In the royal palace of Jiuquan City.
Unlike the stone-built palaces of Taicang, the Jiuquan people excel in large-scale use of clay bricks to construct their expansive royal palace. Beyond the palace, tribal leaders of Jiuquan pitch colossal tents on-site, living within these makeshift structures.
For ordinary citizens of Jiuquan City, the situation is even simpler. Countless black tents are scattered across the city, forming a patchwork of uneven settlements. Many tall, upright Jiuquan citizens can be seen fencing off small areas with wood in front of their tents to raise edible beasts.
Inside the Jiuquan royal palace, the tribal leaders of Jiuquan gathered together. At the head of the assembly sat a grand throne crafted entirely of white bones. Seated upon it was a Jiuquan ruler with jet-black fur—the king of Jiuquan, Ji Lun.
Before him, the tribal leaders knelt in reverence, their tones devout as they murmured an eerie chant that echoed like ghostly whispers. Their faces radiated fervor, as if entranced in a mystic ritual.
Soon, a strange sandstorm materialized within the palace hall, seemingly conjured from nowhere. The dust floated in the air, ominous and inexplicable.
As the sand appeared, the chanting of the tribal leaders grew louder, their bodies trembling as blood began seeping unnaturally from their fur. Despite the ghastly sight, they seemed oblivious to any pain, wholly absorbed in their ritual.
The blood, as though summoned, coalesced into droplets of red rain. These droplets floated toward the sand in the air, merging to form crimson pills that drifted down into Ji Lun's hands.
At the sight of these pills, the tribal leaders' expressions changed, revealing insatiable greed and desire.
"True God Moro... Your faithful servants offer the purest blood and flesh, praying for your divine power to obliterate our enemies..." Ji Lun's voice was filled with trembling reverence as he ignored the leaders' yearning stares. With his eyes closed, he prayed earnestly, and the tribal leaders followed suit, their expressions returning to solemn devotion.
Suddenly, the palace dimmed, the light distorting as a shadowy figure materialized in the air.
The figure was an abominable demon with four horns—two long, curving upward, and two short, bending downward. Its face was obscured, save for a gaping maw and a sinister scar running vertically down its visage, evoking primal terror.
The emergence of this entity, Moro, intensified the leaders' fervent chants. Ji Lun descended from his bone throne and knelt, followed by the tribal leaders, prostrating themselves in awe.
"Offer the flesh to the True God..." Ji Lun's trembling voice called out as over a hundred Hunter Guards ushered in several hundred adult Jiuquan captives.
The captives, bound and gagged, struggled desperately but were no match for the trained guards who swiftly kicked them to their knees.
The shadowy figure of Moro remained eerily still before suddenly extending a barbed, serpent-like tongue over three meters long. As the tongue shot forward, it transformed into a blood-red serpent exuding a putrid stench.
A gale rose within the palace, carrying the overwhelming stench. The wind stripped the captives and guards alike of their flesh and blood, leaving behind only powdered bone. This matter fused into a massive orb, which the blood serpent devoured in one gulp.
The tribal leaders, drenched in cold sweat and trembling, were paralyzed by overwhelming dread.
After devouring the offering, Moro's shadowy form twisted grotesquely, its scar pulsing as it turned its attention to Ji Lun.
A maniacal glint flickered in Ji Lun's eyes.
"True God Moro, grant me your power..."
Responding to his plea, Moro's shadow lunged toward Ji Lun, merging into his body in an instant.
Ji Lun rose slowly, his expression serene but his eyes reflecting the visage of the sinister demon. In the demon's maw rested the image of a blood-red serpent, poised to strike.
Moro, the wicked deity revered by Jiuquan, had been invoked by its king.
"All sacrifices to Moro are ready. That meager offering earlier is insufficient to sustain Moro's power for even a quarter of an hour," Ji Lun said, his voice weak yet laced with a fervent anticipation.
The leaders shivered but bowed in agreement.
"How far are the Taicang forces?"
"Less than 300 li from Jiuquan City. They will arrive within an hour."
Ji Lun glanced at his hands and let out a savage smile.
"They shall all become Moro's nourishment, eternally damned beneath its serpent tongue..."
"B-but, my king..." One leader mustered the courage to speak, his voice trembling. "Is it truly worth it? A single war will cost tens of thousands of lives—our own people's lives—for Moro's hunger..."
Ji Lun's gaze locked onto the speaker. With a casual gesture, a breeze passed, and the leader was stripped of his flesh, blood, and bones, reduced to a spherical mass. A phantom blood serpent emerged, consuming the mass in one bite.
The remaining leaders froze in terror, silenced by the gruesome display.
"At this juncture, whether my decision is right or wrong, retreat is no longer an option. You have no choice but to obey," Ji Lun declared.
"Even if every last Jiuquan citizen perishes, I promise you on Moro's behalf—you shall gain unparalleled strength and freedom from its serpent tongue in death!"
With that, he distributed the crimson pills to the leaders, who eagerly swallowed them.
As the pills took effect, the leaders exhaled wisps of white smoke. The smoke coalesced into Moro's totem above their heads before vanishing.
Their muscles bulged grotesquely, their fur darkening to a lustrous black.
"This is Moro's gift," Ji Lun intoned. "Serve Moro faithfully, and with unceasing offerings of flesh, you will ascend beyond mortality."
The leaders, now consumed by madness and cruelty, nodded fervently. To bask in Moro's blessings, the annihilation of their kin seemed a trivial price to pay.