Chapter 119: The Treasure of the Heretic God

Pan Shi Fortress stands at the upper reaches of Mu Du River, at a natural constriction where the canyon opens out; its crimson walls grow from the foothills of the Kanoki Mountains, tightly locking the river channel.

Here, the river widens to nearly eight hundred meters, forming a vast, curved bay, its waters a deep, nearly ink-blue hue.

This unique quality comes from glacial meltwater upstream mingling with minerals leached from the Mo Tie Mountains; the flow is slow but powerfully deep, and under the midday sun, the river surface resembles a massive, slowly moving sheet of polished metal.

Gazing southwest along Mu Du River, the channel gradually broadens, and the terrain on both banks flattens out; in the far distance, where sky meets earth, a low, unnatural grayish hue is barely visible.

It stands in jarring contrast to the clear, bright mountain and river scenery before them—that is the Kinostr Mountains; even from afar, the lingering shadow and abyssal aura cling to the horizon like a stain.

Looking northeast, Mu Du River surges out from a narrow gorge between two peaks, the current turning swift as white waves crash against black rocks; above the gorge, higher peaks are crowned with eternal, unmelting snow.

“Morax, we’ve been rotting in this dump—when do we move? The Buta Ge demons won’t hand over the basin without a fight.”

“Iroge, understand this: we have no ships. The Pig-Headed main force can’t enter—it’s not that I want to wait here forever.”

“I say these Pig-Heads are stupid as hell—they’ve been building boats for a month and still haven’t made a single decent one. Either they leak the moment they hit water, or they get torn apart by the current. Useless.”

“Vex, you say my people are useless? Then what about you? Didn’t you propose building boats? Your Long Zhi lineage’s blueprints are garbage—why blame me?”

“Hah? You dare doubt my Long Zhi heritage? You lowly Pig-Headed fool?”

“I’m not afraid of you. Fight me in the arena if you’ve got guts!”

“All of you, shut up and stop causing trouble. Logikino, explain how we go downstream. Don’t tell me you don’t know—how did those Goat-Men get up here before? You know better than anyone.”

“I do have a method—but it will take time.”

“I%￠@#, you old monkey—are you doing this on purpose? You know we’re desperate, yet you delay? If you weren’t useful, I’d roast you alive!”

“Iroge, calm down. Your temper won’t help here.”

“Morax, that old witch Vilan Se is in league with the elves—if she claims Buta Ge Basin first, we’ll have nothing left.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear you talk. Logikino—what’s your plan?”

“There used to be boats here, but as the resistance was wiped out, all vessels were destroyed. Still, we can use animal hides, inflate them with air, and tie them together as makeshift rafts.”

“Can your people do it?”

“Yes. Leave it to me.”

…………

Across the vast Mu River Plain, two entirely different rivers flow south in parallel. To the west lies You Ying River, born from the Mo Tie Mountains—swift, dark, and turbulent. To the east lies Mu Du River, broader, calmer, shimmering with silver light.

Between them, a straight, massive “artificial canyon” is extending forward at an astonishing pace. This is no mere ditch—it’s wide enough for small riverboats to sail side by side.

“Push harder, everyone. Let’s finish digging the channel before this month ends.”

Tens of thousands, clad in uniform brown leather armor, wield sharp steel picks and heavy iron shovels. They form the front-line “V,” tasked with breaking through the hardest earth and bedrock.

Their movements are precise and powerful; each pick strike rings out in unison—“clang! clang! clang!”—like a rhythm beating out the earth’s transformation.

“My lady, I can oversee this site alone. Rest a while—you’ve worked too long planning this canal carved into the rock.”

“To be honest, Morgon, it’s not that I distrust you. This canal is different from others—I’m not even certain I can succeed in carving it.”

“My lady, I don’t understand why we’re expending so much effort to dig this canal. Its location limits its use—it can’t transport large quantities of supplies, and You Ying Bay can’t hold big ships.”

“You’re right—we don’t need this to seize the Mu River Plain. But what about the Soul-Eating Delta? The Blood Fury Sea’s route? No one can navigate it.”

“I understand. Your vision has always towered above mine. I have much to learn.”

“Vilan Se , I smell treasure—in You Ying Bay. Tell me its location. My patience is fading with my curiosity.”

Vilan Se looked up—the sky was swallowed by absolute darkness, not clouds, but folded dragon wings.

The massive black dragon descended like a fallen abyss, landing silently without stirring a single speck of dust, demonstrating exquisite control over its power.

Sakavi impatiently flicked his tail, sending shards of rock flying; his scorching breath made Vilan Se feel deeply uneasy.

“My dear Vilan Se , stop dancing around. You know I need this treasure badly—you wrote that there are countless coins hidden here.”

