Martial King's Retired Life

“Move. I need to speak to White Cleric.”

White Cleric’s subordinates flinched when Hong Jiu came through. And then, they became very tense, prompting him to slam everyone into the ground – literally.

White Cleric: Finally come for my wallet, huh?

“Shameless!” White Cleric brayed.

Confused, Hong Jiu picked his ear. “I hear you can predict the rain. So, when’s it going to rain?”

“Why you should I tell y-, hey! What are you lifting me up for?! Listen, runt: I’m a scholar! You can kill a warrior, b-, ow! My back! My back!”

Hong Jiu suplexed White Cleric onto the ground, so the latter jumped up to inveigh, only for Hong Jiu to slap him across the face.

“Listen, cornhole: I know you’ve been running a sham of predicting rain whilst pretending to summon rain all these years. If you don’t tell me when it’s going to rain, I’ll skin you alive!”

White Cleric spat out blood. “Why are those bum’s problems my problem? I won’t bat an eye if they all perish. I only take orders from Great Spirit Shaman. Everyone else can kiss my behind.”

“Let’s see how tough that mouth is!” Hong Jiu unleashed a sixteen-hit slap combo.

“I won’t tell you!” White Cleric fulminated despite his teeth coming loose, “I’ll die before I tell you when it rains!”

Immediately subsequent to White Cleric’s drawn out “rains”, thunder clapped, and the wind blew droplets of water into the tent. Within moments, people outside cheered in Xiacang Anxi, “It’s raining!”

Hong Jiu scrubbed his head, feeling somewhat apologetic to White Cleric. “Hey, uh, I won’t keep you. Rest up, Elder.”

“… Piss off! I’m not done with y-, ah, my face!”

***

Ever since Ming Feizhen arrogated leadership from him, Gewu had to toss out his throne for the Shaman Monarch throne and hand over his throne room, forcing him to move into a hall. Needless to say, he no longer had lavish furniture, ornaments and a harem of women around him.

It went without saying that Gewu plotted to reclaim what was his; however, two days ago, Ming Feizhen suddenly came back to mock Gewu before taking off again with a whole stash of valuable items, citing he needed to change their hiding spot.

Once he was done reading White Cleric’s report, Gewu rubbed his eyes and inhaled deliberately. “The two hundred followers who went with him are now loyal to him. I can afford to lose two hundred, and I can afford to lose a dull Wood Guardian. Those villages are just idiots; it doesn’t matter if I’m less thousands of idiots when there are plenty more.” He then opened his eyes to ask the man who was treated the same as always, “What I don’t understand is, why are you helping him?”

Moyan Luohou answered, “I never helped him.”

“But you didn’t kill him, either. You know he isn’t Shaman Monarch, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Moyan Luohou’s answer was expected. Given Gewu knew how Shaman Monarch should be, he expected Moyan Luohou, as a descendant of Moyan Clan, to also know. What Gewu wanted to pry out was the reason Moyan Luohou refused to help.

“If I order you to kill him in the name of Shaman Monarch, no, Shaman Faith’s Great Spirit Shaman, can you kill him as Shaman Monarch’s blade?”

“No.”

“…Why?”

Moyan Luohou didn’t reply, and Gewu, as with anyone else, couldn’t force him to. Even when Moyan Luohou walked out, Gewu couldn’t say anything.

The plan was moving along in turbo gear. Gewu needed to secure Moyan Luohou’s loyalty as the latter was an important chess piece. Once he utilised the ace up his sleeve, a storm would be introduced. Therefore, he needed to control every variable before he played his ace.

Ming Feizhen wasn’t aware Gewu marked him as a target that had to be dispatched the moment Ming Feizhen suggested they work together. Why was Gewu dead set on killing Ming Feizhen? Because Gewu couldn’t accept the conditions Ming Feizhen offered. As a matter of fact, any hopes of a cordial relationship were dashed from that moment.

Allowing Ming Feizhen to have his way at Shaman Monarch Palace was but a tactic to lower Ming Feizhen’s vigilance. If Ming Feizhen wasn’t so much stronger than him, Gewu wouldn’t have contrived the plot. Ming Feizhen wasn’t Gewu’s first adversary who was a force to be reckoned with; Martial Paragon came before, and how did he end up?

“… It’s time to contact Nieyao.”

Gewu picked up a vermillion brush to write on a scroll. The ancient text required the reader to decipher to understand. He only contacted “them” every six to twelve months unless there was urgent business. He headed up to the second floor, where he housed an overgrown black bird that he used to communicate with Nieyao. When the bird took off, it took along with it his stress.

“Your Eminence, Iron Guardian has returned!” a follower reported.

Gewu had no complaints about Iron Guardian being at the mercy of Ming Feizhen’s whims when the latter was so much stronger than Iron Guardian. What annoyed him was that Iron Guardian couldn’t keep the two hundred followers in line.

“I can understand him returning after what he went through. Has he requested an audience with me? He can keep suffering for a while as penance for failing to keep the followers on a leash. Tell him he is not granted an audience with me regardless of how he feels or what ruckus he makes.”

“Yes, Your Eminence!”

Gewu set up three big desks in his courtyard, each topped off with a white sheet of paper. He pretended he was an artist who had spare time on his hands. Even though his “Autumn Hunter Painting” didn’t have the slightest connection to the topic at hand, he brainstormed reasons to refer to it when lecturing Iron Guardian because acting as if he was a sage when disciplining his subordinates was one of his few hobbies. Once he was satisfied, he instructed, “Summon Iron Guardian.”

The messenger went out and came back to notify, “Your Eminence, Iron Guardian came back and then rushed off with one thousand and five hundred men.”

As the spring wind blew, the sound of leaves sliding along the ground resounded sonorously.