Chapter Thirty-Six: The Assembly of the Demon Mara

The middle-aged man was dressed in a black Tang suit, his entire being reeking of corpse-like malice and resentment, a trace of wickedness gleaming in his eyes.

“Disaster comes from the mouth? I’d like to see exactly how disaster is brought by words,” Lin Feng replied coolly, showing not the slightest deference.

“Well, well, you’re quite the bold one. Young people these days truly are fearless out of ignorance; despite your lack of knowledge, you refuse to admit it, and to win a lady’s admiration, you’d even gamble with your life.”

“Very well. Since that’s the case, do you have the guts to make a wager with me?” The middle-aged man struck the pose of a hermit master, as if he were already a legendary grandmaster.

His tone was that of a senior reprimanding a junior—commanding, condescending.

Lin Feng had no interest in stooping to his level, but a glimmer of amusement curved his lips when his gaze fell upon the jade ring on the man’s finger. He smiled faintly and said, “All right, but what are the terms of this wager?”

“It’s simple. You just belittled this jade skull, didn’t you? Then let’s wager on this jade skull. If you can hold it for more than twenty minutes, you win; if not, you lose.”

“If you lose, I want no money, no treasures—only your tongue!” The man’s eyes flashed fiercely as he bared a row of yellow teeth in a sinister grin.

“What?” Only for a single disparaging remark, this man wanted another’s tongue—truly vicious!

“Lin Feng, don’t agree! It’s far too dangerous!” Li Yating clung to his arm, pleading with him to reconsider. Tang Ke also looked troubled, pulling out his phone to report the situation.

Their opponent was aggressive and cruel, but instead of backing down, Lin Feng’s interest was piqued.

“Oh? You do have something of the devil about you. Very well, I accept. But if I win, I want your jade ring and its history.”

“Lin Feng, no!” Li Yating protested as Lin Feng agreed without hesitation, a sense of dread rising within her, but it was already too late to stop him.

The middle-aged man hesitated briefly, pinched the jade ring on his finger, and his eyes flashed coldly before he agreed. “Good. Let’s seal the pact with a handshake.”

“Agreed.”

Their palms met with a crisp clap—the pact was struck.

As the contract was sealed, the middle-aged man threw back his head and laughed wildly. “Boy, do you think knowing a little about spiritual objects makes you invincible? Do you even know who I am? I am Luo Jiale, the foremost broker of Chuzhou. This cursed skull was discovered by me.”

At the mention of “Luo Jiale,” Tang Ke’s face changed instantly.

Luo Jiale’s reputation in Chuzhou was infamous for his cruelty and malice. His ancestors were tomb raiders, and he dealt mostly in funereal relics.

But what was truly unsettling was that in recent years, anyone who opposed him met mysterious deaths or went mad—none escaped unscathed.

At the last auction, he suffered a humiliating loss, forfeiting both face and valuable items. His resentment toward the brokers of Binhai City was deep and abiding.

No wonder he was picking a fight—clearly, he was seeking personal vengeance.

Facing Luo Jiale, Lin Feng’s fate seemed grim.

Yet Luo Jiale, seeing Lin Feng remain unmoved, continued with a sinister edge, “A stone of resentment? Yes, you could call it that. But this jade originated from a wicked altar, forged through the sacrifice of a thousand living souls, then empowered by the will of a Tibetan monk and the souls of twenty vengeful high monks, refined over five hundred years into an ultimate evil artifact.”

“Not to mention ordinary people—even enlightened monks cannot survive a day under its influence! I’m not underestimating you—twenty minutes, and if you’re not dead, you’ll be driven mad. Hahaha, I’ll wait here to watch you lose your mind.”

Luo Jiale laughed wickedly, eyeing Lin Feng as if he were already a corpse.

“An evil artifact? It’s been years since I’ve seen one. I’m actually curious to see if it’s as formidable as you claim,” Lin Feng replied coolly.

