Chapter 215

Chapter 215: The Eight Trigrams Hall (4)

Nirvanic Extinction Mountain.

Far into the southeastern ranges of the Central Plains, the first light of day emerged, cloaking the slopes in dense mist.

As one journeyed higher up the winding trail, the edge of a roofline came into view amidst the pine trees.

It featured neatly arranged tiles.

Climbing the stone stairs brought into view an expansive courtyard, at the heart of which stood a grand pavilion.

It bore the resemblance of a temple.

From afar, at least, it gave that impression.

Within the open square, numerous monks were seated in orderly columns.

These bald figures, clad in dark maroon garments, sat with legs crossed, softly reciting holy verses.

Their chants blended together, echoing through the early breeze.

A deep, humming collective prayer.

One might assume dawn devotionals in a secluded sanctuary typically sounded like this.

The breeze drifted by, causing the chimes dangling from the roof edges to sway continuously.

Rattle.

Click, rattle.

The noise lacked any resonance.

It wasn’t the crisp ring of clashing iron, but rather a hollow, dry thudding of hardened objects knocking against each other.

Skeletons.

The ornaments swaying from the roof were crafted from human bone.

In a shaded area of the square, three monks were on their knees, shaping some objects.

Their silent labor in the shadows, untouched by the rising sun, seemed identical to craftsmen handling raw materials.

Their hands moved with extreme precision, their faces solemn and respectful.

Yet, a nearer inspection unveiled a gruesome reality.

The men were shaving, sanding, and refining human skeletal remains into artifacts.

No disgust or insanity could be seen in their gestures.

These were merely the movements of individuals thoroughly devoted to their craft, pouring their entire being into it.

Furthermore, the burning incense permeating the sanctuary carried a distinct coppery stench.

It wasn’t an aquatic odor, but rather a subtle, permeating metallic tang of mortal origin.

It was the aroma of fresh gore.

Not a single person present found the customary fragrance lingering in the air unusual.

The Dark Rakshasa Way.

One among the Seven Great Demonic Sects.

An order established eight centuries prior by the Rakshasa Demonic Sovereign, a renegade who apostatized from the Buddhist Sect.

Destruction brings Deliverance.

A core tenet proclaiming that both the executioner and the victim achieve ultimate redemption.

They painted sacred mandalas using gore and fashioned Dharma Artifacts from skeletal remnants—a congregation so twisted that even fellow Unorthodox Factions avoided them.

For the members here, such activities constituted an entirely ordinary morning and routine.

Inside the Rakshasa Hall.

The interior was cast in deep shadow, likely due to the complete absence of windows.

Tapers positioned across the room offered a dim radiance, though it hardly illuminated the darkness.

These candles, rendered from human tallow, released a pungent odor that drifted through the chamber as they consumed themselves.

At the absolute rear of the grand sanctuary, right in the center.

In the position normally reserved for an enlightened Buddha, an entirely different entity resided.

A carved monument of the Rakshasa Demonic Sovereign.

The immense figure, constructed from skeletal remains and iron, lacked any expression of profound wisdom or merciful regard, offering only a blank countenance as it stared into the void of the hall.

From the vessel before the deity, crimson smoke drifted upward, obscuring the monument’s form.

Positioned directly underneath the effigy.

An individual sat cross-legged upon the ceremonial platform.

A bald cleric dressed in deep maroon robes—not a bright crimson, but the shade of dried, coagulated gore.

His physical form resembled a starved hermit, yet his inner presence was formidable.

Pronounced furrows covered his entire countenance, but the vitality in his gaze remained sharp and youthful.

His eyelids were lowered halfway.

A faint grin touched his lips.

To a casual observer, he would seem to be an esteemed master.

Were it not for the string of 108 prayer beads draped over his left hand, each segment carved from a mortal digit.

With every shifting bead, a dry clicking of bone on bone echoed in the gloom.

The Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate.

The individual who had guided this eight-hundred-year-old order as its 17th patriarch for half a century.

A visitor stood before him.

A mature man with a partially shaven scalp, keeping only the hair on the sides trim.

The maroon vestments he wore over his broad, powerful frame resembled combat gear more than religious robes, giving him the appearance of a military commander rather than an ascetic.

The Blood Rakshasa.

The Left Guardian.

The commander tasked with managing all tactical and military operations for the Dark Rakshasa Way.

“Is the Formation Tower still silent?”

In response to the inquiry from the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate, the Blood Rakshasa dipped his head.

“No communication has arrived yet. It appears the debate within the Formation Tower is ongoing, even after we delivered the initial funds.”

Click.

A skeletal segment on the prayer string shifted.

“Haste is unnecessary.”

The voice of the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate held no sign of irritation.

It matched the calm delivery of an instructor imparting wisdom to pupils.

“Wealth represents the most potent of worldly attachments. It requires patience to employ it as an instrument to breach the thresholds of the Formation Tower.”

