118: Chapter 119 The Wicked Throat Royal Court

Outside, the sound of armor clattered suddenly, like a torrential downpour hitting a tin roof. The sixth shadow of a foot stepped back, and almost at the same instant, the grey silk thread beneath the ground gave a violent tug downwards, as if someone in the abyss had grabbed the other end of the rope, intending to drag this skin-sack back into the bottom of the well.

Wen Zhao's three Line-Marking Nails jumped in unison. The first old nail cracked, a new fissure spreading from the nail's tail to its head like a disintegrating spiderweb. The tail of the second nail began to emit thin smoke, and a charred, burnt smell, mixed with an indescribable fishy sweetness, permeated the tent. The third nail was dragged by that force, nearly flying off the fire platform, its tail slicing through the air with a piercing shriek.

Wen Zhao reached out and grabbed it, his flesh seared white by the nail's tail, sizzling loudly. He let out a muffled grunt, the veins on his forehead bulging like coiled dragons, but he did not let go.

Qiao Ye's eyes turned red, his voice filled with a tearing rage: "Wen Zhao!"

"Don't shout at me." Wen Zhao gritted his teeth, every word sounding like blood squeezed from between his teeth, "Call out the position."

Lu Jin spoke immediately, his voice as steady as a rock, suppressing all the panic within the tent: "Sixth position, half a step back to the left."

Instructor Han Tiecheng received the order outside the tent, and the light on the iron fire order surged: "Two men on the left flank, seal the feet!"

Two Military Court field-sealers pounced, their movements as swift and sharp as leopards. Yet the sixth shadow of a foot slid forward along the ground as if it had no bones, with more grey silk pulling out from beneath its foot—like some insect molting, or perhaps some mollusk secreting slime. Sticky ash began to seep from the edge of the tent door; the moment that substance touched the ash-covered ground beneath the fire platform, it emitted a tiny sucking sound, like an infant greedily nursing.

Wu Fu poked half her shadow out from the edge of the divine domain projection, her nose twitching, and her expression immediately soured: "Dirty." She hid the egg tray in her arms behind her, like a mother beast protecting her young, "Very dirty. Don't let it lick the door. If it licks the door, the door will be dirty, and no one will be able to leave later."

Grey Pupil also looked up from beside the Sacrificial Fire, his gaze like a torch: "Well-bottom thread." His tone turned cold, like iron frozen by ice, "It is marking the path."

Lu Jin said: "Wen Zhao, lock the first position it walked through."

Wen Zhao's eyelashes trembled, and he immediately understood what Lu Jin wanted. The Outer God parasitic thread borrowed the gaps in the rules—it could hide in empty names, blend in with temporary protective gear, or attach itself to tail numbers, but when it walked through the first position, it would inevitably leave a thread end. That was the first anchor it dropped in this world, and also its most vulnerable vital point.

Wen Zhao inverted the third Line-Marking Nail, its tip pointing downwards. He did not try to pin down the frantically twisting grey silk, but instead pressed it onto the old spot where the sixth shadow of a foot had just stopped. There was only a circle of grey dampness there, so faint it was about to dissipate, like a mud print that had been wetted by rain and was now almost dry—something an ordinary person would never be able to distinguish.

The old nail descended.

The ground beside the fire platform hissed, as if someone had pressed a thin thread into red-hot iron, or as if a red-hot branding iron had seared into flesh. A pungent, charred smell mixed with some ancient, fishy stench surged into the air.

The Unnamed Attendant outside the tent finally made a sound. It was very short, like a laugh, or like a small egg cracking inside a throat, carrying a certain chilling stickiness.

Hearing that sound, Ning Yanqiu's brows turned cold, the Cold Mirror Auxiliary Seal humming in her sleeve: "Lift the curtain."

Qiao Ye used his shield to flick open the tent curtain, the wind from the shield kicking up the grey dust on the ground as the grey light from outside surged in, like a backflow of grey tide. The sixth attendant was held by the shoulders by the two field-sealers and pressed to the ground. He was wearing the temple's outer-layer general-purpose protective gear, and his face mask had been removed, revealing a very ordinary face—so ordinary that one could look at it and forget it the moment they turned their head. The brows, eyes, bridge of the nose, and corners of the mouth looked like they had been taken from a dozen different faces and pieced together; nothing was wrong with any part, yet nothing looked like a living person, either. It looked like a mask that had been meticulously drawn but had forgotten to have its eyes dotted.

