The Magus world is never lacking in legends.
Farel, the Heart-Digging Ghostly Fiend under Leo's command, had already become a legend...
Of course, this is somewhat of an exaggeration, elevating Farel's status a little too much.
In reality, out of the hundred thousand black-clad disciples, Farel couldn't even rank in the top hundred. He wasn't qualified to become a legend.
In the Heavenly Demon Clan, people die every day, and the death of Farel only meant one more wandering soul, not much more than that.
Aizen loosened his grip on the somewhat comical tree branch.
The branch eventually shattered into wood chips, as the internal structure could no longer withstand the powerful internal Aura Aizen had just infused into it. At that moment, it collapsed, much like Farel's demise.
Crimson blood slowly seeped from Farel's chest, pooling on the ground and spreading outward...
Aizen casually searched Farel's body.
He wasn't a necrophiliac; he was just looting the spoils of his victory.
Even if he didn't take the loot, none of the black-clad disciples behind him would dare touch it. Eventually, these items would end up in Leo's hands.
Would Aizen leave them behind?
That was impossible; they were rightfully his.
Farel didn't carry much, which left Aizen somewhat dissatisfied with the drop rate.
However, there was a small consolation prize: he found an old basic movement technique manual.
Flipping through the manual briefly, a system notification appeared in his mind.
"Ding."
"System notification: Congratulations, host, for obtaining a basic movement technique manual (non-system acquired). Would you like to spend 100 Wisdom points to quickly learn the basic movement technique?"
This system prompt caused a flicker of interest in Aizen's eyes.
He didn't immediately choose to learn it; instead, he stuffed the basic movement technique manual into his clothes and tied Farel's steel sword around his waist with a hemp rope.
With one last glance at the row of disciples who were watching him with wary eyes, Aizen's eyes flashed slightly. He bent down to pick up the two bags of his belongings and walked away leisurely.
Perhaps he didn't notice that when he picked up the worn-out hemp sack containing almost 800 taels of silver, the faint jingling sound it made caused a spark in the eyes of several black-clad disciples behind him.
That was the sound of silver clinking together. The black-clad disciples recognized it immediately.
Looking at the shape of the bag when Aizen picked it up, its weight was obvious. The sack's bulging form suggested that it was quite heavy.
Could this be a sign of substantial wealth?
"A full belly brings thoughts of lust, and hunger breeds thoughts of thievery."
Even though the disciples of the Heavenly Demon Clan were not starving, their ambition and greed were immense.
The saying goes, "Those who kill and burn wear gold belts, while those who build bridges and roads lie in unmarked graves." They were more than willing to take risks in pursuit of wealth and power.
Exchanging glances with one another, the four black-clad disciples all saw a burning flame in each other's eyes—a flame of killing intent, ignited by greed.
The faint rustling sounds filled the air.
Aizen's lips curled into a cold, subtle smile.
The greedy goldfish finally couldn't resist opening their mouths...
There was no need for further words.
In the Magus world, countless examples show that disagreements often lead to confrontation, and in the demonic Clan , killing was as easy as slaughtering chickens.
This fight.
No one bore witness.
The wind howled, carrying the sound of blades and swords.
The cold blade pierced through an enemy's body, and the sound of flesh tearing and scraping against bone sent chills down the spine!
From the moment Aizen killed Steward Edric, murder had already become a familiar habit, his inevitable destiny.
What the flashing blades and shadows bore witness to was not a landscape littered with corpses but the steady transformation of a person's power over time.
When disciples later passed through the mountain path leading to the valley, they saw the corpse of the bald Farel, along with the bodies of four other black-clad disciples.
Only a few people knew their names, and after a little time had passed, no one would remember or care about them.
In the end, all that was left was the howling wind on the mountain, now absent of the quiet hum of the sword that had claimed lives.
...
The houses in the valley were limited.
Although there were nearly 100,000 black-clad disciples in the Heavenly Demon Clan, the number assigned to the West Courtyard wasn't the largest, but there were still close to 20,000 people.
With more than 20,000 people living in one area, it formed a city—Demon Mountain City in the valley of the West Courtyard.
Standing on the mountainside and looking down, one could see the chaotic marketplace, taverns, brothels, and training platforms... There were numerous buildings.
One could also see people the size of green beans moving around in the city below. Bloody killings could break out at any moment. Some gray-clad servants who were purchased tried to escape, only to be recaptured and whipped to death in the streets.
It was a chaotic, blood-soaked, and sinful city.
In this city, land was always scarce, and many black-clad disciples flooded in, most of whom didn't have a home or even a small room of their own.
Many could only secure a place to live by constantly completing tasks for their respective factions, fighting for territory, and claiming a foothold in this bloody environment.
When Aizen arrived at the gates of this mountain city, he caught the attention of the disciples guarding the gate.
This was the West Courtyard of the Heavenly Demon Clan, and there wasn't much worth guarding in this city.
But someone still had to guard it because entering the city required a fee, making it a lucrative position and one of the resources fiercely contested by the factions of the West Courtyard.
Except for a few black-clad disciples with some status within their factions, no one dared avoid paying the entrance fee. That was the rule.
Rules couldn't be broken.
Aizen was no exception.
He was stopped outside the gate.
This journey had been anything but peaceful. Several times, his path had been blocked.
However, the guards today belonged to the Left Faction. After Aizen showed the token given to him by Valentino, which symbolized his identity in the Left Faction, the six black-clad disciples guarding the gate didn't cause him any trouble.
They symbolically charged him a silver bean and let Aizen pass through the city gate.
At this point, Aizen no longer flaunted his wealth or acted arrogantly like before, with a figurative sign on his face inviting people to rob him.
This was a gathering place for black-clad disciples. They didn't fear powerful individuals; they feared a pack of greedy wolves who could smell the stench of silver.
Yes, the four black-clad disciples Aizen had killed earlier had been lured into making the first move deliberately.
Everyone has greed.
When others developed greedy thoughts toward him, Aizen already had designs on them.
Killing Farel had earned him a basic movement technique manual. Would killing a few disciples weaker than Farel yield even more manuals?
As it turned out, there was no faster way to gain wealth than by killing and looting. Those four black-clad disciples had contributed a basic claw technique manual to Aizen.
The reason Aizen had bothered to tempt them into attacking him first was not out of hesitation or reluctance; it was because the Clan had rules.
Among the disciples, anyone who initiated a fight and killed someone would be fined 50 taels of silver or face 100 lashes, while those who killed in self-defense would be exempt from punishment.
This distinction between attack and defense was recorded by the Clan's grand array, something that no one could hide or erase.