Heavenly Soul 35 A Faux Heavenly Sword

The black-robed man had a devilish smile full of antic.i.p.ation as he walked into the cell. He barely cast a glance at Chen Xiande, his attention focused entirely on Qinghe.

After he entered, the wheeled table was brought in. It was filled with whips, knives, soldering irons and other common instruments of torture along with a lit brazier. There was also a long cloth covered object in the middle.

Qinghe knew where this was going. He had long ago expected this possibility and had already mentally prepared himself for it.

Seeing his unsurprised expression, the black-robed man chuckled. He strode over and peered curiously at him, his face only a finger's width away from Qinghe's.

"I thought you were supposed to be some peerless beauty?" he said and turned towards the bald man. Shivering at his bloodthirsty smile, the bald man meekly tried to hide behind the kidnapper boss, his throat making hoa.r.s.e whimpering sounds.

Not minding the fearful reaction, the black-robed man turned back and studied Qinghe thoughtfully as if considering something. "Unless…" he said vaguely and looked down at Qinghe's chest, or more precisely, at the appearance changing talisman under the robe.

Though the poison and spirit-suppressing material could block cultivation and spirit flow, it couldn't interfere with spells that were already cast or formations that were already in place. Otherwise, Qinghe would have had bigger problems than just an inactive talisman. The restriction on his soul would've also come undone.

Qinghe remained motionless as the man extended a hand and easily ripped the white robe open. Pulled off contact with his skin, the appearance changing talisman lost its effect and Qinghe's true face was revealed.

Sharp intakes of breaths could be heard as they beheld his appearance.

"Hm, this is more like it. Truly a peerless beauty." The black-robed man sounded pleased. Then frowning at his cold face, he added, "If only you looked more obedient, you'd go for the highest price in the black market's slave auctions."

Imitating a stone statue, Qinghe remained silent. Even if he tried to backtalk or escape, the black-robed man would just send people to subdue him. He was currently under the effects of the poison and not any different from a normal human except for his advanced martial arts. But without spiritual power, he couldn't utilize them to the fullest and could only settle for a pale imitation. Such watered-down martial arts might not be sufficient to get him out of this situation.

But despite all this, Qinghe still had quite a few methods up his sleeve. He just chose not to use them. This situation still had its purpose and Qinghe would make sure that everything went the way he wanted it to, even if he had to suffer for it. After all, physical pain wasn't something he was new to.

As long as he wasn't dead, everything else could be fixed.

Seeing Qinghe still maintaining his indifferent expression as if he didn't put him in his eye, the black-robed man grew furious and said maliciously, "Yes, it seems you need some training." Then turning to his lackeys, he spat, "String him up."

The two people who had wheeled in the table quickly went to Qinghe and grabbed the long chain that swung between his hands. Using a pole, they inserted the middle chain link into the hook attached to the ceiling. Qinghe silently let them.

His hands stretched above and with his robe that was torn at the front now gaping open while revealing a large portion of his chest, he looked pitiful and vulnerable. That is, if one discounted his utterly expressionless face.

The black-robed man was still not satisfied. He wanted this prisoner to show at least some measure of fear or despair. He didn't like his calm look, as if everything was still within his control.

Angry, the black-robed man grabbed a whip and, without warning, started lashing at the suspended figure.

Qinghe's expression still remained the same as glistening red lines were sliced open across his fair skin wherever the whip struck, droplets of blood being flung into the air due to the whip's violent motions.

But all this was still well within his pain threshold.

On the side, Chen Xiande had already gotten up and tried to block the strikes while yelling "Junior Brother!" But a couple of lackeys quickly dragged him away and held him down. Their group had after all signed an unbreakable oath that stated that they wouldn't harm this fellow. A breach of oath meant their souls dissolving. So they each held one of Chen Xiande's arms to stop him from doing something stupid.

The whistling of the whip and the sound of it impacting flesh sounded again and again, but there were no cries.

Disappointed at the lack of reaction, the black-robed man stopped abruptly. His chest was slightly heaving and his face was flushed from anger and exertion.

Suddenly, he laughed.

Throwing away the bloodstained whip, he walked in front of Qinghe and grabbed his hair that had come unfastened. Tightly fisting it, he tilted Qinghe's head so that it faced his own. "Well, now. I didn't expect you to have such a tough skin. It'll make it that much sweeter when I finally break you."

