The lizard remained still, eyes unfocused, body loose and relaxed after feeding.
Inside its mind, a question formed—quiet, practical.
*The Venommist Serpent's gene is obvious… poison, mist, suppression.*
A brief pause followed.
*But what about the Crimson Fang Wolf?*
The response came without delay.
**{System}**
**[Bloodline Gene: Crimson Fang Wolf]**
**[Innate Ability — Spirit-Marked Prey]**
**[Description:]**
When the host **bites or scratches** a target, a fragment of the host's qi is embedded into the target's qi signature.
Once marked:
• The host can **sense the target's direction and approximate location**
• Tracking functions **regardless of distance, concealment, or terrain**
• Interference, illusions, concealment talismans, and terrain-based arts **cannot fully block the mark**
• Signal strength weakens with extreme distance, but **never fully disappears** while the mark remains
**[Duration:]** Until the mark naturally fades or is forcibly removed by a superior method
Silence followed.
The lizard processed the information slowly.
*…So that's it.*
Its claws flexed faintly against the bedding.
*Once marked… they can't hide.*
Distance didn't matter.
Concealment didn't matter.
Even fleeing across regions wouldn't matter.
The lizard's tongue flicked once, tasting the air out of habit.
*Find targets… once marked.*
A simple ability.
A dangerous one.
In the quiet room, the implication settled fully.
Prey could flee.
Prey could hide.
But **prey would never truly escape**.
The warmth inside the lizard suddenly **shifted**.
Deepened.
Condensed.
Then a presence stirred—not intrusive, not urgent, but precise.
**{System}**
**[Would the host like to proceed with Gene Fusion?]**
The lizard did not hesitate.
Its response was calm, measured, already decided.
*Fuse them.*
After a brief pause, its thoughts continued smoothly despite the heat beginning to build in its core.
*Fuse all acquired genes.*
*Use **10,000 Evolution Points** each to evolve:*
— *Eyes*
— *Water Gene*
— *Fire Gene*
— *Wind Gene*
— *Ice Gene*
*Allocate the remaining points to evolve my webbing.*
The command settled.
There was no impatience in it.
No doubt.
Only intent.
The reply came immediately.
**{System}**
**[Command acknowledged.]**
**[Evolution configuration confirmed.]**
**[Evolution Points allocated:]**
• **Eyes — 10,000**
• **Water Gene — 10,000**
• **Fire Gene — 10,000**
• **Wind Gene — 10,000**
• **Ice Gene — 10,000**
• **Remaining points allocated to Webbing Evolution**
**[Gene Fusion: Initiating.]**
**[Evolution sequence: BEGIN.]**
The moment the process started—
**Pain.**
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
But **overwhelming**.
Heat surged from the lizard's core, flooding outward through every vein, every scale, every nerve. Its muscles locked as though molten qi had replaced its blood entirely.
Its chest heaved.
Bones **creaked** faintly as pressure built from within, as if something ancient and violent were reshaping it piece by piece.
Its eyes burned first.
Not physically—but deeper.
Behind the lids.
Inside the soul.
The world dimmed.
Then vanished.
The lizard **closed its eyes**, jaws clenching as the heat climbed higher and higher—until thought itself began to blur under the strain.
The room filled with a faint, distorted pressure, as if the air itself were holding its breath.
The lizard did not scream.
It endured.
The pain did not stop.
It **faded**—not because it ended, but because the lizard could no longer hold onto it.
The heat inside its body pulsed one last time, deep and rhythmic, like a heart learning a new beat. Muscles finally loosened. Wings slackened. The tight coil of tension holding its frame together unraveled strand by strand.
Breathing slowed.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
The lizard's head lowered against the bed, jaws parting slightly as a faint plume of warm breath escaped. The violent clash of qi within it settled into something denser, heavier—**transformative**.
Its consciousness slipped.
Not abruptly.
But like sinking beneath deep water.
The room grew quiet.
No movement.
No sound—save for the soft, nearly imperceptible hum of cultivation energy still circulating through the formation.
The fox remained curled within the array, eyes closed, unaware—for now—of the changes unfolding only a short distance away.
**Scene Shift**
---
Three days passed.
The cave did not change.
No light entered. No sound reached inside. Time was marked only by the slow settling of dust and the steady rhythm of Elder Lianhua's breathing.
Failures piled up.
Talisman after talisman shattered—some immediately, others only after the final rune was completed. Each attempt ended the same way: instability, fracture, collapse.
She did not rush.
She did not force it.
She adjusted.
Minute changes each time—altering the blood ratio, modifying the resonance path, shifting anchoring points, reducing direct imprinting, increasing delay. Every failure yielded information.
By the end of the third day, the cave floor had been cleaned of talisman ash countless times.
Then—
The final set held.
Lianhua sat cross-legged in midair, eyes open now—steady, alert.
Before her, **three blood-tracking talismans hovered**.
They did not glow brightly.
They did not vibrate.
They simply existed—stable, intact, their runes clear and unmoving.
Each carried the same core pattern, but with subtle structural differences. Not redundancy—**triangulation**.
She observed them in silence for several breaths.
"…Three is enough," she said quietly.
Not because it was ideal.
But because it was **workable**.
She extended her qi.
The talismans responded immediately, shifting slightly in the air—no longer pointing, but **listening**.
"The signature is faint," she noted calmly. "Degraded. Intermittent."
Her gaze sharpened.
"But consistent."
She lowered her hand.
The three talismans rotated slowly, maintaining equal distance from one another, forming a stable triangular formation. Their surfaces remained steady, unbroken.
She studied them briefly.
"…They're stable," she murmured. "But stability alone isn't enough."
Her gaze shifted to her sleeve.
"The signature is too faint," she continued. "Without a direct sample, the response will be delayed. Inconsistent."
She raised her hand.
With controlled precision, she drew out the sealed drop of dark crimson blood.
It emerged slowly, suspended in midair.
Smaller than before.
Denser.
The cave itself seemed unchanged, but Lianhua's attention narrowed entirely onto the drop.
"One talisman would fail," she said calmly. "The load would be too concentrated."
Her eyes flicked to the three hovering papers.
"Three can share it."
She adjusted her qi.
The drop stretched—carefully, precisely—until it divided.
Not split violently.
Not torn.
It **separated**, becoming three even fragments, each no larger than a grain of sand.
She halted.
Checked.
Adjusted once more.
"…Acceptable," she murmured.
The fragments hovered, perfectly aligned with the talismans.
She began the fusion.
Her qi guided the first fragment forward.
It touched the surface of the nearest talisman.
There was no flare.
No resistance.
The fragment sank into the paper, disappearing between its layers as if it had always belonged there.