High School of Demon Hunting

18: Chapter 18: Old Man, Elves, Leather_1

18 -18: Old Man, Elves, Leather_1

“What a sensation this is.” The old man’s dried and wrinkled face scrunched together, his small eyes disappearing into the deep lines on his face.

Zheng Qing is horrified to find that his entire body is bound by an inexplicable force, rendering him immobile.

He can’t move a finger.

His eyelids won’t blink.

Even his breath was frozen.

Except for the ticking pocket watch over his heart, it seemed that his only thoughts were slowly flowing.

“A heavy, surging, mad, explosive, overwhelming power!” Suddenly, the old man’s pitch black eyes devoid of any whites pop open, he murmurs in a whisper, “Like millions of people shouting together, like millions of hearts trembling in unison.

I’m unsure of what material could contain it.”

He picked up a small mallet sitting next to him and struck a bronze bell on the table.

“Ding!”

The bell’s euphonious gong resonated in this enclosed room.

With the sound of the bell, palm-sized pixies, emanating green light, flew out from the depth of the house.

They arranged themselves in an orderly manner, stacking volumes of well-tanned leather scrolls onto the table.

A mischievous pixie, after placing down the leather, flutters her wings to Zheng Qing’s face, curiously studying this stranger.

She’s wearing a dress made of gauze, tiny bells attached to her **** arm emanating a shiny silver light.

Her wide, black eyes flicker, and the thin antenna on her head sways alongside her.

“Hehe…” She let out a pleasant and joyful sound, her hand playfully pulled at the facial hair on Zheng Qing’s face.

Her hand is icy cold, painfully yanked at his hair.

Zheng Qing felt that his head seemed to gain some mobility and blinked his eyes in an experiment.

The pixie, as if startled, darted away and turned into a streak of light, disappearing into the darkness of the room.

Zheng Qing realized he still couldn’t speak.

He scrunched up his brows, narrowed his eyes, and flared his nostrils, directing a feigned annoyance towards the ancient man seated behind the table.

The old man is squinting, his gaunt hands gingerly gliding over the array of leather, silently assessing the materials before him.

“Thud, thud, thud, thud,” he rhythmically tapped at the scroll with an emaciated finger, consistently and tirelessly, reminiscent of a woodpecker pecking at wood.

“The dragon’s hide is too tough; the second hide is too soft.”

“Seven-colored deer’s skin is too thin and cannot carry such a heavy soul.”

“Pigskin is a decent option, but its lethargic property could impair spell casting.”

“Mulberry paper is too brittle; not good, not good.”

“Bamboo slips and fish skin possess overpowering attributes, a great waste of this soul.”

The old man chatters on, his whispering filling the air just as he unceremoniously sweeps all the leather off the table.

His body floats like zero gravity, suspended midway to air.

Zheng Qing is mortified to find his own body involuntarily floating as well.

“A substantial power of the earth, an overwhelming power of the river in the sky, a wild power of gales, an explosive power of wildfire, all four elements.

What kind of presence does this hold?” The old man’s nose now up against Zheng Qing’s body, he inhales deeply in curious examination, continuing his muttered ramblings:

“Everything has a spirit; each wizardry book contains a unique demon spirit.

Casting a spell is to amplify wizardly powers exponentially by resonating this demon spirit with heaven and earth.

Even spirits of the great demons are not this violent.

Could it be a beast, or a fairy?

Impossible!”

“Ah, I figured it out.

The tanned hide has been conditioned; why not try rawhide instead?

Why always stick to the same old methods?” The old man floats back, disappearing into the darkness in a blink.

Only the disconcerted Zheng Qing is left suspended midway in the air across the table in the empty room.

The small green elves returned again.

The gathered the scattered skin under the table and all retreated.

Only a few little beings called ‘Hehe’ happily flapping their wings, came close to Zheng Qing’s eyes.

One by one, they held up something as small and shiny as a grain of rice, dropping it into Zheng Qing’s front pocket.

Then they landed on his head, plucking a single hair.

Zheng Qing blinked in anger, but this time none of the elves ran away in a panic.

They sang songs in ‘hehe’, each carrying a strand of hair and flying back deep into the house.

Zheng Qing started missing the terrifying old man.

After a long time, the old man finally returned.

He was surrounded by a broken and grey piece of skin.

If the skin brought by small elves seemed clean after being tanning and washing, then this grey skin seemed freshly peeled from some beast, still with fresh blood and remnants of flesh clinging on it.

Zheng Qing felt a chill down his spine watching it.

The old man snapped his fingers, and Zheng Qing was alarmed to feel a sharp pain in his right hand, which then stretched out involuntarily.

Droplets of bright red blood seeped from his fingertips.

“Press it here!” The old man ordered with a cold, emotionless voice.

Zheng Qing realized he could move his upper body again.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his bleeding right hand onto the grey skin.

The grey skin felt warm to the touch, and an image of a creature screaming in pain surfaced in Zheng Qing’s mind.

The blood on his fingertip and the flesh on the grey skin stuck together instantly, blending together.

The grey skin seemed to come to life, sucking up the fresh blood from Zheng Qing’s fingertips, and swallowing the remaining blood and flesh on the surface of the skin.

The old man stretched out his hand, hesitated, then withdrew it and pulled out a black law book.

He crooked his index finger and tapped on the cover of the book.

The book flipped open to the middle, and out floated bits of grey light, sliding out into flowing grey runes.

The light and runes formed a fierce grey claw in the air, slowly extending towards Zheng Qing’s chest, then slowly retracting.

A black light, much like a drop of ink, floated out from Zheng Qing’s chest.

In his horrified gaze, it aligned with the movement of the grey claw and landed on the skin in his hand, its color growing paler.

The black ink drop landed on the skin, and Zheng Qing’s fingertips felt another wave of unbearable pain.

He could feel the paler skin in his hand greedily sucking his blood.

Gradually, he felt dizzy, as though the paler skin in front of him was burning.

The old man frowned, his gaze fixed on the diminishing flame on the skin.

He finally couldn’t resist anymore, and extended his skeletal finger to prod Zheng Qing’s chest.

“Dong, Dong, Dong, Dong!” It sounded like someone was beating a drum beside him, which jolted Zheng Qing back to reality.

He felt his heart in his chest pounding crazily.

Waves of fresh blood flowed into Zheng Qing’s right arm, then through his fingertips into the burning piece of skin.

The flame on it glowed bright again.

Not until Zheng Qing’s face was pale again and his heartbeat grew irregular and weaker, did the skin gradually stop sucking blood.

The flame dancing on the skin gradually extinguished as well.