Chapter 53: The Undying King’s Follower – 3

The two by the table exchanged glances, both catching the sharp glint in each other’s eyes:
“Of course we do, and we also know that the Chief can live for a hundred years.”
“A hundred years!”
Ashi Zaguda stared in shock at the tall, thin speaker. He counted on his fingers, then grew a bit confused after reaching nine.
A hundred; what an immensely long span of time that must be. He could never live that long himself.
“But you will become the Chief, just three years from now,” the man who had been mixing his strange water said as he poured it.
“How could that be? Father will always be…”
“No, Cry. The oracle says you will be the new Chief.”
“Oracle?”
Ahizaguda looked at the man with some confusion. “The one you talk about, that heavenly…”
“Yes, the Great Light God.”
After uttering these three words, the man’s expression turned solemn.
The others around them immediately put down their bowls and bowed their heads devoutly.
“I didn’t want to tell you now, but the time is approaching.”
“What’s approaching?”
“The Great Light God is the creator of the world, the sovereign. He drove the darkness to the other side, forming the night. To punish the night, the Great Light God created the Undying King.”
“Impossible.”
Seeing Ahizaguda’s disbelief, someone nearby interrupted disdainfully, as if mocking the boy for failing to see something so obvious:
“The Undying King comes from the heavens, that’s why he can fight the comet from the heavens. Don’t you understand yet? But the Undying King can only fight that star; he is inferior to the Great Light!”
Ahizaguda was stunned.
He felt as if he had just learned the deepest, most well-kept secret of the world: that there was an even greater being above the Undying King.
“We are the Great Light God’s earthly representatives. This good water that can send people back to heaven is the Great Light God’s gift.”
The boy lowered his head in shame. Right, he should have realized it sooner.
The boy sniffed the turbid liquid in the bowl, which carried a fruity and sour aroma. This was a gift from the Great Light that created the Undying King—no wonder it made one feel as if floating in the sky.
“Me… Will I really become the Chief?”
“As long as you follow our instructions, you can certainly become someone even greater than the Chief. When the time comes, the god will order you to proclaim the existence of the Great Light. You will use the sacred artifact to protect the world. Can you do it?”
After saying this, the man revealed a long sword with a faint sheen from a linen pouch that had been wrapped with the utmost care.
“It’s a good sacred artifact—you have one too!”
The boy, whose mind was now fuzzy from being plied with fruit wine, fully believed him.
So I will still be the Chief after all, he thought happily.
“Then what should I do?”
“In the past, it relied on force, but from now on, the Great Light says we must also rely on our wits. The arrival of the Undying King’s Servant this time is the true test for you. You must find a way to obtain an item from him and hand it over to me—that will complete the trials set by the Great Light.”
With that, the tall, thin man leaned his head close to the boy’s ear, concealed his mouth with his hand, and whispered the detailed plan.
The more the boy listened, the brighter his eyes became.
……
Three years passed in the blink of an eye.
In recent days, a multitude of people had gathered in the small town—dense and bustling like pilgrims, causing a clamorous uproar both inside and outside the city.
The rejuvenated “Chief Follower” Zaguda, holding the sacred artifact himself, led the team to clear the road and grounds, awaiting the arrival of the Undying King’s Servant.
YangZicang arrived as promised. The man’s appearance seemed unchanged, even his clothes were the same.
Rumble, rumble—someone shook a large animal hide, producing deep, muffled sounds.
Crowds cheered as the figure appeared at the end of the long path.
He was as plainly dressed as ever, with only the red pendant on his chest revealing something extraordinary.
Wishing for primordial people to keep a secret is as absurd as praying the thunder doesn’t boom on a stormy day, so almost everyone knew what happened the day the Chief became young again. That golden coin was brought out every year during the ritual, the Chief proclaiming its holiness.
Countless warriors from the Sanctum confirmed that on that day, the coin shimmered with a faint white light like flames, a light that granted the Chief a new life.
And that fiery gold-red thing hanging from the middle-aged man’s neck surely held a vast amount of longevity.
The crowd gazed with envy and anticipation at YangZicang’s passing figure and the necklace.
Among them were the Chief, his third son, and those spreading the name of the “Great Light” through the crowd.
“No need for formalities.”
YangZicang waved away the greetings, got straight to the point, walked before the now much taller children and youths, took off his outer garment, revealing a set of well-defined pecs.
“Start your performance. Come, hit me.”
The few of them hesitated, exchanging glances. After repeated encouragement from Yang Zicang, a stout man in his twenties stepped forward, and a longsword sliced through the air toward Yang Zicang.
Bang!
The longsword carved a wound over a dozen centimeters long, lodging beneath Yang Zicang’s shoulder blade, while the stout man trembled all over in fear.
Sensing the force of the blow, Yang Zicang smiled and nodded: “Not bad, keep going.”
“Wow, so amazing.”
“As expected of the Undying King’s Attendant!”
Thousands of onlookers witnessed this shocking sight.
