259: Chapter 260 The Six-Eyed Wizard Submits

Throughout the entire process, there were no screams, no struggling, not even a single muffled groan. There was only the rustling of clothes rubbing together, the clatter of weapons hitting the ground, and the wailing of the mountain wind as it swept through the empty valley. This eerie silence was more terrifying than any clamor.

Cold sweat broke out on the Sword Saint's forehead. He had seen all kinds of control skills—Freezing, Petrification, Stun, Charm—but none like this, capable of forcing over a thousand units into a state of absolute obedience in an instant.

Xu Ruohan's gaze moved rapidly between Lin Muyang and the dazed Six-Eyed Witches, trying to understand what had happened. As a Summoner, she had conducted deep research into mental spells, but what Lin Muyang had displayed was completely beyond her scope of knowledge. There was no incantation, no somatic gestures, and not even a ripple of magic—it was as natural as breathing, a total domination of the entire clan achieved with a mere wave of his hand.

Marianne's face turned pale. Her blue eyes, which usually sparkled with confidence, were now filled with shock; her lips were slightly parted, but she couldn't make a sound.

"Now..."

Lin Muyang's voice broke the deathly silence. He stood where he was, his black robes swaying gently in the mountain wind, his face devoid of any unnecessary expression as if he had just performed a trivial task.

He raised his right hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together in a simple beckoning gesture.

"Gather here."

The moment the command was issued, all the controlled Six-Eyed Witches moved simultaneously.

It was a synchronization so perfect it was hair-raising. Over a thousand creatures, regardless of their previous posture, adjusted their stances in the same millisecond to turn toward Lin Muyang. Their steps were perfectly aligned—left foot lifting, right foot following—their stride lengths as precise as if measured with a ruler. Countless feet stepped onto the gravel ground, creating a dull, rhythmic "shasha" sound, like the heartbeat of a giant organism.

The nearest Six-Eyed Wizard Scholar arrived first. It had originally been standing beside the Priest, holding an ancient leather-bound tome, its six eyes flickering with the light of wisdom—or rather, they used to. Now, those six eyes were like stagnant water; it walked mechanically to a spot five paces in front of Lin Muyang, stopped, then slowly knelt. It placed the ancient book flat on the ground, pressed its hands to its knees, and awaited the next instruction.

Other Six-Eyed Witches surged in from all directions like a tide. They scaled rock walls, leaped over ravines, and moved through dense forests, all their paths converging on the platform at the mountain peak. Underage witches followed behind the adults, their small bodies weaving through the crowd; their faces held none of the confusion or fear expected of children, only the same emptiness as their elders.

The entire process lasted about three minutes. When the last Six-Eyed Witch emerged from a distant mountain hollow to join the dense phalanx, the platform was filled with over two thousand green figures. They arranged themselves automatically in the order they arrived, forming rows and columns where each individual maintained the exact same distance from their neighbor. Viewed from high above, this troop was as orderly as a model array pressed from a mold.

Total silence.

With so many creatures gathered together, it was shockingly quiet—no sound of breathing, no rustle of clothing, even heartbeats were so faint they were almost undetectable. They just stood there, waiting, over two thousand pairs of hollow green eyes all focused on Lin Muyang.

The Sword Saint felt his throat go dry. He looked around; these demonic creatures, once incredibly ferocious, were now as docile as sheep. No, sheep would at least bleat occasionally, but these Six-Eyed Witches had lost even their most basic biological instincts. This wasn't taming; this was a complete formatting.

Xu Ruohan forced herself to analyze calmly: such a vast range, such a high number, such thorough control... how massive must the consumption of this skill be? Why could Lin Muyang still stand there so effortlessly? Where exactly was the limit of his mental power?

Marianne finally found her voice, but her tone was as dry as sandpaper: "You can manipulate and command them?"

She paused, realizing how foolish the question was—the evidence was right before her eyes. So she changed her question: "With such means, why do you still want my mythic grade skill? My skill is only single-target, and its control effect is certainly not as good as yours..."

Lin Muyang turned his head and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His gaze was flat, devoid of pride, showing off, or even any emotional fluctuation, as if he were looking at an inconsequential object. He didn't answer and turned his attention back to the Six-Eyed Wizard Clan.

This silent response made Marianne's heart sink. She suddenly realized that Lin Muyang wanted her skill not because he needed it, but because he wanted it. This man was collecting abilities like a collector of rare stamps; regardless of whether he already had something similar, if he saw something good, he had to have it.

