Chapter 598: Change of Ownership
On the opposite rooftop, a young Qin soldier, holding a crossbow, shouted at them, "Drop your sticks! Hands over your heads! Come out and squat down! We won't kill you!"
The servants looked at each other, not knowing who had started it, and sticks and broadswords fell to the ground with a clatter.
Several people walked out with their heads in their hands, squatted down against the wall, and didn't dare to breathe.
A Qin soldier stepped forward, used his halberd to pick up their discarded weapons, examined them, and curled his lip: "This is it? A few pieces of iron wrapped around wooden sticks? You dare to fight us in the alley?"
An Awakened One behind them chuckled, "It's not that they dare, it's that they have no choice. With griffins overhead, if they dared to run into open ground, a single swoop would send them sprawling. Hiding in the alley and using this thing against us is the only way they can hold out for a while."
The garrison soldier kicked a wooden stick on the ground, then glanced at the laborers squatting in a row, his tone softening slightly: "Squat down properly. We'll take you to the city wall later. There'll be food; you won't starve."
On another street, a dozen outer disciples were cornered in a dead end by a group of second-stage awakened individuals.
These outer disciples, still holding black iron rods and blood-coagulating claws, stood back to back, their eyes bloodshot, like a pack of wild dogs driven to the brink of despair.
The leader, a second-tier swordsman, slung his sword over his shoulder and gestured with his chin at them: "Put it down. We won't kill you. You've all seen it; those who surrender live. Those who don't, we won't waste any more words."
A disciple of the Demonic Sect spat, "Who believes you! You beasts from the Nightmare Realm, when have you not slaughtered everyone..."
Before he could finish speaking, an outer disciple beside [N O V E L I G H T] him threw down his knife and knelt down with a thud: "I surrender! I surrender! I still have an old mother at home..."
As soon as he knelt down, the rest of the people seemed to have their bones removed, their weapons clattering to the ground, and they all knelt down in unison.
The one who had been so stubborn was still standing, but his face had lost all color, his lips trembled twice, and the black iron rod in his hand fell to the ground with a clang.
The second-tier swordsman sighed, "It would have been better if we had done this sooner. Take him away."
In the street battles, more and more disciples of the Demonic Sect discovered that the "evil nightmare plane" actually accepted surrender.
At a charred alleyway entrance, a dozen or so handymen disciples threw their knives and sticks on the ground and squatted against the wall, covering their heads.
A young soldier walked over with his sword, but before he could speak, one of the menial disciples started howling.
"Don't kill me! I surrender! I'll confess everything! There's a cellar nearby with stored grain, and a few supervisors in the ancestral hall behind the alley!"
"You think you know about cellars?" The garrison soldier kicked him.
"I know! My dad used to dig cellars for the butler! I used to sneak in and steal sweet potatoes when I was little!"
"Stealing sweet potatoes?" The garrison soldier chuckled. "Someone like you, and you still dare to hang around in the Demonic Sect?"
"What a load of crap! I was just dragged here to make up the numbers! Do I look like I can fight?" The handyman disciple raised his head, his face covered in soot and snot and tears.
The garrison soldier looked him up and down, then thought carefully for a moment: "He certainly doesn't seem like it."
"...Thank you."
"Alright, alright, get up! Find a rope and tie yourself all together, then head west. There are people there to receive prisoners!"
"Alright! Thank you, big brother! May you live a long and healthy life! You'll definitely be a centurion someday!"
Stop flattering me and get lost!
Such scenes are playing out in every alley of Blood Nest No. 10.
More and more prisoners were brought over to the city wall, squatting in a dark mass.
Disciples who performed menial tasks and outer disciples were all mixed in among them.
Some people hung their heads, some peeked furtively, and some muttered incantations, whether cursing the Beacon Tower or praying for the ancestral master's blessing, it was unclear.
Several soldiers from the Beacon Tower responsible for guarding the prisoners chatted casually while counting the number of people.
"This battle is like catching pigs," a young soldier remarked, looking at the rows of prisoners squatting before him. "These bastards were charging like madmen at Hangu Pass, but now they're all behaving themselves."
"Can they be the same?" An old soldier glanced at the pile of prisoners. "Back then, they thought they could win. Now the city has fallen, and there are dragons and griffins in the sky. If they don't behave, death is what awaits them."
"But to be honest, these servants are really poor. I just searched through the pockets of several prisoners, and besides a handful of dry rations, there wasn't even a single inferior blood crystal."
The young soldier curled his lip: "That thing can be converted into gray crystals through a converter, yet they don't have a single one."
"Nonsense, what kind of money could a menial job possibly make? Just wait, when we find out the city's warehouses and the residences of those grandmasters, that's when we'll really make a fortune." The old soldier said, a glint of anticipation in his eyes.
