Chapter 71 The advantage is mine, a stab in the back

“Greetings, Hall Master!”

“Greetings, Hall Master!”

The grand hall echoed with a chorus of voices as the cultivators and mortals alike bowed in reverence.

“Kekekeke…!”

The Blood Wolf Hall Master let out his signature hoarse, eerie laughter, stepping forward with slow, deliberate strides until he reached the highest seat in the grand hall.

His triangular eyes swept across the room before he spoke.

“First Protector, Second Protector—come with me.”

“I will personally eradicate the De Molinos family, reclaim everything that is mine—”

“And avenge the Third Protector’s death.”

“A mere De Molinos family dares to kill a Blood Wolf Hall Protector?”

“They truly don’t know the meaning of death.”

As he spoke, he extended his blackened tongue, licking his dry, cracked lips.

The moment the veteran Blood Wolf cultivators saw this motion, their bodies stiffened with fear.

They knew what it meant.

Every time the Hall Master licked his lips—

A massacre was about to begin.

For all his cruelty, even Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist paled in comparison to him.

Though Blood Wolf Hall claimed to be a righteous sect, everyone knew the truth.

The Hall Master presented himself as an orthodox cultivator, but in reality—

He had long secretly practiced forbidden arts.

He was simply more discreet than true demonic cultivators—

More careful, more calculated.

The difference between him and the wicked sects was only a matter of exposure.

His recent breakthrough to the Peak of the Level 1 Realm had come at a steep cost—

He had kidnapped and sacrificed numerous cultivators, draining them of their vital essence and blood to fuel his ascension.

This was the true face of Blood Wolf Hall’s master.

“Move out!”

The Hall Master’s voice rang out like a death knell.

Without another word, his body rose, carried by a crimson mist, as he shot out of the grand hall like a phantom.

At his command, Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist wasted no time.

With a wave of his hand, he summoned a monstrous, venomous insect—

A winged beast, larger than a fully grown man, its carapace glistening with toxins.

He mounted the creature, his expression grim, before swiftly taking flight.

From below, Goat Child watched silently.

His face unreadable.

But deep inside, he knew—

His moment of truth had arrived.

If Arius failed…

Goat Child would die alongside him.

He had no other options.

There was only one path forward.

With a cold gleam in his eyes, he stepped onto his flying sword, following behind the Hall Master and Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist.

His mind raced with plans.

If he could find an opening—

If he could land a decisive strike—

He would backstab the Hall Master the moment the opportunity arose.

If he succeeded—

He would kill the Hall Master first, then eliminate Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist—

And with such a great merit, Arius would never betray him.

The risks were high.

But if executed correctly—

The Hall Master would not survive the ambush.

After all—

The difference between Early-Stage and Peak Level 1 was vast, but they were still within the same realm.

If his strike landed perfectly, there was a real chance the Hall Master would perish instantly.

And if that happened—

Blood Wolf Hall would crumble.

Unaware of the treachery lurking behind him, the Hall Master pressed forward, his crimson robes billowing in the wind.

In the past, he had always been cautious.

Paranoid, even.

Never once had he placed himself at risk.

But now—

After breaking through to Peak Level 1, he was already half a step from Level 2.

He had grown arrogant.

Reckless.

Had he waited another six months, allowing his mind to stabilize, he never would have taken such a rash action.

But now—

His greed would be his undoing.

And Goat Child would be the dagger waiting in the dark.

As the Blood Wolf Hall Master soared forward, a shadow followed close behind—

Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist, perched atop his monstrous venomous insect, his expression uneasy.

“Hall Master…”

His voice carried a note of hesitation.

“Are we truly approaching Purple River City too recklessly?”

“The De Molinos family had the power to kill Red Powder Sister—this alone proves their hidden strength is not to be underestimated.”

“You should know, despite being at Early Level 1, Red Powder Sister and Goat Child, working together, could easily escape from even a Mid or Late Level 1 cultivator.”

“Yet, Red Powder Sister fell, and only Goat Child survived…”

His words were cautious, his tone careful.

But—

The Blood Wolf Hall Master barely reacted.

Instead, he waved a hand dismissively, his tone indifferent.

“Afraid of what?”

“With me here, even if the De Molinos family has hidden depths—”

“Even if their so-called ‘Ancestor’ gained some sudden power through some miraculous fortune—”

“I can still crush them with ease!”

“I stand at the Peak of the Level 1 Realm—who in Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture would dare challenge me?!”

His voice dripped with arrogance.

Unshakable. Overwhelming. Reckless.

Watching him, Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist felt a chill crawl up his spine.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t the cautious, cunning leader he once followed.

The Hall Master had always been calculating, always prudent.

But now—

His temperament had changed completely.

Recklessness. Overconfidence. Arrogance.

And the cause?

It wasn’t just his breakthrough.

It was the side effects of his forbidden cultivation.

Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist clenched his jaw.

I just hope this all goes smoothly…

He didn’t voice his concerns further.

At the very least—

With the Hall Master at Peak Level 1, even if something went wrong, he should still be able to escape safely.

Right?

From Blood Wolf Hall to Purple River City, their journey took two full days.

The delay was largely due to Goat Child—

His cultivation was too weak to sustain long-distance flight.

Every few hours, he was forced to stop and recover his spiritual energy before continuing.

But finally—

As they neared Purple River City, the Blood Wolf Hall Master’s lips curled into a sinister grin.

“Kekekeke… Good… very good…”

He gazed upon the flourishing city, his eyes filled with greed.

Even amidst this era of disaster, Purple River City stood vibrant and strong—

A stark contrast to the wastelands beyond its walls.

Though it lacked a spiritual vein, it was still a hidden paradise in this ruined world.

The Blood Wolf Hall Master licked his lips again, his expression growing hungry.

“A fine place indeed.”

“Listen well—”

“Destroy the De Molinos family, but do not ruin the city’s buildings or infrastructure.”

“After all—”

“This will be my new home.”

His crimson robes fluttered as he descended toward the city’s outskirts.

Compared to Blood Wolf Hall’s barren lands, Purple River City was a dream of paradise—

Lush fields.

Clean lakes.

Majestic ancient buildings.

Even the crowded streets only served to enhance the city’s bustling, vibrant energy.

Here—

He would build his palace.

Here—

He would indulge in true luxury.

From above, he hovered before the De Molinos family’s domain, his dark aura rolling outward like a storm.

A series of magic treasures emerged from his hands, their sinister glow illuminating the sky.

And then—

His hoarse, eerie voice thundered across the city.

“People of the De Molinos family—kill yourselves.”

His words were cold. Ruthless. Absolute.

“Since you have built such a fine paradise for me—”

“I shall be merciful.”

“I will overlook the fact that you killed my Red Powder Protector…”

“I will overlook the fact that you stole my silver mines…”

“I will forgive it all.”

“All you have to do—”

“Obediently slit your own throats.”

“I am a merciful man, after all.”

His voice was mocking—a twisted caricature of kindness.

And yet—

Even as he spoke, he made no move to attack.

To him—

The De Molinos family was already dead.

Why rush?

If they had any sense, they would submit.

If they resisted—

Well.

Then the true fun would begin.

“Kekekeke…!”

 

Chapter 72: The Master of Ten Thousand Poisons, Runs Away with the Bucket

In the heart of the Blood Wolf Hall Master, the De Molinos Family wasn’t even worth a passing thought.

Only Arius, the old ancestor of the De Molinos clan, earned a sliver of his attention.

As the Blood Wolf Hall Master’s voice rumbled across the skies, it echoed through Purple River City, shaking not only the mortals but also alarming the scattered cultivators within the city walls.

“A Level 1 cultivator!”

“It’s a Level 1 expert descending!”

The cultivators of Purple River City, along with those worldly enough among the mortals to recognize the significance, were stricken with dread.

Three Level 1 experts had arrived, descending upon Purple River with hostile intent toward the De Molinos Family. Nothing good could come of this.

“Blood Wolf Hall… It must be the Blood Wolf Hall seeking revenge.”

“Back then, the De Molinos ancestor personally struck down one of their Level 1 enforcers.”

A cultivator from a minor cultivation family whispered, his voice low but heavy with fear.

The matter of the De Molinos Family’s silver vein wasn’t exactly a secret among the local clans.

“Can the De Molinos Family survive this calamity?”

“If the De Molinos Family falls…”

Worry clouded many faces.

After all, the Blood Wolf Hall was an ancient power, deeply entrenched in the Level 1 realm. The Hall Master’s rumored breakthrough to the Peak Stage was no secret.

And now, it seemed the rumors were true.

To demand the entire De Molinos Family to commit suicide—even with a Level 1 patriarch overseeing their defense—the Blood Wolf Hall Master clearly had his reasons to be so bold.

Even if his breakthrough had failed, he was still backed by two Level 1 enforcers.

Especially Master of Ten Thousand Poisons, the Hall’s chief enforcer—an expert at the Mid Stage of Level 1 who wielded deadly control over countless venomous creatures.

The De Molinos Family was in deep trouble.

The minor cultivation clans and the more observant mortals could only come to the same grim conclusion.

Inside the De Molinos Family estate, however, there was no sign of panic.

They had unwavering faith in their old ancestor.

