The River Styx remained stubbornly unresponsive, the only mysterious element being the mist hovering above the black water. It streamed ceaselessly, neither too thick nor dissipating, shrouding their vessel’s bow, making the Ferryman standing there seem exceptionally enigmatic.

“Hey, go check out this guy!” Ye Xiu crouched down, nudging Old Liu, who sat huddled in the boat. “There’s no way this fellow can’t see us. Is there some kind of trap here?”

Old Liu was also drenched in sweat. Anyone would fear a person dressed in mystery, who remained silent save for the rhythmic dip of his oars. Old Liu snapped at Ye Xiu, “That guy is here to ferry lost souls—basically the same line of work as you. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“Talk? I don’t even know if there’s a face under that hood!” Ye Xiu impatiently tilted his head slightly, trying to make out the Ferryman’s cheek, but the black cowl and the surrounding mist seemed determined to obscure his features.

Old Liu clapped Ye Xiu on the shoulder and said cryptically, “Don’t look, you hear? Do you even know who the Ferryman is? This guy is also one of the Asura. Legend says the Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva saved all the Asura, leaving only this one solitary soul to eternally guard the Sea of Blood.”

“Damn it, you knew that and didn’t bother telling me the story of this Ferryman!” Since the mysterious figure only seemed intent on rowing, Ye Xiu decided to follow Old Liu’s lead and sat down heavily, figuring that once on his boat, they were under his control one way or another.

Old Liu swallowed hard, glanced nervously behind them once more, and then spoke with relief, “To talk about the Ferryman of the Styx, we first have to talk about Patriarch Styx, the founder of the Asura race.”

“Patriarch Styx?” Ye Xiu thought he recalled reading that name in certain texts. He picked up Old Liu’s thread, “Patriarch Styx, as the leader of the Asura, is said to possess two divine swords, one named Yuantu and the other Abi.”

“Exactly!” Old Liu’s eyes lit up at the mention of weapons. He chuckled, “Today we are fortunate enough to enter the main current of the Styx; perhaps we will witness those two treasured swords. Legend says the Asura relied on those two swords to slaughter their way through the Six Paths of Reincarnation, which ultimately led to Ksitigarbha’s intervention.”

Ye Xiu was astonished by the tale of the Styx, as these stories seemed far more ancient and epic than those concerning the Dead Kingdom. For security, Ye Xiu turned to check again, seeing the Ferryman still rowing steadfastly, and only then did he feel safe enough to ask, “So what’s his connection to Patriarch Styx? Why did he leave him behind to row the boat?”

“It is said this fellow has absolute faith in Ksitigarbha’s Dharma. That’s why the Bodhisattva spared his soul; otherwise, he would have perished along with the rest of the Asura.” At this, Old Liu covered his mouth and whispered, “However, some books claim this man is the true successor born of Patriarch Styx’s own flesh. He might have deliberately drawn the Bodhisattva’s pity, surviving only to wait for a chance to rebuild the Asura Hell.”

“Holy hell, even ghosts and demons play deep cover operations,” Ye Xiu roared, slapping Old Liu. “If that’s the case, this guy inherited the flesh memories of Patriarch Styx. He should possess the Patriarch’s strength, too. He probably knows where those two swords are.”

“Who the hell knows? Why don’t you go ask him!” Old Liu hugged his knees, his gaze flickering around the perimeter of the black water.

Ye Xiu cautiously shifted his eyes back toward the Ferryman at the bow. The man looked dusty gray, his hands gripping the thin oar handle consisting of nothing more than skin and bone. It was a mystery where he found the strength to propel the old boat.

“Hey, hey, stop staring!” Old Liu nearly wished he could shake Ye Xiu overboard. He asked in a very low voice, “Did you feel the boat stop?”

“The boat stopped!” Ye Xiu suppressed his voice intensely. At this crucial moment, he realized the surrounding rock walls had indeed ceased moving. The mist that had enveloped their boat suddenly dispersed. Though it brought a flash of clarity, apprehension and anxiety immediately flooded his heart.

Old Liu moved stealthily, already gripping his thin Blademaster’s Knife. Though they had no idea if they could match the supposed direct descendant of Patriarch Styx, instinct dictated that no one preferred to sit and await their doom.

“He’s lifting his head. He’s looking up,” Ye Xiu exclaimed, as if he’d discovered the New World. For the first time since they embarked, the Ferryman performed an action other than rowing. He slowly tilted his head upward, the brim of his ragged cowl drawing back with his neck movement, revealing a small tuft of silvery-white beard before Ye Xiu. Was this Ferryman an old man?

Ye Xiu abandoned the opportunity to scrutinize the Ferryman’s true face, as what drew his attention upward was far more captivating. But before he could raise his own head, Old Liu beside him shrieked like he’d seen a vengeful ghost and collapsed onto the boat floor.

“On top of the cavern wall, look—look quickly!”

Ye Xiu followed Old Liu’s gaze. To his surprise, what covered the entirety of the black water above them was an arched rock ceiling, like a massive dome pinning the Styx in place. And right in the center of this rock ceiling, there appeared a colossal creature with six wings, impossibly delicate legs, and a head shaped like a mosquito. Although its overall form lacked the dense mass of the spider they had encountered earlier, its splayed legs could completely span and grip the entire overhead surface.

“Is that a carving?” Ye Xiu studied the immobile six-winged mosquito and felt a small measure of relief.

“Can’t you see the fine hairs on its legs fluttering?” Old Liu’s gaze was sharp, and his words dripped with terror. “This damned thing is clearly the Six-Winged Mosquito Daoist, the fiercest creature in the Styx, whom even Patriarch Styx had to treat with caution for a time.”

“Six-Winged Mosquito Daoist? At best, it’s a giant mosquito. What kind of Daoist is that?”

“You know nothing,” Old Liu muttered, lost in thought, his eyes locked on the mosquito. “The Blood Sea of the Styx is inherently a place where life gestates. When Patriarch Styx reigned supreme in the Styx, this Six-Winged Mosquito Daoist was also spontaneously born. Legend says it bit Patriarch Styx once and drained three parts of his cultivation power—all twelve parts—from that day forward, no one dared approach it within the Styx. Now that we’ve run into this thing, I truly don’t know how we’ll survive.”

“Gulp…” Ye Xiu’s heart leaped into his throat after Old Liu finished speaking. He imagined how they could possibly evade such a massive creature if it decided to attack directly. Even if it missed them, if it struck the boat they were riding, it would surely be flipped over by its sheer force. Ye Xiu had no desire to experience the power of the black water for a third time.

“Hoo-ha! Hoo-ha!” Just as both men were trying to duck their heads and remain silent to avoid the Six-Winged Mosquito Daoist, a series of extremely bizarre cries suddenly erupted from behind them. At this moment, the Ferryman had stopped rowing altogether. Instead, he raised his thin oar and shouted loudly toward the Six-Winged Mosquito Daoist overhead. It sounded less like a greeting and more like a direct provocation.

“That son of a bitch, is he trying to pick a fight with the Six-Winged Mosquito Daoist?” Old Liu cursed furiously, but the battle felt imminent.

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