Chapter 138: Cruel Heart, Carl’s Path to Kingship
“Good, good!”
“In times of hardship, true loyalty is revealed. Carl… don’t worry. Once I recover and return
safely to the Yates family, I will reward you handsomely!”
Lying on the makeshift bed, Dylan Yates looked at De Molinos Carl with genuine gratitude in his
eyes.
But Carl?
He didn’t care about Dylan’s empty promises in the slightest.
“Return to the Yates family?”
With the Sea Sand King’s palace in ruins, what Yates family was even left to return to?
News had already spread that the Yates family’s Level 4 ancestor had been surrounded and
killed, even going so far as to self-detonate his golden core in a desperate last stand.
To Carl, Dylan’s only remaining value was to be presented as an offering to the Abyssal
Emperor.
As they traveled toward Yellow Heaven Stronghold’s territory, Carl carefully contemplated his
next move.
If he wanted to eliminate Dylan and his remaining subordinates with minimal risk, what was the
best method?
Poison?
Mundane poisons were useless against cultivators.
Only those containing spiritual energy-corroding toxins—known as spiritual poisons—could be
effective.
Such poisons did exist in the cultivation world, but their effects on cultivators were still limited.
The only reason Arius had once been able to cripple the Ashfell Family’s ancestor using the
Spirit Poison Bottle was because he had first enhanced the bottle’s potency with the Appraising
Immortal Mirror.
For Carl, poisoning Dylan was not a viable option.
“If poison won’t work… then I’ll use formations!”
However, Dylan still possessed some defensive treasures.
The safest plan would be to continue deceiving him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike in a
single fatal blow.
As for the formation, it wasn’t for Dylan.
It was for his remaining subordinates.
Carl had no intention of letting any of them live.
Although their cultivation levels weren’t particularly high, they weren’t weak either.
Even if they were willing to submit, keeping them around posed a risk.
After all, Carl had yet to master the Slave Imprint Technique—the ability to brand one’s soul and
force absolute obedience.
Even if he had mastered it, these cultivators would never willingly open their souls for him to
plant the imprint.
The best solution?
Wipe them out.
As it happened, Carl had recently mastered a technique that allowed him to refine cultivators
into “Living Pills” using formations.
If he could sacrifice all of Dylan’s remaining men in this ritual, his own cultivation would
skyrocket, possibly even allowing him to step into Level 1!
“In chaotic times, the ruthless rise to power.”
To Carl, betrayal and slaughter carried no emotional burden.
He would climb to the peak, no matter how much blood he had to wade through.
After traveling for five grueling days, passing scattered battlefields and constantly remaining on
high alert, Carl and his group finally arrived at a small city.
Atop its walls, banners bearing the emblem of Yellow Heaven Stronghold fluttered in the wind.
Outside the city, rows of armored warriors trained in brutal combat drills, their weapons
gleaming under the sun.
Carl glanced at Dylan, then bowed slightly, his tone filled with reverence.
“Adoptive Father, after days of hardship, you have suffered much.”
“But now, you can finally rest easy.”
“I will arrange for you to have the finest servants, exquisite food, and a grand banquet in your
honor.”
“And as for our loyal brothers, you have all endured much.”
“Tonight… we feast until dawn!”
“Once inside Yellow Heaven Stronghold, there will be wine, women, and all the pleasures one
could desire!”
Carl’s words immediately lifted the spirits of the weary soldiers.
Even the exhausted, near-death Dylan, upon hearing the mention of wine and women, felt a
rush of excitement.
His pale, blood-drained face regained some color, his breath quickening with anticipation.
“Good, good, good!”
“My son… hurry, make the arrangements!”
Reaching out with a large, rough hand covered in coarse black hair, Dylan’s voice trembled with
eagerness and impatience.
Watching Dylan’s greed and indulgence, Carl’s inner coldness deepened.
The trap was already in place.
Now, all that remained…
Was to let the prey walk into it.
