Chapter Fifty-Three: The Hidden Gu of the Mysterious Sect

When speaking of the core chamber of an underground tomb, most people's imagination conjures a cramped and damp burial vault—gloomy, dark, bristling with countless traps, mechanisms, and poisons, and finally, a ghostly apparition leaping forth to terrify intruders half to death. Yet at this moment, the main burial chamber in Lord Tie's tomb was utterly beyond Zhang He and his companions' expectations. Far from being damp and narrow, the chamber was dry and spacious—by Zhang He's rough estimate, the area of the core chamber was at least as large as a soccer field. The floor was completely paved with rain-flower stone, while hundreds of ever-burning lamps along the walls illuminated the entire chamber as bright as day. There was neither pillar nor coffin, no obstacles of any kind.

It would be more fitting to call it an underground palace than a mere burial chamber. At the very center rose a five or six-meter-tall Eight Trigrams altar of blue-and-white stone, upon which rested an ancient yet exquisitely crafted stone coffin—this, no doubt, was the tomb of Lord Tie.

However, the chamber was not empty. At this moment, people stood guard at the entrances to the north, south, east, and west. Zhang He and his group entered from the southern gate, where all present belonged to "Thousand Spirits Fortress," numbering some fifty or more. The other three gates were likewise crowded with people, all dressed as night-walkers in black, evidently practitioners of esoteric arts as well, each unwilling to reveal their true faces.

Ma Junmei's eyes widened with curiosity. The tomb of Lord Tie had already been opened, and above the coffin hovered a bizarre mass of black vapor. Players from all directions were attacking it; the black vapor not only hissed menacingly but even displayed a health bar.

In "Dynasty," bosses never revealed their exact health, only a percentage bar. Yet after many battles, players had developed a sense for a boss's vitality.

"Is that Lord Tie's soul?" Ma Junmei asked, brimming with curiosity.

Obviously, no one bothered to answer such an obvious question. With so many people attacking it, what else could it be if not Lord Tie's soul?

Ma Junmei looked again, observing that players from all directions were attacking with bows and crossbows. The players to the north wielded familiar longbows, heavy bows, and large recurved crossbows, while the other three groups used crossbows of every imaginable kind. Some resembled tiny building blocks, firing slender bolts not inferior to flying needles or other secret projectiles; others were so large and curved that two or three players had to draw the string together, unleashing a barrage of flying stones. When those stones struck the black vapor, strings of -300 damage values appeared one after another.

The battle against the boss in the tomb raged with heat and fervor, but Zhang He and his companions could only watch as spectators. Hua Feihong and Ma Junmei stood out too much in their Shushan robes. Their arrival had startled quite a few players, for no one expected members of an orthodox sect to enter such a heavily guarded royal tomb. But seeing Zhang He's group only standing by with arms folded, the others' suspicions soon faded, and they returned to their poison and arrow attacks.

If Zhang He looked like a country bumpkin in the real world, then Ma Junmei was a hill girl just out of the mountains in "Dynasty," unfamiliar with the ways of the world and curious about everything. To be precise, Hua Feihong was even more naive, though she always maintained a reserved silence.

"The crossbows they’re using are called spring-bolt crossbows," Zhong Shuman explained. "They rely on rubber cords and gears to fire slender needles, with tremendous penetration—comparable to master-level flying needles at first rank!"

Zhong Shuman truly lived up to her reputation in the martial world, her knowledge broad and deep. "There’s also the repeating crossbow, or Yuanrong crossbow, which can shoot over ten bolts at once. Its power is immense, but so are its size and weight—impossible for a single person to use. Due to the complexity of construction and the rarity of materials, plus the need for custom bolts, these are primarily used by imperial troops. Players of the esoteric arts can make them, but the cost is prohibitive..."

Hua Feihong nodded in admiration. "I've learned something new today."

Zhang He couldn't help but laugh. "It seems your theoretical knowledge is quite solid."

Zhong Shuman sneered. "Are you implying our actual skills are lacking?"

Zhang He gazed at the black vapor in the palace's center. "Haven’t you noticed anything else?"

The first to respond was naturally Ma Junmei. "What’s there to notice? This Lord Tie’s soul probably has around two hundred thousand health—definitely a boss above the 'terrifying' level."

Zhang He smiled. "I don't need you to tell me that—everyone can see it."

Zhong Shuman said coldly, "Then what are you getting at?"

Zhang He looked at the four groups around the chamber and murmured, "Haven’t you realized these four groups aren’t from the same faction?"

