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墨書 Inktalez
Beacon of War The sky was filled with blood, staining the earth red, and corpses piled up like mountains.
The sun hung low, blood-red, with clouds drifting by, also tainted with crimson. Crimson Clouds filled the horizon.
On top of a high mound of bones stood an old man with white hair, his youthful face contrasting with his age, standing tall and straight.
The weapon in his hand was already broken, casually discarded as he clasped his hands behind his back, his white hair and beard flowing. He gazed at the Crimson Clouds in the sky, seemingly lost in thought and reflection.
Beneath him lay not a single living soul; only mountains of bones remained; rivers of blood flowed endlessly.
Red sunlight, red clouds, a blood-stained earth, and crimson garments all mirrored each other, forming an unusual picture.
The scene shifted.
At a sheer cliff, with clear winds and blue waters, flowers bloomed everywhere.
A ten-zhang-long black dragon emerged from the lake, revealing half of its body.
On the shore stood an old man in white robes, white-haired and bearded, with his hands clasped behind him, facing the dragon.
The black dragon had fierce horns and enormous eyes that exuded an intimidating presence without anger. Its whiskers moved without wind, embodying the essence of the five elements and exuding a natural pressure.
Despite such a colossal creature before him, the old man showed no surprise, no panic, nor excitement. His expression was calm and neutral, though there was a hint of softness in his eyes.
"Old Master, have you really decided to go to the Underworld?" The deep voice of the black dragon resonated, shaking the trees and causing birds to flee.
The old man slowly nodded. "Indeed."
"Is it absolutely necessary?"
"Absolutely necessary."
The old man's voice was light, yet firm, leaving no room for doubt.
The Black Dragon felt helpless. After a moment of silence, he said in a deep voice, "In that case, I will go with the boss to help him eliminate those demon brats."
The old man gently shook his head. "No, you cannot go."
"Why?!" the Black Dragon shouted.
His sudden increase in volume echoed through the valley, causing the lake to ripple and startling the birds into flight.
The old man looked up at the Black Dragon. Although he was raising his head, it felt more like he was looking down from a higher perspective—not out of disdain, but as an elder looking down at a younger one. There was only concern, without any hint of contempt.
"Little Dragon, this journey is perilous. I can go alone. You have just evolved into a Triceratops. With your talent and dedication to cultivation, it is possible for you to become a True Dragon in the future."
"But, boss, you..."
The Black Dragon's words were cut off by the old man.
"No need to say more; my mind is made up." Once spoken, it was not open to refusal.
The Black Dragon gritted his teeth, his expression unwilling. After struggling internally for a while, he finally glared and said, "In that case, I will give the boss a gift."
Crack!
With a crisp sound, one of the horns on the Black Dragon's head broke off but did not fall; instead, it floated in mid-air supported by magical energy.
The Black Dragon opened his mouth and spat out a glowing golden orb that hovered before him.
The orb shimmered as strands of golden light enveloped the broken horn. Within the light, the horn slowly melted and transformed.
As the light faded, the horn had transformed into a long spear—its body pitch black with a bright spearhead and dark tassels.
The gun barrel hummed, emitting waves of Dragon Roar.
"Little Dragon, you!" The old man was moved.
The Dragon Pearl dimmed slightly as the Black Dragon swallowed it back, looking somewhat weak. Shaking his head, he said, "Boss, you don't need to say any more. Since this Ink Dragon Spear has been forged, it cannot be taken back. Do you want my hard work to go to waste?"
The spear floated in the air, slowly drifting in front of the old man.
The old man squinted, a glimmer flashing in his eyes. He said nothing and silently accepted the Ink Dragon Spear.
"With this, your power will at least regress by five hundred years. Is it worth it?"
The Black Dragon's gaze was resolute. "I cannot accompany you to the battlefield, so let this Ink Dragon Spear stand in for me as you fight bravely."
The scene shifted to a pitch-black land, with a dark sky and gloomy clouds that were as thick as ink.
A figure appeared, dressed in white like snow, with white hair and a long beard, holding an ink-black spear. The clash of black and white created a striking contrast.
Behind him stood a million strong soldiers, all full of vigor, their Killing Intent soaring to the heavens.
Opposite them spread an endless array of Demon Soldiers, each form different and countless.
The battle commenced; the two armies clashed fiercely.
There were no strategies or formations—only a desperate fight to the death.
At the forefront stood a figure in white like snow, with white hair and a long beard.
Kill—killing until the heavens and earth turned dark.
Kill—killing until blood stained the sky.
The sky remained overcast, the once ink-black earth stained red with blood.
Beneath, an endless expanse of corpses and rivers of blood lay scattered.
A million soldiers had sacrificed their lives, and the Demon Soldiers had suffered heavy casualties.
Surrounding them was a dark mass of Demon Soldiers, their eyes filled with fear as they gazed at the old man standing amidst the mountain of corpses and sea of blood.
His white clothing was soaked in blood, and his white hair and beard were also stained crimson.
He stood like a spear, gripping the Ink Dragon Spear tightly in his right hand, held behind him.
His eyes burned with endless fury, a fire that had reached the heavens, vowing to cleanse this underworld completely.
The sky was gloomy, with dark clouds swirling, thunder rumbling and lightning flashing.
The ground was littered with bodies, blood flowing like rivers.
On a high mound made from the bodies of demons stood a figure covered in blood, the Ink Dragon Spear held proudly aloft.
He stood straight, his eyes wide open but devoid of life.
He had been standing like this for seven days and had been dead for seven days; yet even in death, the distant demons dared not approach him even a step closer.
Many years later, that invincible body would have weathered away into dust and bones.
At the place where he fell in battle, the demons erected a God of Killing Mound in his honor.
The ink gun was also left in his tomb.
As time passes, the world changes like the shifting of clouds and the changing of tides. This gun later went missing during a great war, until it reappeared here, once again in his hands.
His vision restored, the bright moon remained, and the flames continued to burn.
Looking at the ink gun in his hand, a familiar feeling washed over him, as if he were reunited with a long-lost friend.
"After all these years, we meet again..." Ye Mingshang's voice was somewhat choked as he gently stroked the body of the gun.
Buzz!
The ink gun emitted a hum in response. After a thousand years apart, it missed its master dearly. At first, it couldn't recognize him, but once it sensed that familiar aura, it realized this was its first and only master from a millennium ago. No one else in this world was worthy of possessing it or could unleash its true power.
After a thousand years, this divine weapon that had once accompanied him until his death in battle finally returned to his hands.
Speaking of which, they indeed had a deep connection. The black dragon seen in the painting was none other than his adoptive father, Underworld River.
Thinking of this, he couldn't help but smile slightly, eagerly anticipating what it would be like to return with the ink gun and see him again.
(To be continued.)
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