Lordi Payne's breath caught in his throat, a sharp, frigid gasp that froze his thoughts before they could fully form. Yet, before he could make sense of the scene, "Fairy Lith" seized his hand with a mesmerizing, insistent grace, her touch both commanding and impossibly soft, pulling him toward a tangled mass of writhing, blood-red vines.
Where is she leading me?
A faint unease clawed at his mind, but a strange, magnetic pull compelled him to follow the breathtaking figure ahead.
Lordi Payne trailed Fairy Lith for a few dazed steps, his feet moving as if bewitched, though the dark foreboding in his chest swelled with every heartbeat. Snapping himself awake, he bit down hard on his tongue. The jolt of pain sliced through the haze, sharpening his senses—just enough to realize he stood alone, encircled by those sinister vines, his three Foundation Stage companions vanished without a trace.
Panic surged, icy and wild. Lordi Payne yanked at his hand, desperate to break free from "Fairy Lith's" grasp, only to find her grip unyielding, her delicate fingers locking around his like a silken vice, unbreakable and suffocating. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped—his voice stolen, trapped in a mute, nightmarish void.
Sensing his struggle, "Fairy Lith" turned, her head tilting with a slow, deliberate allure that made his pulse stutter. Her lips curled into a smile so sweet, so devastatingly seductive. Her eyes—deep, luminous pools of molten desire—locked onto his, shimmering with a promise that tugged at his soul. With a languid, teasing motion, she let her outer cloak slip, the fabric whispering down to unveil a glimpse of her black inner lace gown. Then, with a flick of her fingers, that too fell away, revealing a shoulder so flawless it glowed like moonlit alabaster, exuding a faint, intoxicating fragrance. Her collarbone curved with exquisite grace, a tantalizing invitation that beckoned him closer. She bit her lower lip, a subtle, sultry gesture, her gaze smouldering with unspoken lure.
But at this moment, even if she was the real Fairy Lith, Lordi Payne wasn't fooled—not when he knew her intentions were sinister, let alone knowing that she was a fake one.
Lordi Payne thrashed against her grasp, but it was futile. His mind grew heavy, his consciousness gradually sinking into murk. With a final shred of lucidity, he wrenched the Blade of Life Hater from its sheath and swung it with all his might at the figure before him.
Fairy Lith" flinched as the blade arced downward, her breathtaking features contorting in a flash of primal fear. She lunged toward him, her curve form pressing against his chest as if seeking shelter, but Lordi Payne's resolve was iron. His free hand darted out, fingers clamping around her slender neck. With a brutal twist and a sickening crack, her spine gave way.
The sharp sound of breaking bone echoed through the air. For a heartbeat, the swirling vines around them seemed to freeze, as if stunned by the act. Then, Fairy Lith's lifeless form shuddered violently, her delicate beauty bloating and twisting into something grotesque.
Thrice his height, its sinewy frame pulsed with raw, menacing power, draped only in tattered scraps of blood-red cloth clinging to its chest and loins. Intricate runes glowed ominously across its sunken cheeks, and cruel, jagged horns jutted from its skull. From its hips sprouted three whip-like tails, each tipped with a razor-sharp spike that gleamed with lethal intent, fanning out like a peacock's deadly plumage.
Despite its nightmarish bulk, a surreal detail caught Lordi Payne's eye: atop its grotesque head sat a crown of flowers, woven from the grove's crimson vines and adorned with pristine, multi-petaled blooms that shimmered with an ethereal, dreamlike beauty. The delicate wreath clashed absurdly with the creature's monstrous form, a twisted mockery of femininity that only heightened its horror. Its chest heaved with a guttural roar, the swell and curve of its torso confirming it was female—a she-ghoul, savage and unrelenting.
Bloodshot eyes burned with feral rage as it loomed over him, its murderous intent a palpable force. Without warning, one of its spear-tipped tails lashed out, slicing the air with a piercing shriek as it aimed straight for his heart.
Still pinned in its crushing grasp, Lordi Payne couldn't evade. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he made a split-second choice. Twisting the Blade of Life Hater inward, he brought it down with ferocious intent—not at the beast, but at his own trapped arm, determined to sever it in a desperate gamble for freedom.