“Lin Feng! Are you out of your mind? You—” Li Yating stamped her foot in frustration, but there was nothing she could do. She could only watch as Lin Feng approached the display case.

Luo Jiale, respected in Chuzhou, waved his hand, and the staff opened the case.

“All right, boy, you may take the skull now,” Luo Jiale said with a broad, sinister smile.

Under the anxious, bewildered, and pitying gazes of the crowd, Lin Feng stepped forward, extended his right hand, and grasped the skull.

Throughout, Luo Jiale’s lips curled in a cold sneer as he watched Lin Feng, waiting for him to break.

But—

One minute passed…

Five minutes…

Ten minutes…

The moments slipped away quietly.

Lin Feng remained perfectly unscathed, his spirit unshaken, as if the evil artifact had no effect on him whatsoever.

“How can this be?” Luo Jiale’s brows furrowed. After a moment’s thought, a cruel smile twisted his face. “Not potent enough? Then I’ll add fuel to the fire!”

He pricked his fingertip, flicked a drop of fresh blood onto the jade skull, and the blood was swiftly absorbed.

Suddenly, the skull’s hollow eye sockets glowed with a terrifying blood-red light, and a swirl of black malevolence poured forth like a tornado.

Li Yating and Tang Ke, being ordinary, could not see the baleful aura, but they did notice the blood vanish and a biting chill fill the air.

A series of low, indistinct growls echoed in their ears as the baleful energy gathered, taking shape overhead as a statue wreathed in Buddha’s radiance.

Yet this Buddha was no image of benevolence. Its pupils streamed with black blood, its face twisted in a wicked grin, and its seat was not a lotus but a mound of skulls—it was a demon god.

“Boy, you forced my hand. I only meant to punish you, but since you insist on courting death, you have only yourself to blame!” Luo Jiale cackled, revealing his familiarity with this deadly technique.

The demon god chanted in Sanskrit, and a horde of evil spirits surged forth from the mountain of skulls, gnashing their teeth and clawing hungrily as they rushed at Lin Feng.

This baleful energy was not only bloodthirsty and fierce, but also wove illusions, conjuring terrifying scenes.

Seeing Lin Feng seemingly entranced, Luo Jiale stroked his palm, his face brimming with satisfaction.

But just as the demon’s claws were about to touch Lin Feng’s brow, Lin Feng let out a cold snort, raised his head, and gazed at the specter conjured by the baleful aura.

His eyes narrowed, an icy light flashing from their depths; his right hand rose, forming a sword-finger, and he sighed softly:

“Eight Gates of Dunjia—Jing Gate, Star-plucking Finger.”

A streak of white light shot forth like a falling star, arcing through the air like a sword, and instantly obliterated the demon god.

With the demon destroyed, the jade skull shattered in Lin Feng’s hand, crumbling to dust.

“How can this be!” Luo Jiale spat a mouthful of blood, clearly suffering severe backlash. To see his flawless technique fail so utterly on Lin Feng shook him to the core—a sense of foreboding welled up within him.

Lin Feng, on the other hand, was serene and composed. He approached Luo Jiale and asked coldly, “Master Luo, tell me—who won this wager?”

“You! Impossible! How are you unaffected? Who are you?” Luo Jiale recoiled in shock, a trace of fear in his eyes.

That ring was his lifeblood; years of dealing in funereal relics, and surviving intact, owed much to this ring.

A treasure like this—how could he hand it over so easily?

With a flourish, Luo Jiale produced a bronze token and brandished it.

“Hmph! Dream on if you think you can take my treasure! Boy, don’t think you can do as you please just because you know a few tricks for dealing with baleful spirits. You’re nothing but a frog at the bottom of a well!”

“I’m telling you—if you dare touch me, Luo Jiale, not just in Binhai City, but throughout all of China, no one will be able to save your life!”

Brandishing the token, Luo Jiale was wild with arrogance, as if he’d found a powerful protector, dismissing Lin Feng entirely.

Etched in blood-red characters upon the token were three chilling words: Demon Mara Society.