Chương 11: The Slaughter

The Lei Clan convoy, laden with the remnants of their tribute to the Xuanxiao Sect, had barely begun its return journey when Reyn, positioned at the vanguard, suddenly pulled his horse to a halt. His expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he cast a sharp, narrow-eyed gaze toward the distant back mountains.

After a heartbeat of hesitation, he barked an order for the convoy to maintain its pace before slipping away into the dense undergrowth, heading alone toward the source of his unease. Slapping a Wind-Walking Talisman onto his thigh, Reyn felt an immediate surge of weightlessness. The rugged terrain, choked with waist-high weeds and jagged briars, became as smooth as a paved road beneath his feet.

As he drew closer, the violent fluctuations of spiritual energy became palpable, rippling through the air like heat haze. Reyn slowed his approach, his heart hammering against his ribs as he crept forward with predatory silence. His departure had been spurred by a faint, primal tug on his senses—a resonance of power that piqued a curiosity he could not suppress. As the distance closed, Reyn's face paled.

To his unrefined senses, the spiritual waves felt like a tempestuous sea, capable of obliterating him with the slightest stray current. Yet, having come this far, the gnawing hunger for knowledge—or perhaps opportunity—prevented him from turning back. With a grim set to his jaw, he pressed on, moving with agonizing caution, ready to bolt at the first sign of true peril. Crouched behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient tree, Reyn peered out.

The scene that met his eyes forced a sharp intake of breath, his pupils dilating in disbelief. A hundred meters ahead, a dozen massive trees lay splintered and broken, their trunks snapped like dry twigs. Smoldering craters pockmarked the earth, as if struck by the fists of giants. In the center of this devastation stood four figures locked in a tense standoff, though one side was clearly flagging.

"Heh, I suggest you hand that item over immediately," a black-robed elder sneered, his voice as cold as a tomb.

"Otherwise, do not blame me for being merciless. I will pluck your souls and refine your spirits until you beg for a death that will never come!" Beside him stood a woman of striking, if predatory, beauty. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide and pleading, yet her attire was scandalously sparse, revealing a generous expanse of pale skin that contrasted sharply with the surrounding carnage.

"Hmph! Black Mountain Old Ghost, do not take us for fools," spat a middle-aged man. His skin was the color of old parchment, and his breath came in ragged, wet gasps. He was clearly clinging to life by a thread.

"If we surrender it, do you truly expect us to believe you and your 'wife' would let us walk away?" A flash of murderous intent crossed the woman's eyes, quickly masked by a silk-smooth giggle.

"Brother, since these two refuse to appreciate our kindness, why bother with words? Let us simply end them and take what is ours. Delaying only invites unwanted guests."

"Indeed. In that case, you may both perish!" The Black Mountain Old Ghost let out a low, guttural laugh. With a flick of his wrist, dozens of globes of black flame erupted into existence. The sheer heat made the air shimmer. The two wounded men dared not underestimate the attack, frantically erecting spiritual shields as they scrambled to evade the onslaught. The woman laughed again, her voice like chiming bells as she summoned a shimmering Spirit Sword.

It erupted in a brilliant glow, whistling through the air as it sought the heads of their prey. Reyn's eyes widened. A Spirit Tool! In the hierarchy of the cultivation world—Spirit Tools, Magic Treasures, Dao Artifacts, and the legendary Spirit Treasures—even the lowest tier was a prize beyond his reach. Even at the fifth or sixth level of Qi Condensation within the Xuanxiao Sect, many disciples could only dream of owning such a weapon.

"Second Brother, take the item and run! I will hold them!" one of the brothers roared, suddenly pivoting to charge the attackers. The Black Mountain Old Ghost and the woman stiffened, their gazes locking onto the remaining man. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Big Brother! You would betray our bond? The item is in your hands—why frame me!" the other man screamed, his body already blurring into a retreat.

"One for each of us! They must not escape!" the Old Ghost barked, his body transforming into a streak of black shadow as he pursued the first brother. The woman, still giggling, vanished in pursuit of the second. A moment later, two truncated screams echoed through the woods. The two shadows returned to the clearing almost instantly.

"Brother, did you get it?" the woman asked, her voice trembling with barely suppressed greed. The Black Mountain Old Ghost's face broke into a triumphant grin. He reached into his storage bag and produced a small, ornate brocade box.

