Volume II: The Mortal Realm Chapter 81: The Human Sovereign

A blood-soaked hand clutched a sharp shard of ice, piercing straight through Ye Mingke’s frail body. The eyes of the obese immortal, seared with burns, strained wide with crazed intensity, staring at the shard as if desperate to glimpse something he longed for.

With a sharp crack, the ice splinter melted rapidly in the torrent of hot blood, breaking apart in a mere instant. The hand gripping the ice, unwilling and powerless, fell with the fragment, while the blood-smeared eyes grew even wider in disbelief, their pupils already blurring with the haze of death.

Ye Mingke, swaying on the brink, gazed at the fat, twisted face before him. He drew in a deep breath, gulping air as if instinctively trying to replace the blood he was losing, but instead he was racked with violent coughing as dizziness from blood loss swept over him.

Slowly, he withdrew his bloodied fist from the chest of the obese immortal, leaving behind a gaping hole. His final punch had shattered the man’s heart, yet he hadn’t anticipated that this cultivator, though not physically robust, possessed vitality far beyond that of mortals. In his dying moments, the immortal had retaliated with a conjured ice shard that nearly skewered Ye Mingke’s own vital organs.

At the instant Ye Mingke pulled his fist free, the obese immortal’s body convulsed violently, those blood-caked, ghastly eyes still fixed upon him.

His blood burned like fire, fierce enough to wrestle tigers.

The immortal’s pupils widened so much that fine beads of blood seeped from the corners. His lips moved weakly.

“Human Emperor…”

He struggled to lift his massive head, uttering two slurred syllables with his last breath.

“What?” Ye Mingke’s own mind was growing clouded; he couldn’t quite hear and instinctively asked again.

But that enormous head slumped heavily to the ground, leaving only those wide, bloodshot eyes staring lifelessly into the snow-laden, darkening sky.

Snowflakes drifted, settling into those gaping eyes, and this time, the snow did not melt.

“You were the one who tried to kill me—so let fate decide life and death.”

Ye Mingke assumed the immortal’s final words were some sort of resentful curse. Clutching his still-bleeding shoulder, his own bloodshot eyes fixed on the corpse as he forced out the words.

This was the first person he had ever killed.

Yet the shock was less than he’d expected; it felt little different from slaying a snake or a tiger. Perhaps the battle’s brutality left no time for thought, or perhaps it was because his opponent was not a mere mortal.

Or perhaps it was because he was no longer sure if he himself was truly human.

He turned to look at his shoulder, covered by his right hand yet still leaking scalding hot blood. This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed his blood burning like fire when on the brink of death.

Could human blood truly become as hot as flames?

Little monster, little monster—perhaps Li Yin and the others from his old town hadn’t been wrong to curse him so.

Ye Mingke managed a bitter, almost crazed smile, his eyes blazing red. Suddenly, he jammed his right hand into his mouth and bit down hard.

The fresh agony from his hand pierced the delirium, bringing a shred of clarity to his mind. With effort, he forced his gaze from the grotesque corpse.

Moments before, the ever-present hunger inside him had surged with the blood loss, as if a demon within him had awakened and was whispering. He realized, to his horror, that he felt an almost uncontrollable craving and hunger as he looked at the corpse.

“Which one is truly me?”

Gnawing at his own hand, eyes wide, he muttered the question Uncle Jian had once asked him, retreating step by step, wielding the pain and the iron will forged from years of resisting hunger to fight this primal urge to feed. Painfully, he dragged himself out of the snowy pit.

He collapsed into the snow, away from the corpse. The chill soothed his feverish body, and at last, the monstrous craving ebbed.

So only demons are so generous in bestowing power upon mortals—he realized, still trembling from the terror of nearly losing control.

Uncle Jian and Aunt Long’s strict warnings about his body hadn’t been unfounded. Perhaps there really was a devil lurking within him.

How much strength had he already borrowed from this demon since leaving the Sea of Mists?

But no matter what, he had to survive.

Even if the demon within ultimately devoured him, at least until he’d done what needed to be done and unraveled the mysteries that had destroyed his life, he wanted to live.

He hauled himself up from the snow with difficulty. His vision, blurred from blood loss, swept the white, empty woods around him.