The man who reclaimed their silver vein and slaughtered a Blood Wolf enforcer wouldn’t have done so without being prepared for the consequences.

High above the estate, clad in gray robes, Arius soared into the sky, controlling the Tri-Element Formation Flags as he confronted the Blood Wolf Hall Master and his entourage.

There was even a spy among the Hall Master’s companions—an infiltrator Arius himself had planted.

In his hand, Arius gripped two Five-Thunder Talisman Treasures.

Should battle erupt, there was no guarantee he could kill the Blood Wolf Hall Master outright—but he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t walk away empty-handed.

Despite holding the advantage, Arius masked his confidence beneath an act of feigned weakness—one he had perfected long ago.

He had used this very trick to ambush the Ashfell family’s old ancestor. In fact, back during his time with the Luoxia Sect, this wasn’t even the first time he had played this game.

Before mastering the Breath Concealment Technique, this tactic could only fool the arrogant and overconfident.

Now, with his aura expertly suppressed, he appeared as if he had barely broken into the Early Stage of Level 1—a cultivator riddled with internal injuries and an unstable foundation.

“Esteemed Hall Master… might you grant the De Molinos Family a sliver of mercy?”

“Since using the last of my hidden cards to slay Fellow Daoist, I’ve found no peace. Guilt and dread have haunted my nights. I longed to seek your forgiveness… yet I dared not approach you.”

“I beg you, Master, grant me a chance for redemption… let me atone for my sins and preserve my humble life.”

Arius’s voice was humble, his aura weak. Even Goat Spirit, the sharpest among their enemies, was fooled by his act.

Seeing Arius’s submissive demeanor, the Blood Wolf Hall Master—his own mind twisted by ambition and arrogance—lowered his guard and let out a booming, satisfied laugh.

“Mercy?”

“Not impossible!”

“But first, open your soul to me… Let me plant the slave seal myself.”

Just as his words echoed in the air, Master of Ten Thousand Poisons narrowed his eyes, an unsettling suspicion creeping into his mind. He carefully stepped closer to the Hall Master and whispered through a private transmission:

“Master… I fear this De Molinos ancestor isn’t as helpless as he seems.”

“You should be more cautious.”

“If something goes wrong…”

Master of Ten Thousand Poisons hadn’t even finished his warning before the Blood Wolf Hall Master brusquely cut him off.

“Afraid of what?”

“He’s nothing more than an Early-Stage Level 1 cultivator—wounded, weak, and barely clinging to life.”

“Spare his life? It might actually be useful.”

“With the Red Mist Enforcer dead, our Blood Wolf Hall could always use another enforcer to restore our strength.”

The Hall Master’s mood lightened with each word, especially after hearing Arius’s respectful address—“Esteemed Master”—a title usually reserved for those facing a superior in the Level 2 realm.

It fed his arrogance, clouding his caution with a surge of misplaced confidence.

Seeing that persuasion was futile, Master of Ten Thousand Poisons quietly prepared for the worst.

He subtly distanced himself from the Hall Master and maintained a careful gap from Arius as well. In a world like this, taking unnecessary risks with one’s life was the height of foolishness.

“Esteemed Master…”

Arius’s voice was soft as he drifted closer, guiding his Tri-Element Formation Flags with deliberate precision, inching toward the Hall Master.

He paid no mind to the cautious movements of the Master of Ten Thousand Poisons.

His focus was singular—the Hall Master had to die.

The moment Arius’s voice echoed out again, respectful and weak, the trap was sprung.

Without hesitation, a talisman ignited in his hand.

Boom!

A surge of raw, oppressive energy erupted—a force that carried the crushing might of a Level 2 cultivator.

The Hall Master had no time to react. Thunder, vast and merciless, tore from the sky, a fury of lightning descending upon him.

“You dare—”

The Blood Wolf Hall Master’s expression twisted into horror as he felt the suffocating pressure of death loom over him. Panic overtook arrogance as he desperately tried to dodge, frantically activating every protective artifact in his arsenal.

It was useless.

The Five-Thunder Talisman might not have reached the full power of a true Level 2 treasure, but even at a quarter of its potential, it was more than enough.

The speed of the attack was merciless—faster than even the sharpest instinct could counter.

The heavens themselves seemed to split apart as the thunderstorm struck.

In a single devastating instant, every defensive treasure the Hall Master possessed shattered, his body collapsing in a heap of smoldering ruin. All that remained intact was his storage ring, clattering to the ground beside him.

Arius’s heart clenched painfully at the sight.

The treasures destroyed were all top-tier Level 1 artifacts—priceless tools, now reduced to ash by the overwhelming force of the talisman.

“A talisman… almost at Level 2 level!”

From a distance, Master of Ten Thousand Poisons stared in shock at the Blood Wolf Hall Master’s broken form, realization dawning far too late.

If Arius had wielded such terrifying power before, why had only Lady Red Mist fallen back then? Why had Goat Spirit survived and managed to return alive?

In terms of raw strength, Goat Spirit was indeed slightly stronger than Lady Red Mist.

But Lady Red Mist had wielded far superior artifacts—if anyone had a chance of survival, it should have been her.

“This is bad…”

The realization hit like a blow to the gut.

Without sparing a glance at his dying Hall Master, Master of Ten Thousand Poisons turned and fled, riding his swarm of venomous insects in a desperate bid for survival.

But he was already too late.

A blade pierced through his back, its edge as cold as death itself.

Shlick!

Hot blood sprayed through the air.

Before Master of Ten Thousand Poisons could even turn around, a voice whispered chillingly in his ear:

“Senior Brother, for the sake of our master’s grand plan… I’ll have to ask you to die first.”

 

Chapter 73: Relocation of the garrison and occupation of the Blood Wolf Palace

“You… you treacherous bastard!”

Pain ripped through Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist’s body as blood poured from the wound in his back.

His life force was rapidly draining away, his mind torn between rage and shock.

But in response, Goat Child only chuckled.

A mocking, amused laugh.

“Traitor? Deception?”

“Hehehe…”

“Oh, my dear Ten Thousand Poisons, let’s not play the victim here.”

“After all, how did you climb to where you are today? Was it not through treachery and betrayal?”

As he spoke, Goat Child struck again—

His blade sinking twice more into Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist’s back.

Blood splattered across the air.

In Blood Wolf Hall, Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist had committed every atrocity imaginable—

• Betraying his master.
• Slaughtering his own wife and children.
• Backstabbing allies the moment they outlived their usefulness.

His wicked deeds had long been known.

But by the time his sins had come to light, he had already reached the Level 1 Realm.

To maintain stability, and to strengthen Blood Wolf Hall, the Hall Master had spared him.

And through his merciless cultivation, he had clawed his way to Mid-Level 1, becoming the First Protector of Blood Wolf Hall.

To survive in a place like Blood Wolf Hall, one had to be utterly ruthless.

And now, that same ruthlessness had turned against him.

“Good! Very good! Goat Child, I swear—”

“I will have my revenge! I will not die so easily!!”

With a roar of fury, Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist bit through his own tongue—

And in an instant, a forbidden technique activated.

“Blood Escape Technique!”

His already-weak body trembled violently, his skin turning deathly pale.

But then—

A sickly red glow engulfed him.

His flesh rippled, and suddenly, his face looked rejuvenated, as if he had regained vitality.

Then—

With a powerful burst, he launched himself from his flying beast—

A streak of crimson light shooting toward the distant horizon.

The Blood Escape Technique—

A forbidden method of fleeing at unmatched speeds.

But the cost?

Even in his prime, using it would have cut his lifespan by a third.

And now, severely wounded—

Even if he escaped today, he would only survive for a few months at best.

But even so—

Living another few months was better than dying now.

As long as he breathed, there was still a chance for revenge.

With a single burst, Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist had already crossed several hundred meters—

His speed surging to its limit.

The Blood Escape Technique allowed even an Early Level 1 cultivator to achieve speeds rivalling Peak Level 1 experts.

And for a Mid-Level 1 cultivator like him—

His speed now exceeded most Peak-stage cultivators by two to threefold.

“What?!”

Watching the sudden acceleration, Goat Child’s expression darkened.

If Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist escaped, how would he prove his worth to his master?

Grinding his teeth, he gave chase, his flying sword tearing through the air.

At the same time, he drew a magical bow, preparing to shoot down his fleeing target.

But—

No matter how many arrows he fired, none found their mark.

His bow was only a damaged low-grade Level 1 artifact—

Flawed, unreliable, and now, utterly useless.

And more than that—

He was terrible at archery.

Within moments, he had exhausted nearly all his energy, yet not a single shot landed.

“Damn it…”

Even after chasing for an entire incense stick’s worth of time, he could do nothing.

Finally, he was forced to give up.

With a heavy sigh, he turned his flying sword back toward Purple River City.

When Goat Child returned, the scene before him had already shifted.

The Blood Wolf Hall Master… was dying.

Under the crackling thunder, his body was charred, his life force barely flickering.

Arius’s Five-Thunder Talisman Treasure had done its work—

The once mighty overlord of Blood Wolf Hall was now at death’s door.

But then—

At the sight of Goat Child, the dying Hall Master’s eyes blazed with hatred.

“You… you treacherous scum!!”

The last embers of his life ignited in a final burst of fury.

