Poison God's Heritage

Law, walking beside me, grinned. "You're gonna take that?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Don't harm them," I replied through divine sense. "They're just afraid. Let's see what they're planning before we make any moves."

We were led to a large, enclosed area, guarded by several tribesmen with weapons in hand. Without a word, they tied our hands with thick ropes, likely hoping to prevent us from escaping, and shoved us inside what looked like a makeshift prison. The guards posted themselves at the entrance, watching us closely as we were left alone in the dimly lit room.

"Well, this is cozy," I muttered, glancing around the empty space.

"Inside!" one of the guards barked, his voice harsh and unyielding.

"Sure, sure," I said, raising my hands in mock surrender as I stepped inside. The others followed, settling down as we waited for what would happen next.

The locals were curious, of course. Several tribespeople wandered near, peering at us from a distance. They studied our clothes, our strange appearance, clearly intrigued by how different we looked from them. One man even approached the guards, handing them a few worn teeth from some long-dead beast.

"If that man dies," he said, pointing at me, "I want his drabs."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I guess no matter where you go, style catches attention," I mused, amused by the oddity of it all. Even in this backward society, where survival was everything, there was still an appreciation for the unusual.

It didn't take long before the children started throwing small rocks at us, giggling as they tried to provoke a reaction. The guards made no move to stop them, but neither did we care much. A few pebbles and stones couldn't harm us.

Meng Hao, however, was visibly fuming, his frustration growing with each small impact. He glared at the children, his eyes blazing with irritation.

"Meng Hao," I said through divine sense, addressing him and the others, "remember, we're cultivators. A few rocks from kids aren't worth your anger. These people have suffered enough under the rakshasa. Don't add to their misery."

Meng Hao took a deep breath, visibly calming himself as he nodded. "True," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "It's a mercy from the heavens that we've lived so differently. I could have been like them—trapped in a well, unaware of the world beyond, thinking this was all there is to the universe."

A few moments later, the leader returned, accompanied by several others. They noticed the children's antics and quickly disciplined them with a few light smacks, ensuring they wouldn't be so discourteous to prisoners again.

As they turned to leave, an elderly man approached us, his movements slow and deliberate. I could sense the faint traces of Qi within him—barely at the first stage of Qi condensation. His energy was weak, fragile, and it was clear he wouldn't last another winter.

"These are the people of the Dread Princess?" the old man asked, his voice rasping with age.

"Yes, Ancient One," the tribe leader confirmed, his tone respectful.

The old man studied us for a long moment, his eyes filled with a wisdom that came from years of hardship. "The old texts speak of men with power capable of breaking mountains and turning the heavens. Even they weren't worthy of being companions to the Dread Princess or the Wrathful King. If these truly were their allies, we'd already be dead. Release them."

"But—"

"Release them!" the old man commanded, coughing as his frail body struggled to keep up with his will. "And give them proper food."

I smiled as I stood, stretching my body as I effortlessly snapped the ropes that bound me, as though they were made of paper. The guards stared at me in shock, their hands instinctively going to their weapons.

"STOP!" the old man wheezed, waving them off as another coughing fit overtook him. "You… you are one of them," he said, his voice trembling as he looked at me with wide eyes.

"One of who?" I asked, curious about what he meant.

"The true ancients," he replied, his gaze filled with reverence. "A cultivator, aren't you?"

"You're not wrong," I said, watching him closely. "Why are you asking?"

The old man's face softened, a look of longing crossing his features. "It's been so long since one who can harness the heavenly Qi has walked among us. You must be from beyond the northern hill, yes?"

I raised an eyebrow. "A bit further than that," I replied dryly. The "northern hill" must be a local landmark, while in reality, we had come from an entirely different realm.

"I see," the old man murmured, nodding slowly. "Is it safe there? Beyond the hill?"

"In a sense, yes," I answered cautiously.

The old man's eyes gleamed with a flicker of hope. "Would you… would you take us there? Away from this place?"

The looks on the faces of his companions were priceless—pure shock, disbelief that the elder would even suggest such a thing. But before anyone could protest, the old man continued.

"But Ancient One!" one of the guards exclaimed, his voice filled with panic. "He's a friend of the Dread Princess!"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

I shook my head, growing tired of the constant accusations. "You've mentioned her enough times," I said, my patience wearing thin. "Who is this 'Dread Princess' that you're all so afraid of?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd, the tension rising again. The old man raised his hand to silence them, his voice low but firm. "She's the last of the royals," he explained. "Her and her father ruled these lands long ago, and they brought terror with them. They created those abominations—the rakshasa—before fleeing into the darkness. They gathered their forces and left us to suffer, leaving nothing behind but monsters and death."

My frown deepened. "The Dread Princess and her father created the rakshasa?"

The old man nodded, his expression grim. "Yes. And if it weren't for the Liberator, we'd have all perished long ago."

I exchanged a glance with my companions, intrigued by this new piece of information. "The Liberator?" I asked, leaning in slightly.

The old man smiled faintly, his frail body shaking with another cough. "The holy man who created this sanctuary—this safe haven. He gave me the power I have, weak as it is. Every year, he comes to collect the sacrifices needed to keep the rakshasa at bay. And it's almost time for him to return."

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sudden surge of curiosity. The situation had just become far more complicated—and far more interesting.