The Record of Slaying Demons

Chapter 1

Record of Slaying Demons

A coffin on a rainy night

It was raining heavily.

Such heavy rain shouldn't be happening at this time of year. As Brother Magali picked up his candlestick and was walking upstairs, a glimpse of the rain outside the window caught his eye, and a sudden sense of unease washed over him. In this ancient Eastern city, thousands of miles from Florence, even with the glory of God shining upon him, he still felt a profound loneliness.

Lord, please forgive me.

He looked at the cross on the wall and unconsciously made the sign of the cross.

Suddenly, a horse neighed outside the door. Brother Magali's hand trembled, and a drop of candle wax fell onto the back of his hand, causing a sharp pain. He pushed open the door, picked up the oil-paper umbrella leaning against it, and went out.

The courtyard wasn't large, with a statue of the Virgin Mary in the center, and the ground was covered with daisies. These flowers, common in my homeland, were growing even more profusely in this far east than they had in Florence. The pale little flowers, like smoke, almost covered the ground, clustering around the Virgin Mary's feet, like... the lingering souls of the dead.

He shook his head, wondering why he had such an ominous association.

He waded through the puddles to the front of the courtyard and pulled open the iron gate with all his might. The gate was a bit rusty and made a creaking sound that made your teeth ache. Outside was a black carriage. As soon as the door opened, he rushed in impatiently.

The carriage wasn't large, and the driver wore a large raincoat that almost completely covered his face. He drove the carriage into the courtyard, immediately jumped down, and said, "Brother Magali, God bless you."

It was a long-lost Italian accent. Brother Magali felt a wave of dizziness, and his left hand involuntarily gripped the cross on his chest. The silver cross was polished to a gleaming shine, and looked even colder from the rain. He closed the iron gate and said, "Is that Brother Cassino?"

The man wiped the rain from his face, revealing a wisp of blond hair on his forehead. In the darkness, his emerald green eyes seemed to shine brightly. He nodded and said, "It's me. Quickly help me carry the things in the back of the car."

Brother Cassino drove the horse to the door, got into the carriage, and pushed out a large wooden box. Brother Magali took the box and felt its weight, as heavy as iron. He said, "What is that? It's really heavy."

From the darkness came Brother Cassino's deep voice: "The coffin."

※ ※ ※

It was a coffin. However, it wasn't the square coffin used by Chinese people, but a hexagonal coffin like the ones from our hometown. Two people carried the coffin and walked into the Cross Temple without saying a word.

This Cross-shaped Mosque, located south of Carp Lake in Quanzhou, was originally a Nestorian Christian church. It was only in 1333 (the third year of the Dade era) that it was brought under the Franciscan order by Bishop Montecorvino. At its peak, Quanzhou had six thousand believers, and on Sundays, the organ music emanating from the mosque could almost cover half the city. When Brother Magali first arrived in Quanzhou, he was almost astonished to see so many believers in this completely unfamiliar city.

"This is the glory of God," he thought then. But he couldn't have imagined then that this glory would vanish like bubbles on water, disappearing without a trace in an instant. In just a few decades, now only about ten people attend each service, a far cry from the grand occasion of the past.

Has God truly forsaken us? Brother Magali carried the coffin, still feeling lost and bewildered. It was as if he were walking in a thick fog, each step he took filled with trepidation. Even though he was on solid ground, who knew whether the path ahead was a smooth road or a bottomless abyss?

Another flash of lightning outside the window illuminated the surroundings in a ghastly white light. Brother Magali suddenly felt a tremor in his fingertips and cried out, "Brother Cassino, don't shake!"

Brother Cassino, walking ahead, suddenly jolted and stopped abruptly. Brother Magali, startled, also stopped. Brother Cassino turned around and asked, "You...you really felt it shaking?"

His face was so pale it was almost unrecognizable; his high cheekbones cast shadows across his face, and a strand of wet, golden hair hung down, making him appear as if he had aged more than ten years in that short moment. Father Magali looked at the coffin and shuddered, saying, "You didn't shake?"

"lay down!"