At the critical moment, a sharp finger snap sound with a cold shout suddenly pierced his ears. Lordi Payne's soul and sense was shaken at once. His vision swam, and when it cleared, the scene shattered, the surrounding scenery had changed drastically. The scary ghoul disappeared without a trace. In his hand, the wooden stick he'd clung to had morphed into a vine, its surface bristling with tiny, needle-like roots that burrowed into his palm, greedily drinking his blood with each breath he took.
Oen Shinae stood before him, small and still in her plain hemp robes. The black cloth covering her head had slipped slightly, revealing her delicate hime-cut bangs. Her doll-like face showed no emotion as she stared coldly at Lordi Payne. With two fingers, she caught the Blade of Life-Hater just before it could sever his arm. The blade trembled in her grip, unable to move another inch.
Panic sank into Lordi Payne's chest. He'd followed Sharky Ink with utmost caution—yet now, it wasn't Sharky Ink who'd saved him, but Oen Shinae, the squad's leader.
Had Sharky Ink fallen prey to the forest? Or had he abandoned me on purpose?
Before Lordi Payne could voice his questions to Oen Shinae, the surrounding vines—enraged by the shattered dreamscape—erupted into motion. After a brief, eerie stillness, they lashed out in unison, a writhing mass of crimson tendrils grasping toward Lordi Payne and Oen Shinae like a tidal wave of blood.
"Stay within ten paces of me—no further." Oen Shinae's voice was a blade sheathed in silk, her delicate features hardening with warning.
A flash of movement. With a flick of her both hands, her delicate nails, each like a crescent moon carved from pearl, lengthened in an instant, stretching into inch-long, ink-black claws that gleamed with a sinister edge. Before the vine could tighten its grip on Lordi Payne's wrist, her finger lashed out.
A single, precise slash.
With a fleshy snap, the cleaved vine slapped wetly against the ground. What oozed from its ruptured veins wasn't sap, but blood—dark, clotting blood that smelled of rust and spoiled copper.
Next, Oen Shinae's aura erupted. In an instant, a terrifying force that made Lordi Payne's heart pound in his chest. Her fingers twisted, her nails stretching into longer wicked black claws in the blink of an eye. With a swift, almost elegant motion, she crossed her arms—then unleashed a storm of destruction.
Ten razor-sharp arcs of darkness fanned out in a deadly bloom, slicing through the air with a sound like tearing silk. The encroaching vines, thick as ancient roots, stood no chance—they were severed mid-reach, their writhing forms collapsing into lifeless husks before they could even touch the ground.
Lordi Payne's hope flared.
How formidable this senior sister is!
But Oen Shinae didn't celebrate. Her cute face stayed cold, her grip tightening around Lordi Payne's wrist as she yanked him bolting forward.
Baffled, Lordi Payne risked a glance back—and his blood ran cold.
The shredded vines weren't dead.
They squirmed, twitching like dying insects—before splitting, multiplying, surging back to life with monstrous hunger. The ground itself seemed to writhe as countless fresh tendrils erupted, lashing toward them like a living flood.
They barely made it ten steps before the vines struck.
Oen Shinae moved like a shadow, her claws a blur of darkness, slicing apart anything that dared near. But for every vine she severed. Two more took its place. And the forest kept closing in.
As they fled, a flower bud unfurled from the writhing vine, its petals a pristine, radiant white—flawless and eerily reminiscent of the blooms adorning the flower wreaths of the she-ghoul in Lordi Payne's earlier dreamscape.
The bud burst open in a heartbeat, releasing a wave of fresh, intoxicating fragrance that swept through the them like a silken tide. Lordi Payne clamped his breath shut, but it was no use—the scent slipped past his defenses, curling into his senses.
Lordi Payne's vision swam, and there she stood once more: Fairy Lith, her snow-white skin glowing like moonlight, her black lace gown trailing behind her in whispers of shadow. Every sway of her hips, every flicker of her gaze was a mesmerizing dance, her elegance so breathtaking.
Oen Shinae let out a sharp snort. With a flick of her wrist, she produced a Dao Fulu. She hurled it toward the blooming bud, and mid-flight, the Fulu erupted into a blaze of roaring flames. The fire devoured the flower in an instant, reducing it to a scattering of ash. The enchanting fragrance dissolved, and Lordi Payne's mind snapped back to clarity, the dreamscape shattering like fragile glass.
