Chapter 160 — Spring Water Wrinkled by the Wind
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 1 of 4
Shen Mu knew well the power of the Blind Old Man's Sacred-Heart Pupil, and had long since grown used to it: though the old man's eyes could see nothing, what he saw was more than any other man's. He rose to his feet and looked out into the distance; all around that peak there were still bands of golden light, circling the mountain.
The Green Ox ran with all his strength, drawing nearer and nearer, and before long those rays grew thicker and thicker, threading back and forth about the mountain like so many streaming ribbons, wrapping it entire.
When they had come closer still, many things could be seen within that golden light — the divine powers of the Witch Kings. In one shaft of gold hid curved sabers; in another stood images of gold; in a third golden dragons tumbled and rolled.
The Witch Kings' strength was frightful; only one who had cultivated to the Heaven-Man realm could be named a Witch King, but Loulan's Golden Palace was, after all, the holy ground beyond the frontier, and most of the Witch Kings who had come to hunt down Libationer Bashan were of the Life-and-Death realm — indeed, one among them was a patriarch-class being of the Spirit Bridge realm, of vast and awful presence. On ran the Green Ox, until they were but ten li from the peak, and Shen Mu looked again: at the eight points of east, south, west, north, southeast, southwest, northeast, and northwest, a Witch King stood in the air. The Witch King to the east had a bird's head and a man's body, holding a round mirror; the mirror was uncanny, with twelve snow-white bones growing out of it, and he cradled it in his hands, and from the glass a beam of golden light shot forth.
The Witch King to the west had a leopard's head and a man's body, gripping a tally-staff, from whose head trailed something like a tail, drifting, as long as the staff itself, while at its tip was a golden skull whose eyes shot golden light. The Witch King to the south was a golden man with three heads — three wolf heads. The Witch King to the north had a man's head and a bird's body, wings springing from his back, and from those two wings golden swords kept spawning, and the swords became a stream of blades that hurled themselves at the peak at the center.
And the Witch Kings of the southeast, southwest, northeast, and northwest were stranger still: one had a beast's head and eight arms, one had six legs, one had many wings, one had many eyes upon his face and eyes in the palms of his hands. Though Shen Mu had already witnessed the Louluo Scripture of the Witch Venerable, at such a sight he could not but marvel at how monstrous and mighty this art was.
On the peak at the center, saber-light wove and clashed, opening and shutting, holding off the divine powers that came killing in from eight directions. From that mountain boulders fell without cease, each stone as large as a courtyard house — a thing one could not see clearly from afar, where one made out only something like dust drifting down; only up close did one learn how gigantic that dust truly was.
The mountain had been pared by Libationer Bashan and the eight Witch Kings' powers into a bald pillar, and only the summit where Libationer Bashan stood still showed the green of grass and trees. The Butcher glanced at it, breathed out in relief, and laughed: "Big Mouth isn't dead.
Let us go back.
" Shen Mu did not know whether to laugh or to cry, and the Green Ox put on yet more speed. Before they reached the foot of the mountain, the Butcher suddenly soared into the air, and a blade of light split the sky, dazzling bright; Shen Mu looked up and felt that after that brilliance passed, the sky seemed to have gone a little black — as though the light had burned a saber-scar into his pupil, or as though its edge had been so keen it had cut the heavens open.
He could not tell which it was. "Heavenly Khagan!
" A scream rang out.