Chapter Eight: The Vow of Self-Sacrifice, Emergence from the Realm of Slaughter

“My lord, I come by the king’s command to assist you.”

Suddenly, in the endless sea where the Lord of the Underworld resided, the void trembled. A young man in heavy armor, his figure faint and insubstantial, stepped forth and knelt on one knee before the Lord of the Underworld, speaking with reverent respect.

The Lord of the Underworld cast a sidelong glance at him, about to speak, but his gaze shifted to the girl standing behind the youth—a girl of fifteen or sixteen years. A subtle, inscrutable glint flickered in his eyes, but he said nothing.

“My lord, this girl I encountered on my journey. She claims to be Princess Qingli of the Cold Moon Kingdom and requests an audience with you on an urgent matter,” the armored youth continued. “She insists that not even King Chujiang may hear of this.”

“I took the liberty of bringing her here, for which I ask your forgiveness, my lord.”

Sensing the Lord of the Underworld’s expression, Mo Yuan was somewhat embarrassed. After a slight pause, he bowed again in earnest supplication.

“It matters not,” the Lord of the Underworld replied, shaking his head slowly. His gaze fell upon the young girl, his voice calm as still water. “What is it you wish to say to me?”

The girl wore a fitted palace gown of deep blue brocade. Her hair, black as ink, cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes held the light of distant stars, her long lashes casting shadows; every movement exuded a gentle and graceful air. Her skin was smooth as cream, her figure petite and delicate. Though still young, the snug palace attire outlined her budding curves.

“I am Qingli, Princess of the Cold Moon Kingdom. I pay my respects to the Lord of the Underworld.”

Feeling his gaze upon her, the girl’s expression tensed. She paused briefly, then, imitating Mo Yuan, knelt on one knee and placed her right hand over her heart in a gesture of utmost respect.

“The emissary of the Celestial Dynasty has descended to the mortal realm and used the lives of countless subjects of my kingdom to forge a Blood Pearl of a billion souls. Now, all that remains is one principal soul to complete it.

“The pearl’s power is immense; even unfinished, it can shatter imperial weaponry. Once completed, it will rival the finest immortal artifacts.

“To be frank, I am the soul that the emissary seeks.”

Her tone was clear and unflinching, dignified yet neither arrogant nor servile.

“I come only to beg that you, my lord, slay the Celestial Emissary and avenge the countless wronged souls of my kingdom. Should you do so, I shall willingly become the pearl’s sole master soul, for your use, my lord.”

At this, Qingli feared her words might have overstepped. She bowed her head, her voice now nearly supplicant, “I dare not presume to bargain with you, my lord. I am here solely to plead. My father has already suffered the Celestial Emissary’s punishment. As the daughter of a criminal, I humbly beseech you…”

“To uphold justice!”

Her plea ended, Qingli lowered her head and said no more, awaiting the judgment of the Lord of the Underworld.

From childhood, Qingli had heard tales of the Lord of the Underworld and held him in awe. Yet her father, not long ago, had been incited by the Celestial Emissary to move against him—a matter she found absurd. Still more absurd was that she, the daughter of a condemned traitor, should now beg for his help.

Would he act?

Though she knew hope was faint, she could not help but hope. The Celestial Dynasty’s presence was something the Lord would never tolerate, and an immortal treasure of such quality he would surely not refuse. Her father, who had offended him, had already paid dearly.

With such thoughts, Qingli bowed lower, not daring to dwell further. It was a grave offense for a subject to guess at the sovereign’s mind, all the more so for her—a criminal’s daughter.

“In those years, I swept across the myriad races, quelled gods and demons, and claimed to uphold justice. And how did the world repay me? You know well. Now you would have me again play the guardian—what wishful thinking.”

The Lord of the Underworld looked at Qingli, kneeling before him in reverence, and shook his head with a cold, emotionless chuckle.

“I would not dare,” Qingli replied in alarm, hastily bowing again. “I am but a lowly servant and dare not dream of your protection. My father sinned and deserves death, but the countless innocents of my nation are blameless. I am willing to pay any price, only begging you to avenge their wrongs.”

With that, she prostrated herself before him, her devotion unwavering.

“Is that so…”

Gazing at the girl in her palace attire, the Lord’s eyes grew dark and deep. After a pause, his voice sounded slow and low:

“Descend into the Yellow Springs, endure three years of soul-rending torment, in exchange for my intervention—are you willing?”

“I am willing!” Qingli replied at once, her voice unwavering.

“How touching—a tale of loyalty and devotion to one’s country,”

Yet even as she spoke, the sky beyond the endless sea darkened with tens of thousands of figures, a vast and oppressive host.

At their head stood a young man astride a celestial crane, gazing mockingly at the three in the heart of the sea.

“Lord of the Underworld, it has been quite some time. I trust you are well…”

His eyes swept over them, a sneer curling his lips. He offered a mock salute. “White Ling, Emissary of the Celestial Dynasty, at your service.”

“Such grand gestures, Celestial Emissary,” the Lord of the Underworld replied coldly, his gaze chilling as he noticed every one of the tens of thousands behind White Ling bore a glowing divine sigil upon their brows.

“They’re but worthless rabble—why waste your pity on them?” White Ling smirked, eyes glinting with threat. “You’d do better to worry for yourself…”

“Demon Realm Unbound—Manifest a thousand forms…”

Ignoring the taunts, the Lord of the Underworld slowly raised his left hand. In his palm appeared a vision of endless infernal prisons. Shadows overlapped around him, and in an instant, tens of thousands of spectral figures spread across the sea and the surrounding mountains.

In less than a breath, countless chains took shape—tens of thousands of blood-red links, connected at myriad points, exuding an uncanny, oppressive aura that filled the air with dread.

Murderous intent surged, and the sky itself turned crimson, engulfing White Ling and all his dazed armored followers.

The Realm of Demonic Slaughter!

When the domain formed, killing intent soared. Heaven and earth twisted, and the mortal world stood helpless.

“Cut!”

Without delay, the Lord of the Underworld uttered a single word, and a terrible, cutting wind rose without warning throughout the demonic realm.

The wind howled and raged, surging toward White Ling and his followers.

Ripping sounds echoed—cries of agony followed as, in the blink of an eye, the tens of thousands behind White Ling were torn asunder and exploded into a mist of blood.