Chapter 912: Blood Bestowing Ceremony

The Minotaur warrior that had been blessed by the totem power was emitting a dazzling bronze metallic luster from head to toe.

However, the armor that was draped around his body in a ferocious form seemed to possess the vitality of a living creature. It was moving slowly in an extremely strange rhythm, emitting an aura that was ten times more brutal than that of a totem beast.

Even Leaf’s elder brother, who would never be defeated and retreat, began to tremble from the heart when he faced the totem warrior.

His elder brother pulled out his blade forcefully, wanting to pull to attack from a different angle.

However, the bone blade his opponent’s muscles and armor clamped onto it tightly.

This totem armor that was slowly squirming seemed to have a unique life and a strong appetite. It actually swallowed the bone blade in the older brother’s hand inch by inch.

In the end, even the hilt was “eaten” by it.

If his brother had not let go in time, perhaps even two of his arms would have been eaten by the totem armor!

His brother, who had lost his weapon, seemed to have lost all his strength and courage.

In front of the gap between mortals and gods, his brother was in complete despair.

Fear was like a transparent steel nail that pierced through his brother’s skull and all the way to the soles of his feet. It nailed him firmly in front of the Minotaur warrior, totally preventing him from moving.

The Turan warrior slowly raised his right hand and split open four fingers that were thicker than leaf’s arm.

“Pa!”

He performed a downward slap.

Without using any moves, it was the simplest and most violent slap, like an adult teaching a child a lesson.

Large pools of blood sprayed out from his brother’s face and chest.

Hundreds of wounds that had just been scabbed burst out again.

The astonishing strange force squeezed out the last drop of blood in his body.

His brother spun in the air for more than ten times.

He fell heavily in front of Leaf.

His appearance became even more miserable than that of the picker who fell from the cliff.

Half of his head and his entire chest were deeply sunken.

The white bone stubble pierced dozens of pieces of skin and drilled out from all over his body.

His neck was bent back in a very strange way.

The sharp broken bones had cut his trachea and blood vessels. Only a thin layer of flesh was left between his head and the cavity.

But there was no breath, and no blood was gushing out from the fracture.

Leaf’s brother stared at him in such a horrible way.

There was no life in his bloodshot and broken eyeball.

There were no more electric arcs and stars that were usually shining.

With a slight opening in his throat that was so deep that he could not see the bottom, his brother’s spirit said to Leaf weakly, “Run, Leaf, run…”

When his brother stared at him like that, Leaf lost all his courage.

Not only did he lose the courage to swing his sword and fight his enemy with all his might,.

He also lost the courage to run away.

The huge steel nail named “fear” that had nailed his brother to the ground just now had also been nailed into Leaf’s skull, pinning him firmly in a pool of cold blood.

The Minotaur warrior in totem armor strode over.

Leaf closed his eyes and waited for death.

However, as he waited and waited, the expected pain and darkness did not strike him.

Instead, he felt a huge, scorching body, which looked like a steel statue that had just been cast, lowering its height in front of him.

Leaf opened his eyes.

He found that the Minotaur warrior had restored the helmet, which was engraved with the sacred inscription of the ancestral spirit, into a totem. Then he absorbed it back into his body, turning it into a gorgeous tattoo on his face.

He once again revealed that half of his face was ferocious, and the other half was even more ferocious.

But at this moment, there was not the slightest bit of cruelty and malice on this extremely ugly face.

Instead, it was solemn and solemn, incomparably pious.

The Minotaur withdrew the totem armor on his right arm.

The armor on his left arm, however, squirmed and condensed into a sharp bull horn blade.

The sharp blade on his left hand gently slid down the base of his right palm.

Fresh blood with a hint of cow odor immediately flowed out and was carefully poured onto his brother’s body by the Minotaur warrior.

The Minotaur warrior poured the blood very carefully.

The demonic palm that had just killed his brother had now poured over every wound on his brother’s body from head to toe and even smeared it evenly on his brother’s body.

Finally, the Minotaur warrior dipped his blood in his own blood and found a relatively clean spot on his brother’s muddled forehead. He drew a hoof-like pattern with each stroke.

Although his fingers were thick and clumsy.

He had drawn it attentively and meticulously.

Throughout the entire process, he had kept his head down. He did not even look at Leaf, who was right in front of him, nor did he scan his surroundings. He continued to slaughter.

It was as if there was nothing more important to the Minotaur warriors than drawing a hoof pattern.

“This is… the blood bestowing ceremony!”

Leaf recalled that he and his brother had heard from the old fool that the higher-ups of the Turan people could bestow the sacred blood that contained the divine power of the ancestral spirit on the lower-ups who fought bravely and pleased the ancestral spirit.

It indicated that with the courage and glory of the higher-ups, they helped the lower-ups expel the meanness and cowardice deep in their bloodline.

From then on, the lower-ups would be free from their past identities and clans.

They would be qualified to join the clans of the higher-ups as servants and embark on a journey that was more dangerous and more glorious.

