Chapter Fifty-One: The Phantom Palace

The terrain of Lord Tie’s Mausoleum was far more complicated than Zhang He and his companions had imagined. The guide Ma Junmei had checked earlier was merely an incomplete version, and now, after being led by Second Sister through dozens of winding rooms, they still hadn’t reached the core of the tomb.

Ma Junmei was inwardly shocked, yet her mouth was never one to admit defeat. “It’s just bigger than I expected. If I walk a few more rounds, I’ll figure out the path.”

Second Sister smiled faintly. “I understand what you mean, Miss Qian. But from here on, we’ll be entering the main chamber of Lord Tie’s tomb.”

Zhong Shuman sneered. “Is the Second Miss implying she has designs on Lord Tie’s tomb?”

Second Sister chuckled. “Don’t misunderstand me, Miss Zhong. I know my place. I’m hardly worthy of coveting Lord Tie’s real burial chamber.”

Hua Feihong interjected, “Lord Tie was a man of integrity. If your intention is tomb robbing, you are making a grave mistake.”

“We’re well aware of that,” explained Second Sister. “But as disciples of righteous sects, perhaps you do not know what it truly costs to enter Lord Tie’s main burial chamber.”

“How great is the cost, then?” Ma Junmei was still unconvinced.

Second Sister’s expression sobered. “A week ago, we already lost forty-six skilled fighters. Meanwhile, those who secretly followed us in came from Kongtong Sect, Twin Rings Clan, Snow Mountain Sect...”

She rattled off the names of seven or eight sects. At first, Zhang He and his group were indifferent, but her last words sent chills down their spines. “There was also a great monk from Shaolin, and a captain from the Demon Cult. Altogether, one hundred and twenty-eight players—all fell here.”

Only then did Zhang He’s group react in awe. All martial arts under heaven originated from Shaolin, and in three years of “Dynasty,” none dared challenge Shaolin’s authority. The Demon Cult was not only shrouded in mystery but also teemed with talent, making them the two most formidable factions in the game.

Ma Junmei no longer dared speak carelessly, asking cautiously, “Were they all killed by others?”

“We killed them,” Second Sister replied calmly.

Ma Junmei’s eyes widened.

Second Sister smiled. “Of course, we’re not strong enough to take them all out. They simply fell victim to the mechanisms and traps.”

Zhong Shuman said, “But we didn’t encounter any traps on our way in.”

Second Sister replied languidly, “That’s because I guided you through this route. Without Brother Five Bamboo’s insight, you three delicate beauties wouldn’t have made it in here alive, no matter how many times you tried.”

Zhong Shuman was silenced, but Zhang He mused, “What exactly is hidden in Lord Tie’s main tomb to attract so many?”

“There’s no harm in telling you,” Second Sister said. “Only players versed in arcane arts can trigger the quest to enter Lord Tie’s tomb. Then, by summoning and defeating the Soul of Lord Tie, they can obtain the eighth part of the ‘Deer-Cutting Blade’ blueprint.”

Now Zhang He and his friends were truly astounded, especially Zhang He and Zhong Shuman. The deadly battle at Ma Town’s Qingcheng Weiyuan Escort Agency had been for the legendary Deer-Cutting Blade, and now, fate had brought them back to this grand quest. To their surprise, this was already the eighth blueprint piece, meaning the first seven had been assembled. The one Zhang He had given to Cloud Wanderer was likely the seventh.

Thinking of Cloud Wanderer, Zhang He’s expression turned grim. It was something he would never forget.

Second Sister suddenly laughed. “You so-called righteous folks are always waving the banners of justice and virtue. But when it comes to priceless treasures and high-grade equipment, you’re no better than us thieves. At least we have a code, but you lot would sell out your own for profit...”

Though her face was hidden behind a black veil, the ridicule and contempt on her face were palpable to Zhong Shuman and her companions. Yet, such things happened daily in “Dynasty,” and no one could argue otherwise.

Seeing that the three women were at a loss for words, Zhang He quickly interjected, “So, venerable sister, what is it you want me to do?”

Second Sister’s expression grew serious again. “This chamber is the central hub of Lord Tie’s Mausoleum. Our main force is confronting Lord Tie’s soul in the main chamber. But things are never certain, and to ensure the quest proceeds, my task is to guard this hub and prevent others from entering.”

Ma Junmei hesitated. “You mean there’s a good chance others will try to come in?”

Second Sister replied, “We’re not concerned about ordinary sect members, but if rivals—especially skilled ones—get in, it’s different. They’re just as adept at navigating these arcane traps.”

Zhang He chuckled. “So you want my help to defend this place?”

Second Sister smiled as well. “Brother, you’re discerning and experienced. You can be of help.”

Zhong Shuman’s temper flared. “So you mean we’re ignorant country bumpkins?”

