Chương 1238: Chapter 29: One Step Ahead

Mo Shuaishao's boots scraped against the uneven stone floor, a sound that echoed with a jagged, hesitant rhythm. His face was a shifting landscape of feigned camaraderie and predatory calculation.

"Haha, Daoist, you misinterpret my intentions," he said, his voice smooth as oiled silk as he clasped his hands in a shallow, mocking bow.

"We are hardly strangers, having crossed paths several times already. Seeing the gravity of your current injuries, I felt compelled to offer my humble assistance." As he spoke, his eyes—sharp as a scavenger's—latched onto the flicker of instability in Reyn's gaze. That momentary lapse, that shadow of panic, was all the confirmation the rat needed. His posture straightened, and the mask of concern dissolved into a look of cold, opportunistic greed.

"Hmph!" Reyn's retort was a jagged blade of sound, radiating a brittle, freezing displeasure.

"Injured? You overreach, junior. I am merely consolidating my essence. You've witnessed my mercy twice before; do not mistake it for a lack of lethality. Depart this instant, or find your path to the yellow springs shortened by my hand!" Mo Shuaishao didn't flinch. He watched Reyn with the intensity of a vulture, noting the stillness—not the coiled stillness of a predator ready to strike, but the frozen rigidity of a man who dared not move lest his very foundations crumble.

The lack of an immediate, lethal response was the loudest confession of all. If Reyn truly possessed the strength to kill, Mo would already be a cooling corpse on the cave floor. The silence between them stretched, heavy with the scent of impending betrayal.

"Heh. Your reputation for slaughter is well-earned, Daoist," Mo said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, mocking purr.

"However, my cultivation has recently hit a... financial bottleneck. A mere hundred thousand low-grade spirit stones would see me through this difficult period. Think of it as a loan between acquaintances. Surely a master of your caliber wouldn't miss such a pittance?" Reyn's face didn't just darken; it became a void of murderous intent. His eyes swept over Mo like a winter wind over an open grave.

After a heartbeat of suffocating tension, he reached for his waist and unhooked a storage bag, hurling it at Mo's feet with a gesture of pure, unadulterated contempt.

"One hundred thousand. Take them and vanish. If you dare demand a single stone more, I will burn my very soul to ensure you do not survive the hour!" Mo Shuaishao performed a quick, flickering diagnostic seal. Finding no hidden traps, he snatched the bag from the dirt. His divine sense swept the interior, and for a moment, the sheer wealth reflected in his dilated pupils. But the greed didn't satiate him; it acted as high-octane fuel for his ambition.

*He killed Jin Jupeng in a heartbeat outside Tianli City, Mo reasoned, his mind racing with dark possibilities. *A man that decisive doesn't pay a ransom to a Foundation Establishment junior unless his marrow is dry and his core is shattered beyond repair.

"You speak of mutual destruction," Mo sneered, his fingers already tracing the air to summon his artifact.

"A frightening prospect, truly. But for the chance to seize everything you carry? I'll take that gamble. The spoils of your corpse will save me decades of bitter, soul-crushing toil." With a violent flick of his wrist, his crescent-shaped spirit tool transformed into a streak of lethal, silver light, descending toward Reyn like a falling star seeking blood.

"Fool," Reyn whispered, his voice a ghost of a sound. The Soul-Piercing Awl erupted from his forehead—an invisible, condensed spike of mental energy aimed straight at the center of Mo's consciousness. Clang! A translucent white veil flared into existence around Mo Shuaishao. Under the immense pressure of Reyn's mental assault, the barrier spider-webbed with glowing cracks before shattering into a thousand shimmering shards. Mo's heart skipped a beat, his blood running cold. His soul... it's untouched?

