Demon Sword Sect’s Undercover
Chapter 435 - 435 434 Shanyin Ghost Festival 5

435: Chapter 434 Shanyin Ghost Festival 5 435: Chapter 434 Shanyin Ghost Festival 5 “I’m afraid the doings of these Yin beings are not as simple as just the Ghost Festival?”

The Daoist Sect cultivator Du Zhangqing snorted coldly.

It wasn’t just him who felt this way; in fact, most cultivators shared the sentiment.

This impression wasn’t caused solely by this iteration of the Ghost Festival, but by a subtle influence over a hundred years.

The Daoist Sect had its suspicions, but after all, Yin and Yang were divided, making it a matter that couldn’t be confirmed.

What struck them most was these Ghost Messengers’ attitude towards common departed spirits.

Over hundreds of years, changes had been gradual; the historically good conduct of Ghost Messengers during arrests had long since become a thing of the past, slowly evolving into a demeanor akin to treating slaves or dogs, particularly in large-scale events like the Shanyin Ghost Festival.

Even though the Ghost Messengers tried to conceal it, some things couldn’t be hidden.

In the Underworld, the vast number of departed souls were to the Ghost Messengers what mortals were to cultivators in the Mortal World.

For those cultivators who had always implemented the principle of treating mortals and cultivators equally, seeing the actions of these Ghost Messengers was quite dissatisfying.

By extension, it wasn’t difficult to infer the current dire state of the Underworld.

The specifics might not be clear, but the direction and trend were unmistakable.

Gao Yunqi sneered, “These Ghost Messengers are excessively harvesting Yang energy, which goes beyond the scope of normal cultivation.

It smacks of overeagerness in their cultivation philosophy, and I’m unsure of their purpose in doing so.

The Underworld is an atypical Taoyuan where no one competes with them.

With an environment that hasn’t changed for ten thousand years, why are they so eager to strengthen themselves, and for what purpose?”

These thoughts were not his alone but came from the elders of his sect; the old ones harbored doubts yet couldn’t substantiate them, so they could only watch and wait.

It was a very passive situation, yet there was no better approach.

Initially, they had only occasionally heard such discussions from the elders.

Now, having personally participated in the Ghost Festival, they found the statements to be true.

Like now, the so-called high altar rituals were actually transferring Yang energy away from a multitude of departed souls.

Once souls were admitted to the Underworld, there was a limit to how much Yang energy they could endure; usually, this was set at twelve years.

Beyond twelve years, souls fully transformed into shadows, daring not even to touch a trace of Yang energy—for contact meant death, a brush meant oblivion.

However, if it was a newly arrived soul within the twelve-year mark, there was a chance it still carried a bit of Yang energy—of course, this refers to places where the realms of Yin and Yang intersect, like now.

Once these souls returned to the Underworld, barring a few altered by the influence of Yang energy, the vast majority would lose that sliver of Yang energy they had.

It was through this method that the Ghost Messengers amassed Yang energy.

This Yang energy, transformed by the soul, was far quicker and more abundant for them to absorb than if they attempted to gather it directly.

Thus, one could kindly interpret the Shanyin Ghost Festival as providing these new souls an opportunity to look back on the Mortal World;

Or, one may malignantly perceive these departed spirits as nothing more than tools for the Ghost Messengers’ cultivation, scattered to gather Yang energy, which was then converted for the benefit of these ghostly lords through ritual sacrifices.

The amount of Yang energy a departed soul could bear was extremely limited, almost negligible, but when the number reached a certain limit, it was a horrifying amount.

The Jinxiu Continent had a population of over a billion people; how many would pass in twelve years?

An astronomical number!

Every twelve years, a group of Ghost Messengers would come to harvest once more…

It might be for cultivation, but it seemed unnecessary.

Besides these defenseless departed souls, what other threats exist in the Underworld?

Today, we have reached the last day of the twelve-day Ghost Festival.