Without a word, Brother Cassino placed the coffin on the ground. The coffin struck the ground with a loud thud, followed by a muffled rumble of thunder, as if the thunder itself had originated from the coffin. Brother Magali felt a chill run down his spine and whispered, "Is something wrong?"

Only then did he realize that his voice was trembling.

Brother Cassino ripped off his raincoat, revealing his black monk's robes underneath, soaked by the rain and clinging to his emaciated frame. He grabbed the crucifix at his chest and cried out, "Brother Magali, bring the holy water!"

The silver cross was so small in his palm, yet it shone blindingly bright. And the coffin, once placed on the ground, trembled as if it were still on the carriage. Brother Magali shuddered and said, "What... what is going on?"

"Holy water!"

Brother Cassino ignored him and walked to the coffin with the crucifix in his hand. The coffin was still trembling, as if something inside was trying to push open the lid and rush out. He pressed the crucifix against the coffin lid and murmured, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, God, please bless us sinners."

The crucifix was placed on the coffin lid, and the coffin stopped moving. Brother Magali was carrying a bowl of holy water. He carefully approached Brother Cassino and asked, "Brother Cassino, what is that?"

Brother Cassino, his right hand still gripping the cross and pressed against the coffin lid, reached out his left hand to take the holy water and whispered, "That's Satan."

He poured holy water onto the coffin lid. Just as he was about to do so, the crucifix in his hand suddenly shone like a red-hot iron. Brother Cassino let out a painful cry, his body swayed, and he threw the crucifix away.

Brother Magali was startled. He helped Brother Cassino up and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Grab it, for God's sake, grab it!"

Brother Cassino, writhing in pain, curled up like a worm. A cross-shaped mark appeared on his right palm, as if branded by a red-hot iron, the wound blackened and deep into the flesh. The bowl of holy water, still on the coffin, trembled violently, the water occasionally spilling out, turning into white steam as it dripped onto the lid, as if falling into a scorching pot. Brother Magali gritted his teeth, also clutching the cross to his chest, murmuring, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit..."

Before he could finish reading, he suddenly heard a "crack" sound, and a hand reached out through the coffin lid. The coffin was made of very thick mountain wood, with large nails hammered all around, but now it was as if it were made of paper and had a crack in it.

The hand was outstretched, and its sleeve had fallen down, revealing veins that bulged like earthworms. Cassino, caught off guard, was grabbed by the front of his robe and dragged to the coffin. He screamed in agony, "Brother Magali, save me, for God's sake!"

Brother Magali was stunned. Seeing this, he rushed forward and grabbed Brother Cassino, but he felt an inexhaustible force pulling him to the side of the coffin. Brother Cassino's face was buried in the coffin lid, still screaming, but his voice was muffled. Brother Magali heard a series of cracking sounds, unsure whether they came from Cassino's bones or the breaking of the coffin lid. Brother Magali was terrified; he simply clung to Brother Cassino, instinctively pulling him along.

Suddenly, he felt his grip loosen, and he slumped to the ground, with Brother Cassino pressing heavily on top of him. He rolled over and cried out, "Casino! Cassino!" but immediately gasped and couldn't utter a word.

Brother Cassino's face looked as if it had been bitten by a wild beast; his entire face was a bloody, mangled hole, and a strand of golden hair on his forehead was stained with blood.

He stared blankly at the coffin. There was a black hole in the coffin lid, and the hand had retracted, but gnawing sounds came from inside, as if a ferocious beast with sharp teeth was chewing on something inside the coffin.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the statue of the Virgin Mary in the courtyard, casting its light into the house. The rain was heavy, yet the stone statue remained serene and peaceful, raindrops occasionally trickling down its face as if in tears. But to Brother Magali, those tear-like streaks of rain had turned red.

Those were tears of blood.

He braced himself with his hands on the ground and took a few steps back, but felt empty inside, as if there was nothing there at all.