Before Lordi Payne could steady himself, a sudden yank at his calf nearly toppled him. His eyes darted downward— a thick, thorny vine had burst from the soil, its tendrils snaking around his leg. Sharp spines bit into his flesh, drawing thin rivulets of blood as it tightened its grip.
Oen Shinae tore the vine from Lordi Payne's leg with a brutal yank, her claws rending it apart in one savage motion. But the brief pause was a fatal misstep. The pursuing vines surged forward, a seething, writhing mass that caged them in like a living nightmare. They lunged with vicious intent, stabbing at them from every angle. Oen Shinae met them with a battle cry, her ink-black claws flashing as she shredded through countless tendrils in a heartbeat. Crimson ichor sprayed across her claws, slick and steaming, but for every vine she destroyed, two more erupted from the earth, their numbers swelling in a grotesque, endless tide.
The grove itself seemed to pulse with malice, adapting to their defiance. When the vines couldn't overwhelm them, the air grew thick with the sickeningly sweet stench of blooming buds, their white petals unfurling like grinning skulls. The fragrance clawed at their minds, heavy and suffocating. Oen Shinae hissed, flinging another Flame Fulu into the fray. The Fulu ignited mid-air, a roaring inferno that swallowed the buds in a burst of searing light, reducing them to ash. But the grove retaliated with a vengeance—a storm of thorns erupted from the vines, shrieking through the air like a barrage of jagged, venom-dipped arrows.
Her fingers blurred into a whirlwind, claws slashing with inhuman precision as she deflected the deadly hail, each thorn clattering uselessly to the ground. Then, without warning, a silent, serpentine tendril whipped from the shadows behind her, its barbed tip aimed straight for her skull, hungry for blood.
Lordi Payne's heart lurched. He swung the Blade of Life Hater in a wild, frantic arc, desperation fueling his strike.
With a muffled sound, Lordi Payne's hands went numb. Not only did he fail to block the vine, he was almost thrown back by the recoil!
Terror seized him, his breath hitching as he realized he'd failed. He opened his mouth to scream a warning, but Oen Shinae was already moving. Without so much as a glance, she twisted her wrist in a fluid, lethal motion, her claws slicing backward through the air. The stealthy tendril burst apart in a spray of gore, its severed chunks twitching as they hit the ground, lifeless and oozing.
Lordi Payne exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding him for a fleeting second—until the world warped. The forest dissolved, and he found himself standing in the dim, oppressive halls of Payne Manor. A bone-deep chill slithered up his spine, prickling his skin with dread. He could feel them—eyes, countless and unseen, boring into him from every shadow. Whirling around, he froze. There they were: the beauties from The Bone Rakasha Painting byobu screen, stepping free from the canvas. Each one was a vision of unearthly allure—pale skin glowing faintly, lips curved in sultry, predatory smiles.
But their eyes glinted with a ravenous, unholy hunger. They stared at Lordi Payne, unblinking, their gazes dripping with greed and malice, as if they could already taste his flesh peeling from his bones, his marrow sucked dry. The air grew heavy with their intent, a suffocating weight that pressed against his chest. They drifted closer, silent as spectres, their delicate hands reaching out with nails sharp enough to rend soul from body.
A deafening roar shattered the haze, yanking Lordi Payne from the depths of his dreamscape. His cultivation was pitifully weak—once again, he'd stumbled blindly into the Lurewoven Grove's insidious trap, ensnared before he could even register the danger.
Lordi Payne's heart hammered against his ribs as he whipped his head around, a cold sweat prickling his scalp. What he saw made his blood run cold. The vines had exploded into a nightmarish frenzy, their numbers swelling beyond comprehension. In the fleeting moments he'd been lost to the dreamscape, Oen Shinae must have carved through scores of them, but it hadn't mattered. Now, the blood-red tendrils loomed like a living, breathing abyss, choking out the sky itself. They twisted and pulsed, a suffocating wall of grotesque, writhing terror that devoured every trace of light and hope. Directions dissolved into chaos—there was no path, no escape, only the relentless, inescapable grip of the grove closing in around them.