Chapter 577 - Master and Servant, Westbound, A Strike to the Heart - Part 3

Deathless Tomb.

Near the entrance, direwolves poured like a flood into the maze of blue crystal and ice.

The once-composed silver-veiled girl who had seduced Naran in the Sea of Silence was now a shadow of her former self, her eyes crazed, her face twisted with mania.

She sat sidesaddle atop a massive three-headed direwolf, trailed by three hundred elite direwolf riders, the force she had painstakingly reassembled, her safeguard against being slaughtered by Sheng’er’s glacier avatar.

She raised her voice, shrill and persuasive, “This Deathless Tomb is the

true

secret of the Nine Flames Tribe! Only those who enter the coffins inside will have a shot at true rebirth. Everyone else, they just freeze to death. That’s all.”

“It’s all lies. Everything the Crowmother has told us is a lie! And now, she wants to hoard the Deathless Tomb all for herself! Charge! Drive her out!”

Her voice was madness itself, yet filled with hypnotic conviction.

She had nothing left to lose. Not even the Deathless Tomb’s deepest secret was off-limits anymore.

All she wanted now was to break in.

With her shouts, the tribal warriors surged forward, direwolves howling as they charged into the frozen labyrinth.

High above, a crow watched from a crystalline outcrop.

Meng Xingxian glared at it and shrieked, “Why won’t you let me take my son inside?! He’s your nephew! How can you be so heartless? Why?!”

“We will take him in. But you are not allowed to enter,” the crow answered coldly.

“I’m his mother! Why shouldn’t I be allowed to see him off?!” Meng Xingxian screamed again.

But the crow fell silent. There was no waking someone who had chosen to be blind.

From its perch, it could still see the old man below. His hair was white as snow now, but his body remained strong, broad-shouldered, upright.

Over the past 50 years, he had come here every single year, gently calling out to his aunt over and over again.

Sometimes, he would sit alone, chatting softly with the Crowmother, sharing stories from his life.

From a child, to a boy, to a man, and now, near his end.

Li Yuan may have barely known his grandson. But the Crowmother had walked with him every step of the way.

And in this moment, the old man understood both his mother’s desperation...and his aunt’s sorrowful silence.

But he could do nothing.

All he could do was sit atop a three-headed direwolf, face carved with sorrow and desolation.

He had failed his mother.

She had tasked him with leading their people into the Central Plains. But in his entire life, he had never once breached the borders of the Central Plains because the Human Emperor stood guard there.

Where the Human Emperor was, no one could trespass.

Now, the Nine Flames Tribe were a dwindling people. There weren’t even enough of them left to muster a proper army.

He was old now. He’d spent his entire life on this frozen tundra.

In truth, he rather envied his father. At least his father had once hoisted a golden war-axe, led direwolf riders across the Eternal Rest River and fought the Human Emperor face-to-face.

Even if he lost, at least he fought.

That was better than being a Khagan who did nothing at all.

“Attack! Break through!” Meng Xingxian’s face twisted into a vicious snarl as she pointed toward the Deathless Tomb.

Waves of wolves surged forward, and the barbarian warriors charged behind them.

Today, she was gambling everything.

If the Crowmother refused to yield, then she would drag the entire Nine Flames Tribe to hell with her.

She refused to believe that the Crowmother would truly commit a genocide.

For all these years, the people here had worshipped the totems of the crow and wolf. She refused to believe the Crowmother didn’t feel something.

This wasn’t a battle for territory.

It was a battle for the heart.

She was here to strike at the Crowmother where it hurt most.

If the Crowmother left the Deathless Tomb, everything could return to normal.

If she stayed...then she’d have to kill her own worshippers.

“Jen’gal Galzur!”

Suddenly, Meng Xingxian pointed at a figure not far away.

A strapping youth stepped forward, riding a massive direwolf. His face was painted with blood-red tribal markings, giving him a fierce, untamed look.

“Great Grandmother,” he called out respectfully.

“Take them in.” Meng Xingxian smiled warmly.

Galzur was the grandson of Tengsur’s daughter. He was only 16 years old but already astonishingly strong, having inherited the direct bloodline of the Khagan.

At her side, Tengsur finally understood what his mother intended. His voice cracked as he cried out, “Mother!”

“Silence!” Meng Xingxian snapped. Then she turned to Galzur with a proud, doting gaze. “You’re strong, Galzur. Strong enough to make a difference. Others may not be able to do it, but you can.”

Galzur had no idea what lay within the Deathless Tomb. He didn’t know about the icy labyrinth that devoured all power.