Another clap of thunder. This time, it seemed to explode right overhead, and the coffin lid suddenly flew off. The coffin lid was nailed on with five-inch-long iron nails. Although the blacksmiths in the capital were mostly pagans, their craftsmanship was clearly no less than that of the Florentine craftsmen. The iron nails were cast with fine threads, and once driven into the wood, they would be as firm as if molten iron had been poured on them. But now, they were protruding one by one, shooting out in all directions.

The coffin lid flew off, and a hand rested on the edge of the coffin.

This hand was as white as jade, not the same deathly blue as before, but this whiteness had no trace of blood.

Who was inside? Brother Magali felt his teeth chattering. He fumbled for the cross on his chest, murmuring the Lord's Prayer. He was soaked through, but it wasn't rain; it was cold sweat that had involuntarily seeped from his body.

A person rose from the coffin. Perhaps by coincidence, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the Cross Temple and revealing the person's features. The person had fiery red hair that had grown long and reached down their back, and a slender build.

"Brother Tiexi!"

Even with unbearable fear, Brother Magali cried out.

Seven young monks, filled with almost unrealistic ideals, set out from Florence, traversing thousands of miles of wind and waves, commissioned by Pope John XXII to preach in this distant land, hoping to spread God's will in this mysterious Eastern region. Over the decades, those ideals have crumbled like wallpaper, and the seven young men of yesteryear are now old and frail.

Brother Tethys disappeared in the fifth year. That year, Bishop Montevino was imprisoned by the Nestorians for building a church in Dadu, causing widespread panic. Brother Tethys also lost faith in missionary work and left Dadu that year, disappearing without a trace. Unexpectedly, decades later he was seen again, looking exactly the same as he had decades before.

Could it not be Tetsuhi?

Brother Magali was still puzzled, but the man grinned and said, "Magali, long time no see."

Teshi was originally from Transylvania, a region where people typically have long, narrow eyes, somewhat resembling those of the Chinese. At that moment, Teshi's eyes shone like two emerald green candle flames. Seeing that gaze, Magali felt as if he had been plunged into an ice cave, so cold he didn't even have the strength to shiver. He murmured, "Are you really Teshi?"

Teshi didn't answer, but walked to Cassino's body. His clothes were still vaguely the same monk's robe, though tattered and worn. He reached out and grabbed Cassino by the neck, lifting him like a doll, his left pinky finger slicing across Cassino's neck. His nails had grown like short knives, slicing through Cassino's skin. He then leaned in and bit the wound. Cassino hadn't been dead long; his blood hadn't yet congealed, and with each rise and fall of Teshi's Adam's apple, drops of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Brother Magali could no longer hold back and let out a scream. The area around Carp Pearl Lake was very remote; the nearest house was hundreds of steps away. On such a rainy night, surely no one would hear him. And even if someone did, they wouldn't come.

He scrambled to the stairs and was about to climb up when he heard Tie hope's unhurried footsteps coming from behind him.

"God," he thought. "God, save me."

Ice-cold fingers touched his vest. In despair, he raised the cross and cried out, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come..."

His fingers seemed to be outstretched. Startled, he turned to look and saw Tesh shielding his eyes with his hand, as if blocking the blazing sun. Magali had just stopped reciting the Lord's Prayer when Tesh suddenly reached out with lightning speed and grabbed his throat. Magali felt as if he were trapped in a giant iron clamp, unable to breathe, and unable to utter a single word. The crucifix in his hand shook desperately, but it couldn't touch Tesh's body at all.

Oh God. Oh God.

He gave up struggling in despair. Teshi's face drew closer, and Brother Magali could only smell the pungent stench of blood; his vision blurred, and all he could see was a sea of red. His eyes were beginning to swell with blood; he was about to die.

His will blurred into a hazy mess, as if he had fallen into an unfathomable black hole. At the end of the black hole, it seemed as if countless arms were waving, amidst a muddy expanse.

Is that death?

His arms had gone limp, and suddenly a voice rang in his ears: "Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven..."

231 Temple

Helian Wu raised the umbrella a little higher and touched the deerskin pouch on his back with his other hand.

Fortunately, despite the heavy rain, my skin remained quite dry.

