Qin Ting stepped forward, his face darkening as a sneer carved deep lines into his chiseled features—a stark mask of disdain promising no mercy. With a casual flick of his wrist, like dismissing a beggar's plea, a surge of purple energy flared from his palm.
It blazed outward, sharp and radiant, like fractured amethyst splintering sunlight into a jagged prism of menace. The air hummed with its passage, a low vibration that set teeth on edge, before it struck Mu Qingyi's painstakingly conjured barrier.
Her shield—a massive wall of light woven from her desperate will—shattered instantly. The sound was delicate yet devastating, crystalline fragments tinkling as they dissolved into the wind, leaving a mournful echo like a dying star's sigh.
Mu Qingyi's gasp tore from her throat, raw and involuntary, as the blast's force hurled her backward. Her knees buckled, and she crashed to the ground, gritty soil biting her palms as she caught herself.
Dust swirled around her in a choking veil, stinging her eyes until tears blurred her vision, mingling with the metallic tang of blood from her bitten lip. Her silver hair spilled loose in wild strands, clinging to her sweat-slicked face. Her hands trembled, meridians pulsing weakly, drained from the effort of her fleeting defense.
Before she could rise or summon another shred of power, a shadow fell over her, vast and suffocating, swallowing the faint light that lingered. The Crimson Pyre Warden loomed closer, his hulking frame a grotesque monument forged from the earth's molten depths.
He raised a gnarled hand, the air warping around it, and his voice rumbled forth, a low growl that shook the ground beneath her knees. "Insolent trash."
A torrent of crimson flames erupted from his palm, twisting midair into a demonic art—a clawed beast sculpted from fire, its maw gaping, fangs dripping with searing heat. The air crackled, thick with brimstone and charred stone, as the inferno hurtled toward her, intent on obliterating her in one merciless strike. Her breath caught, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird desperate to break free.
'I can't block this—it's over…' Her fingers tightened in the soil, eyes squeezing shut as she braced for the end, the heat already prickling her skin.
But the end didn't come. At the last heartbeat, Qin Ting's silhouette flickered into existence before her, his movements languid, almost bored, as if stepping into a petty squabble unworthy of his time. With a single, disdainful slash of his hand, a wall of ice surged upward—crystalline and unyielding, its surface shimmering with a frostbitten sheen.
The flaming beast collided with it in a deafening roar, the clash birthing a shockwave that flattened brittle grass and sent ice shards skittering across the ground like scattered jewels. The demonic flames splintered, embers raining down in a harmless cascade, winking out like stars snuffed by dawn.
The air stilled, the Warden's snarl faltering as a flicker of surprise—or perhaps irritation—crossed his molten features.
Qin Ting lowered his hand, the icy glow fading from his fingertips, a faint smirk playing on his lips, sharp and unreadable. He turned, his shadow falling over Mu Qingyi like a shroud as she knelt, dazed and trembling in the dirt. His eyes glinted with cold amusement, a predator savoring wounded prey.
"Far too naive and soft-hearted," he mocked, his voice a silken blade, each word dripping with scorn that sank into her pride like barbs. "You bring shame to your sect, to your father's name. Emotions cloud your judgment when reason should reign. Truly pathetic."
He pivoted smoothly to face the Warden, inclining his head in calculated deference, his demeanor shifting seamlessly from cruelty to composure.
"My apologies for her actions, Honorable Elder," he said, his tone smooth as polished jade, betraying none of the disdain he'd just unleashed. "Her foolishness is an embarrassment to us all. Do as you will with the boy—she won't interfere again."
Mu Qingyi's breath hitched, her fists clenching in the soil until her knuckles whitened, dirt caking beneath her nails. Humiliation and fury warred within her, a storm brewing behind her wide, glistening eyes—eyes that once shone with resolve, now clouded by her failure.
The Warden's molten gaze flicked between them, his snarl softening into a guttural grunt. "Hmph. See that she doesn't!" he rumbled, before turning back to his quarry.
In the distance, Old Man Tie bounded after Ye Qiu's fading streak, his sword gleaming with murderous intent, its faint song slicing through the wind like a promise of retribution. The crowd encircling the scene—disciples in flowing robes, grizzled elders with weathered faces, and wandering cultivators cloaked in dust and secrets—murmured among themselves, their voices a low hum of shock and intrigue.
"Did you see that? Qin Ting broke her barrier like it was nothing," one whispered, awe threading his tone as his eyes darted nervously to the future Holy Son.
"He's ruthless—didn't even hesitate to put her in her place," another muttered, an elder nodding in quiet approval.
A third man, a scar snaking across his cheek, snorted softly. "She's lucky he stepped in. The Warden would've turned her to ash without a second thought."
Mu Qingyi remained on her knees, chest heaving, the weight of her shattered resolve pressing down like a mountain carved from her doubts.
