Chapter Nineteen: The Witch's Treasure

On the mountainside not far from Golden Crow Ridge, a withered old man and a gaunt, sharp-eyed middle-aged man stood shoulder to shoulder atop a towering tree, gazing into the distance where Ji Xia and Ji Shu battled fiercely.

The old man’s upper body was bare, his deathly pale skin adorned with dozens of snarling serpent totems painted in black. As he moved, the snakes seemed to writhe, making him appear grotesque and repulsive. A slender black snake, two feet long, coiled around his neck, its pair of ghastly green eyes fixed on Golden Crow Ridge. Its thin tongue flicked out with a constant hiss, and the black horn on its forehead gleamed in the sunlight.

The middle-aged man, taller than the elder, wore a fitted soft armor made from black serpent skin. An eight-foot-long sword was strapped to his back, and his gaunt cheeks twitched occasionally. A horned black serpent, over ten feet long, rested its head on a tree branch while its tail coiled around the man’s waist. Like the snake on the old man’s neck, this serpent stared intently at Golden Crow Ridge, watching the giant fire crows hovering in midair.

With a thunderous crash, Ji Shu was sent flying by Ji Xia’s powerful punch, smashing through a mountain. The old man’s skeletal face twitched as he muttered in a low voice, “This Ji Xia… Ten years ago, our ambush failed to kill him. In the future, he’ll still be a thorn in the side of our Blackwater Serpent Clan.”

The middle-aged man’s brow furrowed, his hands clenched tightly together, knuckles cracking sharply. With a heavy sigh, the old man murmured, “Ten years ago, Ji Xia’s shaman holes were destroyed. We thought he’d be a cripple. But unexpectedly, he forged so many new shaman holes. Truly, he’s a descendant of the Fire Crow Clan’s Shaman Emperor line—their potential is terrifying.”

The middle-aged man snorted, his teeth grinding. “So what if he’s the bloodline of the Fire Crow Shaman Emperor? Twenty-five years ago, we killed Ji Xia’s father and seven of his brothers; fifty years ago, we besieged and slew his grandfather, and all his father’s brothers died in that battle.”

He raised his head proudly, clenching his teeth. “Now, the purest bloodline of the Fire Crow Shaman Emperor is only Ji Xia! We, the Blackwater Wujiao, will never let him survive another decade.”

The old man nodded gravely. “Wujiao, Ji Xia cannot be allowed to live any longer. These ten years, the Fire Crow Clan’s advances under his leadership have forced us back, and we’ve lost several of our richest hunting grounds. This cannot continue.”

Blackwater Wujiao stroked the serpent’s tail wrapped around his waist, his voice sinister. “That’s why I truly want Ji Shu to become the Fire Crow Clan’s war chief. Grandfather, I may not like the sly Ji Shu, but I like Ji Xia even less!”

Narrowing his eyes, Blackwater Wujiao’s voice grew cold. “My older brother died at Ji Xia’s hands. I will personally rip open his chest and carve out his heart, offering it as a sacrifice to the esteemed Blackwater Serpent!”

The horned black serpent reared up, resting its head affectionately on Blackwater Wujiao’s shoulder, its pitch-black tongue licking his face lovingly.

Flames soared skyward as Ji Shu, standing on a cloud of fire a hundred yards above the ground, grasped a blazing wooden staff and laughed loudly. The staff, over two meters long, resembled a freshly cut branch, verdant and dripping with vitality. Dozens of slender twigs bore lush green leaves. The first impression of the staff was one of boundless life—it seemed less a staff than a living tree rooted deep in the earth.

Ji Shu gripped the staff and swung it forcefully. The sound of wind and fire rushed forth, and waves of tri-colored flames erupted from the staff. The flames, like colored glass, had a white outer layer, blue in the middle, and a red core. Each ball of fire, the size of a human head, landed on the ground, instantly vaporizing stone into smoke.

Heat waves enveloped Ji Shu, distorting the air so that his body appeared as nothing more than a shifting shadow in a shimmering, watery haze—his form was impossible to discern with the naked eye.

The clansmen of the Fire Crow Clan cried out in alarm. The staff’s flames were too strong, too terrifying. The shamanic power surging from it was like a tsunami, shaking the forests within a hundred miles. The heat left the clansmen drenched in sweat; some had their hair and eyebrows spontaneously ignite.

Ji Hao stared, dumbfounded, at the staff. Such immense power—Ji Shu merely held it, without unleashing its full might, yet its influence already enveloped a hundred miles! If Ji Shu activated its power fully, surely he could annihilate every enemy within that radius in an instant.

“What on earth is that thing?” Ji Hao’s heart tightened, and suddenly he feared for Ji Xia.

“An inherited shaman artifact,” Qing Fu had somehow appeared behind Ji Hao, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Her fingers spasmed, digging deep into his flesh, clearly anxious to the extreme.

“Inherited shaman artifacts—even the weakest—require an immensely powerful great shaman, one who has opened at least a hundred shaman holes, to forge. Each artifact must be nurtured for at least a thousand years by successive generations of great shamans with their power and blood to finally take shape,” Qing Fu murmured. “Any inherited shaman artifact can increase a great shaman’s strength tenfold or more.”

Ji Hao’s body tensed. He turned and whispered urgently, “Father… If Ji Shu’s power increases tenfold, then…”

Qing Fu’s lovely face turned pale, her teeth clenched as she replied softly, “Your father, of course, has his own inherited shaman artifact. Hao, you and your father are the most orthodox bloodline of the Fire Crow Shaman Emperor. But Ji Shu’s artifact is too powerful—it shouldn’t be in his hands at all.”

Ji Xia stood atop boiling magma, letting out a deep roar. He waved his left hand and a shield made from nine massive crimson dragon scales appeared, clamping firmly onto his arm. With his right hand, he reached into the air and grasped a long spear with a handle of golden mulberry wood and a tip forged from red dragon horn.

He gripped the spear, slammed it against the shield, and shouted loudly, “Shu, come!”

Ji Shu sneered, clutching the staff tightly. He bit his tongue and spat a jet of blood onto the staff. A deep, resonant howl echoed as dozens of tri-colored fire phoenixes, each with wings spanning more than a hundred yards, flew from the staff, spewing fire and smoke a thousand yards long as they charged madly at Ji Xia.

Ji Shu’s body flashed, his tall figure transformed into a ball of fire, hidden amidst the phoenixes’ flames. In a few blinks, he appeared before Ji Xia, bringing the staff down fiercely on Ji Xia’s head.

***

Brothers and sisters, waking up early brings a clear mind!