After listening to the old fool’s story, Leaf and his brother had climbed onto the highest mandala tree more than once and wrapped themselves in the broadest leaves. They rested their heads on their arms and swayed in the breeze, imagining that one day they would… also get the honor of having noble blood, getting rid of the lowly “rat people” identity, becoming a noble clan warrior, or even getting the blessing of the totem warriors’ ancestors.

I didn’t expect my brother to realize his dream so soon.

Not only is he free from the lowest of bloodlines,.

Also joined one of the five clans of Turan, the largest, most powerful Blood Hoof Clan.

Unfortunately, he was a corpse.

Leaf did not know whether to laugh or cry.

He knew that the Turan warriors would not kill him.

It was rare for the old fool to be sober. He had once told him that the purpose of the totem warriors’ battle was to please the ancestral spirits.

Therefore, when they entered the state of ‘Totem Frenzy’, they would definitely challenge opponents who were strong enough, or at least brave enough.

Victory or defeat, life or death, were not important.

What was important was courage, courage, blood, and honor.

The reason why the Turan warrior summoned the totem armor was not because he could not beat his brother in an armor-less state.

Even if he did not summon the totem armor, even if he did not dodge or block, his brother’s super-skilled slash was still unable to break the Turan warrior’s bones.

As long as the other party was serious, he could break his brother’s neck with just two fingers.

However, the other party probably did not expect that in a small mouse village, there would still be someone who dared to swing his sword at him.

His brother’s courage moved him, so he used his totem armor to give his brother the glory that he deserved.

Similarly, the Minotaur warrior wearing the totem armor would not kill Leaf.

To kill such a dejected youth who was waiting for death, not only would it not please the ancestral spirits, it would tarnish the sacred totem power.

The current Leaf did not even have the right to die at the hands of the Minotaur warrior.

The youth who realized this did not have the joy of surviving a disaster.

On the contrary, he felt that his mother and brother’s undead, as well as Anjia and the others in the pile of captives, were all staring at him.

Their eyes were like chains that shot out of the abyss of the undead, binding Leaf’s hands and feet and dragging him into the deepest darkness.

…

“Let’s go. Let’s go. You lowly rats, if you don’t want to die without a burial place, you can walk through here!”

Three days later.

On the Bison River, the fastest tributary of the Turan River, there was a waterfall that was more than a hundred meters below the river. Groups of captive rat people were crossing the river in formation.

The Blood Hoof warriors waved their ox-tail whips, which were embedded with thorns, and whipped the cowardly rat people until their skin and flesh were torn open. While they cursed the captives and tortured their souls, they laughed as if they were watching a wonderful show.

The captive rat people had their hands behind their backs and were tied up by the ox-tail ropes.

The ox-tail ropes contracted when they were in water and embedded deep into the captives’ flesh. They were in so much pain that they broke out in cold sweat, and they could not keep their balance in the wet and slippery torrent.

Moreover, the captives did not advance alone. Instead, they moved in a row of ten. They were fixed by the straight and elastic branches of the mandala tree, like a frozen caterpillar.

When the village was torched, almost all the captives suffered injuries of varying degrees.

After three days of long, sleepless treks, they walked on the most rugged mountain roads. The blood-hoofed masters only gave them a little bit of the rotten and hard dried mandala fruit.

Many of the captives’ wounds were festering, and their bodies were boiling hot. They were on the verge of death.

More people were hungry, their hands and feet were sore, and their bodies were weak.

In theory, in the Bison River above the waterfall, on the riverbed that was waist-deep, there were protruding boulders that connected the two banks and could be used as stepping stones for them to step on.

The problem was that it was up to the waist of the Blood Hoofs.

Most of the rat people were several heads or even half shorter than the Blood Hoof warriors.

For the Blood Hoof warriors, the waist-deep river water could often reach the chest, neck, or even the top of the rat people’s heads.

In addition, the stepping stones were wet and slippery due to the impact of the water.

The water flow above the waterfall was particularly rapid.

The deafening roar was like a war hammer with thorns that kept bombarding the captives’ skulls, making the rat people, who were already dizzy, feel even dizzier.

Many captives stumbled and fell into the cold water as soon as they stepped into the Bison River.

Among the ten captives, as long as two or three of them were washed into the river, the others would not be able to stand on their feet. They would be dragged down the waterfall and fall into pieces, disappearing without a trace.

However, the Blood Hoof warriors did not care at all. They did not regret that the captives they had worked so hard to catch were buried in the belly of the fish.

They just waved their ox-tail whip desperately to urge the remaining captives to cross the river.

“On the other side of the Bison River is the main city of the Blood Hoof Clan, Black-corner City!

“Black-corner City is the land of heroes, the Holy Land, and the land of glory. It must not be tarnished by the unclean blood of cowards.

“You lowly rats, if you want to go to black-corner city, get rid of your dirty bloodlines, and participate in the glorious battle, there is only one way, which is to walk through here.”

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