Chapter 491 - 354: The Magical Indians

The plane passed through the clouds, slowly landing in the central plaza of Delia, the Capital of India.

The cabin door opened, and a wave of heat mixed with a pungent, acrid odor assailed them.

Ian walked down the ramp, frowning slightly as he quickly held his breath.

The air was filled with a bizarre mixture of spices, feces, sweat, and various putrid odors. It was like a boiling pot of fecal soup, so thick it was suffocating.

The plaza was packed with a dense, dark mass of people.

There were men and women, old and young, all with dark skin, murky eyes, and dressed in tattered linen clothes.

They craned their necks and stood on their tiptoes, desperately trying to get a look at the plane.

"Red-Bladed Spear!"

"The Red-Bladed Spear from Great Yan is here!"

"I heard he can purify Rifts! He was invited by our Sun God."

The shouts rose one after another, thick with accents and a mishmash of different dialects.

Ian’s gaze swept over the crowd. Many of them had dark purple pustules on their bodies—a sign of long-term exposure to the corruption of the Abyss.

Others had twisted limbs, and they walked with a limp.

Farther in the distance, a murky river flowed through the city.

The water was a murky yellow. Floating on its surface was trash, dead fish, and... bloated corpses. That seemed to be the main source of the stench.

"Gaga... URK!" From his shoulder came the sound of Gaga about to vomit.

"Ian, this place... it stinks," the little fellow said, his voice laced with obvious disgust.

The little fellow covered his beak with his wings, his black feathers bristling slightly.

"It smells worse than the swamps of the Shadow World."

"Just bear with it." Ian’s expression was also grim as his gaze fell to the front of the plaza.

A welcoming party was standing there, led by a tall, gaunt elder with a bald head and a face full of wrinkles, dressed in dark red monastic robes.

His eyes were bright, like two oil lamps, and his Realm was at the Legend Initial Stage.

"Mr. Yin, welcome to beautiful India."

The elder stepped forward, pressed his palms together, and bowed slightly. Though his voice was hoarse, it was firm and resonant.

"I am Bascara, the Master of the Sun, and one of the three Guardians of India."

Ian paused. He was inwardly speechless, but gave a slight nod in response.

’What incredible arrogance,’ Ian thought. ’Someone like you dares to call himself the Master of the Sun?’

A corner of his mouth twitched, and he couldn’t be bothered to say anything more.

Bascara seemed to ignore Ian’s coldness, turning sideways and making a "this way" gesture.

"The King is waiting in the palace. Please, follow me."

The crowd automatically parted to form a path, and Ian followed Bascara across the packed plaza.

Wherever they passed, the crowd dropped to their knees—not for him, but for Bascara.

The fanatical crowd murmured incessantly, as if in prayer.

"They are praying for the Master of the Sun’s blessing."

Bascara glanced back, a faint smile on his face. "The people of India are always so devout."

Ian was past the point of retorting. Even Gaga didn’t want to spare the old geezer a second glance.

He noticed that as Bascara walked, he left faint, golden footprints in his wake.

The prints would last for three seconds before dissipating, like some kind of esoteric ritual.

"We have heard of your heroic deeds in Great Yan, Mr. Yin."

Bascara said as they walked, his voice calm and measured.

"One man, one bird, purifying over a hundred Rifts in three months. Even the children of India know the name Red-Bladed Spear."

"You flatter me. It’s nothing compared to your own illustrious reputation."

Ian said mockingly, "I merely did what I could."

"’What you could’..." Bascara repeated, a glint of some deeper meaning in his eyes.

"Well said. A pity that we in India... are not strong enough."

He sighed and pointed into the distance, where several pillars of dark purple light could be faintly seen rising into the sky.

"There are seven Rifts around Delia. Three are Level Four and four are Level Three. We also have five Level Five Rifts, but thankfully, they are located on the border."

"The three of us Guardians can only barely keep them suppressed; we lack the power to purify them. That is why we’ve asked for your help, Mr. Yin."

Ian was noncommittal. "And the payment you promised me?"

"It has been prepared." Bascara produced a Jade Box from his sleeve.

He opened it to reveal seventy-five golden Source Crystals, neatly arranged inside.

Each was the size of a goose egg and emitted a pure, primordial aura, identical to the ones from Great Yan.

"This is the advance payment. Once all seven Rifts are purified, the remainder will be paid in full."

Ian took the Jade Box and swept his Spiritual Power over it. There were seventy-five, not one less.

"No problem." He stored the Jade Box in his Dimension Ring.

A flicker of surprise flashed in Bascara’s eyes. Spatial equipment like a Dimension Ring was the stuff of legend in India.

Not even the three Guardians possessed one.

"Mr. Yin... is truly extraordinary," he murmured, then continued to lead the way.

The palace was far more... ostentatious than he had imagined.

The walls were covered in gold foil, the pillars were encrusted with gemstones, and the carpets were woven from the pelts of some kind of Magic Beast. The workmanship was crude; the gold foil was applied crookedly, and the gemstones were set unevenly.

A thick scent of incense filled the air, attempting to mask the omnipresent body odor, but its effect was limited.

The mixture of the two smells was even more sickening.

The banquet hall was already full of people.

On the main throne sat a portly, middle-aged man wearing a golden crown and a bejeweled long robe. This was the King of the Indian Kingdom, Samit.

He was flanked on either side by one person. To his left was a bald, brawny man with dark skin and bulging muscles, built like an iron tower.

To his right was a withered old crone, her face caked in thick white powder. Her eyes were long and narrow, and her exaggerated eyeliner looked like a writhing viper.

"Mr. Yin, please, have a seat."

King Samit spoke, his voice booming with a kind of forced majesty.