He no longer cared about Arius.

He no longer cared about his survival.

There was only one thing left in his heart—

Rage.

Pure, blinding rage.

“YOU DAMN TRAITOR!!”

With his remaining strength, he lunged toward Goat Child, his hands curled into claws, aiming to tear him apart.

This wasn’t about strategy anymore.

This wasn’t about survival.

This was hatred, raw and unfiltered.

To be killed by an enemy?

That was battle.

But to be betrayed by one of his own?

That was the greatest humiliation of all.

And he would not die quietly.

Betrayal.

For the Blood Wolf Hall Master, it was not defeat that enraged him—

But Goat Child’s treachery.

He could accept being outmatched.

He could accept losing in battle.

But to be betrayed by one of his own—

That, he would never forgive.

“Master, save me!!”

Seeing the Blood Wolf Hall Master’s bloodied form rushing toward him, Goat Child’s face turned pale.

This wasn’t Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist.

If Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist had tried a last-ditch attack, Goat Child was confident he could handle it.

But this was the Blood Wolf Hall Master—

A true Peak Level 1 expert.

Even in his dying state, his final attack could obliterate him instantly.

BOOM!!

Just as the Blood Wolf Hall Master closed the distance, Arius activated his second Five-Thunder Talisman Treasure.

The terrifying force of the heavens crashed down once more.

Crackling arcs of lightning surrounded the Blood Wolf Hall Master—

Before he could even land his attack, his head was vaporized on the spot.

A crimson mist burst into the air, dissipating in the wind—

The final curtain call of his reign.

SPLAT!

His headless corpse plummeted from the sky—

Slamming into the ground like a broken ragdoll.

What remained… was nothing but a pile of mangled flesh.

Goat Child exhaled heavily, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

He had come within a hair’s breadth of death—

Had Arius been even a fraction slower, he would have been torn apart on the spot.

Now, with the Blood Wolf Hall Master’s death, the weight on his chest finally lifted.

Ever since he had submitted to Arius, every moment in Blood Wolf Hall had been an unbearable struggle—

A constant tightrope walk between survival and exposure.

If the Blood Wolf Hall Master or Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist had ever suspected him, his fate would have been sealed.

But luck was on his side.

The Hall Master’s breakthrough had changed his personality, making him blindly arrogant.

And Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist?

He had been too busy indulging in luxuries to notice the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Goat Child had walked through fire and survived—

And now, he could finally breathe freely.

After catching his breath, Goat Child bowed deeply toward Arius.

“Master, I have failed.”

“I was unable to kill Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist.”

His voice carried genuine regret.

But Arius?

He merely waved a hand dismissively.

“No matter.”

“If he has fled, let him flee.”

“As long as he does not return to my territory, he is irrelevant.”

“But if he dares return… I will deal with him personally.”

“For now—”

“We have bigger matters to attend to.”

“Blood Wolf Hall still holds cultivators, resources, and wealth. Come with me—we shall take inventory of what is now ours.”

With that, Arius retrieved the fallen Hall Master’s storage ring, his expression unreadable.

Then, without wasting another second—

He took flight, his Three Talents Formation Flags carrying him toward Blood Wolf Hall’s stronghold.

Blood Wolf Hall’s base of operations was built upon a spiritual leyline—

The only one within this region.

Its cultivation environment far surpassed Purple River City.

Even so—

It was still only a low-tier leyline, barely strong enough to sustain Level 1 cultivators.

And worse—

It was slowly withering away.

But Arius?

He had a solution.

“I will use the ‘Appraisal Immortal Mirror’…”

“And attempt to enhance this spiritual leyline.”

If he succeeded—

This entire region would be transformed.

Compared to a Spirit Gathering Formation, a spiritual leyline provided far greater long-term benefits.

And if he could combine the two, the effects would be even more profound.

A true cultivation paradise.

“Understood, Master.”

After replenishing some of his energy, Goat Child followed closely behind Arius.

Blood Wolf Hall held valuable resources, elite cultivators, and a solid foundation—

Arius would seize it all.

And then—

He would relocate the De Molinos family.

Purple River City?

It was too weak.

Other towns?

Equally unsuitable.

Only Blood Wolf Hall’s former stronghold was worthy of becoming his new base.

Only there could his family truly rise.

And so—

The era of Blood Wolf Hall ended.

And a new legend was about to begin.

 

Chapter 74: Immortal Cultivator Corps, I am a righteous and kind cultivator

Using the Essence-Stabilizing Pill to restore his mana, Arius was the first to arrive at the Blood Wolf Hall’s stronghold.

The stronghold itself was an architectural mess—its layout was chaotic and unorganized. Yet, despite the lack of structure, nearly every building was lavishly constructed, adorned with gold and jade, exuding an air of excessive opulence.

Stretching across a hundred miles of mountain terrain, grand pavilions and golden-roofed palaces dotted the landscape.

The moment Arius stormed into the Blood Wolf Hall’s territory, numerous elders were immediately alerted.

One of them, a Peak Organ Tempering cultivator, caught sight of Arius’s silhouette and wasted no time activating the mountain-guarding formation. His expression turned grim as he shouted, his voice resonating through the hall’s grounds:

“Senior, you trespass upon Blood Wolf Hall—state your purpose!”

Had this been the Sullivan Clan or the Benn Clan, a mere Organ Tempering cultivator would have been too afraid to offend a Level 1 expert, bowing and scraping instead.

But this was Blood Wolf Hall.

Even with the Scarlet Madame having fallen, there were still three Level 1 experts within the hall’s ranks.

Most notably, their Hall Master—a Peak Level 1 cultivator—stood at the apex of their power.

With such formidable forces under its banner, the elders of Blood Wolf Hall held their ground with confidence.

As long as a Level 2 cultivator did not personally descend upon them, they had nothing to fear.

Watching Arius enter their domain, the hall’s cultivators were brimming with certainty—convinced that he wouldn’t dare act recklessly.

And then, he stepped directly into the formation.

BOOM!

A Mid-Stage Level 1 aura erupted from Arius’s body like a tidal wave, sweeping across the battlefield.

Had one of Blood Wolf Hall’s Level 1 experts been present to control the defensive formation, even with two Five-Thunder Talisman Treasures in hand, Arius wouldn’t have dared to force his way in.

But unfortunately for them, there were none left.

The Venomous Master, one of Blood Wolf Hall’s most feared experts, had long since fled to some unknown corner of the world. The only remaining Level 1 cultivator, Goat Elder, had already submitted to Arius.

“Senior… storming into our Blood Wolf Hall like this—this is a provocation!”

“Do you intend to declare war on us?!”

One of the hall’s Organ Tempering elders shouted in panic.

How many years had it been…?

Since the day he joined Blood Wolf Hall, never had anyone dared to openly challenge their authority.

Even Level 1 cultivators were careful not to recklessly offend them.

Setting aside the fact that Blood Wolf Hall boasted multiple Level 1 experts, the Scarlet Madame’s connections alone made them untouchable.

After all, she had ties to certain enforcers within the Albigensians Sect.

“Too much talking.”

Arius’s tone was indifferent.

With a casual flick of his fingers, he unleashed a Fireball Technique—instantly reducing several defiant elders to ashes.

In that moment, the remaining Blood Wolf Hall cultivators finally understood the situation.

“Your Hall Master… is dead.”

Arius’s voice was calm, his expression emotionless.

“I now offer you a path to survival.”

“Release your divine sense and allow me to brand you with a slave seal.”

His eyes swept across the crowd, his tone never changing.

“And before you misunderstand… this is not a request.”

“Those unwilling to serve—die.”

As he spoke, he casually tossed out a broken magical artifact from his sleeve.

The artifact’s surface was still stained with blood.

Ordinary Blood Wolf Hall cultivators might not recognize the object, but the elders did.

The moment their eyes landed on it, their pupils shrank.

Disbelief.

Shock.

Fear.

Their Hall Master… was dead?

A Peak Level 1 cultivator had been slain just like that?!

“No… it’s fake.”

“This must be fake!!”

One elder collapsed to the ground, his face drained of color. Another elder looked toward Arius, his voice trembling, making one final, desperate struggle to deny reality.

“Senior, we do not deny that you are a Level 1 expert, that to you, our lives are as insignificant as ants…”

“But Aragon Country is a nation of righteousness! The righteous path is bound by laws—no cultivator, no matter how powerful, may enslave mortals or fellow cultivators at will!”

“If you brand us with slave seals, you are openly defying the righteous path. Do you truly intend to walk the demonic road?”

“We are willing to submit to you, to obey your every command… but to become slaves—”

The elder of Blood Wolf Hall, who had initially addressed Arius as you, now switched to the more reverential senior, his tone filled with pleading.

“Hmph!”

Before he could finish his words, a fist-sized fireball shot forth, reducing him to ashes in the blink of an eye.

“You dare threaten me?”

Arius’s gaze swept coldly over the remaining Blood Wolf Hall cultivators.

“The righteous path? The demonic path? Ha… what a joke.”

His words carried a terrifying killing intent, as though at the slightest provocation, he would slaughter every last one of them.

These so-called righteous cultivators of Blood Wolf Hall—were they any better than the demonic path?