The leather pouch was oblong, resembling a bamboo tube, with one end tightly tied with a leather rope. It was his sword pouch; as a direct descendant of the Helian Divine Sword Clan of Ailao Mountain, this pouch was more important than his life. This place was different from Ailao Mountain. Back home, he would step outside into vast, towering mountains, sometimes walking all day on mountain paths without seeing a single person, so there was no need to worry. Here, people came and went constantly; even on a rainy night like this, people would occasionally brush past him on the road.

The Helian Divine Sword Clan resides in the remote south, with little contact with the Central Plains. Originally descendants of the Great Xia royal family, the Helian clan migrated south after the unification under the Sui and Tang dynasties, abandoning their ambition to conquer the Central Plains. Instead, they focused on refining their swordsmanship. Although their reputation wasn't particularly widespread, those who witnessed their swordsmanship were all astonished and filled with admiration.

Helian Wu was a second-generation member of this sect. This time, he was ordered by the sect leader to deliver some mountain goods to the island lord of Xixin Island in the East Sea. The Xixin Sword of the Zhang family of Xixin Island in the East Sea was originally very famous in the Central Plains, being one of the seven major sword sects. Later, for some unknown reason, it withdrew from the seven major sword sects, and even fewer and fewer people knew about it. The current island lord, Zhang Zhongyan, had lived at sea for a long time and had no ambition to compete with other schools in swordsmanship. However, for some reason, he had developed a carefree and unrestrained nature, and his favorite pastime was traveling around. He was away from the island for more than half the year. More than twenty years ago, Zhang Zhongyan heard from somewhere that the scenery of Dali in Yunnan was superb, so he traveled south with only a sword. However, he got lost in the mountains while seeking shelter from the rain and encountered Helian Yufeng, the current sect leader of the Helian Divine Sword Sect. At that time, Helian Yufeng was still quite young. He and Zhang Zhongyan, having discussed swordsmanship, became fast friends and felt an instant connection. Although they were separated by thousands of miles and unlikely to meet again, they would send disciples to inquire after each other's well-being every year. Xixin Island sent seafood, and Helian Yufeng reciprocated with mountain delicacies. This time, he sent some dried red weasel paws via Helian Wu. Red weasels resemble cats and feed on fruit. Their flesh is sour and astringent, but their four paws are exceptionally plump and delicious, even more fragrant than the bear paws of Northeast China. They are a specialty of the Ailao Mountains. Zhang Zhongyan tasted them once during his trip to Yunnan and praised them highly. However, red weasels are extremely rare, and each paw is small, making it difficult to enjoy them fully. Helian Yufeng had long desired to tame red weasels, and this year he finally succeeded. Remembering his old friend's wish, and since Helian Wu was eager to travel to the Central Plains, he ordered his most beloved disciple to take twenty red weasel paws with him. Although the Crimson Civet Paw has an unusual smell, those who don't know it would only think it's a cat's paw and wouldn't be able to tell its true nature, so there's no need to worry about others stealing it. However, the sword pouch on its back looks like it's filled with silver coins; it's likely that those with ill intentions mistook it for something else, a completely undeserved misfortune.

Although the road was deserted, Helian Wu was somewhat worried. This was his first time in the Central Plains, and he had long heard that the people of the Central Plains were cunning and untrustworthy. Along the way, he had stayed at inns whenever he could, and although he had not encountered any swindlers, he had been terrified enough. Now, although he could not see a single person, he was filled with suspicion and fear, as if someone was hiding behind every tree.

Raindrops pounded on the umbrella, making the large oil-paper umbrella feel increasingly heavy. Helian Wu hurried along, his leather boots covered in mud. He had planned to stay in Quanzhou that night when he took the ship back to the mainland that morning, but unexpectedly, due to the pirate invasion, the port of Quanzhou was closed, forcing him to dock in a remote place. To make matters worse, this heavy rain disrupted his plans completely. The place where he disembarked was just a small fishing village, and he couldn't even hire a carriage, so he hadn't even reached Quanzhou city yet.