'Brother Ye, how could you do this? How could greed twist your noble heart?' she thought, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips, barely audible over the rustling wind. 'You were never like this…'
Beneath her resignation stirred a deeper, more tangled emotion—remorse, sharp and bitter, cutting through her like a blade forged from her memories.
Earlier that day, the Crimson Pyre Warden had descended upon their encampment like a wrathful deity, his aura a suffocating shroud that silenced even the boldest. His demand was simple yet searing, his voice a rumble that shook tents and sent lesser disciples scrambling: "Who stole the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit?"
Ye Qiu had stood among the gathered, shoulders hunched, his usual brash confidence—a fire that once lit their small sect with hope—replaced by a tense, guilty silence. He'd refused to confess, even as the Warden's wrath ignited, unleashing destruction that claimed lives—disciples and elders caught in the crossfire, their screams swallowed by flames, their faces flashing behind Mu Qingyi's closed eyes.
She understood human weakness, the instinct to falter under pressure. Yet a shard of disappointment lodged in her heart, cold and unyielding. 'In my mind, Ye Qiu was a man of valor, bold and unyielding—a brother who'd sworn to protect us all. But this time…'
Her thoughts drifted to Qin Ting. When he'd confronted the Warden, his poise and confidence shone like a beacon—a stark contrast to Ye Qiu's shrinking figure. The difference gnawed at her, a quiet ache she couldn't shake, a whisper of doubt about her chosen path.
Worse still, she had offended him—the future Holy Son of the Xuantian Sect, heir to the greatest faction in the Eastern Wilderness, a man whose name alone could silence a room. She'd challenged his authority before the Warden, forcing Qin Ting to intervene on her behalf.
'I owe him my life now,' she realized, the thought bitter as gall, a debt she could neither repay nor escape. With a soft sigh, she let her gaze fall to the torn earth beneath her hands, lips pressed into a thin line as the crowd's clamor faded into a dull roar.
Meanwhile, Ye Qiu fled like a man possessed, his face twisted with madness, sweat and blood streaking his once-handsome features. His tattered robes revealed taut, trembling muscles, a testament to years spent forging his body into a weapon.
He pushed his cultivation technique to its breaking point, desperation fueling his flight, meridians in his legs burning as if threaded with molten wire. Hatred seared through him—hatred for Qin Ting, whose mocking words and unshakable calm had cornered him into this life-or-death gamble.
'That bastard—he planned this, didn't he? To humiliate me, to strip me of everything!' His teeth ground audibly, his mind a churning storm of rage and despair.
Even if he escaped today, his future loomed bleak. His name would be reviled across the Eastern Wilderness, his comrades and hard-earned reputation reduced to ash.
'I'll kill him,' he vowed silently, eyes burning with feral light, pupils dilated like a cornered beast's. 'One day, I'll rip that smug grin off Qin Ting's face and make him beg for a swift death.'
The Crimson Pyre Warden's bellow shook the ground, a roar of rage fracturing the air, his sanity fraying. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a thin, searing stream of molten lava, its blinding speed streaking toward Ye Qiu's distant form, now a speck on the horizon.
The glowing thread hissed, leaving scorched air in its wake, a venomous serpent hunting its prey. Onlookers held their breath, picturing Ye Qiu pierced through, his body erupting in flames.
But at the last moment, Ye Qiu contorted his body in an unnatural twist, his spine bending impossibly—a grotesque dance of desperation and instinct. The lava streaked past, missing by a hair's breadth, burrowing into the earth with a hiss of thwarted fury.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, mingling disbelief and grudging awe. His eyes burned with crazed light, veins bulging as he teetered on collapse. He knew this was it—life or death hinged on this fleeting second.
"Bloodreaver's Vile Prohibition!" he roared, his voice a hoarse, guttural snarl, as if ripped from his soul's depths.
A torrent of crimson burst from his body, drenching him in blood until he resembled a grotesque figure carved from gore. The metallic stench filled the air, thick and cloying, as his skin paled, vitality flickering like a candle in a storm.
His face slackened, eyes rolling briefly before snapping back with a manic gleam. Yet his speed surged—his body became a streak of blood-red light, the air cracking with sonic booms as he tore through the sky, vanishing beyond the horizon, leaving only a faint trail of crimson mist.
The Warden howled in fury, molten eyes blazing, cracks spreading across his rocky skin like fissures in a crumbling dam. "Impossible!" he snarled.
He, a Great Demon of the Divine Palace Realm, feared across the Eastern Wilderness, was no master of speed—but to think a Divine Wheel Realm ant could slip his grasp? The insult burned hotter than his flames, a wound to his pride demanding blood. With a thunderous roar, his aura flared, a wave of heat forcing the crowd to stagger back, shielding their faces.