Pei Chengxu stared at that face, his voice heavy and stiff with disbelief: "I have never seen him."

Young Master Pei Tiange stepped forward half a step, his white-based battle suit with Sun Gold patterns appearing exceptionally glaring in the grey light. He stared at that face, his voice so cold it seemed ground out from between his teeth: "Who gave you permission to join the team?"

The Unnamed Attendant looked up at him. His eyeballs were wet and black, like two stones soaked in well water for a thousand years, devoid of light or spirit. He did not answer; the grey silk thread beneath his foot was pinned by the Line-Marking Nail and was shrinking bit by bit into his flesh, like an earthworm that had been disturbed, trying to burrow back deep into the soil.

Ning Yanqiu raised her hand, the Cold Mirror Auxiliary Seal shining towards his ankle. When the mirror light fell, a small patch of black-red bulged in the gaps of the Unnamed Attendant's protective gear, as if something beneath the skin had turned over, or like some dormant insect egg had been awakened by the light and was rolling over.

Wu Fu cursed in the divine domain projection, her voice filled with a hint of horror: "Egg patterns."

Grey Pupil took a look, the Sacrificial Fire dancing on the head of his staff, his voice as low as a twilight drum: "Sinister Throat Royal Court."

The Temple Inspector's face went pale, and he stepped back half a step, his voice trembling slightly: "Confirmed?"

Ning Yanqiu ignored him. She pressed the Cold Mirror Auxiliary Seal downwards, and Master Crow spread its wings, the cold white light cutting into three segments through the gaps in its feathers. The first segment shone on the foot, the second on the gaps in the protective gear, and the third towards the grey silk in the ground. The black-red patterns on the Unnamed Attendant's ankle were illuminated, revealing themselves. Ordinary pollution marks would not grow like this—a circle of dense egg patterns crawled along the bone line, and inside each egg pattern, there was a tiny throat-shaped indentation, opening and closing as if silently swallowing the light of the Cold Mirror, or perhaps emitting some kind of shriek inaudible to humans.

Wen Zhao's old nail became hot once more, sizzling against the flesh of his palm. He smeared blood onto the nail's tail, and once the fire line on the tail was soaked in blood, it unexpectedly stabilized, like a spirited horse reined in by a bridle.

Lu Jin saw his hand, his gaze darkening slightly: "That's enough, back off."

Wen Zhao shook his head, his mouth pulling into a stubborn arc: "Still one breath short."

"Short of what?"

"Short of how it entered the Pei family's queue." Wen Zhao looked up, glancing at the side of the Unnamed Attendant's waist. A very small protective gear patch buckle hung there. There was no name on the patch, only a worn-out general work ID, like a tag that had been used until it was old, ready to be torn off and replaced at any time.

"Young Master Su Jiuheng." Wen Zhao called out, his voice hoarse.

Young Master Su Jiuheng said immediately: "Here."

Wen Zhao said: "Did the Merchant Alliance's outer-layer light materials department issue any spare fabric for the temple's protective gear patch buckles?"

Young Master Su Jiuheng was stunned, then immediately pulled out another page of detailed accounts, his fingers flipping rapidly across the paper: "Yes. One roll of grey cotton, three feet of fabric for old buckle repairs, processed last night."

"Who claimed it?"

Young Master Su Jiuheng's hand stopped flipping the pages, and the smile on his face vanished completely, replaced by a grave expression: "Claimed as empty. No name was written, only 'outer-layer temporary repair'."

Wen Zhao pointed the second Line-Marking Nail at that patch buckle. The nail shadow flew out, not hitting the person, but gently sticking to the edge of the buckle. A wisp of grey silk immediately seeped out from the buckle; one end of the grey silk was connected to beneath the Unnamed Attendant's feet, and the other end connected to the fire line shadow of the Pei family's tail number, as if a dirty thread had been sewn into the cuff of someone else's team, allowing it to pass off fish eyes as pearls and deceive everyone.

Pei Chengxu's face turned livid, his voice filled with the rage of being played for a fool: "Someone used the temple's protective gear patch buckle to hang him into the Pei family's queue."

Young Master Su Jiuheng closed the detailed accounts, his knuckles turning white: "And my light materials claimed as empty." He looked at the Temple Inspector, his gaze carrying the sharpness and precision peculiar to a merchant: "My lord, I will make three copies of this account page. One for the Merchant Alliance, one for the Military Court, and one to be posted at the entrance of your temple. Let everyone see how your outer-layer rules have been drilled into a sieve."