In phases, the Yang energy within the numerous departed souls had been reaped clean, but there is still a final batch of souls that haven’t returned.

In terms of numbers, several hundred thousand souls are nothing compared to the total in the billions; even if they failed to absorb this last portion of Yang energy, it would not affect the essence.

But for the festival’s integrity, joy, and completion, it might count for something.

Although the Soul Ghosts had no faces, they were precisely the most concerned about saving face.

The wailing on the altar grew increasingly shrill.

It was a threat, a rush, an intimidation, forcing this last group of doomed souls into a frenzied run for their lives.

This was the Underworld’s domestic affair.

No mortal was there to stop them; in fact, more than a hundred cultivators from various sects across the Jinxiu Continent were eager to see the end of it all.

Spend too long in this ghostly place, and even one’s mood turns gloomy.

Compared to the other groups of souls who had gathered early, the late arrival of this last group could not be explained away by mere disobedience.

The Ghost Messengers were keenly aware of this.

They were well-versed in this crossroads of Yin and Yang but that was no excuse for forgiveness.

On such a grand festival, under the scrutiny of many cultivators and the eyes of several hundred million Soul Ghosts, the most crucial final stages of the ceremony had to be rescheduled, which the intellectually-challenged Ghost Messengers found intolerable.

In such an atmosphere, from afar, the ranks of tens of thousands of Soul Ghosts finally came into view, their running lopsided, dragging their feet, but still maintaining the semblance of formation.

The turnout of tens of thousands was astonishing, but compared to the great formation they were about to join, it was insignificant.

The Shanyin Ghost Festival this time was led by a group of Oxhead and Horseface, not just a pair, but a dozen or so.

In the knowledge of mortals, it seemed there was only one pair in the Underworld, but that was incorrect.

Oxhead and Horseface were more like titles for official positions in the Underworld and not specific individuals.

They all looked very similar, with their gloomy aura and hideous appearance, as perceived by mortals.

However, in the eyes of the cultivators, these Ghost Messengers could be distinguished from one another.

But the specifics of their rank and duty were beyond the ken of the cultivators.

After all, there were the Ten Directions Ghost Halls in the Underworld, and from an outsider’s perspective, the professional hierarchy just looked like a tangled mess.

These Ghost Messengers, leading hundreds of ghost soldiers, were the conductors of this Ghost Festival.

Suddenly, the ghostly howls sharpened in pitch, and even the cultivators could sense the anger within.

Then, an Oxhead stepped forth from the crowd,

and pointed, “First, your promise was broken; second, you return late; third, you disrupt the order; fourth, you break the law!

The Yama Ten Halls maintain strict discipline, and you have not kept to the Ghost Festival schedule.

You made the entire assembly of souls wait needlessly and nearly missed the auspicious time.

What punishment do you deserve?”

Like actors in a play, the hundreds of Ghost Messengers and soldiers on the altar behind shouted in unison, “Execute!

Execute!

Execute!”

With a sinister laugh, the Oxhead flipped its hand, and a hundred-zhang-long black Soul-splitting Whip appeared in its grasp.

It whirled overhead, and the sound of exploding whipcracks resembled muffled thunder.

The next moment, the whip lashed out toward the souls in front, and from its trajectory, it was clear that if it struck true, thousands of souls would be utterly obliterated.

But in the blink of an eye, a dark-steed charger suddenly sped up, bursting forth from the ranks, and even faster was a chilling flash of sword light!

The Flying Sword arrived in an instant, accurately piercing through the Oxhead’s vital spot.

The denizens of the Underworld, unaccustomed to such lightning-fast techniques, were caught off guard and thusly turned to ash!

The dark-steed charger charged to the front, the knight reined in, the horse’s forelegs raised high, whinnying sharply!

Astride the horse, a figure held a longsword aloft, his eyes like a hawk’s surveying all around, a hand pointing at the altar, silent yet commanding!

… Riding the dark steed as the sword wielder, the azure blade sung a fierce tune.