The courtyard lay silent once more, broken stone and shattered ice scattered like the remnants of a storm long past. Steam and smoke curled lazily from the scorched earth, yet in the midst of it all, one presence remained—white scales glinting faintly, gold eyes fixed on the motionless body beneath it.
The lizard lowered its head slightly, golden eyes never leaving Yuanji's body. The broken glaive lay just beyond reach, slick with blood. The flesh it held between its jaws dripped crimson, the scent sharp and metallic in the ruined air. It moved with deliberate care, pulling slightly, testing, weighing the lifeless body beneath it. Every motion was precise. The cold mist that lingered in the courtyard curled around its small frame, drawn to it like dust to a magnet. It tilted its head. Its golden eyes—unblinking, razor-sharp—studied the fallen cultivator with a stillness that felt almost reverent. The faint curl at the edge of its muzzle wasn't just hunger—it was satisfaction.
Not for the kill itself—that was expected—but for the mastery of the plan. The cultivator had fought well, but he had played exactly into the trap.
It remained perched atop Yuanji's corpse, white scales faintly shifting with each slow breath. A thin ribbon of blood dripped from its jaw, pattering softly onto the broken body. The lizard lowered its head a little more, gaze tracing the contours of Yuanji's motionless face—the slackened muscles, the half-open eyes whose fire had finally guttered out.
> "Hmh, it wanted this, just as I had planned," it thought.
The truth was simple: none of this had been chance.
From the very start, the lizard had known the truth—its soul attack failing meant it could never win a head-on battle. Yuanji was too strong, even not at full capacity. A direct clash would only end one way—badly for the beast.
So it shifted instantly to the only path that could guarantee victory.
The paralysis at the beginning had been intentional—brief enough to let Yuanji think he had overcome it. It never intended to kill Yuanji while he was frozen; every attack had been meticulously planned. It only needed a single moment where he couldn't dodge, a moment where its scales could pierce him to deliver the true danger: venom.
It knew neutralization would only last for a while, so as soon as its attack landed, it abandoned paralysis entirely.
Why?
Because the lizard understood something Yuanji didn't: using paralysis again would have helped him.
A second paralyzing strike might have slowed his movements—but if Yuanji stayed still too long, he would instantly notice and quickly suppress the spread of the poison. That would ruin everything.
But if he thought the paralysis was the main threat, he would:
calm himself
stabilize his Qi
regain control
So the lizard let him break out on purpose.
It needed Yuanji to move.
The lizard had counted on his strength, his instincts, on the certainty that he would force his Qi to resist it. That resistance was what spread the poison faster:
stalling him
making him push his Qi harder
making him burn his strength faster
making him panic
and most importantly: making him keep circulating the poison by fighting
Every step, every frantic surge of power, every attempt to purge the toxin only tightened the noose. Every action he took accelerated the poison.
From there, the rest had unfolded naturally.
His panic.
His desperation.
His final collapse beneath the weight of poison and fear.
All of it had been predicted.
The lizard nudged the corpse once with the side of its snout, testing for any lingering spark of motion. None came. The cultivator's limbs remained slack, his fingertips stained with drying blood. His shattered Qi lay scattered around him, faint traces still hovering like dying embers above the cracked courtyard floor.
The lizard turned and leapt off the corpse, its claws scraping softly against the stone.
> "Though it noticed the poison and tried to suppress it and finish the battle fast, but it was already too late. It's attempts only made it spread, And like the others, it used a sealing art. Just as I suspected, though it was different— even when I distanced myself, it still worked."
Its tail flicked once behind it, faint frost dispersing in the air.
> "Why's that?" it asked the system.
{System}
> "The art used on you was not a sealing art.
Sealing arts restrict movement, Qi circulation, or soul force directly. Your past experience with seals made you expect these symptoms:
slowed Qi
blocked energy channels
suppressed senses
immobilization
But this technique affected none of those.
He used a Flow-Disruption Spirit Art, a subclass of Perception-Distortion techniques.
Instead of sealing your Qi, it interfered with how you interpreted motion, intent, and killing intent around you. It worked because it altered how the enemy experienced the battle, turning instinct against itself.
It changed your reaction timing—not your energy.
It shifted your instincts—not your body.
It warped the battlefield's flow—not your core.
This type of art does not need to be close-range nor maintain contact. It anchors to the enemy's perception, not their physical distance.
That is why it still worked even when you backed away."
FINAL NAME / CATEGORY (Clean, Canon‑Style)
Flow‑Disruption Spirit Art
(Subtype of Perception‑Distortion Arts)
Function:
Alters the opponent's perception, instinctive timing, and interpretation of danger
Redirects momentum and warps the "flow" of attacks
Works at any distance because it affects perception, not physical space
No sealing involved at all.