Chapter Ten: The Final Search

Watching Kuruba, who had fallen asleep without any warning below, Chen Ming shook his head, saying nothing. His eyes quietly observed him, scrutinizing the changes unfolding within Kuruba’s body.

From his perspective, a golden essence was gradually spreading inside Kuruba, brimming with vitality, silently cleansing his body and bloodline, purifying him entirely. As time passed, the golden glow slowly faded, growing weaker, while the faint aura emanating from Kuruba’s body became ever more powerful.

Before, though Kuruba was robust and carried a certain heroic bearing, he remained within the bounds of the ordinary. Now, he was still himself, but his appearance had grown majestic, radiating a unique divine charm. Notably, on his forehead, a pale cyan mark had appeared at some unknown moment.

The mark resembled a tree, deep and mysterious, subtly communicating with Chen Ming’s true form. It was the symbol of the divine-born, a sign exclusive to those whose bodies carried potent divine blood, with the pattern differing according to the origin of the deity.

After a while, Kuruba gradually awakened, opened his eyes, and stood up.

“What is this?”

He felt better than ever, as if his whole being had been uplifted, brimming with strength. In some mysterious way, each breath seemed to resonate with the changes of the world; he was more sensitive to certain shifts around him.

He looked at his hands; the arms that had once borne scars and calluses from training now showed no trace of them. Even his skin had grown much paler.

Seeing this, he suddenly recalled the leaf he had swallowed before falling unconscious, and comprehension dawned in his heart. He was about to kneel in prayer when he noticed another person beside him, gazing enviously at his forehead.

That person was Grammar, whom Chen Ming had summoned while Kuruba was unconscious.

In truth, Grammar was the member of the tribe most attuned to Chen Ming. If not for the limitations of Chen Ming’s own rank, Grammar could have been elevated to a higher level long ago. As the tribe’s priest, upon awakening his divine arts, he had become a core figure in the tribe.

He regarded Kuruba with envy. Given his devotion and affinity to Chen Ming, he naturally sensed the surging power within Kuruba, born of the same source as the sacred tree, especially the divine emblem on his forehead, which astounded him.

Kuruba was about to ask something when Chen Ming’s voice suddenly sounded in his ear.

“Kuruba, you may go now.”

Kuruba closed his mouth, ceased speaking, knelt to pray before Chen Ming, and then departed.

From a distance, Chen Ming watched him leave, then turned his gaze to Grammar.

“Have any wanderers been seen near the tribe lately?” he asked.

Grammar pondered for a moment and replied, “Three days ago, a few wanderers arrived at our tribe. We followed your will and sheltered them nearby.”

Chen Ming nodded, “In the coming days, more tribes may come seeking refuge. You should arrange for them accordingly.”

He paused, then continued, “But as my priest, you must also guide them to worship me.”

Grammar quickly nodded in agreement.

Chen Ming nodded in satisfaction, and with a thought, a branch fell from the ancient tree, landing quietly before Grammar.

“I appoint you as my pontiff. This branch carries a portion of my divine power and shall serve as your badge of office.”

“By your command.” Grammar cupped the branch in his hands. The moment he touched it, a surge of vitality coursed through him, even invigorating the divine power within his body. He was startled and carefully stowed the branch away. Seeing that Chen Ming had nothing further to say, he stood respectfully to the side.

He did not know how long he stood there before a gentle breeze brushed his shoulders, a chill passing behind him. Understanding dawned, and he prayed reverently before quietly withdrawing.

Chen Ming watched him leave, his gaze turning upward to the layer of mist in the sky, silently contemplating.

That night, Chen Ming did not hesitate; following the guidance he had received from the ghost soldiers, he set out southward.

The journey was long; even with the speed of his divine soul, it took more than ten days. Along the way, he saw fields strewn with corpses, witnessed demons devouring humans, and terrifying scenes of monsters roaming everywhere. The deeper he went into the south, the more he felt a profound, dark power enveloping the land.

At last, he arrived at the foot of a mountain and saw the first tribe he had encountered since setting out.

Chen Ming stood silently, gazing into the distance.

There, a village lay, simple and dilapidated, though inhabited by many.

Yet now, the once bustling village was in chaos.

Activating his Celestial Eye, Chen Ming could see a stream of black energy, mixed with flames, smoke, and blood, fiercely assailing the tribe’s fortune.

He immediately understood that the place had suffered conflict, though the cause remained unknown.

He proceeded onward, and upon entering, the scene changed abruptly.

He saw dozens of corpses laid out in the village. Hundreds of tribal warriors swung their primitive weapons in desperate battle.

Flesh and blood flew, dyeing the earth crimson in a gruesome spectacle.

This was only what could be seen; in places invisible to mortals, in the depths of the darkness, Chen Ming saw countless streams of blood radiating, forming a domain of carnage.

All around, myriad ghosts and wild creatures, as well as restless souls beneath the corpses, eyed the living with ferocious faces, yet were continually repelled by the blood aura surging from the battlefield. The scene was horrifying.

Looking up again, Chen Ming saw above the two groups of warriors, two streams of fortune entwined and colliding. One seemed to be from outsiders, already gaining the upper hand and relentlessly devouring the fortune of the other side. Though the defenders resisted fiercely, they had no means to counter, only suffering gradual loss.

Chen Ming realized that, without intervention or change, the outsiders would soon claim victory and annihilate the villagers.

But this had nothing to do with him. He silently observed the battlefield.

Upon closer examination, he saw that the invaders, though similar in stature to the others, were more numerous and possessed a sharpness honed by countless battles. Some of them wore crude leather armor, and their weapons, though primitive by Chen Ming’s standards, were far superior to those of their opponents.

Observing carefully, he saw a faint military aura above them, with a shadow of black, like a mark, laden with resentment.

He was taken aback, his expression grave, and his divine core trembled, as if warning him.

“This feeling—is it a totem?” he wondered, surprised and delighted.

The object of his search for so many days had unexpectedly appeared before him, filling him with a sense of effortlessness and joy.