Chapter Thirty-Two: All Become Spirits

In the sealed mountain cave, silver willow trees stood before him, swarms of grey-furred rats behind, and strange fish emerging from unknown depths, all locked in fierce combat. Qin Ming could only be a spectator. Yet worry gnawed at him.

If the silver willow triumphed, he might still have a chance to escape, perhaps by slipping away through the water. But what if the strange fish won? Or if the grey-furred rats succeeded in the end? Qin Ming couldn’t help but raise a rude gesture to the heavens.

He watched the great battle, turning over theories in his mind. “I wonder what caused all this. The rat king learned there was a spirit of grass and wood here and wanted to devour it to grow stronger, so he summoned the rat swarm! The valley must have once been occupied by a python, driven out by the grey-furred rats, forcing it to the mountain summit! Once the rat army arrived, they launched their attack. As for me… I’m just a hapless soul, toyed with by fate!” Qin Ming guessed at the sequence of events, though only the heavens could know for sure.

Wave after wave of grey-furred rats attacked. At last, a willow branch was bitten off.

“This…!” Qin Ming was suddenly alert. He knew well the terror of those willow branches—even a single one possessed the strength of a high-ranking warrior. When he’d faced six at once, it was only by channeling the power of his punching technique that he’d avoided having his arm shattered; even so, it had been a painful ordeal.

But now, one branch was broken. With damage inflicted, it would only worsen. The rat swarm was invigorated, their assault fiercer than ever. The strange fish in the river feasted, but the grey-furred rats paid them little mind, single-mindedly bent on destroying the silver willow.

More and more branches snapped. The air grew heavy with the stench of blood, and Qin Ming found it almost impossible to breathe. If not for the underground river stirring the air, he would surely have suffocated.

“The number of dead grey-furred rats must have reached a hundred thousand!” Qin Ming watched, numb and shocked. They feared not death, only pressed forward to deliver whatever small harm they could to the willow.

Yet the willow… Qin Ming noticed that of the original three thousand silver branches, barely a thousand remained, each wounded, but not a single rat had reached the base of the tree.

He narrowed his gaze, looking downward. From the river leapt sixty-four grey-furred rats, each the size of a hunting dog, fierce and formidable. Clearly, these were beast-general grade rats. They paused only briefly before charging ahead, followed by swarms of lesser rats.

“Is this the final assault?” Qin Ming wondered.

Willow branches danced, blood sprayed. This wave of rats was nearly annihilated, and then eight more, as large as leopards, burst forth—mid-level beast generals! Qin Ming recognized their stature instantly.

When they too fell, the willow was left with barely a hundred branches, all bare, nearly devoid of leaves, and even the trunk was battered and broken.

Then—shua!—another wave of rats appeared, this time over a thousand, charging madly. Qin Ming noticed among them a creature the size of a calf.

“That must be the rat king, a high-level beast general!” Qin Ming thought, “This is the last charge!”

But at that moment, the silver willow erupted in radiant light. The hundred remaining branches shimmered with silver, wounds healing swiftly, leaves sprouting anew.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! The branches blasted forth like bullets, then withdrew, then blasted again—so rapidly that a third of the charging rats died in an instant.

Still, the rats reached the tree, battering the trunk anew. Qin Ming saw the rat king tear open the trunk with one swipe, exposing a bit of the tree’s heart, translucent and glowing with green light.

Whoosh! The last ten branches of the willow seemed to unleash their final strength, stabbing wildly at the rat king. But the rat king was no ordinary foe; it slashed aside three or four branches, then leapt behind the tree.

Before it could attack again, a massive head emerged and bit down, sharp teeth like swords piercing the rat king with ease.

“So it’s the rat king in front, python behind!” Qin Ming couldn’t help but grin.

The rat king, sending tens of thousands of its kin to die in order to kill the willow, was about to succeed—only to be ambushed by the python. A death as bitter as any could be.

After devouring the rat king, the python lunged at the willow, its enormous bowl-shaped eyes gleaming with greed. It opened its jaws and bit at the trunk.

Thud! Just as its maw neared, countless roots burst from beneath the rock, spearing the python effortlessly like javelins.

The python shrieked, a piercing sound, yet still bit down. The remaining willow branches wrapped tightly around its head.

A brutal battle ensued between the python and the willow. Rocks flew; the bodies of the rats were crushed or swept into the river.

“These monsters are all spirit beasts!” Qin Ming thought. “The python’s ambush is one thing, but the willow had hidden its own tricks, surely aware of the python’s presence. Still… heh! Let them all die, together!”

Now, Qin Ming was exhilarated. Whoever killed whom, the survivor would be spent and weakened. He could scavenge the spoils.

He trembled with excitement, left hand gripping his shield, right hand clutching his battle blade, waiting for the outcome.

Splash!

Just then, the sound of water splattering echoed. Qin Ming looked down and cursed aloud, “Damn it, you rotten heavens, will you never stop tormenting me?”

From the river crawled a giant octopus, which leapt beside the willow and thrust a tentacle at the tree’s heart, trying to snatch it first.

It was clearly attempting to steal the prize.

Smack! The wounded python lashed out in fury, swinging its tail at the intruder. The octopus monster retaliated wildly.

What had been a duel became a three-way clash of monsters.

Qin Ming narrowed his eyes, suddenly noticing a small pool of water behind the willow, untouched during the battle, now rapidly vanishing. He looked up at the hanging stalactites.

Suddenly, the situation changed. The python, ignoring the roots embedded in its flesh, flung the octopus away with its tail and then bit frantically at the trunk, intent on swallowing the tree’s heart.

The tree’s heart was the true spirit of grass and wood—the treasure that could drive a war god mad.

The octopus shrieked, leaping into the air, its tentacles wrapping around the trunk and two more winding about the python’s jaws, tightening desperately, trying to twist off its head.

Thud! At the same moment, the five remaining willow branches twined together and stabbed at the octopus’s mouth like a stream of light. The octopus jerked its head, but was pierced in the neck.

A scream rang out instantly.

The willow went berserk, the roots twisted madly inside the python, puncturing its belly and back, blood splattering everywhere.

Both the python and the octopus howled, writhing furiously and smashing the willow apart.

The tree’s heart fell free.

At the brink of death, both monsters paused, then lunged with open jaws to snatch the heart.

“That’s mine! Whoever tries to take it, die!” Qin Ming, who had watched all along, could no longer restrain himself. He shouted, stomped, shattering the rock beneath him, and shot forward like an arrow.

Whoosh!

His shield flew, his blade cleaved the air.

Thud!

The shield pierced the octopus’s head, nearly severing it and ending its life.

The battle blade fell, chopping the python’s head clean off.

“Heh heh…!” Qin Ming landed, gazing at the shattered willow, the dead octopus monster, the decapitated python, trembling with excitement.

“I suddenly realize, you rotten heavens, you’re actually adorable!” He chuckled, then his face froze as he looked toward the river.

Splash!

Water flew everywhere.