C14 The Slayer Song Was Playing!

"Ah!"

He sobbed like a little boy who had been deeply wronged, finding solace in his older brother's embrace where he could weep freely.

His heart ached not only for his own life but also for Clayton's fate.

The mouse was overcome with sorrow, his heart brimming with an endless sourness. Why did those who were kind to him have to endure such torment?

The brief glimpse of Clayton, his body marred with scars, drenched in blood, and his black hair in disarray, was like a barrage of arrows piercing Zopyrus's tender heart.

"Kid, how many times is this now that you've cried in front of me?" Clayton asked with a smile, his voice laced with a teasing note.

"Senior Brother, why do they insist on bullying me like this?" The mouse dried his tears, his face etched with profound confusion.

"They're cats, and you're a mouse. Maybe bullying you is just their idea of entertainment," Clayton suggested, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance, yet he spoke the truth.

Zopyrus lay there, his expression forlorn, and asked, "Isn't there a way to stop them from bullying me, to make them want to be my friends?"

Zopyrus's mind wandered back to the scenes on the Waste Land, where the admiring gazes and warm smiles of his now-deceased younger brothers and sisters were the sincerest form of affection, an affection he deeply cherished.

"It's quite simple. You just need to transform from a mouse into a wolf," Clayton advised Zopyrus.

"A wolf?" Zopyrus was taken aback, "But wolves are known to be ruthless and heartless, often without companions. Wouldn't that be incredibly lonely?"

"In life, you can either be mediocre or lonely," Clayton chuckled. "Do you want to remain a mouse, endlessly tormented by these people, or become a solitary wolf, unrivaled in the world?"

Clayton's words left Zopyrus in silence; deep down, he didn't want to be a mouse or a solitary wolf. He yearned to be part of a group, to be a cat among cats, regardless of how unattractive that might be.

He feared loneliness.

"Hmph, you little rascal, crawling out from a pile of dead twice and still you've learned nothing!" Clayton snorted with a tinge of disappointment.

Zopyrus remained silent, his face a canvas of complex emotions as he steered the conversation elsewhere, "Senior Brother Clayton, who is it that framed you and confined you here?"

"It's just a minor character, not worth mentioning," Clayton's voice was tinged with coldness and a touch of pain. Zopyrus was taken aback, as if a thought had struck him, and he chose not to pursue the matter further.

In the cramped cell, a heavy, icy atmosphere drifted. Zopyrus was on the brink of madness, his yearning for light growing desperate.

"Kid, do you fear death?" Clayton's voice, laced with melancholy, cut through the darkness unexpectedly.

Zopyrus, sprawled on the ground, was taken aback, failing to grasp the significance of the question.

"I'm not afraid!" Clayton's laugh was tinged with desolation.

"Where and how I die is irrelevant. The important thing is not to die in Thvelond!"

In the gloomy confines of the prison, Zopyrus's heart clenched inexplicably at Clayton's words. He couldn't fathom their true meaning until much later, when his second dearest person departed from his side, repeating those words. By then, it was too late.

"Kid, if kindness can't reclaim your dignity, then seek it through slaughter. There's always a way!"

"People are more inclined to bow to power than to a smile!" In the darkness, a pair of profound eyes seemed to glow, fixing Zopyrus with a gaze that sent shivers down his spine with each word spoken.

"It will be so!" Zopyrus turned away, unable to face those deeply yearning eyes, his response half-hearted.

Lost to time and oblivious to the world outside, Zopyrus and Clayton engaged in long, extensive conversations.

At the Sablewings, in the Lord's Hall, a thunderous "Boom!" echoed.

Clements stood there, his white hair bristling like the roar of a dragon or serpent. He seized Bucolus by the throat, his formidable strength hoisting the robust body into the air.

"Speak! Where have you taken my disciple?" Clements raged, his features twisted into a demonic snarl, like a fiend unleashed from hell.

He had stumbled upon some news: Zopyrus had returned, but instead of heading to the rear mountain, he had vanished without a trace.

From the very first moment, he sensed an anomaly. He stormed into the Thvelond Temple and confronted Bucolus, one of the Thvelond Sect's three Chief Elders and the true power holder, with a forceful interrogation.

"Why so furious, Buteo? For the sake of Thvelond, we have already committed countless shameful acts. Did you really think that hiding in the back mountain would keep you detached from it all? That person might very well despise you!" Bucolus's face was flushed with anger, yet he stood unflinching before Clements's might.

