Deathly Phantasm

mukko

The overseer of the slaves edged stealthily toward the entrance of the cavern, his breaths measured as he inhaled deeply before bellowing, "Keep digging! If today's quota isn't met, don't blame the masters for wielding the lash!"

Yet, the tumult within the mine showed no sign of abating. The slaves jostled and shoved one another, surging chaotically toward the entrance, their collective desperation rendering the overseer's cries futile.

A piercing whistle cleaved the air—a projectile in flight. Then came the grotesque squelch of flesh being sundered. Chaos erupted anew, only to subside into an eerie silence.

The arrow was crimson, dyed in the hue of congealed blood. It tore through the overseer's cranium, stringing several slaves behind him like grotesque beads on a thread.

The horde recoiled, exposing the cavern’s entrance. There, a figure cloaked in sable robes loomed, a demonic visage concealed her face save for locks of cascading hair and a curvaceous silhouette—markers that betrayed her femininity. A colossal bow rested in her hands.

Behind her stood a phalanx of armored warriors, their forms encased in unyielding steel, only the glint of their eyes visible through their helms. Each gripped a titanic blade, akin to gates in breadth.

"Slay them."

At her command, the armored soldiers surged forward, greatswords carving through flesh and bone with mechanical precision.

The slaves at the fore met the cruelest demise. Blades rent skin, spilled viscera, and sprayed arterial crimson in morbid fountains. The odorous contents of ruptured intestines mingled with the clamor as soldiers trod over dismembered remains, pulverizing them into a sanguine paste. Bones, shattered into jagged fragments, were occasionally collected as grisly trophies—"war bones," revered within the Empire as macabre relics of conquest.

Those farther back fared scarcely better. The inertia of the carnage hurled them against walls and the earth, their skeletons crushed into brittle splinters as blood gushed from their mouths.

Amidst this sanguinary tableau, one figure remained curiously detached—Lu Jiu. Deep in the mine’s recesses, he persisted in his task, wielding his pickaxe with methodical indifference.

49 kilograms… 49.3 kilograms… 49.7 kilograms…

A corpse thudded against his back, yet he neither flinched nor ceased his labor.

[Task complete. Reward: 5 skill points.]

Only then did Lu Jiu pivot. The cavern, now a veritable hellscape, resembled something far worse than the infernos depicted in the most depraved tales.

Wiping away the blood spattered across his face, his tattered garments dissolved into the form of a pitch-black scythe, which he gripped with nonchalance.

The cloaked woman nocked three arrows with fluid efficiency, loosing them in a triangular trajectory aimed at Lu Jiu's skull and joints.

Unperturbed, Lu Jiu imbued his scythe with necrotic energy. A few effortless swings sufficed to deflect the oncoming projectiles, sending them clattering harmlessly to the ground.

"Foul sorcery!" the woman spat, her composure unraveling. She commanded the armored soldiers to shield her advance while drawing another arrow from her quiver.

Irritation flickered in Lu Jiu’s expression. His mining had been interrupted, nearly jeopardizing his quota. Resolution hardened within him—this skirmish needed swift resolution.

The spectral flames of death coursed along the blade of his scythe. With a deft slash, he sundered the soldiers’ armor as though it were parchment. A mere two strikes left the entire contingent annihilated, their bodies decaying into fetid ruins, their very souls consumed as sustenance for the voracious Deathly Phantasm.

The black-robed woman trembled, bereft of hope. These warriors, the elite retinue bestowed by her noble father, now lay in grotesque heaps. Even if she survived, her disgrace would relegate her to servitude under rival scions.

"Sl—"

Before the word could escape her lips, Lu Jiu’s blade severed her head. His philosophy was unambiguous: against weaker foes, words were a waste in combat; against stronger ones, taunts could destabilize their focus.

"Pathetic battle tactics, pitiful soldiers—did you think this was some leisurely excursion?"

Lu Jiu directed a derisive glance at the slain woman and her fallen retinue. If this world’s supposed elite constituted such paltry resistance, he, Mo Yan, and Levi would undoubtedly reduce it to ruins.