Young and bold, he still wore the fearless grin of a boy who’d never known real defeat.

He turned to Tengsur and said, “Don’t worry, Grandpa. Leave it to me.”

A massive axe in hand, he led a team of warriors and marched toward the maze.

High above, Meng Xingxian tilted her chin, glaring defiantly at the crow watching her from the cliff.

Go on then,

her eyes said.

Kill the boy if you dare.

She was an outsider. But Galzur carried the Crowmother’s bloodline.

Let’s see if you can really bring yourself to kill your own family.

Her sneer deepened as she turned and swept her gaze over the gathered tribesmen.

The descendants of Naran had long since branched into many families. There were plenty of people here who shared blood with Sheng’er.

Let’s see if you can kill them all.

The crow lowered its eyes...then suddenly took flight.

Its wings beat the air with a deep, eerie thrum, like the whisper of death brushing past one’s ear. The sound echoed through the snow and dark like a sorrowful requiem, hollow, haunting, and cold.

“Don’t go in, child,” the little crow called softly. “No matter how strong you are, inside the tomb, your strength will vanish. Everything will.”

Galzur paused, then looked up.

“Crowmother, I still want to try. A warrior doesn’t turn back just because someone says a few words. A warrior does not fear death and never retreats!"

His mouth curled into a defiant grin. His eyes shone with conviction, muscles taut, fingers clenched tight around the massive axe.

With a fierce swing, he roared, “Never retreat!”

The warriors behind him echoed the cry, their voices like thunder. Then, along with the charging direwolves, they surged toward the pitch-black mouth of the labyrinth.

Moments later, silence swallowed them whole.

In the heart of the Deathless Tomb, beneath the ancient symbol of the Yin-Yang fish, a solitary girl sat in the shadows. Her face was expressionless. Her heart, long since numbed.

Come. Kill them all. Wipe them out, every last one.

She was happy. Her crows were out in the world, living all kinds of lives. Her crows were at her father’s side. Her crows were free in a way no one else could be.

She was free. She was happy.

The quiet girl’s lips slowly curved into a smile.

Outside the labyrinth, Meng Xingxian raised her hand again and pointed. “Tsus’gar Khurgal. Your turn.”

This one bore a different surname. He was from the Blood Arrow Tribe, but he was her grandson too.

A wiry, sharp-eyed youth stepped forward with a spear in hand. Though lean, his body radiated strength.

“Are you afraid?” Meng Xingxian asked.

Khurgal laughed boldly. “A warrior doesn’t know the meaning of fear!”

Meng Xingxian nodded approvingly. “Your great grandmother believes in you. You can break open the gates of the Deathless Tomb.”

“Yes!” The young man mounted his direwolf and charged ahead, leading another group of warriors into the frozen expanse.

But this time, he hadn’t gone far before a strange pressure stirred behind him.

A golden giant, towering a thousand feet tall, stepped through the eternal snowstorm of the Evernight. His gaze swept across the earth like a god descending from the heavens.

In an instant, Meng Xingxian’s memories slammed back into her. She turned her direwolf in a sharp arc, eyes wary, bracing for battle.

“Enough,” Li Yuan said.

Meng Xingxian threw her head back and let out a wild, unhinged laugh, her eyes tearing up from sheer fury.

“You dare tell me to stop? Who are

you

to tell me what to do?!”

“Come with me,” Li Yuan said simply.

Meng Xingxian knew she couldn’t win. She turned and rode away with him.

When they were far from the others, hidden in a desolate hollow, she stopped her direwolf and stared up at the golden figure. Her face, lit by waves of heat, was proud and cold.

“So what?” she snapped. “Death doesn’t scare me. I’ve died before.”

“You asked me what right I have to make you stop,” Li Yuan said.

“That’s right,” she retorted, unwavering.

Li Yuan looked her in the eye.

“I’m Naran’s father.”

“...” Meng Xingxian froze. The cunning Wolfmother, who had played the game of deception for decades, stood utterly still, her expression twisting through confusion and disbelief. Her lips trembled. She murmured, “Impossible... Impossible...”

From the distance came the gentle clatter of wheels.

A carriage rolled into view. The curtain lifted to reveal the face of an elderly man, just as she remembered from decades ago.

Before her eyes, the old man became young again. White hair turned to black.

There had once been a need to keep this secret. But not anymore.

Now, the youth looked straight at the Wolfmother and asked, “Do you still doubt me?”

Meng Xingxian let out a piercing scream and bolted.

Li Yuan moved like lightning. In a blink, he swooped in like an eagle snatching a chick, grabbed her by the collar, and casually tossed her into the carriage.