Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Trap

The body of a Grand Shaman is tempered a thousand times over—heavier than mountains, sturdier than the earth, a hundred or even a thousand times harder and more flexible than steel. Except for other Grand Shamans of equal standing, no one can harm even a single hair on them unless wielding a legendary divine weapon. The sword in Ji Hao’s hand was merely the standard-issue shamanic weapon awarded to newly promoted Grand Shamans of the Blackwater Serpent Tribe. Though it could cut through gold and jade, it was by no means a legendary artifact.

In the hands of a Grand Shaman, this sword could indeed wound another of its kind. But gripped by Ji Hao, it should never have been able to injure the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon, not even slightly.

The Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon stared in disbelief, lowering his head to look at the sword driven three inches into his body. A stream of cold and a wave of heat twined around the blade, drilling relentlessly into his flesh like an auger. He could even hear the dull sound of these invisible forces grinding violently against his muscles.

“Damn you, brat! You actually managed to hurt me?” The Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon’s face twisted in disbelief as he glared at Ji Hao. “A toothless rabbit biting a winged tiger; a suckling Jurassic beast shattering the scales of a flood dragon… Impossible!”

“Heaven’s Gate Thunderclap, Ironclad Flying Bear, as the law commands!” Ji Hao gave the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon a brilliant smile, pressed both hands into a ritual seal over the hilt, and chanted the incantation in a resounding voice.

On the sword’s edge, the cold and heat clashed and churned violently, as threads of electric light began to coalesce out of thin air. High above, a small dark cloud silently appeared. Within Ji Hao’s soul-space, the radiant purple core of his spiritual orb emptied in an instant. For dozens of miles around, wild winds rose and vast amounts of elemental energy surged toward the ritual seal in his hands.

A deafening crash split the air. Eighteen bolts of lightning, each as thick as a man’s torso, struck down in rapid succession, all hitting the sword’s hilt gripped by Ji Hao.

Compared to that night when Ji Hao had used shamanic arts to spy on Ji Shu and Ji Wu, his power had increased a hundredfold. Today, the thunder magic he cast summoned heavenly lightning that was a hundred times more potent than back then.

Lightning gathered along the sword’s edge, and under Ji Hao’s control, the raging electricity surged down the metal body of the sword, pouring violently into the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon. Ji Hao spat another mouthful of blood, which spattered across the blade. Staring at the contorted, lightning-wreathed face of the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon, Ji Hao unleashed a secret shamanic art taught by Ji Kui, the Grand Shaman Priest of the Fire Crow Tribe.

“Shatter!”

With that single harsh syllable, the sword in Ji Hao’s hand vibrated violently. Dozens of densely inscribed runes on the blade flared simultaneously, and a torrent of destructive shamanic power exploded from within.

“No!” The Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon’s face twisted once more as he stared at Ji Hao in utter disbelief.

The shamanic weapon’s annihilation completely destroyed it in an instant, releasing all the immense power stored within for a single, desperate strike. This was a supremely advanced shamanic technique, impossible for novice shamans to grasp; only those with over twenty years of rigorous training could master such a ruthless and lethal art.

Though the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon was formidable, he had no talent in the art of shamanic rituals. Like Ji Xia, he was, at heart, a straightforward warrior. He had never mastered the art of shamanic weapon annihilation. He could destroy a sword with brute force, but he could never invoke the runic array within to collapse its structure and unleash all its power in a single, devastating blow.

Ji Hao’s fiery wings of flowing light unfurled behind him, transforming him into a streak of radiance as he shot aside, leaving swathes of searing afterimages in his wake.

The Redhorn of the Fierce Ghost Tribe charged forward with a furious roar. Since birth, Fierce Ghost warriors hosted spirits nourished by their tribe. These specters, being inherently yin and evil, loathed the righteous force of heavenly thunder. When Ji Hao unleashed thunder magic against the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon, Redhorn instantly regarded him as a mortal foe, his eyes bloodshot as he swung a massive wooden stake at Ji Hao with all his might.

But Ji Hao was too quick, slipping past the stake by a hair’s breadth. The massive club landed squarely on the convulsing Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon, and amid his furious curses, his soft armor was blasted to dust by Redhorn’s blow. Even his mount, the giant one-horned dark serpent, was sent flying by the impact.

With a thunderous detonation, blinding cold and firelight erupted as the sword embedded in the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon’s chest exploded. Countless metal shards, each the size of a grain of rice, shot outward, every fragment charged with a force nearly equal to a full-strength blow from a newly promoted Grand Shaman.

Hundreds of metal shards pummeled Redhorn’s body, blood mist billowing from his wounds as the shards pierced him through and through, riddling him like a sieve. The burly warrior staggered backward under the onslaught, finally collapsing in a sitting position, too grievously wounded to move.

The Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon and his mount suffered a fate even more dire, for the sword exploded right before them. Half his chest was blasted to pieces, blood spurting in torrents, revealing his violently writhing viscera.

His chest and abdomen were riddled with countless electrified metal shards, and the terrible currents coursed through his body. Though Ji Hao’s strength was not enough for his thunder magic to truly destroy the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon, it was more than enough to leave him paralyzed and unable to move.

Several miles away, two colossal trees, hundreds of yards tall, roared and brought down dozens of massive branches, pounding the earth with tremendous force.

In his panic, the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon screamed in terror. His body was enveloped in a chilling black mist that lifted him abruptly into the air, soaring hundreds of yards upward.

But his mount, the one-horned dark serpent, was too slow to react. Its huge bulk and the daze from Redhorn’s blow left it helpless. With a rending sound, dozens of dark green roots as thick as water vats burst from the ground, skewering the giant serpent through and through. The great beast, as powerful as a Grand Shaman itself, struggled in agony, but after only a few roars, the roots gave a savage yank, tearing the serpent into more than a dozen pieces with a final anguished cry.

“Don’t waste his essence blood! Collect every drop of the Grand Shaman’s blood for me—enough for ten vats of fine wine!” Ji Hao soared into the air, his three Life-and-Death Stingers transforming into streaks of black light as they dove, piercing the Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon through three shamanic acupoints. The dragon coughed blood in great mouthfuls, his aura swiftly diminishing.

“Someone… kill this brat!” The Blackwater Dark Flood Dragon, shaken to madness by Ji Hao’s astonishing display, screamed hysterically. This boy actually knew those two ancient tree monsters? Did that mean this was all a trap?

A horde of Blackwater Serpent Tribe warriors, led by four Grand Shamans, burst from the dense forest, closing in on Ji Hao with low, urgent shouts. Redhorn of the Fierce Ghost Tribe roared as well, and hundreds of warriors, each over twenty feet tall and some nearly fifty, charged in long strides toward the fray.

At the edge of the altar, the Grand Shaman Priest of the Wraith Tribe stood stunned for a moment before leaping into a furious tantrum. As his shouts echoed, icy, bone-chilling gray-white whirlwinds sprang up everywhere, and dozens of colorless infant spirits drifted silently toward the battle.

The earth shuddered violently. A jade-colored arm, over ten feet thick, suddenly thrust up from the ground, and with a single mighty slap, shattered the bones and sinews of the Wraith Tribe’s Grand Shaman Priest.

***

Jiang Yao is not Jiang Zizai!

Yes, your wishes have come true—she’ll soon be out of the way!

She is an important catalyst, yes, a vital lead to the true main characters and central plotlines.

So, please, cast your votes for Jiang Yao’s journey to the Western Paradise!