Batian Martial Soul

Chapter 14269 Strange place
The voice was devoid of any emotion, as if it were issuing a perfectly ordinary command, yet it sent chills down one's spine.

In his mind, military orders were absolute and no one could disobey them; otherwise, they would have to pay a heavy price.

He paused briefly, his slender fingers gently tapping the scabbard, the rhythmic tapping sound seeming to be the rhythm of his thoughts.

Then he added, "Immediately gather all intelligence on the Batian Empire, not just on Ling Xiao, but on all records of the Batian Empire from ancient times to the present!"

"I need to know everything about them, from their historical anecdotes and local customs to their military deployment and the distribution of their experts."

Every word he spoke was clear and forceful, striking people's hearts like a heavy hammer, revealing his rigorous style and the importance he attached to the upcoming battle.

He knew that only by knowing oneself and one's enemy can one win every battle; only by fully understanding one's opponent can one formulate a perfect battle plan.

The old man behind him bowed respectfully, his movements precise and courteous, before quietly retreating.

His footsteps were as light as a falling leaf, without making a sound; his movements were as swift as a ghost, and he vanished into the night in an instant.

Yuwen Po gazed quietly at the distant starry sky, a vast and mysterious expanse that seemed to hold countless secrets.

His eyes were sharp, like cold stars in the night sky, and he narrowed them slightly, as if he were thinking about something.

After a long silence, he muttered to himself, "Looks like this is going to be a fierce battle!"

His voice was very soft, so soft that it seemed only he could hear it, yet there was a hint of barely perceptible excitement in his tone.

For a war god like him, a fierce battle is like a challenge, the best opportunity for him to prove his strength and worth.

He longed to clash with the strong on the battlefield and write his own legend with his own strength.

Before he finished speaking, he had vanished like a bolt of lightning, leaving behind only a mess of ruins and two bewildered old men.

The two old men looked at each other, their eyes filled with awe and fear, unable to recover from the shock they had just experienced.

With a deafening roar, the bridge shattered amidst violent tremors.

The moment of the explosion was like the end of the world, with countless fragments flying and dust obscuring the sky.

Amidst this chaos and destruction, Ling Xiao and his companions saw a flash of white light before their eyes, and when they looked again, they found themselves in a deep cave.

The cave is deep and mysterious, as if it were a huge secret hidden by the earth.

A cold, damp atmosphere swept over them, making them shiver involuntarily.

The cave ceiling was high and dark, with murky water droplets constantly dripping down, making a "drip-drip" sound.

The sound was exceptionally clear in the silent cave, like the footsteps of time, striking the heartstrings one by one.

The stone wall was covered with dark green moss, layer upon layer, like a huge green spider web, emitting a faint fishy smell that made one want to vomit.

Not far in front of them, a hunched old man was quietly tending to a large pot, intently simmering a pot of dark broth.

The old man was thin and hunched over, as if the burdens of life had bent his spine.

He wore a tattered black robe, covered in patches and stains, and emanated a pungent, sour stench.

The pot was old and worn, as if it had weathered countless years.

The pot was covered with strange runes, which were crooked and twisted like venomous snakes, exuding a mysterious and terrifying aura.

The flames beneath the pot were a ghostly blue, flickering eerily like will-o'-the-wisps, casting a sinister and terrifying light on the old man's face.

The flames seemed to have no temperature; they simply burned quietly, as if waiting for something.

The broth was boiling in the pot, constantly bubbling up.

Each bubble bursts, releasing a unique fragrance.

The aroma was sweet with a hint of decay, like the scent of a flower blooming on a rotting corpse.

Smelling it for a long time can make you dizzy, as if you are in a fantasy world.

Ling Xiao looked at the old man warily, his eyes as sharp as swords, as if trying to see through him.

His right hand quietly rested on the God-Slaying Sword, his fingers applying slight pressure as he felt the cold touch of the hilt.

He asked loudly, "And who are you, sir?"

His voice echoed through the cave, carrying a hint of wariness and authority.

The old man slowly raised his head, revealing a face covered in wrinkles.

The wrinkles on his face were like knife cuts, deeply etched into his skin, as if recording the vicissitudes and hardships of his life.

His eyes were cloudy and lifeless, like two bottomless dry wells, devoid of any vitality.

However, a strange smile played on his lips, a smile that sent chills down one's spine, as if concealing some unspeakable secret.

He slowly stretched out his withered, bony hands, picked up a worn-out bowl, and filled it with ink.

The broth was thick and dark, shimmering slightly in the bowl, like a pool of black water.

He handed the bowl to Ling Xiao, his voice hoarse and unpleasant, like the sound of sandpaper rubbing together: "Have a bowl of soup!"

The voice seemed to come from hell, carrying an irresistible allure.

That smile sent chills down your spine.

The old man's teeth were yellow and black, uneven, like a row of dilapidated fences.

When he spoke, a putrid stench emanated from his mouth, like that of a rotting corpse, making one want to vomit.

Ling Xiao frowned, took a slight step back, and gripped the God-Slaying Sword in his hand even tighter.

Ling Xiao glanced sideways, his gaze lingering briefly on the bowl of inky soup. The soup was so thick and dark, like an impenetrable night, that it exuded an eerie aura that made one wary.

He gently shook his head and firmly refused, "No need."

As he spoke, his gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, and he inadvertently noticed the old man's outstretched fingers—fingers that were withered and dry, as if all life had been drained away by time and evil. The nails were long and curved, like sharp eagle claws, and had an ominous black hue, as if they had been corroded by a deadly poison, making one's hair stand on end.

Just then, the old man who had been standing in the same spot suddenly appeared in front of Ling Xiao and the other two without warning. His speed was unbelievable, as if he had crossed the boundaries of space and arrived in front of them in an instant.

His figure was like a ghost, catching people off guard.

The old man bowed slightly and handed the bowl of ink to Ling Bi, his face still bearing that eerie and mysterious smile.

The ink in the bowl, which had been as calm as a mirror, suddenly began to ripple, as if an invisible force was surging in the dark.

This thing makes one's heart tremble at the sight of it, and it smells strangely foul. It would be rather odd to drink it.