Chương 1255: Chapter46: Chaotic Tides (3)

"You would be wise to vanish. Now." Ling You'er's voice was a jagged shard of ice, though her pulse hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"I am a disciple of the Pomie Sect. My senior brother, Xing Tianxie, is hunting in these very woods. Lay a finger on me, and he will ensure your deaths are neither swift nor clean." The three streaks of light chasing her stalled, hovering like vultures in the stagnant air. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then, a jagged, mocking laugh tore through the silence.

"The Pomie Sect? A little kitten with a tiger's roar," a voice drawled from the lead radiance.

"I intended to savor the chase, my beauty, but your lineage changes the math. Xing Tianxie is a name that carries a certain… unpleasant weight. We have no desire to dance with that devil today. Let's bring this farce to a conclusion."

"How utterly tedious," a second voice sighed. It was effeminate, cloying, and coated in a layer of artificial sweetness that made the skin crawl.

"I had hoped to watch the light leave her eyes slowly. Now we must rush. It's so… uncivilized." From the third streak of light, a sharp snort of derision cut in.

"Junior Brother, your jealousy is showing. Are you terrified that once Senior Brother tastes this one, he'll forget your pretty face? Don't pout. If he finds her too much to handle, I'll step in. We can break her together."

"Insolent dog! You dare mock me?" the effeminate one snapped, the mask of playfulness shattering to reveal a core of raw, high-pitched irritation. Ling You'er ignored the filth spewing from their mouths. She funneled every scrap of her Divine Sense into her mental core, anchoring her soul against the invisible rot trying to seep into her mind. But the hallucinations were a rising tide—obscene, swirling visions of depravity that gnawed at her resolve. Her breath hitched, turning ragged and hot.

A deep, unnatural flush crept up her throat, blooming like a bruise against her pale skin. Her chest heaved, the fabric of her robes straining as her body began to betray her spirit under the weight of their unseen arts. To the three Yin-Yang Sect cultivators, her fury was merely a spice. They didn't see a woman; they saw a resource to be harvested.

"Enough bickering," the Senior Brother commanded. His voice was a rich, masculine baritone, the kind that commanded respect in a sect hall and committed atrocities in the dark.

"Subdue her. We'll find a hole to crawl into far from prying eyes and take our time. The world can wait." Ling You'er's blood turned to slush. She knew the reputation of the Yin-Yang Sect. They were parasites who practiced the art of Harvesting Yin to supplement Yang. If she fell, she wouldn't just die; she would be hollowed out, turned into a Cultivation Cauldron—a living vessel for their filth until her very essence withered into nothingness.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! The three lights ignited with predatory hunger. They didn't just follow; they pounced, surging forward to cut off her retreat and pinning her in a triangular cage of spiritual pressure. The radiance died down, revealing the predators in the flesh. The Senior Brother stood at the apex. He looked to be in his twenties, handsome in a way that felt manufactured and cold.

He wore pink robes that should have looked ridiculous but instead radiated a bizarre, predatory elegance. To his left stood the Second Brother—a mountain of a man with a bare chest and eyes that stripped her of her dignity with a single glance. To the right was the Third Brother, his features so delicate they bordered on the beautiful, his phoenix eyes shimmering with a glass-like, artificial charm.

"No exits left, little bird," the Senior Brother purred, his voice a low, hypnotic vibration designed to shatter what remained of her will.

"Submit. It will be much easier if you simply stop fighting."

"You talk too much, Senior," the burly brute growled, his muscles twitching with restless violence.

"This place is crawling with rats. Grab her, force the pills down her throat, and let's move. I want her mind gone so her body is ours to command."

"Hehe, I'm with Second Brother," the effeminate one giggled, licking his lips with a sharp, pointed tongue.

"I've been waiting to end this chase for far too long." The Senior Brother nodded, a thin, cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"Fine. No more probing." He flicked his wrist. A wisp of hazy pink spiritual mist snaked through the air toward her, moving with the deceptive grace of a viper. Ling You'er's heart jolted. She threw her entire cultivation into her Mountain-River Silk. The silk artifact flared, unfurling a massive white barrier. Phantom peaks and rushing rivers shimmered in the air—a fortress of high-grade spiritual defense that should have been impenetrable. The Senior Brother didn't even blink.

He just watched with quiet amusement. The pink mist hit the barrier. There was no explosion. The mist simply ate through the spiritual fabric like acid through silk. It didn't break the defense; it ignored it, dissolving the barrier into nothingness in a single breath.

"Ah!" Ling You'er gasped as the mist touched her skin. Her bones turned to lead. Her spiritual energy, once a rushing river, became a stagnant swamp. She staggered, her vision blurring into a kaleidoscope of heat and shame. A fever burned in her gut, melting her thoughts into a delirious haze. She was a puppet with cut strings, teetering on the edge of total collapse.

"Senior Brother! I can't hold back!" the brute barked, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at her trembling form.

"I'll give you every cauldron I've caught in the last six months. Just let me have her first!" The Senior Brother tilted his head, calculating the value of the flesh before him.

"Add three Hehuan Tongxuan Pills to the deal, and she's yours to break."

"Deal!" the brute spat, his greed overriding his common sense. He lunged, his thick, calloused fingers reaching out to claim the prize. Behind him, the other two watched with cold, detached amusement, already mentally moving to their next conquest. The brute's hand was inches from her skin when the world turned cold. A silver arc, faster than human sight, bisected the air with a silent, lethal hiss. A head spun into the sky.

The Second Brother's eyes were still wide, still filled with lust, even as the connection to his body ceased to exist. He died without realizing he was a corpse. Blood erupted in a violent geyser, painting the pink mist a deep, visceral crimson. From the gore mist, a figure materialized. Tall, draped in black robes that seemed to swallow the light, Reyn stood there like a shadow given form. Two eyes, cold as the void and sharp as a guillotine, locked onto the remaining two cultivators.

The hunt had just changed hands.