Instant Kills . . .
The resolute determination of the sixty-three cultivators was crystal clear: Cha Monarch would not leave this place alive today. Whoever showed him mercy now would inevitably fall victim to revenge in the future. Every one of them locked their gaze onto Cha Monarch, their eyes emanating a fierce resolve. As they nodded in agreement with his proposal, sweat trickled down their foreheads from their immense effort to endure the unbearable itch that plagued them.
Cha Monarch regarded them with a penetrating gaze, as if he could peer into their very souls. An eerie silence enveloped the group, broken only by the sound of their stifled itching.
It appeared that all of them had concurred with his terms. Cha Monarch nodded approvingly, then produced a white bottle. As he uncorked it, the vessel spilled forth countless black dan beads, each emanating an enigmatic radiance.
Approximately a hundred of these beads lay before them.
"These are what you require," Cha Monarch declared with a soft voice, "Whoever agrees to let go of their grudge can come forward and claim one."
He then stepped aside and observed the ensuing scene.
In a swift and frenzied flurry, the sixty-three men lunged for the dan beads as though they were starving predators converging on their prey. These beads were their lifelines, and they expended their remaining strength to obtain them, desperate to secure the means to end their torment.
This was their final opportunity to act, their last chance to move before they succumbed to the relentless itch that plagued them. Had the dan beads not materialized, they would have directed their remaining energy towards Cha Monarch, launching a final assault in the hope of taking him down.
However, now that the lifelines lay before them, each man was determined to secure a bead as swiftly as possible. They competed relentlessly, grappling for the dan beads strewn across the floor, seeking to obtain and ingest them before their sanity unraveled.
These were no ordinary cultivators. All were Sky Origin Stage practitioners, and even the weakest among them stood at Level 7. They moved with the agility of lightning. In the blink of an eye, each had acquired at least one dan bead, and they continued scrabbling to claim more. In their haste, they fought to seize as many beads as possible, mindful of the unpredictable dangers that awaited them in their enmity with Cha Monarch.
Even as they partook in this bead frenzy, some carried the belief that they hadn't truly committed to releasing their animosity. A nod was not a vow, they reasoned. They still regarded Cha Monarch as their adversary, though they had temporarily alleviated their discomfort.
For them, these dan beads represented not only salvation from the poison but also potential protection for future confrontations.
Cha Monarch, true to his word, had provided them with a swift and effective remedy. It worked with astonishing speed, rapidly quelling the relentless itch that had tormented them. Cha Monarch couldn't help but display a warm smile as he spoke, "Now that we have reached an understanding, please depart. Let us meet again in the martial world, and I hope that we can forge friendships as cultivators."
However, as Cha Monarch attempted to extend an olive branch, a sharp contrast unfolded before him. Some among the sixty-three men turned their previously concealed animosity outward, expressing their dissatisfaction at being humiliated and insulted. In response, their laughter was laced with cruelty and malice.
"Hahahahahaha… Cha Monarch, you are truly naïve!" they jeered, their voices ringing with a mocking tone. Cha Monarch's calm demeanor shifted slightly, his eyes half-closed as he observed them intently.
"You have shamed us. You have insulted our persistence, questioned our honor, and made us feel disgrace," one of them declared, his tone heavy with disdain. "Do you honestly believe that simply sending us away will conclude this matter? Do you think we will ever forget the humiliation you inflicted upon us?"
The animosity and grudge that festered in their hearts remained unresolved, and their laughter concealed a deeper determination to repay Cha Monarch for the humiliation they had endured.
Cha Eun Xiao's countenance shifted, and once more, his eyes gleamed with a cold, unwavering intensity. In a composed tone, he voiced his contemplation, "So, you imply that this vendetta will persist? The pledge you made will be shattered?"
Their gazes bore into him with a malevolence that seemed to pierce the very soul.
Cha Eun Xiao nodded slowly, his voice laced with a blend of admiration and irony, "Impressive. Resolute souls. Honorable individuals within the realm of martial arts. Admirable. While I may appear naive, one must understand that promises hold significance…"
However, before Feng Zhiling could conclude his words, Wan Zhenghao's sudden exclamation disrupted the moment. His outburst was laden with disbelief, and even his rotund figure quivered in a manner unexpected for a man of his girth.
The shock extended beyond Wan Zhenghao. Every member of the two great sects, and even the assassins under Liu Changjun's command, bore expressions of sheer terror, as if they had collectively witnessed a horrifying apparition.
This was especially true for the members of the five clans, whose faces drained of color as they trembled uncontrollably. Their collective dismay stemmed from a grotesque transformation overtaking the individuals of the two great sects as they were articulating their fierce vows.
During their vehement proclamations, their facial muscles and skin began to deteriorate, gradually sloughing off their faces. One elder from the Sunlight Sect exemplified this gruesome process, uttering words of eternal enmity even as his nose dislodged, his ears fell, his eyeballs detached, and his lips descended to the floor. The eerie aspect was that, even in this macabre state, he remained oblivious to his ghastly transformation.
To the shock of all witnesses, not only he but also the others from the two great sects underwent the same horrifying metamorphosis. As they fervently conveyed their resolve, their flesh and sinew cascaded from their skeletons to pool in macabre piles of blood. Even their garments disintegrated, leaving them entirely devoid of muscle, hair, and organs.
The surreal tableau left only sixty-three sets of bare bones, bearing a spectral semblance of beings that had rested in tombs for centuries yet remained able to stand and speak.