Though they knew he wouldn’t be hurt, seeing it firsthand was a different matter entirely.
Those blades falling on this lord were terrifying to watch, yet he always stood unshaken, and within moments, those wounds were enveloped in gray mist and healed.
Yang Zicang tested each of the chosen individuals one by one. Most of them showed considerable effort, while a few, despite good talent, didn’t meet the ideal standard.
“Everyone has worked hard, and you’ve all done well. But I will only select a few to grant the contract.”
After the selection ended, Yang Zicang gathered the dozen or so candidates to the front and pulled a handful of gold coins from his bag.
“For those not chosen, don’t be discouraged. You may continue practicing the martial skills learned over these three years. However, I will no longer oversee your progress, and you must not reread them.”
As they gazed upon the handful of small, light-white, gold-gleaming discs, everyone began to breathe more heavily.
The chief kept swallowing saliva, fantasizing about how wonderful it would be to get all of them into his hands.
“Come, before you sign the martial pact with me, accept my gift first.” Yang Zicang said with a smile as he picked up the golden coin in his hand.
The children’s eyes were fixed, and their hearts pounded wildly as they thought, could it be, could it be for them?
He walked up to a child of about ten years old and took his hand.
The child, and even his family, widened their eyes in excitement—could it really be meant for him?
Oh my god!
Yang Zicang placed the coin, which he had made from gold himself, into the child’s hand.
“What number does this read?” he asked with a smile.
“Ten.”
Though nervous, the child answered correctly without hesitation.
“Very good. This coin represents that many years of life. You can use it for yourself or give it to someone you wish to bestow it upon.”
The crowd erupted in uproar.
Many people stared at the coin in shock—so practicing martial arts well could bring such amazing rewards!
Quite a few were already scheming about how to exchange it from the children.
Watching this lord hand golden discs to those who had practiced martial arts with him over the past three years, those who were not selected wept in dismay.
After distributing them, Yang Zicang turned and scanned the people around him.
“This is my gift; no one shall take it by force. Violators die.”
Among the disappointed children left behind, one person knelt and crawled forward while crying uncontrollably, begging Yang Zicang to give him one of those gold coins, claiming he needed it because his parents were injured by beasts.
Just as Yang Zicang was about to tell him to get lost, he suddenly turned his head to look at the city gate.
More people looked over.
They saw the body of a creature resembling a rhinoceros but with tusks being dragged towards them. The figure pulling it was, in contrast, an extremely small and skinny child.
He was eleven or twelve years old, wearing tattered grass clothing.
Puff… puff… He dragged the cyan ox, which was several times bigger than his own body, leaving footprints with each step.
“Oh my god.”
“Naturally, he’s so skinny—how does he manage that?”
The crowd exclaimed.
“Sir, this is a cyan-tusk bull I hunted alone.”
The small figure knelt before the stone steps and pleaded, “Please, venerable attendant, teach me martial skills.”
It’s that child from “yesterday”… Yang Zicang lowered his eyelids slightly.
“Wait for me outside the city.”
The slightly older child looked up in surprise and joy.
“Yes!”
He stood up and ran out quickly, as if he expected the adult to appear immediately once he reached outside the city.
As the sky grew darker amidst laughter and joy, Yang Zicang accepted the feast invitation from the chief.
During the meal, after tasting various dishes prepared by the chief, a young man who looked roughly 60% similar to the chief stepped out.
Ashizaguda held a special small jar in his hands, emitting a slightly pungent fruity smell.
“Honored Attendant, I have a delicious divine water here to offer you.”
The aroma drew the attention of some warriors nearby who had tasted the divine water.
Yang Zicang glanced at the earthen jar placed on the small table before him. Inside was a murky fruit wine, along with various other things.
Holding his wine bowl, he smiled, never expecting to find himself in such a situation.
“Who gave this to you?”
“It’s…” Ashizaguda was too nervous to speak.
The Divine Emissary had strictly warned him never to tell the Honored Attendant, for to do so would reveal that he had received help from someone else, and the trial would be considered a failure.
“Can’t say, can you?”
“Ah, Honored Attendant, I…”
Several times he nearly blurted out the person’s name, but the word “Chief” kept swirling in his mind.
He couldn’t bear to let go.
He, too, wished to distinguish himself in the next disaster, to receive a reward, to gain a longer life.
“It’s my offering to you, sir,” the young man said, lowering his head.
Yang Zicang picked up the wine, swirled it, and loosened the fresh fruit pulp that had settled at the bottom for flavoring.
Tiny white polyhedral particles surfaced from the bottom—if he wasn’t mistaken, this substance was a type of arsenic.
Curiously, he brought it to his nose to sniff; the wine was also laced with the scent of certain vines.
This scent was too familiar; a thousand years ago, I myself had taught a tribe to smear it on their arrows to help hunt large wild beasts nearby, where pythons and dinosaurs were rampant.
Behind the small wooden table diagonally opposite, that savage watching his son, the words of the Minister Sir left him puzzled.