He thrust out a palm, and a colossal hand materialized in the void—hundreds of feet wide, fingers wreathed in swirling flames and shadow. It stretched across the sky, the air warping beneath its weight, a manifestation of wrath. It slammed toward the fleeing Ye Qiu with devastating force, the ground trembling as the plateau groaned in fear.
"Die, you filth!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the heavens, abandoning restraint.
He'd held back earlier, wary of destroying the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit Ye Qiu carried—a treasure worth empires—but now, with escape within reach, pride outweighed pragmatism. He would erase Ye Qiu—flesh, soul, and all. The dignity of a Divine Palace Realm powerhouse demanded no less.
The void hand struck true. Ye Qiu's body jolted mid-flight, flesh splitting, bursting into a cloud of blood mist that sprayed across the sky like a grotesque painting. The crowd gasped, some shielding their eyes, others leaning forward in morbid fascination.
Yet, impossibly, his momentum didn't falter. The crimson haze streaked onward, a faint, defiant glimmer within it—a spark of will refusing to gutter out—vanishing into the distant sky.
The Crimson Pyre Warden stood frozen, chest heaving with rage and disbelief, steam rising from his cracked skin. An ant from the Divine Wheel Realm had escaped him? His roar shook the heavens as he gave chase, tearing after Ye Qiu's trail, his massive form blurring into a streak of fire and shadow. His wrathful cry lingered, a storm brewing on the horizon, dark and inevitable.
The crowd stood stunned, the wind whistling through the sudden stillness, a hollow sound mirroring the void in their hearts. Ye Qiu… had survived?
From the distance, Old Man Tie's anguished voice broke through, stumbling back into the encampment, sword clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "That Ye Qiu must be gravely wounded! He won't get far!" he shouted, voice splintering with grief and rage.
Tears streaked his weathered face, mourning his fallen grandson, slain in the Warden's rampage. "I'll carve him to pieces—spill his blood as an offering to my grandson's spirit in the heavens!"
The onlookers snapped awake, their shouts rising in a furious chorus drowning the wind. "We'll find Ye Qiu at all costs! He dies today!" cried a burly man, fists clenched, tears cutting through soot on his face—grief for a brother lost to the Demon's carnage.
"Avenge our fallen brothers and sisters!" echoed a woman, voice shrill with anguish, her sword raised, its tip gleaming with vengeance.
But not all were driven by sorrow. Others, sharper and more calculating, saw opportunity. Ye Qiu, a mere Divine Wheel cultivator, had evaded a Divine Palace powerhouse—an impossibility whispering of hidden treasures, secrets defying the natural order.
Eyes glinted with greed, lips curling into sly smiles. Several figures exchanged knowing glances and slipped away, melting into the crowd's frenzy. Even disciples of the holy lands, their pristine robes stark against the blood-soaked earth, dispersed with veiled intentions, whispers lost to the clamor.
Nie You, Qin Ting's loyal attendant, approached with measured steps, dark robes pristine despite the chaos. He bowed solemnly, voice steady but tinged with shame. "Young Master, I regret to inform you that Ye Qiu eluded us. We lost him."
Qin Ting's lips curved into a faint, untroubled smile, eyes half-lidded with an eerie calm, belying the trap he'd orchestrated. He waved a hand dismissively, the gesture languid, brushing away an inconsequential nuisance.
"No matter," he said softly, tone laced with amusement, a predator savoring the hunt's opening move. "Establish a perimeter outside the Lian Yun Mountains and kill anyone who tries to infiltrate our camp. Many will seek to steal from our supplies in the confusion that follows."
"Yes, my lord!" Nie You replied, voice firm as he marched off, steps purposeful, a soldier honed by years of loyalty.
Qin Ting's thoughts stirred, a quiet thrill rippling beneath his icy composure. 'He's a Child of Destiny—how could he fall so easily? This was a mere test, a prod at the power of the heavens themselves. Well within my calculations…'
A chime rang in his mind, crisp and clear, like a celestial bell—a sound only he could hear, a gift from the system that bound him.
[You have exposed Ye Qiu, resulting in his fugitive status and severe injury. Host has been rewarded with 15,000 Villain Points. Moreover, you have successfully plundered 20 Fortune Points from the Protagonist.]
His heart leapt, elation flooding his veins, though his expression remained impassive, a mask of cool indifference honed by discipline. Fortune Points—the elusive prize he coveted, the essence of destiny, snatched from Ye Qiu's grasp like a jewel from a crown.
'Finally,' he thought, his smirk deepening slightly, a crack in the facade hinting at the hunger beneath. 'The heavens may favor him, but I'll carve my own path through their design—one paved with his ruin.'
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where Ye Qiu had vanished, a speck of crimson swallowed by the endless sky. "Run all you like, little rat," he murmured, voice a whisper carried by the wind. "The game's only just begun."