Chapter 112: The Legacy of the Roaring Five Emperors

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Jiang Pingchuan felt the endless blood-red before his eyes, sensing the call from hell itself, saturated with fierce battle intent. He opened his eyes to see a ghost king clad in a dark red battle robe, wearing ghostly crimson flowing cloud boots—the Roaring Five Emperor.

Jiang Pingchuan recognized the man before him. When he triggered the Heavenly Ban in the Scripture Pavilion, this very man had helped him resist it and gifted him a purple skull to preserve his life.

“What are you doing? You’re truly pathetic,” the Roaring Five Emperor appeared before Jiang Pingchuan, disdainfully gazing at half of his face. Jiang Pingchuan awkwardly looked back, unsure what to say. Just as he was about to speak, the emperor waved his hand, cutting off Jiang Pingchuan’s words with an expression full of impatience.

“Remember, we still have ten years. This is the last thing I leave to you. Use it well,” the Roaring Five Emperor said, pointing behind himself to over a million shadow soldiers.

“Can you tell me who you are? And what exactly are we supposed to do?” Jiang Pingchuan asked, looking at the emperor. The emperor’s brows furrowed in anger, his face filled with frustration as if Jiang Pingchuan were hopelessly stubborn.

“It’s useless to say. Your memories will be forcibly taken away. But rest assured, I will break through the Heavenly Ban before the deadline,” the Roaring Five Emperor said helplessly. Jiang Pingchuan could relate somewhat; many things he remembered doing but couldn’t recall fully, as a powerful force always stopped him whenever he tried to think deeply.

“What must I do?” Jiang Pingchuan asked the troubled emperor, who only shook his head with a bitter smile.

“You can do nothing.”

With that, the Roaring Five Emperor vanished before Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes, who then noticed the shadow soldiers preparing for battle. As he observed their formation, Jiang Pingchuan was stunned.

The shadow soldiers were arranged by strength: the front 300,000 were all sixth level Qi practitioners; the next 200,000 were mid-peak Foundation Establishment level; the following 200,000 were at the Foundation Completion level.

Beyond that, the eyes of the shadow soldiers appeared swollen; Jiang Pingchuan could not see them clearly but understood from the order that their strength increased farther back.

As for the last ones’ true strength, Jiang Pingchuan could not discern it, hoping that once his own power grew, he might perceive their capabilities.

“Three hundred thousand Qi practitioners, follow me into battle,” Jiang Pingchuan commanded the front ranks. Upon hearing this, their eyes flared red as they growled lowly.

Golden characters flickered in Jiang Pingchuan’s mind, detailing how to summon the shadow soldiers from the War King’s Order. He silently whispered the incantation, and when he opened his eyes, he stood outside the War King’s Order, clutching it, facing a graveyard.

What puzzled him was that despite following the golden characters’ instructions, no ghostly shadows appeared behind him. He recited the incantation several more times with no response.

Doubting whether he was caught in a dream within a dream and that everything was false, a cold wind suddenly brushed past his ear.

Jiang Pingchuan hugged the War King’s Order, gazing at the dark, eerie graveyard. The feng shui layout here was unlike anything he had seen before, with no sense of hierarchy.

Each grave mound resembled a feng shui eye, but precisely because they were all identical, Jiang Pingchuan suspected the feng shui eyes were not the graves themselves but something else.

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As Jiang Pingchuan’s gaze swept over the graveyard, the chilling wind brushed his ear again. He suddenly turned and sprinted swiftly in the opposite direction from the wind’s origin.

Stopping before a low grave mound, Jiang Pingchuan stood motionless. A hunched figure sat cross-legged atop the mound. Under the moonlight, Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes widened in shock upon seeing the face.

“Surprised?” the figure on the grave chuckled hoarsely. Jiang Pingchuan nodded. The face was familiar—Master Gong’s—but the figure was Guangfu, whose limbs Jiang Pingchuan had severed. Unexpectedly, he had met Guangfu on this battlefield of shadow soldiers.

“Are you dead?” Jiang Pingchuan asked, unable to sense any aura from Guangfu. The figure seemed like a corpse, devoid of any masculine vigor, drawing the grave’s yin energy to nourish himself. Guangfu lifted his gaunt face and smiled bitterly.

“You left me neither fully human nor ghost. I’d rather be dead than live a pitiful half-life. Heaven has eyes—making me a shadow soldier leader under the Barbarian King to take your life,” Guangfu said darkly.

