CG Chapter 189: The Eye and the Puppet
The guest room remained as quiet as it had always been. From the quietness, a sense of life grew as Aretius stirred, his fingers curling downwards ever so slightly.
Sensing the gentle force lying within him, he understood that he only had a brief period of time before this force would be dragged from him once more. This was not because the force was outside his control, but simply because his body, in its current state, could not even access this fragment of his true bloodline potential.
This, however, did not seem to affect him as he grinned, because to him this was the moment of the reforging; he was about to refine a puppet, and this body was the main shell.
If any member of the Li Clan were standing next to him at that moment, then they would have sensed a heavy aura of bloodlust, enough to slaughter every single member in the valley, exuding from the husk of this old man. In truth, this was not bloodlust but simple and utter excitement, the joy of knowing that he was about to reforge another masterpiece.
This was the joy of the path, the happiness a pioneer felt at exploring something new that no one had before him.
Not wasting any time to hesitate, he grabbed a bland carving knife from on top of the table in front of him. This knife was the same one Jin Mozi used to earn his living, the knife of a wood sculptor, used to carve something more peculiar.
The hand holding the dull blade flashed, carving a crescent like that of a master sculptor. Yet, instead of aiming at a block of wood, the dull blade struck flesh and bones.
A snappy sound filled the small room as the blade ruthlessly struck between Aretius's eyebrows; to be exact, it struck exactly at the heart of his glabella.
The glabella was an extremely vulnerable zone for humans; it was not only the center of thought, but also the house of the soul. According to some scholars of the Taoist sect, if the glabella were severed, so would the path of one toward the grand Dao. This might seem obvious to most, but these Daoists were not talking about mortal people, but those supreme martial artists who could survive even after having their hearts crushed or their bones shattered.
Despite all of this, Aretius did not stop with a single strike. His hand flickered through the air as each attack of his was followed by another, more ruthless and merciless one. At the moment, it truly did not seem as if he were using the knife on himself, but a wooden sculpture.
However, as most people would have been too revolted by this sight, unable to see the true ambition, Aretius's focus was on something else. He allowed his hand to move on its own, as he channeled the initial, gentle, and calm force slumbering within his glabella.
Like a sudden thunderstorm, this force seemed to have been stirred by Aretius's strikes, transforming from a gentle, calm winter's lotus to a fiery and wrathful beast as it tried to thrust out of Aretius's glabella.
Yet, this did not prevent Aretius from continuing to move. This force, no matter how agitated it was at that moment, was merely excited to welcome its master, to truly become a part of him. Because in the next moment, when Aretius's final strike landed, a hole smaller than that of a copper coin formed.
Surprisingly, this hole did not spill the expected blood or matter. Instead, from the depths of his mind, a violet force moved to fill in the gap, forming what seemed like a third eye.
The moment this third eye formed, it jubilantly examined its surroundings. It felt as if a confined mortal were finally released to glimpse the sun after countless years of confinement.
Nevertheless, the joy did not last for long as Aretius set to work.
With the eye as his anchor, the death ki of the Li Clan would reforge his body.
He muttered in a low voice: 'To fall into the depths of the nether and come back to ascend the heavens, what a beautiful story that would be. Old Meng Po Soup of forgetfulness might try to capture my mind; the yellow springs might try to capture my body, but my heart remains pure, for beyond the cycle there exists another cycle.'
A breath in and breath out as he started to follow the Jade-Nether Puppet Sutra steps for refining a corpse.
'Begin by igniting a fire, not vigorous nor too mild, preferring one that originates from a nether source.'
Aretius did not prepare any external flames as he opted to use his own boiling blood to smelt the materials, igniting a fire that was more potent than any nether fire, the fire of Flameheart that he carried through the bloodline.
His aged body began to turn a sharp shade of crimson; the loose skin of his face seemed about to melt off, as every organ of his hollered in pain, an anguish more desperate than that of being stabbed by a thousand cuts.
Despite the pain, he continued to push through, reading the next part of the Sutra.
'Gold for the earthly abodes, and water of the nether to pay respects to the ancients.'
He clutched a handful of the few golden coins he had on him with one hand before pouring an anomalous liquid from a gourd with the other. This liquid was none other than the corpse oil of Withered Shadow Hall, a liquid of true nether, filled with the wrath of the fallen souls.
The gold and corpse oil fused, creating a new liquid that carried both the purity of gold and the aura of death. This liquid flowed into Aretius's open mouth, attempting to melt each part of his body, including his internal organs and bones.
In this moment, the third eye showed its true power as it anchored Aretius's lifeforce in place for the short period he needed to refine the Jade-Nether Puppet body.
The raging and violent souls within the liquid seemed to want to devour Aretius whole, not leaving anything behind.
Their militant and malignant pattern began to claw through the internal organs. His stomach walls broke down into nothingness; his large and small intestines seemed as if they were about to collapse on each other. A new stomach and intestines strong enough to melt bones were left in their place. The liver and spleen went through the same torment of ruin and reform, giving birth to organs full of life force, in place of extinction.
Even his beating heart halted for a moment, and during that beat, the aura of decline seemed to have filled his entire being as if he had thoroughly turned into a still corpse.
'From life comes death, and from death comes life.'
The aura of death began to transform and draw back, as the aura of life pushed the death ki towards his third eye. A seal bearing the aura of death formed within the eye and altered its appearance, diverting the death ki into a weapon faced at his enemies instead of himself.
The marrow followed, as the old and withered marrow was all melted and destroyed away. This time, however, the nether liquid was not the only master at play, as his violet blood suddenly drilled its way through, not allowing the liquid a chance to protest as it merged with the bone marrow, before it returned to calm, leaving behind the aura of a slumbering beast.
Even his cracked bones filled with countless fractures were broken and devoured by this force, as it smelted everything. The resentment, having nowhere to escape, folded inward and became a foundation for the devil's rebirth. Accordingly, traces of resentment and rebirth were infused into the new bones.
At that instant, and in the place of the old, feeble man, stood a man full of vigor. Between his brows lurked something devilish, which, paired with his scholarly bearing, became an unrestrained charm.
After so long, the devil was finally reborn in this world once more, laying the foundation to take over power from this small clan and to lay the seeds of his own rule.