Meanwhile, the Six-Eyed Wizard Priest's face had turned from emerald green to a dark, ink-like green. It looked at the familiar faces around it—its guards, its scholars, its clansmen were now all strangers. It tried to find a trace of familiarity in those hollow eyes, even a hint of struggle or resistance, but there was nothing.

"Ji-li-gu-lu! Gu-lu-ji-li!"

The Priest suddenly began to shout loudly, its voice sharp and hurried. That was the ancient language of the Six-Eyed Wizard Clan, meaning "Wake up! Resist!". In its three hundred years of life, it had used this language to command countless battles and summon ancestral power many times, and every time, it had bolstered the clan's morale.

But this time, there was no response.

Over two thousand clansmen stood in place, motionless, not even shifting their eyes. The Priest's shouts echoed through the valley, gradually fading until only its own ragged breathing remained. It shouted a few more times, its voice turning from sharp to hoarse, from command to plea, but it was still useless. The clansmen acted as if they hadn't heard at all, or rather, they had heard but were unable to produce any reaction.

This absolute isolation terrified it more than any attack. It was no longer the clan leader, no longer the Priest; it was just a lonely old witch standing in a crowd.

"Now, your entire tribe are my puppets."

Lin Muyang finally spoke again. His voice was calm, as if stating an objective fact; there was no threatening tone, yet it carried more pressure than any threat.

The Six-Eyed Wizard Scholar raised its head mechanically and began to translate in a wooden voice. Every syllable was precise, but there was no tonal inflection; it sounded like a golem created by a mage reciting pre-set lines.

"If I were to give a single order, they would do whatever I asked."

The Scholar continued to translate. Its lips opened and closed, its tongue rolled, its vocal cords vibrated, but all these actions were merely mechanical reactions without any self-awareness. It was like a manipulated puppet speaking, without even a change in expression.

"Even if that includes killing your own clansmen."

This last sentence made the Priest's body tremble violently. It whipped its head around to look at the Scholar with eyes full of anger, pleading, and disbelief. The Scholar was its most prized disciple, the most intelligent youth in the clan, and the successor it had personally chosen to be the next Priest. And now, this successor was holding a knife to its throat; with a single thought from Lin Muyang, that knife would slice down without hesitation.

Lin Muyang made a tiny gesture—just a slight movement of his pinky finger.

The metal short sword in the Scholar's hand immediately moved forward half an inch, the cold blade pressing tight against the skin of the Priest's neck. The sharp edge easily cut through the surface wrinkles, and a trickle of emerald-green blood seeped out, flowing slowly down the blade.

"Stop! Stop!"

The Priest shrieked, all six arms rising simultaneously in a gesture of surrender. Its voice cracked with fear, and words that humans could understand were mixed into the ancient language.

The Scholar maintained the position of the knife against the throat but stopped its advance. It translated the Priest's words dully, each word accurate but still devoid of any emotional color.

Lin Muyang withdrew his pinky finger.

The short sword backed away just a tiny bit, but it remained pressed against the skin. The green blood continued to flow, drawing eerie patterns on the Priest's dark green skin.

Just then, several other Six-Eyed Witch BOSSes arrived one after another.

The first to appear was the Clan Guard Captain, a giant Six-Eyed Witch over three meters tall. It was covered in bone armor, and its six arms held different weapons—saber, sword, axe, hammer, spear, and shield. Normally, it should have appeared with thunderous momentum, but now, it simply walked over quietly, its weapons dragging on the ground with a piercing screech, its gaze as hollow as the other controlled clansmen.

Next was the Potion Master, carrying a basket full of bottles and jars, smelling of pungent herbs. Then came the Rune Elder, every inch of its skin carved with glowing runes, but now those runes were dim and lightless. One by one, the eight mythic grade Six-Eyed Witch BOSSes all gathered on the platform.

They surrounded the Priest in a semi-circle. Each of their faces looked extremely grim—if that dark green could express "grimness." Their eyes moved between the Priest and Lin Muyang, trying to comprehend what was happening. When they saw over two thousand clansmen standing dazed and the Scholar holding a knife to the Priest's throat, their expressions shifted from confusion to shock, and then from shock to fear.

Nine mythic grade demonic creatures facing a single human, yet not one dared to make a move.

Because Lin Muyang held their entire clan hostage.

"Squat repeatedly."

Lin Muyang said suddenly. This wasn't directed at the Priest, but at the two thousand-plus ordinary Six-Eyed Witches.

