Chapter Fourteen: Possession

Under the blazing sun, Chen Ming watched Balek and his companions fleeing in panic, slightly raising his eyebrows. Then, his gaze fell upon a burly subordinate across from him, and with a thought, his spirit entered the man's body.

The small leader opposite suddenly paused, a deep look flickering in his eyes. He glanced at the figures running around him and then set off again, blending into the crowd. Chen Ming divided his attention, running as he sifted through the memories of this new body, assimilating them as he went. Among the group, he appeared utterly inconspicuous.

They ran out of the village, and only when they saw that Bamu had not appeared did they finally relax. "Lord Balek, what should we do now?" Following the memories within his body, Chen Ming stepped forward and addressed Balek.

"So it's Kruri..." Balek turned back, looking at Chen Ming with a sigh. "The situation is complicated. For some reason, that tribe suddenly gained totem protection. It's beyond our ability to deal with now." He sighed, speaking in a friendly manner to Chen Ming.

This was unsurprising. In primitive tribes, people had long gathered in one place, and many were related. In the memories Chen Ming had acquired, Balek was a relative of this body, and their relationship was familiar.

Chen Ming nodded thoughtfully, saying nothing more. Balek suspected nothing; the minds here were not as imaginative as in his previous life, unable to conceive of soul possession. Besides, the person Chen Ming had possessed was always taciturn, which made things easier for him.

After a while, Balek added, "Fortunately, the slaves from the tribes we conquered earlier are still here. They should be enough to tide us over for now."

Seeing him speak thus, Chen Ming nodded and stood up. "Let me tally how many people we have left."

Balek's face showed surprise. "You're unusually sharp today. Go quickly. This place isn't safe anymore. We'll rest briefly and leave soon."

Chen Ming nodded and went off.

With a group of slaves and defeated soldiers, their pace was slow. Time passed from the blazing midday sun to the dimming twilight. As dusk approached, Balek and his group arrived at the edge of a forest, outside a tribe.

This tribe was much larger than any Chen Ming had seen before; its village walls were correspondingly massive. "Nearly ten thousand people," Chen Ming observed, sensing the flow of energy in the air.

He was startled. Nearly ten thousand; in his previous life, that would be a small town—but here, it was remarkable.

He looked up and saw above the village a faint red aura gathering, shrouded in a layer of black mist, swirling in a vortex that ceaselessly absorbed the tribe's fortunes.

Seeing this, Chen Ming smiled coldly to himself—truly the work of dark arts. Fortunately, the tribe was strong; though its fortune was constantly being eroded, its steady generation allowed it to barely maintain itself.

Yet with such a bottomless pit, the tribe's fortune would at best remain constant; over time, progress would halt, and decades hence, nothing would have changed. Worse, as the totem's power grew and absorbed faster, imbalance would ensue, ultimately ruining the tribe.

He smiled inwardly, his expression outwardly unchanged, still that mute and somber facade.

By then, the group had reached the gate, and several warriors came forward to meet them.

"Lord Balek, why are there so few left?" one warrior asked, puzzled.

Balek's face darkened. He did not answer, only said in a low tone, "Where are the chief and the high priest? I must see them."

His mood was sour, and just then, another voice sounded in his ear.

"Hey, Balek, why do you look so miserable?" came a mocking voice.

"Who?" Balek spun around, face grim.

A burly man approached from the side, his features sinister and mocking. Chen Ming watched him with interest. Above the man's head stood a deep red aura, fiercely trembling, as if struggling to break free of the black mist surrounding it.

"Kelim, how I look is none of your concern—mind your own business!" Balek barked angrily, ignoring the man as he went inside.

Kelim's lips twitched as if he wished to say more, but seeing Balek walk away, he merely sneered, losing interest. He glanced at the rows of slaves herded by the tribesmen, a flash of malice in his eyes.

Behind him, Chen Ming watched, smiling silently. A subtle spiritual light, invisible to the naked eye, attached itself to Kelim. Then Chen Ming followed Balek inside.

Beneath a dark, gloomy altar, a black banner fluttered, exuding wisps of black mist. Faces, twisted and frightening, seemed to appear and vanish upon it.

Beneath the altar stood a man in coarse, black ceremonial robes, his face aged and gaunt. He muttered prayers.

Though he prayed, the sinister surroundings and his skeletal visage made it impossible to imagine any sacred ritual. It seemed instead a tribute to some evil god.

After a while, he drew a bone knife from his robes. The knife was ancient but sharp, glowing with a cold light. Before a terrified, despairing slave, he plunged the blade swiftly and viciously into the heart.

As the bone knife pierced the body, a strange phenomenon occurred. The slave's flesh seemed drained by some unseen force, his body shrinking rapidly until, in moments, he was reduced to a dried husk. Throughout the process, the slave remained alive, only perishing once fully desiccated. His eyes were wide open, a horrifying sight.

The priest was unfazed, only smiling cruelly. He dug out the slave's bulging eyes and carefully placed them, as precious treasures, into a leather pouch.

He stepped out of the altar's shadow. The sunlight fell upon him, and he frowned, as if uncomfortable. He addressed Balek, who waited outside, bowing.

"Balek, have you prepared the offerings needed for the divine ritual?"

Hearing this, Balek trembled, as if confronting some terrible presence.

He took a deep breath and answered, "High Priest, the offerings are ready."

He paused, fear in his voice, and forced himself to continue, "But on our journey, we encountered a tribe protected by a totem. We were defeated."

"Hmm?" The High Priest's eyes narrowed, sinister. "Where is Kurag?"

At the reply, Balek exhaled quietly—he was glad to receive an answer at all.

"Kurag fell in battle with the enemy priest."

The temperature dropped instantly; the High Priest's savage gaze swept over him, and Balek bowed even lower.

He knew his life hung by a thread, and so he did his utmost to show respect, praying for mercy.

At last, it seemed some unseen god heard his prayers. The High Priest stared at him for a moment, then said expressionlessly, "I understand."

"Since that tribe is protected by a totem, we'll leave it for now. After the next ritual, we'll revisit the matter."

He paused, then added, "You may go."

On hearing this, Balek felt a tremendous relief, joy surging through him as if narrowly escaping death.

He bowed to the High Priest and left, lighthearted. Only then did he notice the chill on his body, and touching his clothes, he realized they were soaked with sweat.

Behind him, the High Priest watched with a cold, amused smile.