Although he inwardly flinched at the unwelcome touch, outwardly Qinghe's face remained mostly unmoved, just a corner of his lips quirking up in mockery. "You can try," he said, unimpressed.

The black-robed man's good humor vanished and a scowl claimed his face. "It seems you still need a lesson in obedience!"

Fueled by rage, the black-robed man used various instruments on Qinghe in succession, but didn't even succeed in eliciting a frown from that frozen blank face.

By the end of the session, Qinghe was covered in all manner of creative cuts, bruises, and burn marks that spanned his entire body. His clothing was ripped into tatters and hung loosely on his brutalized frame. But despite it all, Qinghe stood stable and straight like a pine tree unbothered by errant gales of wind.

Having to watch his junior brother go through all this, Chen Xiande was almost out of his mind. Chen Xiande was most afraid of pain, so watching this was truly horrifying for him. But despite it, he still wanted to at least be able to share his junior brother's suffering in some way.

He finally understood what Qinghe had meant when he said that he wasn't confident in his ability to keep the escape plan a secret. If the black-robed man had offered to stop the torment in exchange for the information, Chen Xiande wasn't sure whether he could stay silent.

For the first time, he loathed himself for not cultivating enough. He'd always disregarded his own cultivation since the Elders or his own master didn't seem to be concerned about it. So what if he advanced? It wasn't like anyone would care.

But if he had only cultivated properly and had practiced more martial arts, he wouldn't have gotten captured in the first place and his junior brother wouldn't have to suffer like this.

And so, a flame was lit in Chen Xiande's heart. He would cultivate more and learn well. He would become someone who could protect his own junior brother rather than being the one protected.

He would strive to improve himself.

The black-robed man was sweating and scowling. How could this man remain impa.s.sive throughout this? It was abnormal!

"You… Can't you feel pain?!" the man growled, feeling cheated.

Qinghe couldn't care less about what he felt as he chose to reply, "Of course I can."

"Then why are you like this? Scream, d.a.m.n you! Don't you know how to scream?!" the black-robed man shouted.

"With you giving me a demonstration by screaming in my face, how can I not know?" Qinghe said dryly.

"Why you little―!" the man was rendered speechless.

Snorting, Qinghe spoke again, "Did you truly think I was a delicate flower sheltered in a greenhouse? As a direct disciple from a prominent sect, you should've expected this much from me."

"What prominent sect? You disciples of major sects all just sit there on top of a mountain gathering dust rather than experience. You know nothing about the world!"

The black-robed man's sentiment was shared by the others in his organization as well.

The people of Black Fang were the most dissatisfied with the state of things as they stood. They loathed the Order of Sentinels for turning the previously chaotic world—a world where the strong and powerful ruled over the weak and where personal interest reigned supreme over worthless morals—into its current placid and peaceful state.

The Black Fang organization, at its core, was an inst.i.tution that aimed to correct this. They used their black market goods and connections to seed the world with all sorts of things that would slowly corrupt society into its previous state, turning it back into a world they could easily dominate, one unbound by constricting laws or pedantic rules.

As such, they naturally looked down on the current generation of cultivators who had become too complacent in the absence of plotting and strife. The harmony with which the righteous and demonic factions lived grated on this chaos-loving group.

But all of that did not concern Qinghe at present.

"Think what you will. I have no need to prove myself to someone as insignificant as you," Qinghe said haughtily. He had no duty to educate these idiots. They'd learn for themselves just how 'inexperienced' he was when he smashed their precious base to pieces.

The black-robed man's rage reached towering heights at these words.

But then his twisted expression suddenly smoothened out. Ah, he still had that option left to try!

"Bring me the heavenly sword!" he commanded.

The cloth-wrapped object was reverently handed to him.

Pushing aside the fabric, the black-robed man revealed the sword hidden underneath, his eyes shining with excitement.

Extending from an intricately wrought silver hilt, the blade was made of a translucent dark grey crystal with flickers of black flashing inside every now and then. A vicious aura radiated from it, as if it wanted to tear everything in its vicinity to pieces and devour it all.

Qinghe snorted inwardly. What 'heavenly sword'? This was clearly demonic in origin! From which moldering corner did this guy pick up this faux heavenly sword, he wondered.