How can a youth possess the mental fortitude of a mid-stage Golden Core expert? Panic flared in his chest, but it was quickly drowned by a darker, more desperate ambition. If I subdue him and use the Soul-Searching Art, his cultivation secrets, his techniques—they all become mine. I won't just be a disciple; I'll be the sovereign of the Tianshui Sect! * This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Die!" Mo roared, pouring every drop of his remaining mana into the descending crescent blade. Reyn didn't move. He watched the greed-mad cultivator with a look of profound, icy pity. His lips curled into a smirk that held no warmth, only the finality of a tombstone. Snap. The sound was no louder than a dry twig breaking in the woods, coming from the shadows directly behind Mo.

Before the man could even register the shift in the air, a plume of viscous, oily black mist surged upward from the floor, wrapping around him like the shroud of a vengeful ghost.

"Aargh!" The scream was aborted, swallowed by the horrific hiss of dissolving flesh. The mist boiled and churned, the sound of sizzling echoing through the cavern as the toxin ate through bone and sinew alike. It was the sound of a life being erased by something far more primal and terrifying than a simple blade. Deprived of its master's will, the crescent spirit tool wailed—a metallic, mournful sound—and plunged toward Reyn's skull with the dying momentum of a masterless grudge. Reyn didn't dodge.

He raised a hand, fingers splayed, and caught the edge of the blade mid-air. The impact rang out like a hammer striking an anvil. Reyn's face paled, his spiritual light flickering dangerously, but the blade ground to a halt against his palm. After a frantic, vibrating struggle, the artifact went limp, its light fading into nothingness. He slapped several sealing talismans onto the weapon and shoved it into his bag. He looked down at his hand.

Two faint white lines were the only marks left by a peak-tier Spirit Tool. White Jade Dragon-Whiskers Rice is truly a divine gift, he mused, feeling the thrum of vitality in his skin. A mere hundred grains have fortified my lifeforce to the level of a Golden Core master and hardened my flesh beyond the limits of mortal bone. He knew, however, that without a master's direction, the tool's power was halved.

His current physical resilience was likely on par with a high-grade Spirit Tool—formidable, but not yet invincible. Reyn turned his gaze toward the cave entrance, where the black mist was slowly receding into a pool of dark, stinking liquid. Had he not been so meticulous, had he not seeded the entrance with the Hundred-Beast Poison, he would be the one feeding the earth today. He performed a series of strained hand seals, drawing the poison back into a jade vial with a flick of his sleeve.

On the floor lay a blackened, pitted skeleton. The robes, once the fine silk of the Tianshui Sect, were now tattered, lightless rags, their protective enchantments dissolved into uselessness by the corrosive toxin.

"He knew I could fell a Golden Core expert, yet he followed. He had to have a trump card," Reyn muttered, his voice raspy. The fact that his soul attack had been blocked by a specialized treasure proved his caution was justified.

"In this world, mercy is a luxury I cannot afford. I must be sharper. More ruthless. More calculating." He stripped the storage bag from the remains and reinforced the cave's restrictions with fresh seals. His strength finally failed him; his face turned the color of ash as he stumbled back to his meditation mat. The battle with Jin Jupeng had cost him dearly. The Earth-Shaking Wheel was a gluttonous treasure, having drained his meridians until they screamed in protest.

Only the residual medicinal dregs from years of pill-taking had saved him, providing just enough spiritual fuel to keep his heart beating during the confrontation. Now, even that tiny reserve was gone. He felt hollow, a mere shell of a man. With a grimace, he began to refine the essence of the Dragon-Whiskers Rice once more. As the vibrant life-force trickled into his parched dantian, the color slowly returned to his cheeks, and the coldness in his bones began to thaw.

Seven days passed in a blur of silence and recovery. Cultivators flew overhead, their shadows flickering across the mountain peaks, but none pierced his veil of concealment. On the seventh day, Reyn's eyes snapped open. They were no longer the eyes of a wounded man, but twin abysses of dark, unfathomable power. He exhaled a long, grey plume of turbid air. A faint shimmer of jade light danced across his skin before vanishing into the depths of his being. He was ready to face the world once more.