Chapter 325: Black Myth: It Begins with Fire (Requesting Monthly Votes!)

The sun set amid the mortal dust, the afterglow like blood.

The last rays of the sunset spilled from the sky, dyeing the originally charred and dull Flame Mountain a vivid, intense orange-red.

At this moment, this mountain range, said to have been forged by Laojun’s Eight Trigrams furnace fire, resembled a weary giant beast crouched upon the earth.

Crimson rocks lay bare, as if the earth’s wounds had been torn open, oozing scalding magma—just like its master, speaking of endless suffering and rage.

At the mountain’s foot, within the Ash Forest, three bare-chested figures, wielding cleavers and grotesque in appearance, patrolled together.

They were yin soldiers—Li Shi—summoned from the Underworld by the Earth God of Flame Mountain, the most numerous and lowest-rank hellish troops, who daily performed countless tasks to sustain Hell’s operations, enduring year-round 007 conditions worse than those of oxen and horses.

Thus, they all rejoiced at being summoned to the mortal realm for duty.

After all, Flame Mountain was not Hell; it had far fewer trivial chores, and typically they only needed to patrol and guard—compared to life in Hell, it was like a vacation.

“Earth God is truly a benevolent deity!”

One yin soldier sighed, then pointed toward Danzao Valley: “Every time I see those lava flows, I’m reminded of my duties in Hell… Those who set fires to kill in life, upon death, must enter our Bronze Pillar Hell, stripped bare, embracing the boiling bronze pillar to endure punishment.”

“To heat the pillar, we must constantly add firewood and fan the flames, and frequently scrub off the charred skin and rotting flesh stuck to it—far simpler to just create a river of fire and waterfall.”

Another soldier, upon hearing this, also complained: “Yes, I used to serve in the Iron Tree Hell—those who sowed discord among family in life, upon death, come here, where sharp knives are driven through their backs and hung on thorned trees.”

“Those bastards who never had an anus for a son—making us sharpen knives daily and repair trees constantly. When skin and flesh tear off the trees, we must stitch them back with needle and thread, then carry them up to hang again… Compared to that, I’d rather have the giant iron ball up ahead—just roll them once, crush them to pulp, and be done with it.”

The third soldier sighed: “You two have it easy. Our Ox Pit Hell is the worst—those who abused animals in life, upon death, are trampled and gored by countless fire oxen.”

“We not only raise the oxen, but also nail iron hooves and file their horns. And when the souls are crushed to fragments, we must dig them out after a while, or they’ll sink into the oxen’s hooves and we’ll be punished—far better to use the Flame War Chariot.”

The other two soldiers nodded in agreement, but just then, a voice filled with amusement suddenly echoed beside them: “So that’s how it is. Sounds like Flame Mountain is truly a fengshui treasure—perhaps it’ll become a brand-new supreme Hell.”

“Pah! What nonsense! Flame Mountain is not Hell, and never will be!”

The three soldiers spat on the ground in unison, ready to roar in anger—but then they realized something was wrong.

Who had spoken just now? That voice felt utterly unfamiliar.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Muffled impacts rang out in succession; the three soldiers stiffened, rolled their eyes back, and collapsed to the ground simultaneously.

Wu Xian, clad in a top-grade Xingzhe set, retracted his Flying Dragon Treasure Staff, glanced down at the three unlucky fools lying at his feet, and, recalling their earlier conversation, shook his head and muttered, “What a tragedy.”

Setting fires to kill, sowing discord among family, abusing animals.

The Earth God of Flame Mountain had committed nearly all three of these crimes—and yet he summoned the yin soldiers who carried out these punishments to the mortal realm…

Imagine if he ever entered the Underworld and was subjected to these three horrific punishments himself—wouldn’t he find the current scene bitterly ironic?

“Nephew, what are you thinking about, so lost in thought…”

A deep, slightly lazy voice came from behind.

Moments later, two figures approached him.

One was barely three feet tall, shouldering a rake, his entire body covered in thick gray fur—a pig-headed man.

Without doubt, this short pig-headed man was Zhu Bajie, the former second disciple of the pilgrimage quartet, once Commander of the Heavenly River’s Hundred Thousand Troops, now the Pure Altar Messenger.

The other figure was a burly, horse-faced giant wielding a long whip—anyone who played Black Myth would know him: Ma Tianba, the rumored avatar of the game’s creator.

In the game, Ma Tianba traversed nearly every map except Huaguo Mountain, seeking the demon kings who once attacked Sun Wukong, trying to rescue the Ox Demon King imprisoned by Red Child.

But after repeated rejections, he finally realized the truth: relying on others is worse than relying on oneself, and he returned to Flame Mountain at top speed.

Then, with a slide, he died beneath the Five Elements War Chariot, becoming Tianming’s final transformation skill.

Of course, now that Wu Xian was here, everything had changed. Back in the Spider Cave, after Wu Xian once again saved Ma Tianba, he forcibly detained him with brute strength and declared he’d accompany him to Flame Mountain to rescue the Ox Demon King.

Though Ma Tianba was desperate, he couldn’t match Wu Xian’s overwhelming strength, and ultimately had no choice but to follow him and Zhu Bajie, even serving as a makeshift mount along the way.

Honestly, the speed was impressive—though nowhere near the dizzying pace of the somersault cloud, he could easily cover thousands of li per day, explaining why in the game he always arrived at maps before Tianming…

“Oh, nothing. Just met three interesting yin soldiers.”

Back to reality, Wu Xian smiled faintly as he watched the pig and horse approach, spun his Flying Dragon Treasure Staff into a flourish, and slung it over his shoulder with a light chuckle:

“Just heard them describe a few punishments in Hell—seemed quite interesting. I was thinking, if I get the chance someday, maybe I’ll try them out on someone.”

“Hell’s punishments? Tsk tsk. Those are just cruel tortures. Uncle and your ancestor are both monks—we don’t play that kind of game.”

Zhu Bajie, confused, assumed Wu Xian was joking again. He’d experienced this many times on the journey and had grown used to it.

In truth, since meeting Wu Xian in Little Western Heaven, he’d already realized Wu Xian was nothing like the so-called “Tianming” of old.

Not in appearance or speech—but in character and conduct.

Compared to other Tianming figures, Wu Xian appeared stoic and honest on the surface, but was full of mischief and shamelessly unscrupulous—somewhat reminiscent of… cough! His Great Sage Brother.

Thus, Zhu Bajie held great affection for Wu Xian, truly treating him like a nephew.

Thinking this, Zhu Bajie glanced around once more and sighed, “Hundreds of years have passed, and this cursed place has returned to this miserable state. To be honest, it’s all that monkey’s fault—he toppled Laojun’s Eight Trigrams furnace, causing the locals untold suffering.”

(End of Chapter)