The moment the command was given, over two thousand bodies bent their knees simultaneously to perform a squat. In perfect unison, the angle of over two thousand pairs of knees was identical, the height of over two thousand sinking bodies was identical, and the timing of over two thousand movements was identical.

"Push-ups."

The Six-Eyed Witches immediately dropped down; over two thousand chests hit the ground at once, over two thousand pairs of arms bent at once, and over two thousand bodies rose and fell at once. The movements were as standard as soldiers trained for years, but their eyes remained hollow.

"Push-ups."

Lin Muyang repeated, his tone as flat as if he were counting.

The Six-Eyed Witches lowered their bodies again, arms bending, then pushing back up. The same movement, the same rhythm, the same lack of expression.

"Spin in place."

All the Six-Eyed Witches stood straight at once and began to spin. Using the left foot as an axis and the right foot to trace a circle, their bodies rotated. Over two thousand spinning bodies, like an eerie green whirlwind, turned slowly on the mountain peak platform.

Marianne was completely speechless. Looking at those spinning Six-Eyed Witches, she suddenly thought of a demonic creature she had once controlled. It was a hellhound; she had spent three seconds chanting and consumed a third of her mana just to barely keep it quiet for ten seconds. At the time, she had been proud of her achievement. Now, watching Lin Muyang manipulate over two thousand units with such ease, she only felt that her own skill was as laughable as a child's toy.

Was it ridiculous?

To an outsider, it might indeed look ridiculous. A group of notoriously fierce mythic grade demonic creatures performing basic training exercises like new recruits—ridiculously orderly, ridiculously dazed.

But no one present could bring themselves to laugh.

Because beneath this ridiculous surface was an absolute power that chilled one to the bone.

Lin Muyang seemed to have had his fill of fun; he lightly raised his hand, and all the Six-Eyed Witches stopped their movements simultaneously, returning to a position of attention. The transition from extreme motion to extreme stillness was completed in an instant, without any buffer.

He turned toward the nine Six-Eyed Witch BOSSes. They were huddled together, exchanging glances as quickly as possible.

But Lin Muyang interrupted their communication.

"I will give you a chance to reconsider now."

His voice echoed through the mountain peaks.

"Will you agree to help, or will you do as before and wait a month to decide?"

He paused, letting the Scholar translate the sentence in full. Then he added a final line, his tone still calm, but the content made the nine BOSSes tremble simultaneously:

"I cannot guarantee that in a month's time, your clan will still exist in this world."

It was a naked threat.

But no one could refute him, because Lin Muyang truly had that power. He currently held the life and death of the entire clan in his hands—if he wished, he could make these two thousand-plus Six-Eyed Witches slaughter each other, make them jump off the cliff together, or make them pierce their own hearts with their weapons. Whether this clan existed or not truly depended on his whim.

The exchange between the nine BOSSes became even more frantic. Their antennae vibrated violently, even producing a faint "buzzing" sound. Their expressions shifted constantly—anger, struggle, sorrow, despair—until finally, it all dissolved into a deep sense of powerlessness.

Resist? Fight back? Attack Lin Muyang?

Any one of them had mythic grade strength; nine of them together could put up a fight even against a human army. But Lin Muyang didn't need to fight them; he only needed a single thought, and over two thousand clansmen would become two thousand bombs, or two thousand shields, or two thousand corpses.

This was an unfair duel from the very beginning. Lin Muyang held their hearts in his hand, while they couldn't even touch the hem of his robe.

A long three minutes of silence passed.

Finally, the Six-Eyed Wizard Priest was the first to slowly and tremblingly kneel down.

It wasn't a single-knee kneel, but both knees on the ground, forehead pressed against the cold rock, and all six arms stretched forward with palms up—this was the highest level of submission ritual in the Six-Eyed Witch culture, used only for the Creator God or heroes who saved the entire clan. In the past eight hundred years of the clan's history, this ritual had only appeared three times.

Immediately following, the Guard Captain knelt. Its massive body hit the ground with a dull thud, bone armor clashing against rock and sending up a shower of sparks.

The Potion Master knelt, the bottles and jars on its back clinking.

The Rune Elder knelt, the runes on its skin glowing faintly as if in mourning.

One after another, the eight mythic grade BOSSes all knelt before Lin Muyang. They lowered their heads, their antennae drooping; all their pride, all their dignity, and all their will to resist completely collapsed at this moment.

The Priest raised its head and said in halting but clear human language:

"We are willing to submit to you."

"From now on, our clan will be your subordinates and follow your orders!"