CG Chapter 153: The Oil of the Damned
The words being said are just a repetition of the ones before them. This story is but a lesser copy of the last.
Aretius followed closely behind the short imp. The two went through the uneven, winding stairs leading to the lower floors.
If Aretius didn't know any better, he would have thought that they had been walking downwards for hours.
Yet there was something that attracted his attention even more. The further they walked and the closer they drew to the cavern, the colder the air became, biting and sharp, nearly reaching the point of freezing everything around it.
In front of him, the presence of the imp was becoming less noticeable, as if he were merging with the surroundings and ground beneath him.
At first, Aretius didn't notice the decreasing distance between them until a voice came from the withered figure of the imp.
The old elder halted in his place suddenly, as he turned his head, a wide smile nearly tearing his face in half.
"Tell me honestly. Are you truly persistent in your choice? Do you truly wish to drink from the withered blossom? You still have a chance to."
"Change your mind."
Hearing the question, Aretius appeared annoyed as his brows furrowed at the question.
"The Withered Shadow Hall shouldn't have fallen so low, to pry into the secrets of its potential members? Excuse me, but I don't believe this matter has anything to do with you, does it now?"
The old imp didn't react to Aretius's obvious reluctance to speak. Instead, he merely turned his head and continued descending, muttering in a low, hoarse voice.
"Tsk! It's the fault of this lord for being so generous to you younglings; most of you would turn your heads and try to run away once you see the withered blossom. It matters not, it matters not."
The journey continued in complete silence with the old imp no longer asking any more questions, and Aretius not initiating anything on his part.
After an unknown stretch of time, the duo finally reached their destination, confronted by an ancient bronze gate.
The gate seemed as old as the city itself, its corners rusted and worn by time. A careful carving of a bare, upside-down, weeping man was etched into its surface, the gold used somehow still shining despite the rusted gate.
Standing before the door, Aretius felt like the old imp might need some assistance in opening it, but surprisingly enough, and contrary to his appearance, the old imp was able to push the door all on his own.
Once the bronze gate opened, the temperature seemed to have dropped by a couple of degrees. A thick, curling breath began to come out of Aretius's nose and mouth, which made Aretius feel like he was standing in front of a giant block of ice.
Fortunately for him, he only decided to come after completing the initial strengthening of his body. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to maintain his state for long before falling like the engraving on the gate.
What made Aretius question, however, was how the old man, who seemed like he would fall with a breath, was able to withstand such cold temperatures on his own. Yet, that question didn't last for long, as he saw the scene in front of him.
There must have been around tens of wretched mortals, all tied by their legs like pigs ready for slaughter.
Stripped of their clothes like how they were plundered of their dignity before it.
No, not even pigs. As pigs would have a more merciful fate, as each of these people, if you could even call them that, had their abdomen cut open with their innards and viscera lying bare to anyone watching.
Below them was what seemed like stone mortars, as it collected a clotted reddish-brown substance.
And beneath it, a blue flame flickered as if alive, dancing left and right, growing more joyous the more the mortars were filled.
That still wasn't the worst part, as these mortals weren't knocked out; instead, each of them was somehow kept alive with their eyes wide open. They, however, didn't scream, not because they didn't feel the pain, but because they didn't have any more strength to scream; a word would come every now and then asking for forgiveness.
Around these mortars were young women in tattered garments that seemed to have fused with their skins, not being able to change them. A spot of red substance would cover a part or two.
Yet, just like the hanged mortals, these women's eyes seemed dull, not distinguishing their location, merely stirring the mortars every once in a while.
Seeing this scene, the short imp joyously shook his large head before starting to laugh out loud.
"Oh ho oh! The smell of fresh meat, isn't it delicious?"
"Oh ho oh! The smell of fresh meat, isn't it delicious?"
The body-handlers didn't care for the old man's laughter, not even acknowledging his presence, continuing with their job.
Yet, someone still seemed to care. From one of the dark crevices of the old cavern, a thick-bellied, middle-aged man, who was holding a whip he would use on some of the slow women, dropped the whip once he heard the voice and came running from the other side. With each step he took, his entire body shook like a giant water barrel.
He asked in a humble voice while holding both hands together, "How may I be of service, Senior?"
The old imp smiled. "Render the corpse oil. Open the netherworld gate. Sever the seven emotions and six desires."
"And dance with a thousand-year ghost bride, dance for a thousand years of fortune."
Hearing the bizarre request, the two seemed to share a strange understanding, as if the fat-bellied man had done this more than once, as he started to run to the other side, seeming like he was preparing something.
In the meantime, the old imp turned his head toward Aretius.
"Your heart seems hollow, and your Dao lacking. Are you sure you are ready?"
Not giving Aretius any moment to speak.
"Sigh, what can I say. When the scribe's path is hollow and when he gives up that right, then what can be expected of his creation?"
As he said that, he looked toward the roof of the underground cavern, but his eyes seemed to have seen something far more complex.
Seeing this, Aretius wondered if the old man knew of the Heavenly Will's existence or if he was merely muttering nonsense. After all, this old imp didn't seem like the most normal person in here, not that he was any different.
At this time, he just wondered if coming to this place was truly the most correct choice…