"More and more people are surrendering." A second-stage awakened being ran from the alley entrance and reported to the centurion in charge of the city's defenses.
"When these demonic sect disciples realized we really didn't kill prisoners, they all ran this way, and we couldn't stop them."
The centurion untied a water pouch from his waist, tilted his head back, and took a swig. "The lord said, if we don't kill them, we won't kill them. We'll follow orders. We'll gather them by the city wall first, and after the city is cleared, we'll escort them all back to Blue Star. There's plenty of land outside the Great Wall; enough for them to farm for generations."
The second-stage awakened one smiled and responded, then ran deeper into the alley.
In the air, the ice-winged griffins continued to circle, and occasionally a few demonic sect disciples would rush out from the shadows, only to be quickly subdued by crossbow bolts and halberds, without even making a ripple.
The blood-red flags within the city were torn down one by one, and the flags of the Beacon Fire Territory began to rise throughout the city.
Blood Nest No. 10, the gate of the Blood Abyss Sect, has completely changed hands from the inside out.
...
Two hours later, the sun began to set.
The cleanup operation within the city is basically complete.
Outside the West Gate, a long, dragon-like procession slowly emerged from the city gate and stretched along the paved road towards the Blue Star Plane.
Inside the ranks were rows of demonic sect disciples and civilians whose hands were bound with hemp rope.
Most of them were pale-faced, with blank eyes, and walked with unsteady steps, like puppets whose energy had been drained.
Occasionally someone would stumble, and the county soldiers beside them would reach out and pull them up; no one deliberately made things difficult for them.
Further away, truckloads of captured supplies were being transported out of various parts of the Blood Nest, their wheels making a dull thud as they rolled over the broken bricks and blood on the ground.
Some of the vehicles were particularly heavy, their decks creaking under the weight.
The car was piled with dark red crystals of varying sizes and shades, the largest being no more than the thickness of a thumb, and the smallest resembling broken pebbles.
The most valuable items are these blood crystals, the universal currency of the Demonic Sect plane, and one of the most important spoils of war.
The truck was carrying mostly low-quality blood crystals, along with some lower-grade blood crystals, all neatly packed in sacks.
"Do you know where these blood crystals came from?" an old soldier knocked on the vehicle's side panel and asked a few young awakened individuals beside him.
"Isn't it... dug out of the mine?" A short man scratched his head.
The old soldier sneered and leaned against the edge of the car: "I captured a follower of a demonic sect deacon on the city wall before. That kid confessed everything to save his life."
He pointed to the lightest-colored batch in the car: "These are the worst quality. They are made from blood drawn from ordinary civilians, once a month, mixed with some kind of dark-colored medicinal herb."
The menial disciples rely on these inferior blood crystals to cultivate and level up.
"Holy crap..." The young awakened one's eyes widened in surprise.
"Next in line, it's the blood of the menial disciples."
The veteran then pointed to another batch of blood crystals on the vehicle, which were even darker in color: "See? The color is different. The servant disciples have better physical constitutions, so the blood drawn from them is of higher quality."
Once you reach the level of a Day-tall disciple, you'll have intermediate-grade Blood Crystals. After that, you'll progress to Innate Disciple and Grandmaster—each level is more valuable than the last.
"So, the entire sect's subordinates are all 'resources'?" The dark-faced man beside him frowned deeply.
"Exactly." The old soldier patted the sacks on the truck. "These demonic sects treat people like expendable resources. They take from the commoners, the laborers, the newly-developed, and even the innate disciples can't escape."
"I knew it! The people in this godforsaken place all look deathly pale, and they're out of breath after just a few steps," the young awakened one chimed in.
The dark-faced man looked up at the sky and sighed, "These bastards from the Demonic Sect truly don't treat people like human beings. From top to bottom, not a single one is clean. Even the true disciples can't escape being bled. What kind of immortality are they cultivating?"
The group remained silent for a moment.
The tall, thin man who had been silent all along suddenly spoke up, his tone serious: "So don't think that the Nightmare faction is any better than them."
"What's wrong?" the young awakened one asked.
"Last time I went to Eternal Night City with a caravan, I saw firsthand how those Nightmare Clan members caused trouble."
The tall, thin man paused, as if recalling some unpleasant scene: "At least the Demonic Sect knows to support civilians and not kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. After all, people can only be continuously drained if they are alive."
Those Nightmare Clan members are even more outrageous. They directly raise large numbers of alien races within the plane, like raising pigs. Once they reach a certain age, they are directly transformed into mindless Nightmare Clan members.
"My God..." The young awakened one gasped.
"And there's something even worse. In other nightmare planes, slavery is everywhere, and those slave owners don't treat people like human beings at all."