Chapter Thirty-Two: The True Hunt

From the fourth month onward, the Yanpeng Battalion no longer forbade the lesser demons from venturing out at night. Although daily training continued as usual, after soaking in the hot springs, nearly an hour was set aside for free activities—be it mutual study, sparring, or even seeking guidance from the instructors. It was, at best, a reluctant loosening of restrictions.

Those lesser demons who had survived until now each possessed their own means of survival; all were among the strongest of their kind. Even Six Ugly struggled bitterly. More than once, he considered sneaking off to hunt for demon cores again, but each time, his instincts held him back, keeping him from falling into Tu Zhu's traps.

He would simply have to wait for another opportunity.

Time pressed on, and more lesser demons vanished without notice. When Jian Keng finally announced that he would lead them on a real hunt, six months had already passed, with half the time in the valley still remaining.

The number of lesser demons had dwindled to one hundred and eight. According to Jian Keng and his peers, nearly half would yet be cast aside—like Bai Yejiao in the dormitory, who was also among those to be eliminated.

The hunt would target the ancient monsters dwelling at the heart of the encircling mountains.

According to Jian Keng, there were four such creatures in the valley. These beings were not part of the natural order; neither human nor beast, neither furred nor scaled, and thus were deemed monsters by the gods of the heavens—fantastic aberrations, remnants of the ancient times.

By comparison, even the corpse clans outside the valley, though lowly among the ghostly tribes, stood far above these ancient monsters.

The four were known as the Yaksha Monster, the Wind Listener, the Five Sloths, and the Eyestealer.

As their names suggested: the Yaksha Monster was grotesque, the Wind Listener could fly, the Five Sloths were short and stunted, and the Eyestealer had only one eye.

This time, the hunt’s target was the Yaksha Monster. Though none among the lesser demons had ever laid eyes on it, Jian Keng waved away their concerns. “We instructors will take you near the monsters’ lair. There’s nothing else there but the target, so there’s no need to worry—you won’t mistake it.”

“Furthermore, we will not intervene. The soldiers are only there to count heads and tally your merits. Bring back a head, and your deed will be recorded; anything else is irrelevant. Those who return without a head, or are late, will be executed. The top fifty will receive rewards—certain elixirs to aid in cultivating demonic power. The top ten may choose a weapon, a martial skill, or armor to strengthen themselves.”

“For the next half-year, the camp will operate thus. Those who rise in rank will not only avoid punishment, but gain rewards. The laggards will be punished doubly, accelerating the elimination of the useless and refining the elite.”

Jian Keng spoke plainly. By counting only heads, he tacitly sanctioned mutual slaughter among the lesser demons, forcing them to fight for their lives.

Four massive Bixi war machines were ready. The instructors mounted them—unlike the Bi’an machines used before for escort duty, these creatures resembled double-decker buses of later ages: broad and oval-bodied, with six stout legs, their interiors spacious enough for fifty lesser demons to stand comfortably. The drivers were separated from the main compartment by a single door—highly convenient.

Each Bixi carried more than just an instructor; twenty soldiers accompanied as well, both demons and humans, all armed with bows and blades, fierce and formidable. In contrast, the lesser demons looked pitiful, possessing only their weapons and rough tunics, nothing more.

The Bixi beasts were armored in thick iron, with bladed edges along their flanks, and chain mail over their joints. At the sight of these machines, Six Ugly immediately imagined their use on the battlefield—if such massive monsters were merely for transport, what might the true war machines of Xiniu Hezhou be capable of?

A sense of foreboding for the future crept into Six Ugly’s heart.

Despite their size, the Bixi traveled swiftly—covering sixty or seventy miles each hour. Outside the camp, the light was dim, but the Bixi moved without error, their strides steady. Six Ugly surreptitiously observed the driver, noting that it was also a demon, though its strength remained a mystery.

In less than ten hours, darkness enveloped the valley and the Bixi halted. The four instructors conferred briefly, then remounted and set off in different directions, for it seemed the Yaksha were not all clustered together, but scattered about.

After another five or six hours, the Bixi stopped again. The lesser demons disembarked, finding the ground soft and muddy, puddles scattered nearby. The pungent scent of sulfur had faded, replaced by a faint, fresh tang, reminiscent of the air after rain.

Six Ugly’s instructor was Corpse Walker Yi—neither particularly good nor bad. He pointed east and said coolly, “You have twelve hours. I’ll be here tomorrow at this time to settle accounts. Once again: latecomers or those who return empty-handed will die. Remember well.”

The lesser demons swallowed nervously and nodded in unison.

“Ten miles ahead lies the Yaksha village!”

They began their march. Six Ugly waited for the others to leave, then circled around and made for the north.

Along the way, some lesser demons discussed forming groups. Qingmei called Bai Yejiao and Six Ugly over, hoping they’d join. Six Ugly declined, so the two paired up, leaving him alone.

