Chapter 87: A Mind Scattered Into Thousands

Heart ablaze, restless and feverish, intent on wreaking havoc in the heavenly palace and slaying all under heaven.

Every passing moment now is torment for him; killing has become as effortless and ordinary as eating or drinking, simple and direct, leaving not the slightest pang of sorrow. Yet, visions constantly rise in his mind: the humans slaughtering the barbarians, barbarians fighting back, barbarians enslaved by humans, humans wantonly whipping the barbarians.

Scene after scene, face after face—he feels as if his head will burst.

Amid such suffocating vexation, others come seeking him, intent on hurling insults or to kill him.

Consumed by fury, he naturally raises his hand and strikes, wielding his hammer in a rampage of slaughter.

Then, exhilaration floods him—pure, intoxicating exhilaration.

But after the frenzy, emptiness returns, and those visions again resurface in his heart.

“Why? Why? Why was I chosen? Why must I endure such torment? Why? Why?!” He sat by the banks of the Mighty River, roaring at the surging waters.

In an instant, sand and stones flew, the river stirred and raised columns of water.

The martial artists and imperial troops who had been closing in halted their advance, pausing at the sidelines.

“Tai! Zhi!” A deep, thunderous voice rolled across the riverbank, suppressing his furious cries.

“It’s done. Even if you turn back now, there’s no end to your path,” the reigning Tai of Chu Kingdom strode past the ranks of soldiers, arriving at the front.

He turned at the sound, his eyes burning like fire. “You refused.”

Tai gazed at him coldly. “It is the Barbarian Sovereign.”

For years, the Barbarian Sovereign had let his will run rampant across Chu’s land. Every holder of the Barbarian God Hammer had descended into madness, slaughtering humans and sowing carnage, tormenting the human race for centuries.

They all, like him, asked such questions.

Yet, for all their pondering, they killed as they must, never hesitating.

Thus, Tai harbored no hesitation toward him either, though he hadn't expected this generation’s hammer bearer to survive so long—he remembered the last had been slain by martial artists after only three months.

This time, he had to come in person to quell the chaos.

“Hehehe, hahaha!” He clutched his head, pushing his hair back, first laughing with disdain, then erupting into wild laughter.

“What are you laughing at?!” An enraged martial artist demanded, feeling slighted.

His laughter faded; his blood-red gaze swept across the crowd, finally settling on Tai. “You think I am at fault, but I believe the world itself is wrong.”

All eyes widened in shock—such madness and rebellion.

But as the host of the Barbarian God Hammer, it was to be expected; without madness, how could one wield such a divine weapon? Over time, it drove all its bearers insane.

It was well known: every holder of the Barbarian God Hammer ended the same.

“Incurable!” Tai’s face was icy as he barked out his verdict.

He raised his hand; the order was issued.

Clattering echoed as the ranks behind drew bows, crossbows, magical implements, even siege engines, all aimed at him.

He remained unmoved, standing by the riverside, calmly regarding these weapons—enough to destroy a small city or sever the Mighty River.

A roar!

Arrows flashed cold, fire serpents hissed, wind scythes sliced, earth spikes rose, thunder and lightning crashed—all manner of attacks descended upon him.

He did not move; his hands and feet seemed bound, utterly unmoved by the onslaught.

He was engulfed, yet did not die.

The Barbarian God Hammer responded, saving him, casting a strange light that rendered all magic powerless and arrows unable to pierce him.

“Why must you torment me so?” He caught the hammer floating before him and hurled it away.

“Because you are about to become its true master,” Tai’s voice drifted over.

A streak of crimson struck him, catching him off guard.

Even the Barbarian God Hammer could not stop it; his chest was pierced, flesh torn, his body shattered and scattered.

“Why?” Only his head remained, staring in confusion.

“Hmph.” Tai snorted coldly, raising his hand to summon back a small, round, golden pill, slick and thumb-sized.

It gleamed with golden light, absorbing Tai’s true energy.

This was the Limitless Golden Pill, one of the three great divine weapons in the world.

“Reporting, Tai—the Barbarian God Hammer has vanished,” said an official, returning from examining the corpse.

“It can hide, but let’s see how long it can last,” Tai replied, frowning.

Noticing another official hesitate, he asked, “What else? Speak—don’t be coy.”

The official dared not conceal further and said, “The corpse is not the host of the Barbarian God Hammer—Gu.”

“Hmm…”

Cough, cough, cough.

Within a ruined temple, a young man frowned deeply, coughing violently until he spat out a clump of black blood.

It splattered on the ground and shattered into fragments.

He gazed at the scattered blood, silent for a long time.

This youth was none other than Gu himself. He had used the Art of Divine Possession, disguising his face as a scion of a noble house to lure the pursuers and escape the encirclement.

“Shed the shell, escape the trap,” Gu sighed.

As he spoke, the Barbarian God Hammer appeared in his hands again.

He had mastered all the spells within the hammer, but its influence over him grew ever stronger.

Yet today, he suddenly discovered a way to break free.

He used the Barbarian Sovereign’s method to forge a second divine mind, then possessed another’s body to host his own will.

Such techniques were common among Sun Gods, but easily exposed—yet if he used the Barbarian Sovereign’s method, even Tai himself could not detect it.

Though possessing another left him injured, the wounds would be lighter, though his mind would weaken.

But that was not the main point—the crucial thing was he found the hammer’s influence on him was fading.

“Barbarian Sovereign, you seek to seize my body, yet passed me the means to break free. Was it negligence, or do you have some deeper motive?” Gu sighed.

“When I divide my mind a millionfold, I will be liberated,” he said, growing spirited.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of divine eyes was fixed upon him.

That watcher was none other than Ancestor Luo.

He too sighed, “Is it that heroes think alike, or do all paths lead to the same end?”

Yet Gu was not Luo; only after Luo had forged his Primordial Spirit could he divide his thoughts and imbue them into divine consciousness.

Gu’s cultivation was still shallow, his power owed much to the hammer’s aid; how could he yet divide his mind—or seize the opportunity to create more divine minds?

Ancestor Luo could barely maintain thirty-six divine minds, and Gu aspired to forge thousands.

Truly, the young are fearless, and heroes care not for age.

Yet Ancestor Luo could not help but wish to see whether Gu could carve out a different path.