Li Han must have fled with A-Ru the moment he began fighting the obese immortal, just as he’d instructed. Even the young men from Li Village, wounded by his arrows, had long since dragged themselves away.

He needed to find them, and the two other so-called immortals would be arriving soon.

The sense of danger pressed on him. Some villagers had fled early on and would likely inform the other immortals—the place would soon be unsafe.

Dragging his battered, weakened body, he struggled to sling the sword case and longbow over his back, then tried to track Li Han’s escape.

He’d never learned to track, only to use his Spirit Eye. But when he tried to activate it, a wave of vertigo nearly toppled him.

The battle with the immortal hadn’t lasted long, but using the Spirit Eye in such chaos had exhausted his mind. He simply couldn’t bear the strain.

He gave up on the Spirit Eye and, squinting, staggered off in a chosen direction.

The gnawing hunger and turmoil inside him only grew stronger as his body weakened, his mind ever fainter. He knew he desperately needed to feed.

He stumbled through the forest, hoping to find prey as before. But in this snowbound winter, wounded and without his Spirit Eye, where could he possibly hunt?

***

Yi Eleven and Yi Sixteen.

A burly figure and a tall, thin one stood before a massive pit in the snow, their faces grim as they gazed into its depths.

The corpse at the bottom, so familiar, had been laughing with them only hours earlier. Now, it was all but buried beneath the snow.

Yi Eleven jumped into the pit, examining the obese body with a dark expression before looking up at the fear-stricken Yi Sixteen.

“Besides the remnants of Fifteen’s own spirit power, there’s no trace of any other. Only arrow wounds and fist marks. But nearly all his bones are broken, his organs crushed—he died from a punch straight through the heart.”

“What sort of monster did he encounter, to be killed so brutally?”

Yi Sixteen, despite being the most advanced and burliest of them all, was also the most timid. His teeth chattered as he stared at the mangled corpse.

Yi Eleven, usually sarcastic, remained composed despite his grim visage, continuing to examine the body.

“From the wounds, whoever did this was certainly strong, but not necessarily savage—don’t frighten yourself. Cultivators like us, before we reach the Meridian Realm and temper our bodies, are only a little stronger than mortals. But with spirit power, our vitality is formidable, and ordinary injuries aren’t fatal. The fact that he was smashed like this proves his killer was just a mortal.”

He glanced at the arrow lodged in Fifteen’s shoulder and the cavernous hole in his chest, gritting his teeth, his voice thick with suppressed rage and disbelief.

“A mortal—a mortal with nothing but a hunting bow and his fists, killed an immortal. How is that possible?”

Yi Sixteen, mastering his fear, knelt to examine the body as well. He, too, had to admit it: a mere mortal, with the crudest means, had beaten one of their own to death.

“Wait.”

He suddenly called out to Yi Eleven, who paused his examination.

“What’s that on Fifteen’s right leg?”

Yi Eleven followed his gaze and brushed aside the bloody hand lying on the right trouser leg, revealing a few blurry words written in blood.

There was so much blood that they’d missed it before.

Yi Eleven read the smeared words aloud, slowly:

“Body of the Human Emperor.”

“Body of the Human Emperor? What does that mean? It sounds familiar…”

Yi Sixteen was puzzled for a moment.

“Body of the Human Emperor—now it all makes sense,” Yi Eleven replied, his eyes gleaming with greed. “Do you remember the monstrous youth who earned Senior Brother a mid-tier spirit weapon? Do you recall what Master said about his constitution?”

“Blood like fire, fierce enough to wrestle tigers. Master said that was the legendary Human Emperor’s Body, long vanished from the mortal world—priceless and rare,” Yi Sixteen recalled, and at last, he understood.

“So those words mean the youth who killed Fifteen also has the Body of the Human Emperor?”

“Exactly. No ordinary mortal could kill an immortal. Only the fabled Human Emperor’s Body could. Even Senior Brother was caught off guard and wounded by such a youth. Fifteen was simply unprepared.”

“The key is, if that youth truly has the Human Emperor’s Body, that’s a constitution worth a mid-tier spirit treasure as a reward from Master. If we can bring him back…”

Yi Eleven fixed his gaze on Yi Sixteen, and in both their eyes, greed and longing burned.