550 Who is the Taoist_3
Within the Dali Mountain State boundary, bound by the constraints of Heavenly Dao.
The late-stage Golden Core Old Demon in a blood robe, wielding these three Demon Path treasures, approached the pinnacle of a Cultivator’s combat power under the restrictions of Heavenly Dao!
The Old Demon in the blood robe gazed at the Taoist with an authoritative voice:
“He who offends the Saint Heir shall be killed without mercy!”
Such might seemed to subdue the Taoist.
The Taoist stopped in his tracks, dark eyes shifting from the Old Demon in the blood robe to the Saint Heir, uttering a cold and indifferent sentence:
“Are you protecting him?”
His voice was hoarse, like dry wood, as if leaking air through his throat, sounding somewhat distorted.
“Naturally…” said the Old Demon in the blood robe.
“Why?”
“Is he worthy?”
Emotions flickered across the Taoist’s face as he began to speak more…
Though coming from a single individual, the voices seemed different, as if multiple people, with distinct tones, spoke through one mouth in unison.
The intonation was nonchalant, yet intermixed with the world’s spectrum of sorrow and rage.
Anger, resentment, hatred, ridicule, contempt—such intense emotions, thick as liquor, dense as ink, all fermenting together:
“You are a Golden Core, a grand Demon Cultivator!”
“Why would you risk your life to protect this junior?”
“Just because he’s the Saint Heir?”
“He’s the Saint Heir?”
“What makes him the Saint Heir?”
“What gives him the right to order you around, to make you bend the knee, to make you grovel and call him master?”
“Just because of his Saint Heir bloodline?”
“What’s so special about bloodline?”
“After death, isn’t it just a pool of blood, a heap of decomposing flesh, what’s so special about bloodline?”
“Why, some people are born as Saint Heirs?”
“And others born to be slaves and servants?”
“Just because of that decayed skin, that dried-up pool of blood?”
“Why is that?”
All the voices from the Taoist coalesced, cacophonous and piercing, and yet they seeped into the heart to question:
“Why can’t the Saint Heir be you?”
“Why can’t the Demon Monarch be you?”
“Does the Demon Monarch Holy Master have true nobility?”
“Nothing but a pool of flesh and blood…”
“Living is the same, and so is dying…”
…
As the enchanting voice of the Taoist entered his ears, the Old Demon in the blood robe trembled, shuddering all over, desperately trying to steady his mind:
“No, it’s not right, he’s the Saint Heir, he has the Saint Heir’s bloodline…”
The voice of the Taoist slowed again, but maintained an otherworldly coldness and endless seduction:
“Then eat him…”
“Eat his flesh, drink his blood!”
“Devour his bloodline!”
“You will become the Holy Master!”
The Old Demon in the blood robe’s legs went weak; he could not help but stagger backward, his eyes wild, his conviction wavering.
No!
That’s not right!
This Taoist is deceiving me!
Yet…
He clearly knew, the Taoist was deceiving him!
But in his heart, a boundless desire and impulse still surged forth.