The Temple Inspector's lips moved, but he could not speak, his complexion turning from white to green, and then from green to black.

Young Master Pei Tiange looked at the Unnamed Attendant, his voice so cold it seemed it would freeze the air: "Keep him alive. Whoever dares to silence him, it will be added to the Pei family's account."

Pei Chengxu immediately brought men to add locks. Four field-sealing fire buckles simultaneously descended onto the Unnamed Attendant's four limbs, the firelight surging as if to burn this skin-sack to ashes. The Unnamed Attendant did not struggle; he even cooperatively raised his wrists slightly. The movement was too compliant, so compliant that it made one's heart crawl.

Qiao Ye felt a chill down his back, his voice filled with a hint of horror: "He wants to be locked?"

Lu Jin said: "There are rules for locking buckles too."

Young Master Pei Tiange's expression changed slightly, as if he had thought of something, and he shouted sternly: "Withdraw the outer-layer locks!"

The words had barely left his mouth when the first field-sealing fire buckle clamped onto the Unnamed Attendant's right wrist. The buckle lit up, and the next moment, the regulatory patterns on the buckle were stained grey-black. The grey silk crawled outwards along the buckle patterns like a snake that had found a new nest, intending to use the lock to connect back to the sealing lines and drag the entire team into the abyss.

Wen Zhao's third Line-Marking Nail sank violently, and he was almost dragged forward, his knees slamming heavily onto the fire platform with a dull thud.

Ning Yanqiu pressed down with the Cold Mirror Auxiliary Seal, intercepting half an inch for him. The cold white light collided with the grey silk, and a dense cracking sound resonated at the tent entrance, like a handful of dry bones being slowly crushed, or like some ancient porcelain disintegrating in the intersection of ice and fire.

Ning Yanqiu's face also turned paler, her lips pressed into a cold, hard line: "Quick."

Lu Jin raised his hand, and the fire lines on the outside of the Half Gate retracted. The Living Registry Anchor did not release its main control, but only lowered the circle of fire patterns on the outer edge. That circle of fire patterns spread out along the ground, avoiding the field-sealing fire buckles and pressing down on the grey silk beneath the Unnamed Attendant's feet, like a net descending from the sky, intending to tightly shroud this sinister creature.

Grey Pupil's voice came from the divine domain, steady and urgent: "Lower the fire by three parts, don't burn it off. If it breaks, it will return to the well, and once it's back in the well, we will never be able to catch it again."

Lu Jin responded, lowering the fire patterns by three parts; the temperature was just enough to suppress the twisting of the grey silk without melting it through.

Wu Fu hugged the egg tray, her eyes staring fiercely, her nose still twitching slightly: "It has a scent. I have remembered it. Next time it crawls to the edge of the nest, I will bite it off first."

Grey Pupil looked at her: "Seal the sample first."

Wu Fu glared back: "I know!"

This bit of bickering actually allowed the people in the tent to catch their breath, like a bowstring stretched to the limit that had been loosened slightly by this sudden interlude.

Taking advantage of that breath, Wen Zhao pulled the cracked first old nail out by half an inch, then pressed it back in at an angle. The old nail pinned the empty name slot, the second pinned the protective gear patch buckle, and the third pinned the first spot of grey dampness beneath his feet. Three points formed a line, and that Outer God parasitic thread, which had originally been shrinking towards the bottom of the well, was pinned to the grey ground in front of the door, like a snake with its seven inches pinned down, no longer able to struggle.

The Unnamed Attendant's ankle twitched, the black-red egg patterns bulging from the gaps in the protective gear, rolling around against his skin like a swarm of disturbed insects searching for a new host.

The Temple Inspector stepped back half a step, and Pei Chengxu gripped his sword hilt, his knuckles turning white.

Young Master Pei Tiange did not retreat. He stared at that circle of egg patterns and suddenly asked: "Did you see me?"

The Unnamed Attendant looked up. His gaze slid past Young Master Pei Tiange's face without stopping, like a wet mirror shining over a person and then wiping them away, leaving not the slightest trace.

Young Master Pei Tiange's lips flattened, the light in his eyes growing colder.