“Understood.”

The Blood Rakshasa offered a brief acknowledgement.

The inner workings of the Formation Tower held little importance for him anyway.

“I shall present the updates regarding the conflict.”

The Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate shifted another segment.

“The mission to eliminate the Branch Sword Corps has reached its conclusion.”

The Left Guardian’s tone remained flat.

He did not speak with the gravity of someone recounting the demise of five hundred individuals, but rather like an administrator confirming a monthly inventory report.

“The Branch Sword Corps of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect. Counting roughly five hundred swordsmen. Following the outbreak of hostilities, they divided into minor squads across numerous territories to evaluate the combat readiness of their local subsidiaries.”

Click.

The Blood Rakshasa brushed a protective charm hanging at his flank before continuing his briefing.

“We deployed five representatives from the lower eight Rakshasas to launch simultaneous ambushes against these isolated groups. At this hour, the Branch Sword Corps has been completely eradicated. We dealt secondary losses to three regional outposts of the Vast Heaven, though the leader of the Branch Sword Corps managed to evade capture.”

“His whereabouts remain unverified?”

“He fled, but given the severe wounds he sustained, I anticipate he has either already passed into Buddhahood or will do so shortly.”

Entering Buddhahood.

In their eyes, death was simply the final path to enlightenment.

The act of taking a life shared that exact purpose.

The reason they slaughtered so methodically, and the reason they lacked any terror of dying, stemmed from this singular conviction.

A slight crease formed near the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate’s partially closed eyelids.

“Five hundred individual spirits have successfully passed into Buddhahood.”

Namu Amitabha.

The skeletal prayer beads clicked in succession.

“A magnificent spiritual gathering has commenced at last.”

The Blood Rakshasa simply kept his head bowed.

Five hundred souls had entered enlightenment.

Those five hundred belonged to a premier unit of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect, a pillar among the Ten Great Sects of the Righteous Faction.

The destruction of the Branch Sword Corps effectively shattered the defensive network of the Vast Heaven’s subsidiary sects, signaling the escalation from minor skirmishes to total warfare.

“Proceed.”

The Blood Rakshasa lifted his gaze.

“There is another matter to convey.”

This time, his delivery shifted slightly.

The structured military tone remained, but it carried an underlying gravity.

“It concerns the Patrol Sword Corps.”

“The Patrol Sword Corps, you say.”

Click.

“Are you referring to those stray spirits commanded by Benefactor Sang Gwan?”

“Indeed. The entire Patrol Sword Corps of the Vast Heaven was marching toward the River Capital, and the Blood Scent Society was monitoring their progress.”

“What complication has arisen?”

“It would be best to receive the details directly from Scent Wolf.”

The Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate did of course not open his eyes.

However, his left hand paused its steady rotation of the bone beads.

Taking this cessation as approval, the Blood Rakshasa gestured toward the entrance.

“Advance.”

The heavy portals of the Rakshasa Hall parted, allowing a shaft of light and a figure to slip inside.

Scent Wolf.

An operative among the Twelve Rakshasas, specifically belonging to the lower eight, and the director of the Blood Scent Society.

A beast-man.

A warrior who had integrated the primal essence of the Path of Beasts, merging his soul with that of a predator.

An entity who had dissolved the boundary separating humanity from wildlife.

Moving seamlessly with the incoming light, Scent Wolf was already bowing low before the elevated seat.

Scent Wolf never spoke directly to the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate.

His insights were relayed solely through the Left Guardian.

Such was the hierarchy and protocol dictating this feral operative’s station.

The Blood Rakshasa stared down at the prostrate figure.

“Deliver your account.”

Scent Wolf spoke while maintaining his low posture.

“They crossed our markers without question.”

This indicated that their prepared mystical traps had triggered.

The sensory scents distributed beforehand along the path of the Patrol Sword Corps had been disturbed, confirming the targets were traveling along the anticipated path.

“However, the trail vanished.”

“At what coordinates?”

“Past a distance of two hundred li north of the River Capital, every single sensory marker has remained silent.”

“Are you stating that the path of the Patrol Sword Corps was entirely lost past that boundary?”

“Yes, that is accurate. Furthermore…”

Scent Wolf shifted his gaze upward.

His yellow eyes glinted with unnatural intensity.

“There was a total absence of remains.”

The Blood Rakshasa frowned.

“By absence, do you mean no signs of tactical engagement or travel?”

“Precisely.”

“And no residual odors?”

“None whatsoever.”

The Left Guardian’s jaw tightened.

The tracking abilities of Scent Wolf far surpassed any standard scout within the Blood Scent Society.

While a typical tracker could only follow overt markers, this beast-man could identify the scent of blood, flesh, and even the chemical trace of terror.

He could detect sensory markers from hundreds of li away using his instincts alone.

Yet his senses picked up nothing.

Thirty-one warriors had been traveling, and those thirty-one individuals had completely vanished.

