees in tattered clothes, hair unkempt, their faces smeared with grime.
They sat in a circle, blank-eyed, watching an old man pacing back and forth at the center.
Though dressed in rags like the others, the old man’s face was flushed and full of vitality, a stark contrast to the gaunt misery around him.
Taking two steps forward into the ring of people, he raised his arms high, voice trembling with fervor.
“Everyone!”
“This flood has destroyed our homes, our fields…”
“But this—this is a good thing!”
“A great thing!”
The old man shouted, voice shaking with excitement.
“We are all people who’ve known suffering…”
“But this world is merciless!”
“The court turns a blind eye to our lives!”
As he spoke, he pulled a small statue from his tattered coat.
It was palm-sized.
The figure depicted was a woman in flowing silken robes, light and diaphanous. One sleeve floated mid-air, her chest half-exposed, her expression tender and benevolent.
She stood atop a blooming lotus flower, radiating a serene, otherworldly aura.
The carving was intricate, the woman’s gentle smile lifelike. Even the folds of her robe, the curve of her chest, the details of the lotus—each was painstakingly rendered.
Despite its size, the craftsmanship was unmistakable.
The old man placed the statue reverently on the shack’s lone wooden table.
The refugees’ eyes followed his every move, filled with confusion.
Kneeling down with reverence, the old man bowed twice to the statue.
Then, with fervor burning in his eyes, he addressed the crowd again.
“Heaven is heartless. The court is heartless.”
“But one exists who shows compassion for us—the downtrodden.”
The old man’s eyes glowed with fanaticism as he gazed at the statue.
“Lady Wuxin!”
“Only Lady Wuxin pities us wretches!”
“She is the only deity who hears our cries!”
“Come!”
“Kneel with me before Lady Wuxin, and she shall bless us!”
“In the next life, we shall suffer no more!”
“We shall transcend—and become citizens of Lady Wuxin’s divine kingdom…”
His voice grew louder, wilder.
Some in the crowd—those already drawn in—fell to their knees, eyes burning with zeal. They echoed his chants, bowed toward the statue, and began pulling the others down with them, coaxing them into devotion.
Gradually, even those with blank eyes and dull expressions began to kneel, caught in the rising tide of fervor.
The old man’s ecstasy peaked as the air in the shack thickened with a strange, feverish energy.
…
Suddenly—
BANG!
The shack’s door burst open with a thunderous crash.
The warped wooden plank spun twice in the air before slamming to the ground.
Several men stormed in, dressed in yellow short coats—hardened martial artists of the jianghu.
Their eyes scanned the room.
The moment they spotted the statue on the table, their faces lit up with glee.
“Yes!”
“Found it!”
“Hahaha—”
“I knew it would be here!”
They laughed aloud, their expressions as crazed as the old preacher’s had just been.
The old man froze, stunned by the sudden intrusion.
He hadn't summoned more followers… Who were these people?
Before he could react, one of the martial artists surged forward, drawing the long blade at his hip.
Shing—
A silver flash.
A red line bloomed across the old man’s neck.
Eyes dazed, he stumbled back two steps, knocking into the table.
The statue of Lady Wuxin toppled and fell to the ground.
CRACK!
Shattered.
The old man touched his neck, fingers finding something warm—and sticky.
He looked down at his hand—red.
His eyes widened in horror.
Then he collapsed like a sack of meat, dead before he hit the floor.
The surrounding refugees stared, dumbstruck.
They didn’t understand what had just happened.
The martial artist who had drawn the blade stepped forward and pulled back the old man’s robe.
On the man’s gaunt back was a tattoo—an exquisitely detailed lotus, two petals in bloom.
Seeing it, the warrior grinned.
“Perfect.”
“Two-petal lotus—he was ranked high in their cult.”
The other martial artists sneered, drawing their blades as they positioned themselves at the doors and windows.
Their eyes were ice.
From the crowd, those who had earlier led the kneeling suddenly let out blood-curdling screams, their eyes turning scarlet as they charged at the intruders.
The martial artists met them with sneers.
With practiced ease, they cut them down in seconds—limbs flying, torsos split, heads rolling.
Chunks of flesh scattered like leaves in the wind.
The shack filled with the stench of blood.
The remaining refugees huddled together, faces pale with terror.
They dared not move, afraid they too would be slaughtered.
The martial men surveyed the carnage, then calmly stepped forward and pulled back the clothes of the fallen cultists.
On their backs were tattoos too—but only the lotus stems, not yet finished.
The warriors drew small knives.
They began slicing off the skin bearing the tattoos.
Their hands were steady. Skilled. Clearly not the first time.
With the skins removed, they turned to leave.
“Haha! Seven of them!”
“Seven cult freaks! That’s seven task waivers!”
“Not bad, not bad—this Yuye Hall job’s easy money…”
“Kill a demon cult runt, skip a mission fee—hell of a bargain!”
…
Back in the shack, the refugees stared blankly, their minds struggling to catch up.
Soon after, another group of martial artists burst through the broken door.
Their noses twitched at the scent of blood.
“Damn it! Too late!”
“Come on, come on—plenty of empty shacks around. I know another nearby!”
“Move it! We only got three cult bastards earlier—too slow!”
They cursed and rushed back out, not sparing the refugees so much as a glance.
The room fell silent again.
The huddled survivors stared at one another.
What the hell was happening?
…
Elsewhere, in a riverfront city…
Outside a storefront, several armed men walked in, exuding an air of menace.
Ordinary folk quickly stepped aside, not daring to meet their eyes.
A green jade leaf hung beneath the shop’s signboard.
This was a branch office of Yuye Hall.
The men strode into the back room, pulling a red cloth from inside their tunics.
Inside it—freshly flayed human skin, the back still showing a lotus stem tattoo.
An old man sat in the rear.
He took the skin, inspected it, and tossed it into a chest by his feet.
Half the chest was already filled with similar trophies.
Without a word, he pulled out several specially-forged iron leaf tokens from another box.
Seeing the tokens, the warriors smiled in satisfaction.
Each iron leaf meant a waiver from one Yuye Hall task.
Worth several taels of silver.
They tucked the tokens away and departed swiftly, hungry for more cultist prey.
…
Scenes like this played out across the southeastern coast.
Everywhere, commoners noticed strange martial men roaming the streets, eyes cold, presence grim.
They were hunting something.
And their blades were already wet.