Ruru Rosa, Cade Barret, and Lordi Payne exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the weight of Shirley Quinn’s ironclad logic. Her plan to slip away from the Hanz Clan estate, letting Jorge Blue and Donovan Valdez’s squads face the Ancestral Shrine’s horrors, was a calculated gambit that promised survival.
Ruru’s sharp nod came first, her hair curls bouncing, her voice crisp with respect. "Captain’s right. We’re too beat up to stay. Let’s move."
Cade’s broad shoulders relaxed, his gruff tone steady as he rumbled, "Agreed. Rest now, fight later. Smart."
Lordi, clutching his Blade of Life Hater, his Seventh Layer spirit energy flickering like a spent candle, gave a curt nod, his rasping voice low. "No arguing with that. We’re out."
Lordi stepped forward, his bloodied frame tense, his tone respectful but edged with urgency. "Senior Sister Quinn, how do we get out of this cursed place?"
Shirley’s lips curved slightly, her voice casual but precise, exuding the confidence of a Ninth Layer strategist. "My Suicide Squad mapped the grand array before we set off. Its breach points open every eight or nine hours." She produced a delicate glaze sundial, its surface etched with faint runes, and held it aloft, the fading dusk glinting off its curves as she gauged the time. "The next breach is in fifteen minutes, at the Water Lily Lake’s central pavilion. Move fast, and we’ll make it." Her emerald eyes met theirs, a silent command to follow, her raven hair swaying as she turned toward the exit.
The squad moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing through the crumbling tower as they descended, weaving through the estate’s shadowed paths toward the Water Lily Lake.
Not long after, the four arrived the rear mountain’s southeast corner.
Only moments ago, the lake had been a nightmare. Shirley had torn through its illusion with her Life Absorption Art, revealing the horror beneath—a crimson abyss of severed limbs, heads of the Hanz Clan bobbing like grotesque blossoms among the water lilies, their lifeless eyes staring through the murk. It had been a slaughterhouse, a hellscape of blood and malice that had nearly claimed them all.
And yet now, inexplicably to Shirley—
The lake water lay pristine.
No blood. No corpses. No lingering stench of death.
Shirley walked slowly along the waterfront, her footsteps soundless against the wooden planks of the bridge leading to the central pavilion. The willows swayed, their slender branches brushing the water’s surface with a whisper, sending delicate ripples spiraling outward. The air was thick with the scent of damp leaves and blooming lotuses.
Above, the sky bled from gold to violet, the first stars pricking through like distant, uncaring eyes. The breeze carried no memory of screams. The water held no evidence of carnage.
The scene so serene it felt like a beautiful painting of mountain lake’s dusk.
Ruru’s eyes flicked to Lordi, noting the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, his wounds—once gushing—now staunched, likely from the restoration pills he’d consumed. Her violet curl long hair swayed as she tilted her head, her voice light but probing, carrying the casual edge of a seasoned Eighth Layer cultivator. "You’re looking better, Junior Brother Payne. How’re those injuries holding up?"
Lordi glanced at the bandages wrapping his torso, the gashes beneath knitting together faster than expected, thanks to the top quality restoration pills he’d "borrowed" from Kim Simona’s alchemy chamber. The wounds were superficial now, his spirit energy circulation stabilizing, his body nearly mended. He opened his mouth to thank Ruru’s concern, but a sly spark flared in his mind, his every low-profile instinct screaming to seize this moment. The Hanz Clan estate was a death trap, its scourge curse growing with each fallen cultivator, and his squad members’ reckless pursuit of the Treasury House was a suicide pact he wanted no part of. This was his chance to escape, to ditch these sect comrades chasing their own doom and limp back to the Abyss Pit Sect’s safety.
Without warning, he channeled a surge of spiritual energy into his meridians, clenching a translucent spirit fist in his core and slamming it against his inward organs.
A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips, splattering the pavilion’s lacquered wood, his body doubling over in a theatrical stagger. Ruru’s eyes widened, her casual demeanor shattering into panic.
"Payne!" she gasped, rushing to his side, her voice sharp with alarm. "You okay? What’s wrong?" She’d only asked out of passing concern, certain his condition was stable moments ago—his wounds had seemed minor, his aura steady. How could he be so gravely hurt?
Lordi slumped, his voice a ragged whisper, each word dripping with weakness. "Senior Sister Ruru... I’m sorry. I’m... done for." He clutched his chest, his eyes dimming as if life were slipping away. "That despicable Rodney Luther... he could’ve killed me outright in the Martial Arts Arena, but no. He toyed with me, dragged it out, savored my fear like playing some twisted sick game." He coughed again, blood flecking his lips for effect. "My Seventh Layer strength was no match for his Ninth Layer power. The realm gap... it’s too wide. I look fine outside, but inside? My organs, my meridians—they’re shattered, riddled with holes. If I don’t get back to the sect for a healer path senior’s care, I’ll die soon."
His cold, trembling hand grasped Ruru’s, his voice a low, gasping plea. "Senior Sister... one request. If I can’t make this... it’s okay. But please, after you went back to the holy sect, I hope you could help me to pass my chance of enjoying the share of viewing Alchemy Formula of Foundation Establishment Pill and Cultivation Insights to Simona-chan..."
"Yeah... I’ll definitely help..." Ruru’s eyes widened, panic flaring as she felt the chill in his hand, his temperature seeming to plummet. "No! You’ll be fine! Junior Brother!" Her grip tightened on his hand, her heart racing, a flood of memories crashing through her mind.
Scenes flickered through Ruru’s mind like fragments of a dream—or a premonition.
The ancestral shrine, choked with the keening wails of vengeful ghosts. A clawed hand, tar rotting, lunged for her skull—only for a figure to crash into her, wrenching her away from the lethal attack. The grip around her waist was warm, solid.
Then, another memory: him standing bloodied, his name spat like a curse by those who owed him justice. She had shouted them down, demanded fairness—and in that instant, a bone chain lashed toward her face, a vicious retaliation from the shadows. Again, he moved—too injured to be swift, yet swift enough. His warm arm was on her waist again, yanking her back as the venom dripping chain tip tore through the air where her throat had been.
Ruru Rosa, a young and beautiful female genius cultivator, had never felt anything for dealing with male cultivators. Not admiration, not longing, certainly not this—this sharp, unwelcome ache she couldn’t name that tightened her chest.
So why... why did his face, his sacrifice, his affection to Kim Simona burn her gut so vividly now?
The present rushed back in a dizzying flood. The man before her was dying.
And she didn’t understand why that thought cut deeper than any blade.
"Lordi, you’ll be fine!" she stammered, her usual icy demeanor crumbling, her voice thick with an unfamiliar bitter and sting. "I’ll get you back to the sect the second we’re out of this Gloomwater Phantom Lily Array!"