Had a skirmish occurred, iron fragments should remain.

Had casualties been sustained, the metallic odor of blood should linger.

Had remains decayed, the stench would have contaminated the area.

And yet.

Nothing existed?

“However,” Scent Wolf added.

“Coinciding with this event, a rural farming settlement nearby was discovered reduced entirely to ashes.”

“Oh? You are suggesting a settlement directly along the path the Patrol Sword Corps was traveling was destroyed by fire?”

“Yes. And the inhabitants of that settlement were similarly incinerated and are gone.”

“I see. Anything further?”

“The mounts utilized by the Patrol Sword Corps were recovered. Yet…”

“Yet?”

“As stated, all signs of the Patrol Sword Corps Leader Sang Gwanhwi along with the thirty swordsmen under his command have completely dissolved. Not a single trace remains.”

Following the conclusion of the briefing, a profound quiet enveloped the Rakshasa Hall.

Only the single tallow candle continued to waver.

The underlying coppery scent shifted in tandem with the dim light.

Click.

The stagnation ended only when the bone beads resumed their rotation.

“The Patrol Sword Corps…”

The voice belonged to the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate.

“Vanished, you say.”

His partially closed eyelids parted a fraction.

But they drifted shut shortly after.

The lines across his brow became more pronounced, followed by a momentary quiet.

“Namu Amitabha.”

The skeletal beads shifted with a dry snap.

“This is an advantageous development.”

The Blood Rakshasa looked up in surprise.

“…You deem it advantageous?”

“Regardless of who executed the deed, thirty-one entities have crossed the threshold of existence. How is that anything other than achieving Buddhahood?”

Hehe.

A soft chuckle resonated through the gloomy hall.

It lacked the quality of insanity.

It was the chuckle of a satisfied scholar, grounded in absolute certainty.

A subtle, quiet grin that belongs only to someone who believes they have unlocked the fundamental laws of the cosmos.

“However.”

The amusement faded.

“You noted the absence of physical remains.”

Click.

“This implies an executioner was present, but an individual also gathered the bodies. That does not constitute entry into Buddhahood; that is larceny.”

The Blood Rakshasa straightened his posture.

Indeed, even while categorizing it as a positive outcome, the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate had identified the hidden anomaly.

“An individual is misappropriating another’s enlightenment.”

The patriarch’s hand ceased its movement along the prayer beads.

“Scent Wolf.”

The muscles of the kneeling operative tensed.

It was an uncommon occurrence for the leader to address him by name.

“Track down the destination of those vanished spirits.”

Scent Wolf pressed his face flush against the floor tiles.

“If physical remnants are absent, investigate from the exact boundary where the trail dissolved. Whether through the atmosphere or the soil, markers are never completely eradicated.”

“Understood, Great Venerate. Your directives shall be executed.”

Just as abruptly as he arrived, Scent Wolf’s presence dissolved into the shadows.

Following the tracker’s exit, only the Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate and the Left Guardian remained inside the grand chamber.

The tallow candles maintained their low burn, and the effigy of the Rakshasa Demonic Sovereign looked down through the haze of crimson smoke.

“Blood Rakshasa.”

“Present.”

“With the Branch Sword Corps broken, the regional outposts of the Vast Heaven are essentially defenseless.”

“That is correct.”

The Left Guardian immediately analyzed the tactical map.

“The Branch Sword Corps served as the core of their local security network. They operated in detached squads to preserve an emergency warning grid, but that communication network was shattered by our coordinated strikes. Currently, the Vast Heaven outposts are completely cut off from their headquarters.”

Click.

“They are stranded souls.”

The patriarch observed, keeping his eyes shut.

“I am not instructing you to draw blood.”

His tone dropped to a whisper.

It was an instructional sermon, not a martial order.

“I am instructing you to guide them.”

The Blood Rakshasa bowed low.

“Those entities stranded in the dark are lost, unable to cross into the afterlife.”

Click.

The prayer beads completed a full sequence.

“The surviving members of the Vast Heaven who have lost their path… assist them in reaching Buddhahood.”

“Understood, Great Venerate. Three sectors in the eastern territory, two in the south. I shall mobilize three entities from the lower eight Rakshasas. Furthermore, I will assign an operative from the upper four Rakshasas to command the eastern sector.”

“The plan is approved.”

The Dark Rakshasa Great Venerate merely dictates the spiritual path.

Unbar the gateway to enlightenment, guide them to Buddhahood, provide the light.

“Namu Amitabha.”

Consequently.

The management of the campaign fell to the Blood Rakshasa.

Where to strike, who to eliminate, and the strategy for the advance.

The Left Guardian also brought his hands together in a devotional posture.

“Namu Amitabha.”

The moment had arrived to manifest their faith using the blade as their instrument.

Until the entire Central Plains bowed before the Rakshasa, their merciful weapons would know no rest.