Second Sister laughed lightly. “I never said that, but if you insist on thinking so, there’s nothing I can do.”

Zhong Shuman gritted her teeth. “Fine, I’ll stay here as well. I want to see which so-called righteous sect dares sneak in for petty thievery. I’ll kill every one of them, so you can’t claim we’re all the same.”

Zhang He found it amusing. Did she really think Second Sister disdained the righteous path? It was just a ploy to provoke them into helping. He’d seen such tricks plenty of times. Ah, women—always so headstrong.

The central burial chamber remained dimly lit, but it was clearly much larger than the others. In each corner stood pairs of guardian beasts, their lifelike visages evoking ancient primordial monsters. Once inside, the air of eerie strangeness became even more intense.

Such scenes were nothing new to Mad-Feaster, who’d been hardened by three years of “Dynasty” as a master of the arcane. He could spot anything out of the ordinary at a glance.

To reach the core chamber of Lord Tie’s Mausoleum, his guild, the Phantom Palace, had paid a heavy price. From scouting routes, disabling traps, marking safe zones, deducing positions, analyzing the environment, to outwitting Qianling Fort and other factions, Phantom Palace had lost over fifty members. Only after all preparations were complete did their leader send him, the Guardian, to advance on Lord Tie’s main tomb.

But news came that Qianling Fort’s main force had already entered the tomb. Mad-Feaster’s mission was to get there first—or, failing that, to sabotage Qianling Fort’s quest.

The Deer-Cutting Blade’s blueprint must not fall into Qianling Fort’s hands, or Phantom Palace would lose the massive commission from their employer.

Now, the central chamber lay before him. Mad-Feaster had expected it to be eerily quiet. Any experienced arcane player knew that the most innocuous-looking places were often riddled with deadly traps. A moment’s carelessness could mean death.

Yet, atop the offering table sat a man, broad and burly, completely at ease.

Zhang He, slightly hungry, took out a steamed bun and began eating ravenously.

Seeing this bizarre sight, Mad-Feaster and his thirty-plus followers dared not approach, growing even more tense. Anyone who could make it here, even if not versed in the arcane, had to be formidable.

In truth, most arcane players lacked high combat power or level, as they devoted their energy to mastering knowledge rather than martial stats, which the system did not reward. Martial prowess was for reaching more dangerous places, nothing more. For an arcane player to reach third or fourth rank was already impressive, akin to a combat player reaching fifth or sixth. If an arcane player reached fifth or sixth rank and mastered the arcane, he could truly laugh at the martial world.

Suddenly, Zhang He, having eaten his fill, began singing a high-spirited Yunnan folk song, his voice echoing through the tomb:

"This fat woman, listen to me. Dealing with fat women is my specialty. If you don’t believe me, let’s try it tonight. I’ll make you roll off the bed! Oh, my fat wife, I’ll make you roll off the bed! Don’t mind that I’m fat—being fat’s not a problem. Tonight, you’ll sleep in my arms, just like chewing gum, oh, my dear, just like chewing gum..."

As the folk tune resounded, Mad-Feaster’s party exchanged bewildered glances. What was this man singing? Was he mad?

Steeling himself, Mad-Feaster called out, “Friend ahead, may I ask which path you come from? Why do you block our way?”

He infused his words with inner strength, his voice trembling the chamber, making clear both his presence and his strength.

Zhang He replied, “You ask me, but I won’t answer.”

Mad-Feaster was taken aback, half amused. “And if I don’t ask?”

Zhang He laughed. “If you don’t ask, I still won’t say!”

With inner strength, Zhang He’s words boomed like a bell through the chamber.

Mad-Feaster’s face darkened. He turned and said, “Mengzi, go test him.”

Mengzi, dressed in black and festooned with colorful pouches, was clearly a veteran of traps and information gathering. He stepped forward, steadied himself, and drew a pair of iron crutches—a rare weapon, not for its external power, but for the way he spun with them, using his movement to avoid floor traps.

Spinning like a top, Mengzi launched three white flashes—three four-leaf clover-shaped darts. Their speed and power were ordinary, but their odd trajectories and back-and-forth flight made them difficult to evade.

Zhang He seemed to anticipate this. From atop the altar, he thrust his sword downward, threading it through the gaps between the darts with an equally peculiar movement—not fast, but uncanny in angle.

Mengzi was startled and stopped spinning, raising his iron crutches to block.

But the sword strike was a feint. In mid-air, Zhang He flicked his wrist, scattering a handful of copper coins. Caught off guard, Mengzi deflected a few, but two struck his chest, and a red damage number, “-72,” appeared above his head.

The sword’s tip quivered as it reached its mark, but Mengzi had to retreat, sliding back to his original spot. For arcane players, if a strike misses, retreat is essential.

Standing firm again, Mengzi nodded grimly. “Not bad. Let’s see how you handle my next move.”