Aragon Country may have been a nation of righteousness, but with the imperial family weakened and its borders close to demonic sects, its factions had long since strayed. On the surface, no one dared violate the sacred edicts of the righteous path, but in the shadows, even the great Albigensians Sect harbored practitioners of forbidden demonic arts.

“Ten breaths. Release your divine sense.”

“Or die.”

Arius’s words left no room for negotiation.

With a flick of his sleeve, the Three Talents Formation Flags unfurled, sealing the entire battlefield in an instant.

Those who disobeyed—would be slaughtered.

Arius felt no guilt about killing these so-called righteous cultivators.

He was no saint to begin with, and every Blood Wolf Hall cultivator present had the blood of countless mortals on their hands.

If anything, compared to them, his bottom line was higher.

Slaughtering them would not only be free of karmic burden—it would likely increase his merit.

Had it not been for their usefulness, Arius might have even tested the idea of refining them into life essence pills.

With the enslaved Blood Wolf Hall cultivators from the Silver Mine, and now this new batch, his force of cultivators would soon number over a hundred.

Weak as they were, if properly trained into a cultivator army, they would become a formidable force.

But to ensure their absolute loyalty, branding them with slave seals and forcing them to swear Heavenly Oaths was the safest approach.

“You… you…”

Under the shadow of imminent death, most of the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators chose to submit.

But there were still those who resisted—struggling to their last breath.

“You are defying the sacred laws of the righteous path!”

“I will report this to the Albigensians Sect—they will wipe out your entire De Molinos Clan!!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Arius did not waste words.

Those who resisted—died.

With each kill, he collected the life essence and blood of the fallen, storing it in jade bottles with meticulous precision.

Some might say his actions were no different from the demonic path.

But Arius knew the difference—he did not kill without reason.

Unlike demonic cultivators, who slaughtered on a whim, he only killed when there was profit or necessity.

If someone posed no threat or benefit, he was more than willing to play the role of a righteous cultivator.

The demonic path killed without rhyme or reason.

Arius?

He only killed when it served his interests.

 

Chapter 75: Training Black Gloves and Managing the Blood Wolf Hall Monks

With the remaining Blood Wolf Hall cultivators now enslaved, Arius did not immediately begin plundering their accumulated wealth.

The deepest reserves of the hall were not so easily found—only when Goat Elder arrived would he be able to guide Arius to the hidden vaults and treasuries.

As a former high-ranking member of Blood Wolf Hall, Goat Elder naturally knew all of its secrets.

Seated cross-legged in the main hall, Arius dismissed the gathered mortal women and servants, clearing the space before beginning his meditation.

The main hall of Blood Wolf Hall was not the most ideal location for cultivation, but its ambient spiritual energy was still five times denser than that of Purple River City.

With the aid of the damaged Level 2-grade Spirit Gathering Formation, his cultivation speed could increase dozens of times over!

With Blood Wolf Hall subdued, the next step for the De Molinos family was simple:

Wait for the great calamity to end—then seize complete dominion over ten thousand miles of land!

To act too soon—swallowing up the Song Clan, Benn Clan, and Sullivan Clan—would yield limited benefits, while dramatically increasing the De Molinos family’s resource consumption.

Arius cultivated in Blood Wolf Hall’s main hall for two full days.

Finally, Goat Elder arrived, flying in atop his sword-light, his figure descending slowly upon the hall.

The moment he appeared, many Blood Wolf Hall elders had a glimmer of hope flash through their eyes.

One by one, they rushed forward, desperately reporting everything that had transpired.

“Second Protector!!”

“You’re alive?! This is wonderful…!”

“After you left, a powerful enemy stormed Blood Wolf Hall and branded us with slave seals!”

“Please, Second Protector—we beg you to reclaim justice for us!!”

Blood Wolf Hall’s elders and stewards, once proud and powerful, now knelt on the ground, trembling, their faces streaked with desperate tears.

To them, Goat Elder’s return was a ray of salvation—a chance to break free from their enslavement!

If Goat Elder could not defeat Arius, he could at least report the matter to the Albigensians Sect.

And if the sect intervened, there was still a slim chance they could be freed from the slave seals.

But their hopes lasted only a moment—before plunging into an abyss of despair.

“Hah…”

“Why all the pointless noise?”

“To serve the Master is an honor—yet you dare to entertain thoughts of betrayal? Do you have a death wish?”

Goat Elder’s voice was cold, his tone carrying a chilling murderous intent.

Betray Arius?

He had considered it.

But these Body Tempering cultivators had no way to traverse vast distances to the Albigensians Sect—even if they attempted the journey, the sect would not care about their plight.

To the Albigensians Sect, the fate of low-tier cultivators was insignificant.

But if Goat Elder himself reported Arius’s actions, it would be a different story.

As a Level 1 cultivator, he was already considered a core force within the Albigensians Sect.

If he defected, the sect would take notice.

But that was not an option.

He had already sworn a Heavenly Oath.

To betray Arius was to betray the Heavens themselves.

Unless he abandoned the path of cultivation entirely, never seeking Level 2, he would be erased by the Heavenly Path.

His talent was not great, but he still had a chance to break through.

He refused to throw that chance away.

And really—what was so terrible about being a slave?

The rise of the De Molinos family was inevitable.

As one of only two Level 1 cultivators in the De Molinos family—and as Arius’s top servant—his status would not be low.

With such standing, the cultivation resources he received would far surpass what he had as Blood Wolf Hall’s Third Protector!

When the rewards were great enough, most cultivators cared little for dignity.

And so, the moment Goat Elder pledged himself to Arius, the remaining Blood Wolf Hall cultivators collapsed into utter despair.

Ignoring their grief-stricken expressions, Goat Elder followed Arius’s aura, stepping into the main hall of Blood Wolf Hall—one step at a time.

The moment Goat Elder saw Arius seated in meditation, his face shifted into an expression of deep reverence. Without hesitation, he knelt and bowed low, his voice unwavering.

“This servant, Goat Elder, pays respects to the Master.”

After completing his bow, he immediately reported the treachery of the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators—how they had harbored disloyalty and had even hoped to turn against Arius.

“Master.”

“These Blood Wolf Hall cultivators—every single one of them harbors ulterior motives. Even if you intend to use them for now, you must remain extremely cautious.”

“Once they outlive their usefulness, my advice is to eliminate them entirely… or refine them into life essence pills.”

His voice was devoid of any emotion, as if those once called his fellow disciples were nothing more than livestock waiting for slaughter.

The world was harsh—if one did not act for themselves, heaven and earth would strike them down.

Goat Elder’s proposal was not just for Arius’s benefit—it was for his own survival.

If even one of these Blood Wolf Hall cultivators managed to escape and report to the Albigensians Sect, and if by chance it drew their attention, the consequences would be dire.

“Master, allow me to oversee them on your behalf.”

“This includes the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators from the Silver Mine as well. All of them must be watched with an iron grip.”

“Otherwise, the consequences will be disastrous!”

“True, they may not seem capable of causing much trouble now… but as the old saying goes—better to be cautious than to suffer later.”

Upon hearing the report, Arius slowly opened his eyes, contemplating Goat Elder’s words.

A useful pawn.

If properly nurtured, he could serve as the De Molinos family’s enforcer—handling tasks unbefitting of a righteous clan.

After all, the De Molinos family was, by all appearances, a righteous force.

There were certain things that could not be done in the open.

But with Goat Elder as a disposable hand, those unsavory deeds could be carried out without sullying the De Molinos family’s name.

And if things went awry?

A scapegoat was always needed.

Arius’s expression softened into a calm, almost benevolent smile as he addressed him.

“Elder Shan, there’s no need for such formalities.”

“From now on, you may refer to me as ‘Ancestor De Molinos.’ There is no need for ‘Master.’”

“As for the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators—you shall take full responsibility for them.”

“However, I have one condition.”

Arius’s gaze grew sharp.

“You must completely suppress them—break their will—and forge them into an elite cultivator army for the De Molinos family.”

“Do this well, and I will ensure you are rewarded.”

His voice took on a commanding weight, but there was a promise within it.

“If you serve me faithfully—if you make true contributions to the De Molinos family—then I will grant you back your freedom.”

“Not just that. I will give you power, resources—everything you need to step further on the path of cultivation.”

Goat Elder’s eyes flickered.

A chance?

Even if Arius was merely dangling an illusion before him, even if the promise was nothing more than a vague dream, it still planted a seed of hope.

And hope, no matter how small, was a powerful motivator.

But Arius knew that mere promises alone would not bind Goat Elder’s loyalty.

So, he leaned in slightly and continued:

“Elder Shan, you know where the Blood Wolf Hall vaults are, don’t you?”

“The resources inside… you may keep two-tenths for yourself.”

A flicker of shock flashed in Goat Elder’s expression.

Arius was offering him a cut of the spoils?

And yet, Goat Elder knew—there was no room for deception.

With the slave seal in place, any attempt to lie or conceal resources would immediately trigger a reaction in Arius’s perception of his emotions.

A test.

Arius was testing him.

And failing this test… meant death.

 

Chapter 76: Building the Clan Land, Blood Wolf Sutra

Goat Elder would not take such a risk—he knew better than to deceive Arius.

