Chapter 1009: The Cultivators of Ten Thousand Races Suffer Too Much

The meeting with the Nine Great Dao Heirs ended in acrimony.

Jiang Ding didn't care; he quietly retreated into his spiritual void.

These Dao Heirs fought solely for the interests of their own sects; the so-called restraining authority granted by the elders was meaningless and could not bind them.

Likewise, these Dao Heirs would not halt their deployment of the Void-Submerging Array just because of Jiang Ding.

This was their own affair.

Jiang Ding was currently hiding within a Tiger Clan tribe, residing inside the spiritual core of a Foundation Establishment black tiger, gazing outward through its window-like tiger eyes as a jet-black tiger claw pierced the chest of a Mo Yan Clan member and tore out a heart core.

The Mo Yan Clan member's face was filled with shock and disbelief; his body slowly collapsed, crumbling into a pile of ore, his life force extinguished.

"Roar!"

"Bai Zhu, you bastard, you're finally dead! Hahaha!"

"Hahaha!"

The black tiger roared to the heavens, its voice shaking the land; within its blood-red eyes lay untold resentment, decades of suppressed venom.

With vengeance finally achieved, it was utterly cathartic.

"Hei Mao, you…"

Around him, Tiger Clan cultivators stared at the black tiger with fury and terror.

They knew Hei Mao had blood vengeance against Bai Zhu, the Mo Yan Clan patrol envoy.

His sister had been devoured by Bai Zhu; his parents had been casually stomped to death by him—these they all knew.

But why kill the Mo Yan Clan patrol envoy?

For so many years, generation after generation, such grievances were countless, such acts commonplace; far more tragic Tiger Clan cultivators existed than Hei Mao.

This was the fate of Tiger Clan cultivators—it had always been this way.

Why can't you endure?

Why can't you just bear it?!

Huh?!

"Hei Mao!"

"You damned bastard!"

"You'll get all of us killed—I'll kill you…"

Soon, many Tiger Clan cultivators flew into a rage, each one frenzied, their qi chaotic, charging toward the black tiger.

"Ha!"

"Kill me if you want—it's useless! The Mo Yan Clan man is already dead here!"

The black tiger laughed wildly, utterly fearless.

Yet even so, with so many Tiger Clan cultivators attacking, he couldn't fight them off; he instantly unleashed his demonic energy and fled desperately toward the distance, vanishing quickly.

The group of Tiger Clan cultivators searched for him for a long time, finding nothing; their legs gave out, and they collapsed onto the ground, wailing in despair.

"It's over!"

"We're finished."

One Tiger Clan cultivator murmured, tears falling: "Not only will we die, but all our 【35】 clan members will die—our soul essences forged into the Ten Thousand Souls Stele, unable to live, unable to die…"

... all of our clan members must die, their souls refined into the Ten Thousand Souls Stele, unable to seek life nor find death..."

Many Tiger Clan cultivators around him wept.

A Mo Yan Clan man was dead.

The Mo Yan Clan would not forgive them.

No matter the reason, no matter who killed him, the Mo Yan Clan would retaliate—that was their brutality, their unbroken tradition for countless years.

Gradually, the weeping quieted.

All Tiger Clan cultivators, from Qi Condensation to Foundation Establishment, fell silent, exchanging glances.

"Run!"

"Run! Save whoever you can!"

"I heard Mo Yan Clan members died elsewhere too—maybe they won't remember us, won't waste immense effort using grand spiritual arts to hunt us down!"

"Go…"

Many Tiger Clan cultivators didn't even return home; they dashed straight into the wilderness beyond the tribe, their dappled fur blending into the land, vanishing swiftly.

A few Tiger Clan cultivators hesitated briefly, then returned to the tribe, gathered their belongings, and fled with their families.

Soon, the thousand-strong Tiger Clan tribe stood empty, not a single cultivator left.

…

Jiang Ding, within the black tiger's spiritual core, silently observed the great upheaval in this Tiger Clan tribe.

This Tiger Clan tribe was named "Xiang Rou," the Xiang Rou Tribe.

The Xiang Rou Tribe's function was to produce their own flesh and blood, supplied to the Jiao Mo Emperor Clan's cultivators and a few elite slave-clan overlords; consuming Xiang Rou enhanced body refinement.