"Oh?" Zhong Shuman replied.

Hua Feihong, who had been silent, pointed toward the northernmost group. "Look at them—the first two rows are shooting, but four or five people at the rear haven’t moved at all, as if they’re just watching."

Following her gaze, Zhong Shuman immediately understood. Compared with their own Thousand Spirits Fortress, who were all firing, the group opposite held back some of their strength. Their attack style marked them as a different team.

Looking more closely, Ma Junmei also caught on. The attack output from the four groups seemed uneven at first, but in fact, a subtle balance had been struck: whenever any one group pressed their attack more heavily, the boss’s aggro would shift toward them.

With their formations, if the boss closed the distance, no single team could withstand it.

Now, the boss’s health bar had dropped below thirty percent. Ma Junmei blurted out, "So what if there are four different teams? What does it have to do with us?"

Zhang He gazed into the distance, murmuring, "I hope nothing. But if it does, we may be in for trouble."

Zhong Shuman, knowing his calm insight and unique perspective, suspected he’d noticed something amiss. "Do you recognize these masked people?"

"Not really," Zhang He shook his head. "But something here doesn’t add up."

Hua Feihong turned as well. "What’s troubling you, Brother Wu?"

Zhang He pointed at the group by the western gate. "As you said, those spring-bolt crossbows are incredibly powerful. They have over a dozen there, and each shot does three hundred points of damage to the boss."

Ma Junmei was puzzled. "And the problem is?"

Zhang He gestured to the group led by Thousand Spirits Fortress’s second sister. "They use longbows—twelve in total. Though the firing rate is slower, each arrow does four hundred and twenty damage."

Ma Junmei remained confused, and Zhong Shuman and Hua Feihong simply looked at Zhang He.

Suddenly, Zhang He fixed Ma Junmei with a stare. "What if they all turned their weapons on the Ghost Palace group from earlier?"

Ma Junmei’s heart skipped a beat. Hesitantly, she replied, "It would probably be a massacre."

Zhang He clapped his hands. "Exactly! Not just a massacre—even the stronger combat players would be hard-pressed to survive. So, true masters of the esoteric arts are far from pushovers."

Ma Junmei finally seemed to understand. "Were we… was fighting the Ghost Palace team just now a little too easy?"

Now Zhong Shuman and Hua Feihong caught on as well. Their brush with the Mad Eater clan had gone far too smoothly—so smoothly it was almost suspicious. Experience told them that when things went too easily, something was always wrong.

At that moment, the boss’s health dipped below twenty percent. Its demise was only a matter of time.

"Who do you think will get the kill when the boss falls?" Zhong Shuman asked.

Zhang He replied quietly, "If I’m not mistaken, it’ll be Thousand Spirits Fortress."

"Why?"

"Twelve longbows, each dealing over four hundred damage. Three poison specialists, each contributing about three hundred and twenty damage per second. Add more than twenty using secret projectiles—each weak, but together, their output is terrifying. All told, I estimate their total output at about twenty-three hundred damage per second. No other group can match them..."

Zhong Shuman listened in awe. She’d seen Zhang He’s sharp eye before but hadn’t realized it was this acute. Amid the storm of needles and arrows, he could discern which group fired which, and even estimate their collective output—this wasn’t just the result of skill, but an innate talent. What kind of monster was this man?

As Zhong Shuman pondered, the boss’s health dropped below ten percent. At that instant, a sudden change occurred. Hua Feihong cried, "Look—the northern group has vanished!"

Zhong Shuman jerked her head up. Sure enough, the four or five people in the rear of the northern ranks had disappeared without a trace.

Zhang He, however, focused on the altar’s base. "It’s the invisible gu used by practitioners of the esoteric arts."

As scions of orthodox families, Ma Junmei and Hua Feihong knew nothing of such obscure arts. Invisible gu allowed players to become unseen for a short time—not truly invisible, but a cunning trick of the eye. Someone as sharp-eyed as Zhang He could spot it: below the altar, transparent, human-shaped ripples moved about. Unless you looked carefully, you’d never notice.

The Invisible Gu was only useful in the chaos of mass combat. Against a truly discerning expert or a true inner-martial master, it was simply a quick way to die.

But the Thousand Spirits Fortress had already noticed. The second sister, who had been focused on the boss, suddenly flicked her wrist, scattering a shower of blue-glinting flying needles toward the human-shaped ripples beneath the altar. The needles weren’t especially fast, but they fell as densely as rain—impossible to avoid without a weapon to block them.