A gust of wind blew in, and rain entered through the umbrella, soaking the hem of his clothes and making him extremely uncomfortable. Helian Wu looked down at his feet with a pained expression; it was pitch black, and the road was muddy and difficult to walk on.

It seems it will take another half an hour to reach Quanzhou. One wrong move, and the whole game is lost. Back in the Ailao Mountains, when I played chess with my second uncle, Helian Chifenruo, he would frown and say this every time he lost. It seems that it is indeed true.

After walking for a while, several lights suddenly appeared ahead. He felt relieved, knowing that he must have reached the outskirts of Quanzhou City, and quickened his pace. After taking two steps, he suddenly stopped.

Amidst the cacophony of rain, a faint scream could be heard.

Helian Wu frowned, transferred the umbrella to his left hand, and reached his right hand to tug at his earlobe. The Helian clan's swordsmanship required extremely high hearing. Helian Wu's swordsmanship was good, and he had mastered the "Hearing Heaven and Earth" technique even better. However, despite straining his ears, he could only hear the sound of rain.

Did I hear wrong?

There was a lake not far ahead, and the lights were on the opposite shore. It looked like a temple, but the building had a pointed corner and was oddly shaped; Helian Wu had never seen a temple like this before.

The sound seemed to be coming from there. Helian Wu stared at the temple, lost in thought.

Although his master had instructed them before their departure to avoid trouble and to be tolerant in any situation, he had also said that those who practice martial arts should uphold justice and chivalry. If a disciple of Helian Divine Sword were to stand idly by while evildoers committed unjust or illegal acts, it would be contrary to the principles of chivalry.

He thought for a moment, then gritted his teeth and walked forward.

The temple stood alone on the opposite shore of the lake, a solitary building. The abbot must have preferred tranquility, choosing such a secluded spot amidst the bustle. There used to be a path, but the heavy rain had turned the ground muddy and difficult to traverse. As Helian Wu approached, the silence grew ever stronger. Despite the incessant sound of rain, he felt as if he were walking through a bottomless valley, surrounded by utter stillness.

The temple was just ahead. As they drew closer, its strange shape became even more apparent; a pointed spire seemed to pierce the sky, topped with a cross-shaped object. Helian Wu had seen some Buddhist and Taoist temples in the Ailao Mountains, but he had never seen anything like it.

What exactly is this place?

He walked to the door when a bolt of lightning suddenly ripped through the night sky, revealing the outline of the temple. He could clearly see the three characters "Sanyi Temple" on the plaque. These three characters were carved on the stone plaque, the characters were bold and large, and could have been painted, but with age, the paint between the characters had peeled off. If it weren't for this flash of lightning, he would never have been able to see them on such a rainy night.

Sanyi Temple? Helian Wu was somewhat surprised. The name was strange, almost unlike a temple, yet it was clear and distinct. He remembered chatting with his second uncle before, when his uncle mentioned that Buddhism had many schools, such as the Exoteric and Esoteric schools, the Northern and Southern schools, the Weiyang and Fayan schools, and so on. Perhaps Sanyi Temple was also an unusual school. He knocked on the door and asked, "Is anyone home?"

Just as his fingers touched the door, a thunderclap boomed across the sky, deafeningly loud and shaking the door. Those inside must have missed Helian Wu's knocking. Helian Wu felt a wave of frustration and was about to wait for the thunder to pass before knocking again when suddenly, a chill ran through him.

The night rain poured down, and the air was as cold as a knife. In the crisp night wind, he suddenly smelled a stench of blood that made him want to vomit, and his fingers felt strangely damp. He curled his fingers and brought them to his eyes.

My fingers were covered in a black stain and felt sticky.

That wasn't rainwater, it was blood!

Helian Wu felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, and a chill ran through him.

A murder must have happened at this Sanyi Temple!

His left hand swiftly drew the sword sheath from behind his back, his index finger hooking into the rope binding it. He had carried this sword sheath with him since he was three years old, practicing swordsmanship. From being too small to hold in both hands, it was now easily sized up in one, practically becoming a part of him. Holding the sword sheath, his courage grew considerably; he felt as if he could conquer a thousand armies without fear.