Under his guidance, it took less than half an hour for Arius to locate all of Blood Wolf Hall’s vaults.

As an ancient cultivator faction, Blood Wolf Hall had accumulated wealth far beyond what the Ashfell Clan of Purple River City once possessed.

Inside their treasuries, Arius found:

• 30,000 spirit stone shards,
• Over 200 lower-grade spirit stones,
• Mountains of mortal gold and silver, piled up like worthless scrap,
• An abundance of cultivation techniques, martial arts manuals, artifact-forging materials, and magical treasures.

When combined, these resources rivaled the entire fortune of an ordinary Level 2 cultivator.

Even Level 2 cultivation techniques were present—though they were all flawed or belonged to the demonic path.

Compared to orthodox cultivation methods, demonic techniques were easier to cultivate in the early stages and were far more accessible in the Aragon Kingdom. It was no surprise that Blood Wolf Hall had several Level 2 demonic manuals in its collection.

After all, Blood Wolf Hall was a chaotic, mixed-blood sect.

Even Albigensians Sect itself had a vast collection of demonic techniques.

Of course, they claimed this was merely for “research purposes”—to better understand and eliminate demonic cultivators.

But everyone knew the truth.

Albigensians Sect was one of Aragon Kingdom’s top-tier sects.

Across the entire nation, no more than fifty factions had the strength to provoke Albigensians Sect.

And among them, fewer than fifteen could actually destroy it.

With no overwhelming benefits to be gained, few were foolish enough to make an enemy of Albigensians Sect.

Even the greatest powers of the Aragon Kingdom, should they choose to act against the sect, would have to pay a heavy price.

“Master.”

Goat Elder’s voice broke the silence.

“All of this is valuable… but it is not Blood Wolf Hall’s greatest treasure.”

As he spoke, he strode toward a corner of the treasury and dug into the floor with his bare hands.

From the depths of the vault, he pulled out a perfectly square, black box, its surface unadorned yet exuding a faint pressure.

Goat Elder offered it to Arius with both hands, his posture filled with deep reverence.

Even though Arius had forbidden him from calling him Master, Goat Elder deliberately ignored the order, maintaining the title as a display of absolute loyalty.

He was no fool—he knew that the more devoted and submissive he appeared, the greater his chances of regaining freedom in the future.

**“Inside this box lies Blood Wolf Hall’s ultimate scripture—The Blood Wolf Sutra.”

“This technique was obtained by Blood Wolf Hall’s founder from an ancient ruin.”

“It is rumored to be a Level 4 cultivation method.”

“The existence of this manual was a closely guarded secret—known only to Blood Wolf Hall’s leader, myself, and Venomous Master.”

“It was only revealed after the Hall Master broke through to Peak Level 1.. when his temperament changed dramatically.”

Goat Elder’s voice was calm but heavy.

“Unfortunately, despite its profound nature, this scripture is nearly impossible to cultivate.”

“Even our founder, after years of effort, only managed to grasp its fundamentals… yet he never succeeded in reaching Level 2 through it.”

As Goat Elder finished speaking, Arius unlocked the box.

Inside, resting atop a silk-lined interior, was an ancient book, its pages slightly yellowed with age.

At first glance, it resembled nothing more than an ordinary martial arts manual, devoid of any special aura.

That alone was highly unusual.

The more advanced a technique, the more likely it was to be preserved within a jade slip.

To find a Level 4 scripture recorded on mere paper…

This was a first.

Frowning, Arius flipped through the Blood Wolf Sutra.

Every page was filled with ancient script, its strokes firm and unwavering.

Yet despite recognizing each individual character, when read together, their meaning was completely indecipherable.

Arius shook his head, placing no importance on the Blood Wolf Sutra.

When it came to cultivation techniques, he had never been particularly interested.

Even a Level 4 manual was nothing before the Scarlet Flame Dao Scripture.

Even if it had been a Level 5 technique, it would still pale in comparison.

Still, the Blood Wolf Sutra could serve as a valuable resource for the younger generation of the De Molinos family in the future.

Goat Elder, however, was stunned.

To see Arius react with such indifference after obtaining a legendary Level 4 technique—it was unbelievable!

Such a technique, even if difficult to cultivate, was still an invaluable treasure.

If word of it spread beyond these walls, countless powerful factions would slaughter each other over it.

In Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, aside from Albigensians Sect, there was virtually no other force capable of producing a complete Level 4 cultivation method.

But Arius?

He barely even spared it a glance.

With the resources and wealth of Blood Wolf Hall now secured, Arius turned to Goat Elder and gave a casual command:

“The buildings of Blood Wolf Hall need to be remodeled.”

“Especially those walls covered in gold and jewels—have them stripped.”

“I will be entering seclusion here. Once the jewels and precious metals are removed, have them sent to me.”

Goat Elder hesitated for a brief moment, but he did not question the order.

As a slave, it was not his place to ask why.

Questioning too much only brought disaster.

“Yes, Master.”

With a single bow, Goat Elder turned and left the treasury.

Arius had chosen to turn the Blood Wolf Hall vault into his closed-door cultivation site for one reason:

It was rich in spiritual energy and highly secure.

Even the former Blood Wolf Hall Master had used this place for his own cultivation.

Now, it belonged to Arius.

Not only did it allow him to personally guard his newfound wealth, but should he require any resources, he would have them at his fingertips.

Time flowed like a river—in the blink of an eye, half a year had passed.

Once again, winter arrived.

But in Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, the drought showed no signs of ending.

Worse yet, the disaster had spread.

Of the three great provinces under Aragon Kingdom’s rule, two had already fallen into severe crisis—forty-eight prefectures suffering devastating losses.

Even the remaining twenty prefectures were barely holding on.

Albigensians Sect had dispatched Level 2 cultivators in an attempt to reverse the drought, but their efforts were limited in scope.

The majority of the land had already been reduced to death zones.

During these six months, Blood Wolf Hall’s stronghold had undergone a complete transformation.

It was no longer Blood Wolf Hall.

It was the De Molinos family’s new headquarters.

The hundred-mile stretch of Blood Wolf Mountain had become the heart of the De Molinos family’s domain.

Under Arius’s orders, an enormous circular city had been constructed around the mountain range, fortifying their hold on the land.

For the foreseeable future, the De Molinos family’s ancestral land would not be moving again.

When considering the spiritual meridians of Blood Wolf Mountain, Arius had deliberated carefully.

He chose not to use the Heaven-Seeking Treasure Mirror to reinforce the spiritual veins.

If the mountain’s spiritual energy were to be fully restored—even reaching the level of a lower-grade spiritual meridian—it would be impossible for him to defend it with his current strength.

A lower-grade spiritual meridian was a treasure beyond measure.

Without Level 2 power, it would only invite endless greed from greater factions.

In Purple River City, however, the De Molinos family had no intention of withdrawing.

Compared to Blood Wolf Mountain, the lands surrounding Purple River City were far superior in terms of water resources and fertile soil.

Whether during the years of disaster or once the catastrophe had passed, Purple River City would remain invaluable.

Not to mention, its location was the heart of the surrounding ten-thousand-mile territory.

If properly developed, Purple River City could become the De Molinos family’s true treasure trove.

 

Chapter 77: Eight Kings Separatist, Fighting for the Top

As the De Molinos Clan continued to solidify its foundation, the unrest within the Aragon Kingdom was finally beginning to unfold.

At the outermost edges of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, near a drying lake, lay a camp of several thousand people.

Seated on the ground within this camp, clad in battle-worn armor, was Carl De Molinos.

His gaze was deep and contemplative, locked onto the endless sky above.

A sky that stretched infinitely, a vast expanse of white and gray, cloudless yet suffocating—like a silent omen of impending doom.

Six months ago, Carl had led a group of surviving soldiers and seized control of this lake and its camp from a band of marauders.

Through careful planning and growth, his forces had once again swelled to several thousand men.

Yet, before he could fully establish stability, another crisis loomed on the horizon.

The drought continued to worsen.

The lake’s water levels were rapidly depleting.

At most, in half a month, this place would become a barren wasteland.

“Chieftain, our scouts have returned.”

“Within a thousand-mile radius, only the Larson Clan stronghold has fertile land and an immense reservoir.”

“Everywhere else is nothing but desolation.”

As Carl weighed his next move, a weathered old mystic approached him from behind.

Upon hearing these words, Carl’s brows furrowed.

Of course, he knew about them.

A family protected by a Peak Organ Tempering cultivator, their strength mirrored that of the Ashfell Clan in Purple River City.

With his mere thousands of troops, to challenge the Larson family was tantamount to suicide.

As for seeking refuge under their banner?

The Larson Clan had no need for a few thousand mortal soldiers.

Had it been any other year, the Larson Clan might have taken them in.

But in the midst of a great drought, resources were scarce, and even powerful factions hesitated to take in more mouths to feed.

No one knew when the drought would end, but water and food supplies were finite.

And as time passed, survival would only become harder.

“Understood.”

“You may leave.”

Carl’s voice was calm, his expression unwavering.

Despite knowing the severity of the situation, he maintained an air of absolute control, as if everything was still within his grasp.

As the leader of Yellow Heaven Camp, everyone else could afford to panic or despair—but he could not.