Jiang Pingchuan clenched his empty fist, staring at Guangfu. He hadn’t expected that after leaving with Guangfu, Sifu sought the distant Barbarian King in the northwest, who had made Guangfu a shadow soldier leader. Guangfu’s hatred must be deep, or he wouldn’t have been chosen.

“Heaven is blind to send you after me. You will die again,” Jiang Pingchuan smiled faintly.

As Guangfu moved to stand, Jiang Pingchuan was surprised at his agility. Even as a shadow soldier, Guangfu’s limbs seemed fully functional, which puzzled Jiang Pingchuan—unless someone had healed him before his death.

In Guangfu’s hand was a severed human head. Jiang Pingchuan’s anger surged when he recognized it as Sifu’s.

Sifu’s face bore a peaceful, satisfied expression in death, but judging by Guangfu’s state, Jiang Pingchuan felt Sifu must have died unjustly.

“You killed Sifu?” Jiang Pingchuan asked.

Guangfu shook the head mockingly, then sorrowfully caressed his son’s pale face. He then glanced up at Jiang Pingchuan with powerful hatred.

“It wasn’t me who killed my son, it was you, Jiang Pingchuan. Everything was fine until you ruined me and my son. Return my son, or give me your life,” Guangfu roared.

As his voice fell, a rustling arose around. Jiang Pingchuan noticed every grave mound was being clawed open by countless skeletal hands.

A horde of grim-faced shadow soldiers emerged, some festooned with poisonous maggots, their foul-smelling mouths gaping as they advanced on Jiang Pingchuan. Guangfu dropped Sifu’s head and coldly watched Jiang Pingchuan surrounded.

Jiang Pingchuan swung his empty fist, severing the necks of every shadow soldier around with his phantom spear. Yet to his dismay, all the fallen shadow soldiers resurrected.

They seemed unkillable, endlessly rising again. Just as Jiang Pingchuan prepared to strike again, the War King’s Order on his chest trembled.

He stood still, and something strange happened: a black light surged from within him, glowing vividly against the dark night. The light exploded above him.

In that instant, countless shadow soldiers appeared overhead. A mysterious black flag appeared in Jiang Pingchuan’s hand. Waving it gently, a sacred chant whispered forth.

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The shadow soldiers in midair seemed to receive a command. Each wielded a long scythe of the Hell Reaper, slashing down onto the shadow soldiers standing in the graveyard.

Their assault was overwhelming, relentless.

They gradually slaughtered the shadow soldiers present. Jiang Pingchuan was curious—those killed by the War King’s shadow soldiers never resurrected.

Holding his spear, Jiang Pingchuan slowly approached Guangfu’s grave.

“Old man, heaven truly is blind,” Jiang Pingchuan said with a smile as he neared Guangfu.

Guangfu rose in anger and charged. The closer he got, the more Jiang Pingchuan sensed the thick death aura and hatred emanating from him.

“Jiang Pingchuan, I want you—”

“Uh...”

“There are too many people who want me dead. You’re not first in line,” Jiang Pingchuan interrupted as Guangfu reached him, seizing his neck with one hand.

Guangfu stared in shock at Jiang Pingchuan gripping him. Jiang Pingchuan, as a human cultivator, could not physically choke him.

To Guangfu, only the one who created him or another dead person could hold his neck. Yet Jiang Pingchuan was neither.

“Simple. I killed myself in a dream and entered a dream within a dream. Here, I am as dead as you, but still, I’m no worse than you—you even killed your own son,” Jiang Pingchuan said, swiftly severing Guangfu’s limb tendons with his spear.

Guangfu writhed, wailing, unable to break free.

“Why... why...” Guangfu’s eyes widened.

Jiang Pingchuan tossed him to the ground. Guangfu lay there weakly.

“I didn’t kill my son, not me,” Guangfu shouted.

Jiang Pingchuan’s face darkened. He grabbed Guangfu’s head, pulling him up to face the grave he had once stood on.

There, shadow soldiers were gnawing on the last remaining head of Sifu. Jiang Pingchuan threw Guangfu toward the mound.

“No...” Guangfu trembled, helpless as the shadow soldiers devoured Sifu’s head completely. Helpless to stop them, Guangfu smiled bitterly, spat blood, and fainted.

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