"Heh, I have it. The rumors were true. With this treasure, my cultivation will soar. If I can break through to the Nascent Soul stage, I might even establish my own sect and become a titan of the cultivation world!"

"Then I must congratulate you, Brother," the woman purred, leaning into his chest, her body molding against his.

"May your path be smooth and your legacy eternal." Basking in his success, the Old Ghost wrapped an arm around her, his laughter echoing through the clearing as his hands began to wander. Watching from the shadows, Reyn felt a desperate urge to know what was inside the box, but survival instinct screamed at him to leave. If he were discovered, he would be nothing more than a footnote in their bloody history. But before he could retreat, the scene shifted violently.

"Argh! You... you treacherous bitch! How dare you!" The Old Ghost's laughter turned into a roar of agony. He slammed a palm into the woman's chest, sending her flying backward. Thud. The woman hit the ground, coughing up a spray of crimson. Her face turned deathly pale, yet her eyes burned with a manic, ecstatic light.

"Do not blame me for being cold-hearted, Brother. Having this treasure benefit me through you is one thing... but possessing it myself is quite another. Don't worry, the dagger was coated in Thousand-Mechanism Toxin. You won't be lonely for long."

"Bitch! I will kill you!" The Old Ghost spat a glob of black, curdled blood. He took two staggering steps toward her before collapsing face-first into the dirt. After a few violent spasms, he went still.

"Hmph. Don't think I don't know about that spirit fruit you ate years ago. Your poison resistance is legendary; you could likely survive for another quarter-hour. Brother, you aren't dead yet. Are you trying to lure me in?" The woman sneered, keeping a safe distance from the 'corpse,' her caution overriding her greed. Minutes passed in silence. When no movement came, the woman frowned and crept forward with agonizing slowness. She reached down to snatch the fallen brocade box.

In that instant of triumph, the 'dead' man's hand flickered. A streak of black light—the Soul-Slayer—shot toward her. Puchi! Though she was on guard, her momentary lapse was fatal. She twisted her body, but the black light buried itself deep into her shoulder.

"Soul-Slayer!" Her face contorted. She retreated frantically, slapping her shoulder to seal her meridians and swallowing several medicinal pills from her storage bag. Only then did the black miasma creeping up her neck begin to recede. Having expended his final breath on that strike, the Black Mountain Old Ghost finally succumbed to the toxin. His heart stopped, and his presence vanished from the world.

"Damned old ghost," she hissed, her eyes fixed on the jade box. She tucked the box into her storage bag and limped to the Old Ghost's side, stripping him of his two storage bags before staggering deeper into the mountains. Behind the tree, Reyn's mind raced. That treasure had turned brothers into enemies and lovers into murderers. If it truly aided cultivation, it was exactly what he needed. As a man without a spiritual root, his place in the sect was a fluke.

His future depended entirely on what he could seize for himself. The thought made his blood boil with anticipation. Steeling his resolve, Reyn lightened his footsteps and began to trail her. She was wounded, but she was still a cultivator capable of wielding Spirit Tools—likely at the late stages of Qi Condensation or even Foundation Establishment. He could not afford a single mistake. After several hundred meters, the woman suddenly spun around, a playful smile on her lips.

"I wonder which Daoist friend is following this humble concubine? Why not show yourself?" Reyn froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed himself against a tree, holding his breath. How had she sensed him? Just as he prepared to flee, he noticed something odd and remained hidden. When no one answered, the woman's expression relaxed. She produced a small command flag and began chanting toward a sheer rock face. Moments later, the stone rippled like water, revealing a hidden tunnel. An illusion!

Reyn watched as she disappeared inside. The entrance shimmered and returned to solid rock. He waited, then crept to the wall. He funneled his meager spiritual energy into his eyes, spotting a lingering mist—the residue of the illusion. He reached out; his hand passed through the 'rock' into empty air. Sensing no immediate trap, he stepped through. The tunnel wound deep into the mountain. After fifty meters, he reached a small, carved-out chamber. The woman sat there, her face twisted in pain.

The Soul-Slayer spike lay on the floor, finally extracted. Reyn gritted his teeth. She was at her most vulnerable, trying to purge the poison. If she succeeded, he was dead. If he wanted that box, he had to act now. He stepped out from the shadows. The woman's eyes snapped open, wide with sudden, panicked recognition. Reyn recoiled, his hand going to his belt, but she did not move. He exhaled, his eyes locking onto hers.