His words caused Clements's rage to visibly deflate.

"Hmph, do you actually believe that all of Thvelond's sins will simply vanish because you've secluded yourself in the back mountain? You must fulfill the Golden Roc Ancestor's decree, even if it costs you your life!" Bucolus's bellow deepened the sorrow etched on Clements's face. He gradually released his grip on Bucolus's neck and slumped to the ground, covering his face in anguish and sobbing uncontrollably.

*Boom!*

Suddenly, the doors to the Thvelond Temple were flung open with great force. It was Hephaistos, clutching a pale blue Sound Transmission Sword, as he rushed toward Buteo and Bucolus.

"It's dire! Father has sent a Sound Transmission Sword; he's on the frontier, surrounded by ten Rebirth Beast Generals. His situation is grim!" Hephaistos bellowed, sprinting forward before kneeling before Clements and Bucolus, offering up the pale blue Sound Transmission Sword.

In the world of cultivators, Sound Transmission Charms were used for short-distance communication but were insecure, vulnerable to interception by those with higher cultivation, and not particularly swift. Typically, they were utilized by solitary cultivators or for non-critical messages.

The Sound Transmission Sword, crafted from Divine Rock, was impervious to interception by anyone other than the Supreme or the Lord of Heaven. It would self-destruct at the slightest hint of tampering.

Moreover, it was incredibly swift, with records of covering a million miles in a single day.

Yet, it was exceedingly rare and valuable, far beyond the means of ordinary individuals.

"What?" exclaimed Bucolus, taken aback.

"How could this be?" Clements exclaimed in shock, snatching the Sound Transmission Sword from Hephaistos's grasp and pressing the diminutive blade to his forehead.

Moments later, the Sound Transmission Sword burst with a loud bang, shattering into a dazzling shower of light crystals that drifted through the air.

"The horde of demons and devils amassed beyond Thvelond Mount are mere ants, insignificant and unworthy of concern. Yet, their true intent remains a mystery to us!"

"For safety's sake, as the most powerful among us, I will head to the border to reinforce the Lord. You and Hephaistos must hold the fort in Thvelond and keep a vigilant eye on every move of the demons outside the mountain!" With the impending battle, Buteo finally exerted the authority he once held as the Chief Elder.

"Understood!"

Bucolus nodded with a grave expression.

"We must bring my father back. Thvelond cannot be without him!" Hephaistos implored Clements, his eyes brimming with tears.

"We will."

The next instant, Clements's stooped figure soared into the heavens.

In the Thvelond Temple, Bucolus and Hephaistos watched Clements's departing silhouette, each allowing a subtle, nearly imperceptible smile to cross their lips.

"Now, the plan can commence!" Bucolus's voice, dark and chilling, swept through the room like a frigid wind from the abyss.

"At your command!" Hephaistos responded, bowing deeply and clenching his fist in salute before his formidable frame strode out of the hall.

The symphony of the Slayer was in motion!

Thvelond was on the cusp of tumultuous upheaval!

Within the shadowy, sinister confines of the Gnashing Pit, the enraged bellows of dire beasts echoed intermittently, reverberating through the ages.

"Could that be the ancient demon titan? After tens of thousands of years, he still lives?" Zopyrus shivered as he listened to the cacophony from within his cramped cell.

"They're long gone. Those are merely Time Shards, echoes of what once was—not the real thing. The Gnashing Pit's reputation for being inescapable is no idle boast!" Clayton explained, his smile cutting through the gloom.

"Senior Brother, does it scare you?" Zopyrus asked with a mischievous grin, peering at Clayton in the dark. "Isn't it nice to have me here with you?"

"Hmph, you little rascal, you've grown bold enough to mock me!" Clayton chided, his laughter mingling with the darkness.

"I'm clearly overjoyed, so cut the act!" Zopyrus, clutching the Azure Smoke Blade, burst into hearty laughter.

"Whoosh!"

Out of nowhere, a Golden Immortal Whip streaked from the void, coiling around Zopyrus's body and yanking him from the cell in an instant.

"Brother Clayton!" Zopyrus bellowed, his eyes nearly bursting with emotion as he gazed at Clayton.

"Leave, and never return!" As Zopyrus's form rapidly vanished, Clayton's voice, heavy with boundless sorrow, echoed from the shadows.