Even if the sky itself collapsed, he had to stand firm, unshaken, unyielding.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Sensing Carl’s growing dominance, the once mysterious and eccentric mystic no longer dared to question him.

SPLASH!

After the old mystic left, Carl picked up a rock and tossed it into the lake, watching it sink into the murky depths.

Inside, he was far from calm.

Anxiety.

Uncertainty.

His ambitions—his dreams—were being eroded by harsh reality.

For now, he still had thousands of men under his command.

But the threat of starvation and death loomed ever closer.

If he failed this trial, then not only he, but his entire camp, his entire legacy, would be buried with him.

There was no retreat.

The only path forward was to press on, no matter how dire the circumstances.

But water, food, resources—where could he find them?

Since the start of the drought, half of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture’s population had perished.

The ones who had survived until now—every last one of them was a ruthless survivor.

No one would easily surrender what they had fought to keep.

“Am I really going to die here…?”

Staring into the cloudy lake, a deep sense of desolation filled Carl’s heart.

His future was shrouded in darkness.

He saw no path to survival.

Their remaining supplies might last half a month—but they couldn’t afford to sit and wait for death.

Within two or three days, he would have no choice but to lead Yellow Heaven Camp back onto the harsh road of survival once more.

The wind howled mournfully, carrying the sorrow of the dying land.

A bitter, chilling wind swept across the lifeless earth, carrying with it a storm of dust and despair.

For a brief moment, Carl allowed himself to linger in his sorrow—but only for a moment.

Then, he hardened his heart, restoring his unbreakable resolve.

His expression remained calm, his posture steady and unyielding.

“Pass down my command.”

“Gather water and supplies.”

“In three days, we march east!”

His voice was firm and decisive, carrying across the camp of Yellow Heaven Bandits, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

The Aragon Country was merely a small nation in the grand scheme of the world.

Beyond its borders lay countless other realms.

And among them, the Avaloria Empire was a land of legends and myths.

Kings, emperors, human lords, and even great demon cultivators… all yearned for the lands of the Avaloria.

It was said that only by setting foot on Eastern Avaloria soil could one take the final step toward immortality and ascension.

Carl’s decision to head east was a final act of defiance.

If death awaited him, then he would die marching toward hope, not withering away in despair.

Of course, Carl understood the reality of the journey.

Even mighty cultivators, their strength reaching the heavens, had struggled to cross the endless mountains and valleys leading to Eastern Avaloria.

For a mere mortal warrior, the journey was almost certain death.

Across the Aragon Country’s seventy-two prefectures, countless factions like Yellow Heaven Camp were desperately clinging to survival.

The drought was too severe.

Even the most powerful sects, where Level 3 cultivators attempted to summon rain and alter the skies, could only affect small regions.

No matter how strong a cultivator’s magic, it could not undo a catastrophe of this scale.

Even if Level 4 cultivators or Level 5 powerhouses personally took action, it was questionable whether they could reverse the disaster at all.

And in truth, Aragon Country had not seen a fifth-level cultivator in centuries.

No one even knew if such beings still existed within the nation.

Under the shadow of calamity, small factions and ordinary mortals suffered the worst.

But the great powers?

They were barely affected.

Aragon Country’s Eight Princes—each possessing royal blood—were locked in a relentless struggle for the throne.

Each of them had a claim to the imperial mandate, making their conflict the most brutal of all.

The powerful sects and noble clans of Aragon Country had long since chosen sides, supporting one or even multiple princes.

In Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, Albigensians Sect had sworn allegiance to Prince Pyrelis!

Pyrelis was a Peak Level 4 cultivator, his forces ranking among the top three of the Eight Princes.

Controlling five prefectures, backed by several powerful factions, his grip on power was undeniable.

Everyone could see it—the fall of the Aragon Imperial Family was only a matter of time.

Soon, one of the Eight Princes would seize the throne.

For the lesser sects and noble families, vying for control of Aragon Country was nearly impossible.

The resources and foundations of the Eight Princes far surpassed any individual sect or family.

Yet, despite their immense power, none of the Eight Princes had yet dared to overthrow the imperial family outright.

Why?

Because the Righteous Alliance of Nations still recognized the Aragon Imperial Clan’s rule.

Unless the royal bloodline was completely eradicated, the imperial mandate could not be claimed by another.

And so, the endless struggle for the throne continued.

This internal war was one of the key reasons the disaster had become so severe.

Had the imperial family remained strong, they could have mobilized resources to aid the common people and weaker cultivators.

But with eight princes vying for power, their rivalry had reached the brink of bloodshed.

One spark—one act of defiance—and full-scale war would erupt.

And it wasn’t just internal conflict.

Beyond Aragon Country’s borders, foreign nations, demonic sects, and hidden forces all had a hand in the chaos.

The situation in Aragon Country had reached a boiling point.

A single push could shatter the entire nation.

 

Chapter 78 Collusion with evil ways, slaughter of the royal family

The scene shifted—to Aragon Country’s Imperial Capital.

Castelara City.

As the imperial capital, Castelara City had stood for over nine thousand years, its history woven into the very foundation of the Aragon Country.

The city was vast beyond measure—divided into over three hundred districts, each housing at least two hundred thousand people.

The total population exceeded eighty million.

Not just the largest city in Aragon Country—but arguably the greatest metropolis within the entire Righteous Alliance of Nations.

Castelara City was built upon a dragon-veined land, a location that absorbed the destiny and fortune of the entire kingdom.

Because of this, the skies above Castelara City—stretching for three thousand miles—had always been filled with auspicious clouds and shimmering violet radiance.

For those with keen spiritual vision, a colossal golden dragon could be seen coiling through the heavens, an ethereal manifestation of Aragon Country’s fate.

But now…

That golden dragon’s form was fading—its once-proud body beginning to dissolve into mist.

The violet radiance, once brilliant and all-encompassing, had become thin and pale.

This was a sign.

The imperial fate of Aragon Country was nearing its end.

The destiny of the royal bloodline was collapsing.

And perhaps…

Aragon Country itself would soon perish.

For nine thousand years, Aragon Country had stood unchallenged.

But now, it had reached the limit of its lifespan.

Aragon Country’s once-mighty imperial family no longer had a Level 4 ancestor to oversee them.

In the past, as long as a Peak Level 4 Emperor sat upon the throne, the great factions dared not act recklessly.

But the current emperor—the last known Level 4 ruler—had vanished into seclusion four hundred years ago.

A Level 4 expert could live for two thousand years.

With rare longevity elixirs, they could extend their life to 2,400 or even 2,500 years.

The longest-living Level 4 cultivator in recorded history had reached nearly 3,000 years—a feat accomplished through unparalleled fortune, the cultivation of life-extending wood-based techniques, and a Level 5 father who provided endless resources.

But for most Level 4 cultivators, their lifespans were far shorter.

Due to battles, injuries, and the wear of time, many perished before reaching even 1,500 years.

When the Aragon Emperor entered seclusion 400 years ago, he was already 1,900 years old.

Now?

His death was all but certain.

The current crown prince had a mere Mid Level 2 cultivation.

He was far from reaching Level 4—let alone strong enough to command the imperial throne.

Even if he miraculously reached Early Level 4, it would not be enough to deter the power-hungry factions.

However, if the imperial family could somehow produce a Level 4 guardian, and reclaim the imperial treasures, they might still hold onto the throne.

Within the tall, golden walls of Castelara City, life continued as normal.

The city remained prosperous and lively, untouched by the famine and drought that ravaged the land.

But outside the walls, it was a different world entirely.

The roads were filled with refugees—starving masses, their bodies weak and broken.

The land beyond the capital had become a graveyard of corpses.

Famine, disease, and war had turned the lands of Aragon Country into a wasteland.

Not far from Castelara City, several figures hovered in the sky, gazing down upon the magnificent imperial capital.

At their center stood an old man, his aura unfathomably deep.

A Peak Level 4 master.

Dressed in a flowing white robe, a celestial sword strapped to his back, he looked like a benevolent sage—his silver hair pristine, his skin untouched by age.

To the untrained eye, he resembled a grand elder of a righteous sect—a virtuous guardian of the Dao.

But his true identity?

He was Blood Mist Demon, one of the most notorious demonic cultivators in the world.

“Sin… oh, what great sin.”

Blood Mist Demon chuckled, his tone filled with mocking sorrow.

“I never expected that the so-called righteous Eight Princes would cooperate with a devil like me.”

“And for what?”

“To slaughter the people of Castelara City in pursuit of your ambitions.”

His voice dripped with mockery.

“You self-proclaimed righteous cultivators—how truly hypocritical you are.”

The figures behind him remained silent.

Instead of responding, one of them shifted the topic entirely, his voice cold and indifferent.

“Blood Mist Elder, enough with the chatter.”

“Let’s begin.”

“After Castelara City falls, all the techniques, materials, and spirit stones you desire… will be delivered to you.”

The figures behind Blood Mist Demon—were none other than envoys from the Eight Princes.

Each one represented a different prince, each acting on behalf of their master’s desperate ambition.

The Eight Princes had paid an enormous price to bring Blood Mist Demon into their service—all for one purpose.

To erase the Aragon Imperial Family.

To erase Castelara City.

To erase all traces of legitimacy that stood in the way of their claim to the throne.

