C5 The Darkling Spectre and the Headless Knight

The shadow tower had vanished into the distance, but Ye Kong continued to sprint frantically through the snow. Having mastered the Divine Script, the Illusory, he had unmasked the child's true identity. This child was no human; he was a barbarian. Barbarians from the Northern Kingdom were natural allies of the Darkling Spectre and sworn enemies of humanity. What was his purpose in the Shadow Tower, and what connection did he have with the old drunkard? Was the old drunkard in league with the Darkling Spectre? These questions swirled in his mind.

He knew he needed to escape this perilous place quickly and keep these secrets deep within himself. Informing on them? The thought had never crossed his mind; he was never one to gossip. Besides, the old drunkard's willingness to let him go suggested no fear of betrayal. Ye Kong wouldn't engage in such a suicidal act.

With his thoughts in order, he reflected on his journey to the Shadow Tower. He had not only grasped the Divine Script but also advanced to a Martial Cultivator, carving out a sliver of hope for survival. Yet, danger still loomed large, and any misstep could spell disaster. He needed more ways to protect his life.

That night, under the eerie glow of the round Xueyue, Ye Kong slipped into a middle-aged man's room. Startled by the noise, the man bolted upright. "Brother Ye, what brings you here so late at night?"

Without a moment's delay, Ye Kong said, "I once saved your life; now it's time for you to return the favor."

The man's complexion turned pale. He faltered, "Members of the Death Team are doomed. Are you asking me to go to my death in your place?"

"No, you can't replace me, and I wouldn't let you," Ye Kong replied.

The man's face flushed with shame. He had vowed to repay Ye Kong with his life when he was rescued. But now, faced with the actual prospect of paying with his life, he had reneged. "Please forgive me, Brother Ye. I have an eighty-year-old mother to care for; I can't precede her in death. If it were just me, I might..."

Ye Kong raised his hand to halt the man's actions.

"Brother Chen, there's no need for such formalities. I've come to borrow your Chainmail Armor, that's all."

"Is that it?" The man's tension eased.

He promptly retrieved the Chainmail Armor and passed it to Ye Kong.

Accepting the armor, Ye Kong spoke with gravity, "If I return alive, I'll restore this armor to you. If I perish..."

"You won't," Chen Yong interjected almost reflexively. "I have faith that you'll make it back unharmed."

He scarcely believed his own words as they left his lips.

"Thank you."

With those words, Ye Kong turned and departed.

Chen Yong's hesitation didn't bother him in the slightest.

In fact, he felt a deep sense of gratitude.

Lending such a precious piece of defensive gear in these times was no small gesture.

As for the idea of repaying the favor with one's life, that was the stuff of television dramas—entertaining to watch, but not to be taken seriously.

Otherwise, one might not even understand how they met their end.

On the towering platform, a hundred meters high, a few people had already gathered.

Ye Kong found a spot and sat down cross-legged, intent on bringing himself to peak condition.

Before long, the crowd swelled.

The bell tolled its haunting chime into the night.

An aged night watchman pointed his sword northward.

"Depart, and return in safety."

A knight clad in black, astride a steed, drew his sword.

His voice boomed, "The hour is upon us, let us set forth."

His fervor stood in stark contrast to the subdued demeanor of the others.

Absent were the cries of battle fervor or the wails of sorrow.

Only the soft crunch of footsteps on snow broke the silence.

A small door opened on the platform, revealing a rusted basket that looked ready to snap at any moment, swinging uncertainly in the air.

"Groups of twenty," the night watchman murmured. "Descend in order."

The black-clothed knight, brimming with confidence, led the way.

Ye Kong opted for the third basket, neither rushing ahead nor lagging behind.

Once all had set foot on the land beyond the Great Wall,

The knight brandished his sword with zeal, proclaiming, "Valyrian steel and obsidian await us. Under the Snow Eagle's lead, we shall surely triumph."

Yet the crowd's enthusiasm was markedly subdued.

The knight clad in black continued, "I am your captain. Everyone, heed my commands and stand united. No one is to act alone."

He then turned his gaze to Ye Kong, "Number 66, you lack strength. Stay with me to avoid an untimely death."

Ye Kong had no desire to stay by his side; it would draw too much attention.

With a respectful bow, he replied, "Thank you, but I can manage on my own and won't be a burden to you."

The knight in black said little else, climbed onto his warhorse, and commanded, "Move out."

Taking the lead, he passed by Ye Kong, his voice chillingly clear.

"Kid, I'm aware you've grasped the Divine Script. I suggest you play it smart and assist me in advancing it. I'll look out for you. If not, rest assured, you'll soon find yourself inside a ghoul's belly."

Without waiting for a response, he spurred his horse forward with a snap of the reins.

They hadn't gone far when suddenly—

Whoosh!

An ice-crafted axe struck his neck, and blood spurted forth.

In an instant, the knight in black became a headless corpse.

The sight of the bloodshed left everyone frozen in shock.

A Darkling Spectre, towering and pallid, approached with a guttural murmur.

A living Darkling Spectre.

Snapping to his senses, Ye Kong yelled, "Run!"

The crowd dispersed in a frantic dash.

Two were so terrified they wet themselves.

Pounding on the Wall, they screamed, "Lower the basket! Save us!"

From atop the wall, an icy arrow descended.

A harsh voice echoed, "Leave the Wall without Valyrian steel or obsidian, and you forfeit the right to return."

"Please, I'm begging you, let me back in! I have a fortune I'll gladly donate for my rescue," one pleaded desperately.

The cries and pleas from below went unheeded by those above.

The Darkling Spectre reached the horse, pressing a hand to its forehead.

Soon, the horse's eyes shimmered a deep blue.

Mounting with eerie calm, the Spectre stopped a hundred meters from the Wall, gazing upon the vast expanse of the Wall of Despair.

Two orbs of ice materialized in his grasp.

In a flash, they impaled the two weeping figures beneath the city walls.

"You've gone too far."

The aged night watchman atop the wall lifted his arm and hurled a long spear.

The spear soared through the air and embedded itself in the Darkling Spectre's chest.

Unfazed, the Darkling Spectre yanked out the spear, his body instantly mending itself.

Mounting his altered steed, he ambled off with ease.

Ye Kong, transformed into a snowflake nearby, witnessed the scene unfold.

A tumult of shock surged within him.

The night watchman could have slain the Darkling Spectre with a single strike.

Yet, he refrained.

Why?

Were the Darkling Spectre and the night watchman in collusion?

That seemed inconceivable.

After a moment's reflection, Ye Kong had an epiphany.

The night watchman and the Darkling Spectre abided by an unspoken code.

Neither would rashly provoke a war over a single individual.

Beyond the Wall, the night watchman was indifferent to life or death.

Approaching within a hundred meters of the wall spelled an attack on the Darkling Spectre.

Both parties exercised restraint, loath to ignite a full-scale conflict.

After a silent vigil of fifteen minutes.

Assured of safety, Ye Kong descended the wall.

He gathered the dry food and weapons from the fallen.

Just as he was set to depart, he spotted an ancient, finely crafted ring on the finger of the black-clad knight.

Could it be a storage ring?

With that thought, he bent down to claim it.

Abruptly.

The decapitated knight's arm shot up, reaching for him.

"Damn, playing possum!" Alarmed, Ye Kong spun on his heel and fled.