Clearly able to make out the disdain in Qinghe's eyes, the black-robed man felt offended. "Hmph, I suppose you wouldn't know about this sword since you stay shut inside your sect all day, but let me enlighten you. This sword is named Soul Devourer. I have fed it the souls of many, and now it will be your turn to be its food," he said with a mixture of pride and malevolence.

Rolling his eyes, Qinghe thought: With that name, you dare to call it a heavenly sword. Are you not afraid of being struck down by Heaven?

As if sensing his contempt, the sword pulsed sinisterly.

The black-robed man walked closer to Qinghe. "Here you go then, feed it well," he said while chuckling, then promptly shoved the sword up to the hilt into Qinghe's stomach.

His body jerked at the feeling of the blunt blade suddenly skewering through him, sc.r.a.ping past bones and sliding through organs. Qinghe's eyebrow twitched, but that was all the reaction he offered. He felt hot and coppery blood traveling up his throat, and turning to the side, he spat it out to clear his airway.

d.a.m.n, but that hurt!

What was even more terrible was that he could actually feel the d.a.m.ned sword sucking up his soul's energy. He felt himself grow weaker, his mind hazier. The restrictions around his soul loosened slightly as the sword greedily consumed more and more from his soul.

Unsatisfied by his minimal response, the black-robed man cruelly twisted the sword. As sharp stabbing pain tore up from the wound, Qinghe could feel warm liquid trickling down the corner of his mouth. He spat out some more blood. He'd simply die of blood loss at this rate.

Excruciating waves of pain washed up from his abdomen. He could feel his soul getting dimmer by the second. Any more and his very self would start unraveling…

And then it all abruptly stopped as the black-robed man pulled the sword out. Strangely, not one drop of blood seemed to stain the blade, as if everything in contact with it had been devoured clean.

"This much should be enough for now. I still have a use for you after all, can't have you dying yet," he said as he looked down to see how much the sword was able to absorb.

His eyes widened in shock.

The formerly grey sword had turned a brilliant white, the light pulsing and throbbing as if to the rhythm of a heartbeat. The harsh light seemed to cut through the gloom of the cell, pure and untainted. The sheer power it emitted was overwhelming.

Just as the black-robed man's face was about to break into a delighted smile, he heard the faint sound of a crack. Frowning, he looked at the sword uncomprehendingly as the blade formed fissures right in front of his eyes. The cracks spread, the fracture lines glowing white as if unable to contain the light within.

"W-What's happeni―" the man began to stutter, astonished.

CRACK!

With a loud sound, the blade shattered, the fragments raining down, leaving only the silver hilt in the man's hand.

Pure, undiluted power congealed from the fragments of the sword, forming a dense ma.s.s of blazing white that moved quickly towards Qinghe. Bewildered, Qinghe could only watch as the ma.s.s shot towards him. He felt it impact his stomach and dissolve into him. Blinding pain twisted his insides for a moment, followed by heat spreading throughout.

What was even happening now? Qinghe could only think this in confusion.

As he was contemplating whether he was about to die, Qinghe felt something astonishing happening. His dulled soul was injected back with the energy it had lost and was instantly revitalized. But the acc.u.mulated energy from the sword contained not only Qinghe's soul energy, but also the energies of those who'd been sucked to death by the sword before.

The c.u.mulative power of all those souls thundered through Qinghe, making him reel in dizziness. He quickly guided the energy through his spiritual channels. Though he couldn't use his own spiritual energy, he could at least do this much to stop himself from exploding due to the sudden influx of power.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, what did you do?!" the black-robed man shouted accusingly.

Qinghe was still dazed and could only shake his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.

Thinking that he had been attacked by the sword in its final moments and was disoriented due to the extensive injuries, the black-robed man finally hmphed in satisfaction. He might not have been able to make him scream, but he would make do with him sustaining a serious injury at least.

But his beloved sword would still remain broken…

Thinking this, he lost his desire to make Qinghe suffer any more. Turning on his heel, he ordered, "We're leaving, clean it up."

A chorus of 'Yes, Chief!'s sounded as the lackeys hurried to obey.

Qinghe's thoughts felt covered in mist, his mind floating on clouds. Through the haze, he felt someone's arms wrap around him, considerately not making skin contact as they pulled the chain from the hook and gently took him down. He could hear Chen Xiande frantically calling out 'Junior Brother!' again and again. He heard the silver-haired woman's voice as she advised him to let Qinghe sleep it off.

And as the noise in his surroundings finally subsided, Qinghe fell into slumber at last.