Besides producing Xiang Rou, the tribe's cultivators also served as cannon fodder and slave soldiers, occasionally conscripted by the Mo Yan Clan to exterminate weaker slave clans—truly a multi-purpose slave clan.

What happened today was unexpected, yet not unexpected.

The Tiger Clan cultivators of Xiang Rou were highly intelligent immortal beings; even if numb, even if foolish, how could they not harbor resentment toward being devoured by outsiders, toward having their own kin devoured?

The accumulated resentment over these many years could likely be forged into a Nascent Soul-grade Mo Dao Fa artifact.

Then,

why had nothing like this ever happened before?

Because previously, powerful Mo Yan Clan elders suppressed them from without—beings who could wipe out the entire tribe with a single hand—and from within, Tiger Clan Jin Dan and Nascent Soul Tiger Kings held internal control.

These Jin Dan and Nascent Soul Tiger Kings were favored by the Mo Yan Clan; anyone who dared rebel was immediately crushed and exterminated.

Add to that the generations of screening for compliant Tiger Clan bloodlines and executing all Tiger Clan cultivators who resisted; over the generations, this Fragrant Meat Tribe has always been able to produce Tiger Clan fragrant meat that satisfied the great figures of many Horned Demon Imperial Clans.

Originally, this stable state would have continued, remaining unchanged until the Tiger Clan cultivator named Black Tiger died.

The Horned Demon Imperial Clans were experienced, possessing sufficient means to rule the ten thousand slave races.

Now, however, a change has occurred.

War has broken out.

A vast number of Demon Rock Clan strong ones, and a vast number of Tiger Clan strong ones who originally suppressed the tribes, were conscripted to the battlefield, participating in the star-domain war like a flesh-grinding mill, dying piece by piece for their masters' ambitions, never to return.

It was not for a moment, but for nearly twenty years; these strong ones who originally suppressed the various regions had not yet returned.

This time was enough for the slave races in the various regions to undergo changes.

The rule of the Horned Demon Imperial Clans was extremely bloody and brutal, simple and crude, leaving absolutely no room for mitigation or deception; they disdained such things, and within every slave race, a massive amount of frenzied resentment had accumulated.

Many slave races were originally on the verge of collapse at any moment; many slave race cultivators were in a half-mad state, appearing stable only because they were constantly suppressed.

This was like numerous volcanoes of various sizes distributed throughout the Minor Thousand Worlds, about to erupt, but because of external forces constantly suppressing them, they never exploded; this had been the case for tens of thousands of years, seeming like the natural state of heaven and earth.

It looked like a breeze and bright sun, everything as usual.

However, what would happen when the suppressing force was lost?

The volcanoes erupted one after another!

The killing of the Demon Rock Clan inspection envoy by the demon cultivator named Black Tiger of the Fragrant Meat Tiger Tribe was an example.

Under the exploitation of the Horned Demon Imperial Clans, the lifespan of a demon cultivator at the Foundation Establishment stage was merely one hundred years; with life so short, they had no ability, nor the will, to think about things too far away.

At this moment, they saw the possibility of revenge and retribution, and also saw a sliver of hope for escape; completely different from before, they therefore threw everything they had into it.

To live, what joy? To die, what bitterness?

Bitter!

Too bitter!

The lives of many slave race cultivators were too bitter; they constantly offered their lifespan, essence blood, magic power, and flesh and blood to the Horned Demon Imperial Clans, to be devoured by others, with no time for rest, and their lives showed not a sliver of hope.

Their lives were too bitter; they feared nothing, had no dread, because there was nothing in such a life to cherish.

Now that an opportunity appeared, they immediately seized it.

Regardless of whether this was a trap, regardless of whether this momentary revelry and revenge would bring them utter destruction.

It could not be managed anymore!

They only wanted to kill, they only wanted to fight, they only wanted to plunder!

The order of the entire Flame Stone Star Domain began to descend into chaos.

Everywhere, there was no longer strict supervision; the spiritual veins in the various regions began to change hands repeatedly.

Accidental changes were no longer conspicuous; they were utterly ordinary, occurring everywhere.