Dylan’s constant proclamations of “my son” and “as your father” had long since become
unbearable.
“Old bastard, enjoy yourself while you can… this time next year, I’ll be offering sacrifices on your
grave.”
Carl let out a silent, chilling laugh deep in his heart.
But on the surface, his expression remained as humble and obedient as ever—flawless, without
a single trace of deception.
Deception and adaptability were his greatest tools for survival in this era of chaos.
He had clawed his way up from an ordinary mortal, scraping by with whatever opportunities he
could seize.
True, luck had played a role in his rise.
But had he relied solely on luck, he would have long since perished.
He had the instincts to recognize opportunity, the ruthlessness to strike when necessary, and
the decisiveness to turn fleeting fortune into lasting power.
Carl was the kind of man who would grasp fate by the throat, no matter the cost.
A true predator, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to climb higher.
By the time dusk settled over the city, the stage was set.
Carl had ordered his men to vacate the grandest, most opulent estate in the city.
It would serve as the venue to “honor” Dylan.
At the same time, he had covertly set up formations throughout the entire estate.
To avoid arousing any suspicion, Carl had invited not just Dylan and his men, but also his own
trusted subordinates and the upper ranks of Yellow Heaven Stronghold to the feast.
With so many familiar faces present, Dylan and his remaining guards would lower their guard
completely.
Once the formation activated, not only Dylan’s people—but even Carl’s own trusted
aides—would be slaughtered and refined into Living Pills.
Carl had no choice.
When the time came, sacrifices had to be made.
The path to power was paved with endless corpses.
If he hesitated, he would be the one lying dead.
This was the price of becoming a king in an age of chaos.
Some of his closest allies and subordinates would have to die.
He felt no guilt—but he would still honor their memory.
Afterward, he would erect a monument in their names.
He would provide for their families.
That was the best he could offer.
“The immortal path is a road paved with bones…”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Carl clasped his hands behind his back, murmuring softly
to himself.
His gaze fell upon the fading crimson sky—his expression an unreadable mix of melancholy,
cruelty, and boundless ambition.
A cold wind swept through the city, rustling the banners of Yellow Heaven Stronghold.
The world remained unchanged.
And yet, on the distant horizon, a dark storm was gathering.
The grand estate had been transformed.
Gorgeous serving girls had been arranged throughout the halls, each radiating delicate beauty.
Soft, harmonious melodies filled the air as musicians played their instruments, weaving an
enchanting atmosphere.
Slender-figured dancers, clad in translucent silk, moved gracefully across the polished floors,
their every motion captivating the eyes of the guests.
Plates of exquisitely prepared dishes, each more elaborate than the last, were brought in one
after another, the rich aroma of fine cuisine permeating every corner of the hall.
The feast had begun.
Shortly after, Dylan arrived.
With the help of his remaining attendants, he was carefully escorted into the hall.
The moment his greedy eyes fell upon the lavish banquet, the beautiful women, and the endless
flow of fine wine, his gaze burned with hunger.
He never once suspected that death awaited him.
“Hahaha!!!”
“Yes, yes! This is wonderful!”
“My son, you truly understand your father’s heart!”
Dylan let out a boisterous, beast-like laugh, reaching out to seize one of the dancers, his hands
roaming shamelessly.
At that moment, it was as if the pain from his injuries had completely vanished.
The sight of wine and women alone had revitalized him.
Even Dylan’s remaining cultivator guards, who had previously been on edge, began to relax.
The dancers, the wine, the feast—it was all too intoxicating.
Had they been at full strength, they would have scoffed at mortal pleasures like this.
But after weeks of harrowing battles, desperate retreats, and sleepless nights, their minds had
been pushed to the breaking point.
Now, as they gazed at the women before them, the food on the tables, and the wine being
poured into their cups—
It all felt like divine blessings from the heavens.
They had no idea that this banquet…
Would be their last.