A colossal blade-light swept through, and the thick fog opened for a beat, then closed again.
Yet what they glimpsed in that brief gap was enough to freeze the blood. What lay at the bottom of this fog? Under the open sky of a bright day, how could wandering souls be running amok? Even if every last soul in Little Grove Town had turned into a demon ghost, there could not be this many — enough to nearly fill the field of vision!
By now everyone understood the truth. With ghosts milling so densely, Little Grove Town could hold no living soul at all.
Seven great towns answer to Fenglin City. One of them was already lost.
In such a moment it was still Wei Yan's calm voice that rang out first: "Those adept in the Fire Dao Art, mark a cordon fifty paces from the column and draw a line of fire. Everyone else, destroy every wandering soul inside that line in the shortest time!"
The Five-Element Dao Arts were the most basic of arts, and cultivators versed in Fire were not few. At Wei Yan's order, clumps of flame rose to life fifty paces out from the column. Then, guided by Wei Yan's adjutant, these flames linked up in an instant and traced a ring of fire around them.
Beyond the ring of fire, the ghosts retreated. But those wandering souls circled inside the ring turned savage in the same breath.
At that moment Li Jianqiu sheathed his flaming longsword, pressed his hands into a seal before his chin, and with a resolute motion drove them down at his sides. Two blades burning hot appeared in his hands.
Twin swords like a roving dragon carried him straight into the ghost mass. One sword slew a ghost; two swords broke their spirits.
In the same moment a sword-light wheeled once about, and countless ghosts dimmed into annihilation one after another. When the light fell away it revealed the lean, nimble figure of Jiang Wang.
The Purple Qi from the East Sword Art, the Killing Form's first stance!
Everyone was taken aback. This cultivator who had not yet formed his Dao Spiral was exterminating souls with pure swordcraft — and with far greater efficiency than most of them.
Jiang Wang had barely moved when Zhao Rucheng rose too, longsword turning like lightning, cleaving a path through the ghosts. One never saw him apply himself, yet in this Purple Qi from the East Sword he was almost Jiang Wang's equal.
Of all present, only Du Yehu and Ling He exchanged helpless glances. Their mortal strength found little purchase against foes of the transcendent order. They could shake a few ghosts to pieces by pouring out their life force, but against such a crowd — how much did they have to give?
In truth Jiang Wang had kept none of the sword art from them. Du Yehu simply trusted his own fists, rejecting any external aid, and cared nothing for the sword. As for Ling He... it was probably a matter of aptitude — he advanced slowly and had never managed to grasp the Killing Form.
Back then, as the elder brother who had worked no less hard than Jiang Wang, every ounce of his fighting strength had been built on sweat.
On the surface the situation seemed excellent, but the clear-eyed knew it was already dire. Everything encountered so far were common wandering souls. That so many had gathered here meant there must be fearsome ghosts and demon ghosts among them — perhaps even a ghost general!
This was no longer a fight this small team could handle. The only sound course was to break off and flee as fast as possible. But the column had marched so deep into the fog that direction was lost, and beyond the cordon layer upon layer of ghosts pressed close. How on earth were they to break through?
Wei Yan stepped out of the ring of fire and let the ghosts swarm in to bite. His battered war armor gave a slight shudder, and the ghosts that had nearly latched onto him scattered.
Yet no joy crossed his face. He stepped back within the ring and said, low and firm: "Who among you is skilled in the Wind Dao Art? Try to scatter this fog!"
Though he addressed them all, his eyes rested on Wang Changxiang.
Compared with the Five-Element Dao Arts of Gold, Wood, Water, Fire and Earth, the Wind Dao Art was a niche, but Wang Changxiang was a master of it.
Wang Changxiang did not hesitate. He swept a blade of wind across his front with joined fingers, clearing the ghosts around him. Then his hands flew like butterflies threading blossoms, churning through a series of hand seals. At last he joined his hands at his lips and, within the triangle framed by his middle and ring fingers, opened his mouth and exhaled.
That soft breath passed through the finger-arch and abruptly grew violent — visibly spinning and swelling, driving straight into the fog. Like a furious divine dragon roaring through the densest mist.
The Wind Dao Art. The Breath-Whirlwind Tornado!
This was no common wind. It was the Eastward Dawn Wind, one of the Eight Winds.
The Eastward Dawn Wind is the wind that brings all things into the light — and used here, it could not have been timelier. A Dao art of such might was beyond even many sixth-grade cultivators; that Wang Changxiang could command it before opening his heaven-gate spoke to his strength.
His face drained white as the art completed — plainly it cost him dearly. He steadied himself and managed: "I leave the rest to all of you."
Wherever the roaring tornado passed, the fog was driven back. For the first time since entering Little Grove Town, the company could see the place: rows of candied hawthorn skewers leaned against the walls, a rice shop ran into a soy-sauce works, the tavern's pennants still streamed in the wind.
Everything looked just as it always had — save for the wandering souls.
The ghosts inside the fire-ring had been swept clean, but those outside still swarmed and paced. They feared the flames by instinct, yet by instinct too they could not let go of these living men so rich in prime vitality.
"Damn it!"
That cry tolled like a warning bell. The company watched as the roaring tornado passed on, and the distant fog once more closed in. Even the Breath-Whirlwind Tornado could not entirely drive this mist away.
"Let's take this chance to withdraw," Li Jianqiu, twin flaming swords in hand, advised in a low voice. Within the gap the tornado had opened, the company could judge their way back; so long as no ghost general appeared, a fighting retreat gave them fair odds of escaping whole.
Wei Yan gripped his blade, studying the fog that crept closer again, lost in thought.
His adjutant grew fretful. "My lord, the situation in Little Grove Town has passed what we can handle. We'd need the full army. And everyone here is dead — staying serves no purpose. Perhaps we should..."
Wei Yan cut him off: "Every ghost we've seen so far is a common wandering soul, not one with any clear wits. And yet there are this many here. It defies reason."
Wang Changxiang frowned. "Across the whole of Fenglin City there is not a cultivator who specializes in ghost-wrangling. This business should be left to the City Guard. Once the army arrives and its killing aura rushes through, these wandering souls will scatter on their own."
"The Clear River water-folk stir restlessly, and the City Guard has gone to put them down. By the time they return... it may be too late." Wei Yan reluctantly let fall a weighty piece of news.
The Clear River is the great waterway running through Qinghe Commandery, and the Green Willow River outside Fenglin City is one of its tributaries. But the water-folk had long sworn an oath of alliance with the Zhuang court. Why would they stir now?
Jiang Wang turned it over in his mind. That the water-folk merely "stirred" meant they were still holding back. But anything touching the water veins of an entire commandery the authorities could not take lightly, so summoning the City Guard was only proper.
The Mind-Swallowing man-tiger has shown himself... the Clear River water-folk stir... a hundred ghosts walk at noon in Little Grove Town. These things seemed unconnected, yet an invisible hand seemed to be knitting them together.
"Something is wrong." Wei Yan shook his head, decision made: "Everyone follows me charging ahead. Until I stop, no one stops! Any who fall behind are on their own!"
He waited for no dissent. No sooner were the words out than he stepped beyond the fire-ring with blade in hand and led the charge deep into Little Grove Town.
As his adjutant, Zhao Lang followed without a beat of hesitation. Then Li Jianqiu, then Wang Changxiang. All were long seasoned; they did not agree with Wei Yan's call, but they knew this was no time to scatter strength.
At last the whole column snapped into motion, Wei Yan at its head like an arrowhead, driving hard into the depths of Little Grove Town.