“Open your eyes, clouded by gold, Sakavi. For a month, I’ve endured wind and sun, watching rock turn inch by inch into this channel.”

She pointed to the emerging structure behind her, her voice hoarse but unyielding:

“My time and sweat must be paid today. If you don’t give me what I’m owed, your guessed treasure will stay forever in legend.”

The black dragon dramatically lifted one foreclaw, mimicking a human shrug; its molten-gold slit pupils flickered with cunning, feigning sincerity.

“Oh, my dear Vilan Se , look beyond this ditch before you.” Sakavi’s deep voice took on a persuasive rhythm.

“Imagine—when this canal becomes our artery into the plain, reinforcements and supplies will flow like Mu Du River’s waters.”

“Then, we’ll purge every foul thing lurking in the shadows from the Mu River Plain… let the land breathe again, let life reclaim its sovereignty. As a druid, isn’t this the very vision your soul longs for?”

“Stop your lies! If you dare deceive me with more empty ideals, I’ll smash your head in right now and see if you still dare deceive me.”

Sakavi instantly retracted his massive head, raised a claw in a comically defensive gesture, and emitted a string of soothing, rumbling growls.

“Hah! Relax, my mighty friend—it was just… an, ah… hopeful little test!”

As he spoke, his agile claws reached behind his scales and pulled out a faintly glowing silver-tinged small chest.

“Behold—the ‘Eternal Dew White Rose’ wreath, woven by a seamstress of the Night Elf ‘Moonscar Clan’ on the night of the twin moons’ convergence.”

Each ‘moon dew’ bead on it was traded for favors and glittering gems. Now—it’s yours.”

The fire in Vilan Se ’s eyes receded like a tide, replaced by focused scrutiny.

“...The Moonscar Clan’s craftsmanship carries the forest’s compassion.” Her tone softened, yet retained a sharp edge. “You truly put effort into this—not just gossip.”

…………

Pushing open the stone door of the heretic priest’s cave, a heavy stench of rusted iron, incense, and deep-sea salt slammed into them. At the cavern’s end, dim light seeping through rock fissures illuminated a grotesque idol standing solemnly atop a rough altar.

Its upper body resembled a solemn cleric clad in heavy scripture robes, bound by chains.

In its left hand, it gripped a miniature, weather-beaten wreck of a ship—symbolizing the final fate of all who defied its laws and sought liberation.

In its right hand, it held an ancient, dark-red branding iron, its posture frozen in the dignity of inflicting pain.

Its face was shrouded in deep hood shadows; only its eye sockets stood out unnaturally, filled not with gems, but two enormous, profaned Mo Tie cores.

Now, the cores glowed from within with a thick, molten-gold radiance—not bright, but unnaturally ordered, eerily steady, like two slow-beating metallic hearts.

Below the waist, the idol’s form twisted grotesquely into a tangle of thick octopus tentacles and suckers, gripping the base and the rear rock wall, violently grafting the dignified upper body to the primal chaos of the deep sea.

The entire idol radiated a profound contradiction: rigid order fused with primal chaos, cold judgment entwined with slimy vitality.

A static idol barely a meter tall, yet brimming with blasphemy and oppression, silently proclaiming its god’s twisted doctrine.

“Heh… your reckless subordinate touched the domain of the ‘God of Chains and Silence.’

Every coin you take from here today will be bound by invisible chains. Guess—when that god’s chains bind your soul, which forehead will the branding iron strike first?”

Sakavi exhaled two searing, sulfurous breaths from his nostrils; his molten-gold slit pupils brimmed with arrogant mockery.

“Afraid? Listen, Vilan Se —fear is the tribute the weak offer the strong. I am a plunderer.” He idly clinked coins between his claws.

“That ‘Slave-Master’ may be skilled at chaining his followers, but my wings were born to tear apart shackles.

Besides, I only took some ownerless ‘metal’—not property listed in His register. A ‘busy’ god surely won’t rage over a few small, unclaimed ‘lost items,’ right?”

“Sakavi, look at this—this ‘Codex of Silence’ is specifically designed to punish scoundrels like you. Violators suffer a soul-targeted ‘Penalty of Breach’ as written within.”

“Is that so? Then I’ll place your soul on this ‘Balance of Equal Suffering.’ When the scales balance, my pain or guilt is transferred, sealed, or temporarily neutralized. Want to try?”

“Not interested. But this ‘Slave-Master’s Whip of Noose’ is interesting—perfect to test on Clausuna. Let her call me ‘Grandma.’”

“I have no objection. This haul is excellent—three hundred thousand gold coins will ease our fiscal strain. This elven-crafted sword—I think Su Lai De will like it.”

There’s a world of difference between possessing a legendary weapon and not having one. Sakavi owns the Crystal Skull, Vilna wields the Shadow Moon Blade; the rest still use high-grade magical weapons.