As long as the imperial bloodline survived, the Eight Princes’ ambitions would never be fully realized.

And in their eyes, what was eight million lives compared to their path to power?

The throne was all that mattered.

Of course, they could not act directly.

No matter how fiercely they fought amongst themselves, the Eight Princes were still considered members of the Righteous Path.

Slaughtering the imperial capital themselves would be crossing a line they could never return from.

But if the Demonic Path did it?

Then it would be perfectly justified.

Demonic cultivators had no rules.

Demonic cultivators butchered cities without reason or hesitation.

This was the perfect cover.

“Good! Good! Good!!”

Blood Mist Demon laughed.

“With the Heavenly Oath in place, I have no reason to fear betrayal.”

A flicker of excitement flashed in his bloodshot eyes.

His fingers curled, and from the depths of his sleeve, he drew out a rusted black blade.

A demonic saber, his personal life-bound treasure.

Forged through centuries of blood refinement, the weapon had ascended to the rank of a Peak Level 4 Artifact.

It was drenched in the suffering and agony of countless souls.

Blood Mist Demon did not fear treachery from the Eight Princes.

Aside from the Heavenly Oath binding them, he knew that if they turned against him, he could simply expose their involvement to the Righteous Alliance of Nations.

The consequences of colluding with the Demonic Path would destroy the Eight Princes just as surely as it would the imperial bloodline.

BOOM!!

The moment the rusted saber left its sheath, the aura of a Peak Level 4 expert exploded forth.

A single Level 4 cultivator could cover hundreds of miles with their divine sense.

And a single strike had the power to obliterate an entire metropolis.

CLANG!

With a casual flick, Blood Mist Demon swung his saber.

A blade light erupted, stretching three hundred miles across the sky.

The moment it descended—

The land trembled.

The clouded sky suddenly blazed with unnatural light, as though a sun had exploded into existence.

The air shook with a deafening roar.

The millions of refugees gathered outside Castelara City’s walls—

Died in an instant.

Their souls obliterated, their bodies turned to dust beneath the saber’s might.

The three-thousand-mile sea of auspicious clouds that had protected Castelara City for millennia—

Tore open.

And high above, the golden dragon of Aragon Country’s imperial fate let out a mournful wail.

“WHO DARES TO CAUSE CHAOS IN THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL!?”

From within Castelara City, a Level 2 expert of the imperial family burst into the sky, his aura flaring with fury.

Even with the protective formations still active, entire sections of the city had collapsed beneath the force of the saber’s impact.

“Heheheh…”

Blood Mist Demon chuckled, his eyes filled with amusement and cruelty.

“What a pity.”

“Someone has decided that you all must die.”

“So die you shall.”

He strode forward, stepping through the empty air, his rusted saber in hand.

At that moment, the imperial cultivators realized the truth.

Their expressions shifted from rage… to terror.

A high-ranking imperial official, his robes once pristine, now stained with dust and blood, suddenly roared in anger:

“It was the Eight Princes, wasn’t it?!”

“Only they would dare to send you here!!”

“Treasonous dogs! May heaven and earth strike them down!”

Another loyal minister clenched his fists, his voice trembling with grief:

“The Eight Princes… our own royal bloodline…”

“At a time like this, they should have united to protect the imperial family… to preserve Aragon Country’s legacy!”

“But instead, they turned to such vile treachery!”

“Colluding with the Demonic Path, massacring the imperial capital—”

“They deserve death! They must be annihilated!”

Their shouts of fury and despair filled the air.

Blood Mist Demon simply smiled.

He lived for moments like this.

There was nothing he loved more than watching people drown in hopelessness.

 

Chapter 79 The Royal Family Declined to the Extreme, and the Massacre Begins

Chapter 79 The Royal Family Declined to the Extreme, and the Massacre Begins

Amid the symphony of despair that echoed across the land, the Blood Mist Demon Lord swung his rusted blade with deliberate, unhurried grace.

Each stroke of his blade claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands—mortals and cultivators alike, their bodies falling like scattered leaves in the wind.

Yet, this was not mere mindless slaughter driven by twisted malice.

The rusted blade in his hand was no ordinary weapon. It was a cursed artifact, capable of absorbing the negative emotions of its victims—resentment, rage, sorrow, fear—and countless others.

The more anguish it consumed, the closer it drew to its next transformation.

The massacre of eighty million souls in one breath—this was a feat even the Blood Mist Demon Lord had never dared attempt, not even within the territories ruled by the Demonic Path. It wasn’t for a lack of desire but rather the unspoken rules of their brutal hierarchy.

In those lands, the mortals were valuable—resources cultivated by the powers that ruled. Reckless slaughter would invite the wrath of those dark overlords, turning even a demon like him into prey.

As a solitary cultivator, the Blood Mist Demon Lord could only occasionally annihilate a small town or city—just enough to nourish his blade with fresh blood and tortured emotions without attracting unwanted attention.

Even the Demonic Path had its own form of order.

“Go! Your Highness, the Prince… I will see you safely away.”

At the very heart of Castelara City, deep within the opulence of the imperial palace, a prince dressed in simple robes gripped the Heavenly Emperor’s Sword tightly. He was prepared to burn the very fabric of his nation’s fate, ready to challenge the demon outside in a final, desperate gamble.

But a hand stopped him—an elderly cultivator at the peak of the Level 2 realm.

The sword in his hands symbolized the authority of Aragon’s imperial bloodline. It was the very blade left by the Emperor of Aragon himself before entering seclusion, a weapon only the crown prince could wield.

With it, the prince could summon the nation’s collective will in a devastating strike, a force strong enough to momentarily rival even a late Level 4 cultivator.

But he was merely in the mid-stage of Level 2. Charging into battle with this blade in hand would be suicide.

The imperial family had once commanded powerful talismans and grand formations, ancient weapons capable of defending their sovereignty. But centuries of decline had depleted those precious resources.

Even if they could summon four or five Level 4-grade talismans, they would barely scratch the Blood Mist Demon Lord.

And as for treasures forged by Level 5 cultivators? There had been two such titans in Aragon’s long history—heroes whose artifacts might have turned the tide.

But those relics were long since consumed, their power spent in wars of survival.

“I refuse to accept this!”

The prince, Jason Pyrelis, stared down at the Heavenly Emperor’s Sword, fury and despair seething in his voice.
“Must the legacy of Aragon’s royal bloodline die with me?”

The old man beside him, calm and composed in the face of doom, merely shook his head.

“Your Highness, this isn’t your burden to bear.”
“The rise and fall of nations—this, too, is the will of the heavens.”
“Your grandfather, your father… neither could preserve Aragon’s heritage. But since you took the mantle of regency, you’ve done all that could be asked of you.”

His voice softened but carried the weight of absolute conviction.
“As long as you live, there is hope. Should you one day break through to the Level 4 stage—or even the Level 5 realm—you can restore Aragon’s true imperial lineage.”

In truth, Jason Pyrelis had never been formally crowned by the Emperor himself. His claim to the title of Crown Prince came from his father alone.

His grandfather had once been the designated heir, but three centuries ago, his cultivation had failed him—an inner demon’s backlash left him dead in madness.

The title passed to Jason Pyrelis’s father, who spent two hundred years chasing a breakthrough that never came. In the end, his life withered away, his ambition unfulfilled.

Now, Jason Pyrelis was the third in this tragic lineage to hold the title.

Aragon’s laws were clear—only those who transcended to the Level 4 realm could ascend the throne. Without strength, even noble blood meant nothing.

Had his ancestors broken through, Aragon’s royal line would have stood strong, untouched by this catastrophe.

“We must go. Now!”

Before Jason Pyrelis could drown in further regrets, the old cultivator dragged him toward a floating immortal vessel, preparing to flee the doomed city of Castelara.

Before they departed, the elder’s voice thundered across the palace:
“Protect the Crown Prince! Give your lives if you must!”

And so they did.

The remaining loyalists—royal kin, generals, and ministers—rose in a final stand, burning their very life force to charge toward the approaching shadow of the Blood Mist Demon Lord.

Like moths drawn to a deadly flame.

They knew the price. They charged anyway.

But most—far more than those who stood their ground—chose the path of escape.

Especially the Level 2 cultivators. They clung to fragile hope, believing that if they risked everything, they might just slip away from the coming carnage.

Such fantasies were born of desperation, fueled by the stark truth: the imperial bloodline of Aragon had withered to its weakest point. Their mightiest defenders were now nothing more than Level 2 cultivators—not a single Level 3 cultivator remained.

Yet, even if a Level 3 cultivator had been present, what difference would it have made?

Before the overwhelming power of the Blood Mist Demon Lord, who stood at the late stage of Level 4, such strength would have been no more than that of a particularly resilient insect.

Even a Peak Level 3 cultivator, fully equipped with top-tier artifacts and armed with Level 5-level talismans, might only hope to slay an early-stage Level 4 cultivator—and only by launching a flawless, desperate ambush.

But against a late-stage Level 4 demon?

They wouldn’t even have time to activate their talismans. The gap in speed, spiritual sense, and raw power was simply too vast.

“Run, run… yes, that’s it!”