Normally, marshes would be Bai Yejiao’s specialty, promising an easier hunt with him along. But Six Ugly coveted the top ten rewards and so resolved to go it alone. Besides, though Bai Yejiao was friendly with Qingmei, Six Ugly doubted such bonds would last in this place where survival was paramount.

Having given up last time, this time he was determined to claim a reward—if not a fine weapon, then a flying spear.

Heading north for several miles, the mud thinned, giving way to shallow wetlands and occasional meadows. Six Ugly slowed his pace, probing with his short staff, advancing step by step toward his goal.

He was in no hurry.

As he drew closer, the wetlands deepened, nearly half a meter in places. He skirted the worst of it by sticking to the meadows. After three or four hours, he finally spotted a mossy mound ahead, two or three yards across and half a yard high—a thick, springy layer of moss, its true nature uncertain.

The wind over the swamp was strong. Six Ugly listened carefully, discerning the faint sounds of life within the mound—grunting and whining, as if something indescribable was going on inside. With no one else around, Six Ugly wasted no time. He gripped his staff and crept closer.

Up close, the mound proved to be a well-built grass hut—low in appearance, but actually dug into the ground with a superstructure above, making it seem shorter than it was. Judging by its size, the Yaksha within might not be shorter than a human after all.

The fishy smell grew stronger as he neared the tattered animal hide that served as a door. He crept closer, the moaning sounds from within yet unabated. Peering through a hole in the hide, he saw a black back turned to him, bent low, while before it sprawled a large expanse of pale, quivering flesh, uttering plaintive cries.

Six Ugly was mildly startled. Even in the dim light, one could see that the figure’s form was not so different from a human’s—indeed, it looked more human than some lesser demons in disguise.

He shifted his position silently and waited. The human-like appearance surprised him, but did not alter his resolve. Whether man or demon, he would not hesitate. Why should a mere likeness shake his heart?

He waited because the moment was not yet ripe. Only when the monster was thoroughly distracted, lost in pleasure, would a sneak attack yield the greatest advantage.

The creature was no weakling. Six Ugly might win a fair fight, but if he wanted first place, pointless battles had to be avoided—only the greatest profit was worth the risk.

He waited a quarter of an hour. Including the time it took to sneak over, nearly forty-five minutes had passed—almost an hour and a half by modern reckoning. Even Six Ugly couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, feeling somewhat inferior.

The monster’s breaths grew heavier and more rapid. The cries within rose to a fever pitch. At last, Six Ugly shifted slightly, readying himself for a fatal strike, and crept forward.

Suddenly, a shout of ecstasy erupted from inside the hut. At that instant, Six Ugly lunged, kicking aside the animal hide and bringing his staff crashing down on the black back’s head with all his might.

With a crisp crack, the skull caved, exposing splintered bone and crushed brain matter. The black figure tried to turn, but managed only a twitch before collapsing.

The pale flesh seemed stunned, frozen for a moment. Only when the body fell atop her did she unleash a heart-rending wail, weeping in despair. Without hesitation, Six Ugly swept his staff sideways, sending her head flying into the hut’s wall, where it knocked down a dark object hanging on the wall.

He picked it up—a black, heavy trident nearly four feet long, not made of steel but just as sturdy. Its material was unknown, but it felt as solid as iron.

With both monsters dead, Six Ugly turned the black one over and examined its face, only to recoil in shock.

Six Ugly was ugly, but this Yaksha’s appearance redefined the word: two bulging horns rose from its brow, slitted eyes stretched to the back of its head, the nose sunken and nostrils flaring outward, cheeks hollow, a mouth wide as a fish’s but lips bright red. A black tongue lolled down its chest, and its ears clung to its jaw like shell flaps.

Its body was equally grotesque: a chicken chest, a dog’s belly, frog-like legs, webbed fingers and toes—if it walked, it would surely waddle. Its skin was jet-black. The name Yaksha Monster was well-deserved.

The woman, however, was entirely different. Even decapitated, her beauty was apparent—delicate brows, alabaster skin, a high nose, and a small mouth. Among demons, her looks were outstanding. Sadly, her figure was as ungainly as the man’s—save for her face and skin, nothing was remarkable.

Black and white, so different—Six Ugly found it hard to believe they were the same race, yet their cohabitation left him puzzled.

There was nothing else in the hut—no tables, chairs, pots, or pans. Just a pile of animal hides and moss that might pass for a bed, a net woven from water grass, the trident, and a mess of skins and fish hides. After a thorough search, Six Ugly found nothing else of value. Hearing no one nearby, he began searching for a demon core.

He reached into the monster’s belly, feeling around for some time, but found no trace of a core. He did, however, feel all the usual organs—heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—just as in a human. Curious, he cut both monsters open for inspection.

Inside, their anatomy was nearly identical to that of humans.

A wave of disgust washed over Six Ugly. He stepped out of the hut, gazed up at the endless darkness above, stood in silence for a long moment, then spat heavily at the ground.

Bah!