Lu Jin understood. This thing had borrowed the Pei family's queue to get in, but its target was not Young Master Pei Tiange. What it wanted was the Half Gate, the Ruptured Furnace Seat, and the gap between the Living Registry Anchor and the grey nest fire lines that had just been torn open by the Human Race's rules. It wanted to sew its dirty thread into the foundation before everyone had found their footing.

Wen Zhao also understood. That was why he did not let go. He used to be responsible for reporting lines—where one could walk, where one needed to retreat, which old marks could be expanded, and which nail could only hold for a certain distance. This time, he had pressed the dirty thread in the team's gap right before everyone's eyes, leaving this sinister creature nowhere to hide.

The Black-Armored Recorder finally reacted, his pen tip falling rapidly, scratching out a rustling sound on the paper, as if he wanted to nail this moment forever into the archives: "Merchant Alliance account page empty name, Pei family assisting investigation tail number, temple outer-layer protective gear patch buckle, three lines sewn together. Wen Zhao's Line-Marking Nail captured the Outer God parasitic thread. Ning Yanqiu's Cold Mirror Auxiliary Seal illuminated the position, confirming the connection to the well-bottom thread beneath the feet. Unnamed Attendant displays Sinister Throat Royal Court egg patterns on its body."

With every sentence that fell, the rules within the tent became a fraction firmer, like bricks and tiles rebuilding a wall amidst this chaos.

Pei Chengxu wanted to speak again, but could only shut his mouth, standing to the side with a livid expression.

Young Master Pei Tiange looked at Wen Zhao, his gaze carrying a hint of re-evaluation: "The Pei family will compensate for these three nails."

Wen Zhao's fingers were still trembling, the blood on his knuckles already dried into dark red scabs. He lifted his eyes, his gaze showing no retreat, only a kind of stubbornness and ruthlessness belonging to those on the front lines: "Compensate with lives first. If the lives are not compensated, the nails will not be pulled."

Qiao Ye was stunned, then grinned, revealing a wild smile: "That sounds like something."

Young Master Su Jiuheng also looked at Wen Zhao, his eyes showing a bit of novelty and appreciation: "Brother Wen, come visit the Merchant Alliance another day? I will treat you to tea, no business talk."

Wen Zhao said: "I don't sell nails."

Young Master Su Jiuheng sighed, putting on a heartbroken expression: "I haven't even made an offer yet."

Lu Jin interrupted them, his voice as steady as a rock: "Bring it into the sample sealing circle."

Instructor Han Tiecheng had already brought men to change to the inner-layer Military Court locks. This time, they did not use the outer-layer general-purpose buckles; four black iron pressure bars descended, pinning the Unnamed Attendant's shoulders, elbows, knees, and ankles. The pressure bars did not follow the temple's protective gear patterns, but only the old Military Court battle locks, like four stakes pulled from an ancient battlefield, intending to nail this sinister creature forever within this square inch.

The Unnamed Attendant was pressed to the ground, his face against the ash-covered floor. That face, so ordinary that one could not remember it, had a thin mark rubbed into it by the dust; beneath the thin mark, there was no blood, only a bit of pale grey slime, like the body fluid of some insect, or perhaps the sap of some plant, carrying a nauseating, fishy sweetness.

Ning Yanqiu retracted the Cold Mirror Auxiliary Seal, her fingertips cold and white, as if they had just been fished out of ice water. Master Crow landed back on her shoulder, lowered its head, and pecked at her cuff, as if comforting her, or perhaps confirming whether she was injured. She did not dodge, but simply raised her hand gently and stroked the edge of Master Crow's feathers.

Wen Zhao also retracted two of the three Line-Marking Nails, leaving only the one that was cracked the deepest still pinned beneath the Unnamed Attendant's feet, like a tooth that could not be pulled out, biting tightly onto this last thread of connection.

Lu Jin crouched down, looking at that person, his gaze like a torch: "Who let you in?"

The Unnamed Attendant's mouth corners moved; there was no begging for mercy, no crying of injustice, he even skipped being afraid. He seemed to have finally waited for the words that should be said, a small section of grey silk emerging from between his teeth, only to be forcibly tugged back by the old nail beneath his feet, emitting a faint sound, like a broken violin string.

He began to laugh.

That laughter was low, wet, and sticky, carrying the chill of the bottom of a well, like an echo transmitted from some tomb that had been submerged in water for a thousand years.

"The Prince has already seen the gate."