The Blood Mist Demon Lord’s voice dripped with madness, a cruel melody wrapped in a smile that feigned kindness.
“I’ve always enjoyed a good game of cat and mouse.”

Each swing of his blade shattered the formation barriers protecting Castelara City—defenses built by the royal family to hold back devastation.

In truth, Castelara City’s fortifications were formidable—grand formations capable of immense defense. But without a Level 4 master to channel their power, those arrays were as useless as broken swords.

Worse still, the imperial family lacked the resources to keep such defenses active indefinitely. The two formations left behind by the Level 5 cultivators of old devoured resources at a terrifying rate—activating them for even a quarter of an hour would drain the nation’s wealth by the day’s end.

The mark of a fallen empire wasn’t in the loss of its treasures—it was in possessing such power but being too weak to wield it.

“Your Highness, you must live.”
The elder’s voice was heavy, each word laced with the finality of farewell.
“You alone carry the hopes of Aragon’s bloodline. From here on… the path is yours alone.”

Aboard the floating immortal vessel, the old man held tight to Jason Pyrelis, fleeing from the devastation unraveling below.

But deep down, both knew the truth.

With only peak Level 2 cultivation, the elder’s hope of escaping unscathed—especially with the crown prince in tow—was nothing but a fragile dream.

Even if he had reached the peak of the Level 3 realm, the result would have been the same.

“Grand Chancellor Zuo…!”

Jason Pyrelis’s voice broke, a mixture of grief and raw fear. But before he could utter another word, the old man drew forth a single talisman from his robes—an ancient slip of parchment glowing with mysterious, otherworldly light.

A surge of arcane power filled the air as he began chanting the spell.

“No—stop! Don’t do this!”

Jason Pyrelis’s eyes filled with tears the moment he recognized the sigil on the talisman.

It was the Teleportation Talisman—an ancient and rare artifact capable of transporting its target hundreds of thousands or even millions of miles away in an instant.

In the hands of a Level 4 cultivator, it would merely drain a portion of their spiritual energy, leaving them winded but alive.

For a Level 3 cultivator, it would demand a significant toll—robbing them of vitality and precious years of life. Yet, in the face of imminent death, it remained a price worth paying.

But for someone at the Level 2 level?

The price was absolute.
Life itself.

 

Chapter 80: The Nirvana Technique of Gods and Demons, the Tragic Master

“Take care.”

The elder spoke his final words before his body suddenly exploded, his entire lifeforce surging into the teleportation talisman.

Had the situation been less dire, he would have never resorted to using it.

Initially, he had hoped to escape using the immortal airship, taking Pyrelis with him.

But after witnessing Blood Mist Demon’s terrifying power, he had made his choice—sacrificing himself to give Pyrelis a chance at survival.

As it absorbed the elder’s life force, the Small Teleportation Talisman suddenly erupted with blinding celestial light.

A powerful force enveloped Pyrelis, distorting the fabric of space itself.

In an instant, he vanished from sight.

True teleportation—

A power that even Level 4 cultivators barely grasped.

Unlike a Level 5 cultivator’s natural teleportation, the Small Teleportation Talisman was far more stable.

And it could send its user far beyond the range of a Level 5 ability.

Even among Level 5 cultivators, such talismans were considered priceless treasures.

The fact that the elder had managed to obtain one had been nothing more than sheer luck.

“Hmm?”

Blood Mist Demon narrowed his eyes as he watched Pyrelis disappear.

He was momentarily surprised, but then simply shrugged it off.

A mere Mid Level 2 prince?

So what if he escaped?

His talent was average, and his cultivation was weak.

Even if he used the Small Teleportation Talisman to flee from him, it wouldn’t matter.

The talisman’s power wouldn’t be enough to transport him outside of Aragon Country—sooner or later, the Eight Princes would find him.

Let him live a little longer—

It would only make his inevitable death more entertaining.

Blood Mist Demon had no interest in chasing down the prince.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the massacre.

And so, for the next half-day, his blade never stopped moving.

When the slaughter was over—

The great imperial city of Castelara, home to eight million souls, had been reduced to ruins.

With the imperial family wiped out, the vast stores of wealth and resources in the palace were claimed by Blood Mist Demon.

This had been part of the deal with the Eight Princes—

They wanted the throne, he wanted the spoils.

But as he sifted through the imperial treasury, he quickly realized the truth.

Aragon Country’s wealth was long gone.

Its coffers were nearly empty.

Over the years, the Aragon royal treasury had been drained to the bone.

For cultivators, there was almost nothing of value left.

Even ordinary gold and silver were in short supply.

The only thing left in large quantities?

Grain and water reserves.

Before the fall of the city, Pyrelis had seen the suffering of the people.

He had taken what little wealth remained and used it to buy as much food and water as possible.

He had hoped to save as many people as he could.

But in the end—

The eight million citizens he tried to protect had all died under Blood Mist Demon’s blade.

Blood Mist Demon caressed his rusted saber, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“Hehehe… this was worth it.”

By slaughtering over one hundred million souls, his Blood Demon Saber had ascended.

It was now one step closer to becoming a Level 5 artifact.

“A few more massacres like this, and I’ll have a Lower Level 5 grade weapon in my hands.”

Even within the Demonic Path, such a slaughter was unheard of.

To butcher over a hundred million mortals—

Even among the most ruthless sects, such an act would turn heads.

Had he done this in demonic territories, he would have been hunted down by his own kind.

Even in the Demonic Path, mortals were a valuable resource.

They were needed for blood sacrifices, experiments, and spiritual farming.

But since he had massacred a city belonging to the Righteous Path, no one from the Demonic Path would care.

After all—

Right or wrong, good or evil—all factions had their own unspoken rules.

“It’s over.”

Blood Mist Demon finally exhaled, as though he had just finished a long, exhausting chore.

Was he mourning the dead?

Was he feeling remorse?

No—

He was simply reflecting on the joy of the slaughter.

When news of Castelara City’s destruction spread—

All of Aragon Country was shaken to its core.

Countless factions cried out in rage and horror, declaring their intent to purge the Demonic Path.

All across the nation, voices demanded justice.

Yet, no action was taken.

For all their righteous proclamations—

No one dared to make a move.

A Silent Agreement

It was clear to all that the massacre of Castelara City had been orchestrated by the Eight Princes.

This was their opening move.

The battle for Aragon’s throne had begun.

Even as Castelara City lay in ruins, the Aragon Emperor never appeared.

This only confirmed what many already suspected—

The Emperor had failed his Level 4 breakthrough and perished.

With no Level 4 guardian left, the imperial dynasty was finished.

One by one, the Eight Princes issued public declarations.

Each one condemned the massacre.

Each one swore vengeance upon Blood Mist Demon.

And then—

They began mobilizing their forces.

To the public, it seemed as if they were preparing to hunt down Blood Mist Demon.

But in reality—

Their true target was each other.

By the time the Eight Princes pretended to prepare their armies, Blood Mist Demon had long since fled.

With his promised reward in hand, he had left Aragon Country entirely.

The so-called ‘Demon Purge’ was nothing but a façade.

The real battle was for the imperial throne.

With the Eight Princes at war, the great sects and noble clans were forced to take sides.

The drought was forgotten.

No one cared about the starving masses.

The only thing that mattered—

Was power.

To the rulers of Aragon Country, the death of mortals was insignificant.

As long as a few survived, they would repopulate soon enough.

“Give them time, and they’ll sprout back up like wheat in a field.”

Such was the mentality of the powerful.

Millions could die—but as long as the land remained, power could always be rebuilt.

And so, the bloodshed continued.

With Aragon Country spiraling into civil war, the Demonic Path began to move in secret.

Far from Castelara City, deep in Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture…

A remote and desolate village lay in ruins.

And in the heart of that village, a lone man sat trembling, clutching a horsetail whisk in his shaking hands.

“Damn you, Goat Elder!”

His face twisted in rage and hatred.

“If I survive this, I will make you suffer a fate worse than death!”

“And that wretched De Molinos family…!”

His voice cracked with fury.

“I, Venomous Master, have obtained the ‘Supreme Law’… and with it, I will transcend this mortal struggle!”

His words seethed with madness—

Yet before he could say another word, his entire body convulsed.

His veins blackened, his limbs stiffened—

And then, with one final shudder, he collapsed.

Dead.

Venomous Master perished.

As his lifeless body hit the ground, a worn, ancient tome slipped from his hands.

It was his so-called ‘Supreme Law’—

Venomous Master had discovered the scripture while fleeing from Blood Wolf Hall’s destruction.

He had stumbled upon an abandoned altar, where this forbidden text had been left behind.

The scripture had promised immortality.

It had claimed that one could steal the very essence of heaven and earth, allowing for endless rebirth and eternal life.

The moment Venomous Master read its secrets, he had become obsessed.

He had devoted himself entirely to mastering it, believing that he had finally been chosen by fate.

He had convinced himself that he was destined to become a transcendent being.

But in the end—

He had simply cultivated himself to death.

Moments later, the silence of the ruined village was broken.

A group of ragged mortals—their clothes tattered, their eyes hollow—slowly shuffled into the ruins.

They were searching.

For food, for shelter… for anything to survive.

And soon… their eyes fell upon the lifeless body of Venomous Master.

And upon the ancient tome that lay beside him.