"AOOOWWLLL!!!"
A howl of pure agony, sharp as shattered glass, tore through the oppressive silence shrouding the Poison Mist Valley. A Level 3 early-stage, one-eyed Grayfang Jackal shuddered violently, limbs twisting in unnatural angles, before crashing heavily to the ground. The grotesque transformation began instantly—its muscular frame visibly collapsing inward, skin clinging taut to bone, veins shriveling like dried vines. Within seconds, it resembled a carcass left desiccating for decades under a desert sun.
Embedded deep in its withered neck pulsed a dagger forged of dark, rust-hued metal. Faint crimson light rippled along its edge in rhythmic waves, as if swallowing the beast's very lifeblood with each throb.
Whoosh!
The moment the jackal's final twitch ceased, the dagger tore free with an almost eager swiftness. It sliced through the miasma-laden air, returning unerringly to Lin Feng's outstretched palm nearby.
Lin Feng's fingers tightened around the still-warm hilt. Even after witnessing this macabre ritual a dozen times over the past days, a chill of awe prickled his spine. Its hunger… its power… far surpasses anything I anticipated.
Four relentless days had bled away since their escape from the ancient temple's confines. Lin Feng and Changgong Xiaojing had driven themselves with minimal rest, navigating the treacherous crevices and slopes of the valley. Now, the exit loomed tantalizingly close, the suffocating black fog finally thinning.
During stolen moments of respite, Lin Feng had performed the foundational refinement rites upon his newly acquired treasures: the volatile White Tiger Soul Raging Talisman, the protective Spirit Light Jade Bracelet… and this entity of dark allure. The dagger, however, resisted refinement with an almost sentient stubbornness. Its spiritual pathways felt alien, chaotic, demanding immense concentration just to achieve the barest sliver of control—enough to guide it in flight, but little more.
Yet, this minuscule mastery unveiled terrifying potential. Its core nature screamed forth: Consume blood. Grow stronger.
His journey to the valley's edge had become a grim harvest. Over a dozen demonic beasts—ranging from Level 2 scavengers to four formidable Level 3 predators, including a vicious mid-stage Stonehide Boar—had fallen to the dagger's kiss. Each kill amplified its presence; its aura now radiated a palpable, chilling pressure absent before.
But the true revelation struck deeper. After the dagger drained the fourth Level 3 beast dry, Lin Feng focused his Repair Technique:
Equipment Integrity: 22%
Repair Status: Unable to Repair.
An increase of 2%. Blood—the very essence of life spilled in violence—was repairing the blade. Autonomously. Without his technique's guidance. This defied every principle Lin Feng understood about artifact restoration.Blood was a fundamental repair material for this weapon.
The implications resonated like thunderclaps in his mind. He traced a finger along the dagger's cold spine. It demanded a name. A designation fitting its ravenous nature.
Bloodthirsty Blade.
"Lin Feng…"
Xiaojing's voice was a soft murmur laced with unease. She stood a pace away, her gaze fixed on the dagger as Lin Feng examined it. Her knuckles were white where she clutched Xiaoqiu, the little beast nestled protectively against her chest.
"This weapon…" she continued, her eyes lifting to meet his, filled with concern. "Its resonance feels… dark. Like a bottomless well. Please… promise me you'll be vigilant. Don't let its power become yours."
It was the third, perhaps fourth time she'd voiced this warning since he'd begun wielding the blade. Lin Feng offered her a reassuring smile, though the weight of her worry settled in his own chest.
"I hear you, Xiaojing," he said, his voice calm, deliberate. "Its nature is undeniable. I won't let its hunger dictate my actions. Your concern anchors me."
He knelt, swiftly extracting the Grayfang Jackal's blood-tinged core. As they resumed their trek, the oppressive shroud of toxic fog ahead visibly frayed, diluted shafts of weak, grayish light piercing through. The valley's gaping maw beckoned.
One Day Later. Valley Threshold.
The transition was abrupt, jarring. One step—thick, clinging fog assaulted the senses, visibility mere feet. The next step—clean air, sharp and cool, flooded their lungs. Weak sunlight, unseen for months, washed over their faces.
Lin Feng staggered slightly, blinking against the sudden brilliance. He threw his head back, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.
"Haaah… By the heavens… Finally… OUT!"
The sheer relief in his voice was palpable. He turned, shielding his eyes. Behind them, the Poison Mist Valley broiled like a cauldron of obsidian smoke, its secrets once more swallowed by impenetrable darkness. A wave of profound introspection washed over him. Sixty days. A lifetime compressed into two months. What began as a mundane trial… became a crucible of survival, loss, and impossible discovery.
He counted the unexpected gains: A vault of priceless treasures. The shattering of barriers, ascending to the Golden Core realm. Unlocking his father's ring—the key not just to its contents, but to his own fragmented past and a future path blazing towards the Starry Sea.
First, he resolved, Lingyue Sect. I owe them far more than tuition. A debt of shelter, knowledge… sanctuary.
Then… the horizon.
He turned to Xiaojing. She stood bathed in the weak sunlight, eyes closed, face tilted upwards, a portrait of exhausted serenity. The faintest trace of a smile touched her lips.
"Xiaojing," Lin Feng began, his voice softening. "Let me see you safely home to Biquan Sect. Once I know you're secure, I'll make for Lingyue Mountain."
Her eyes fluttered open. A flicker of hesitation crossed her features. She looked down, tracing a pattern on Xiaoqiu's fur with a fingertip.
"You… you needn't delay further on my account," she murmured. "The paths are known now. I am capable…"
Lin Feng shook his head, his expression firm.
"Capable isn't the same as safe. Not after the shadows we've walked through. Consider it… a final stretch of shared road. A chance to breathe properly before duty calls me back."
A warmth, subtle but undeniable, bloomed in Xiaojing's chest. The corners of her lips lifted, forming a genuine, if hesitant, smile.
"Alright, Lin Feng," she conceded, her voice softer. "I… I would appreciate the company a while longer. Thank you."
Two Days Later. Dusthaven Town. One Day from Biquan Sect.
Dusthaven clung to the edge of civilization, a weary collection of timber and stone buildings perpetually coated in a fine layer of grit blown from the nearby plains. It wasn't a cultivation hub, but itinerant cultivators and merchants often passed through.
They found refuge in the town's solitary establishment catering to cultivators: "The Gilded Cauldron." The air inside hung thick with the greasy aroma of roasted spirit beast meat, cheap ale, and the underlying tang of herbal concoctions. Rough-hewn tables were scattered haphazardly, occupied by a mix of weary travelers and local laborers with enough spirit stones for a minor indulgence.
Securing a corner table, Lin Feng ordered the house specialties—platters of fire-seared Razorback Boar ribs glazed in honeyed spirit herbs, steaming bowls of crystalline Qi-Infused Rice, and a clay jug of the local barley spirit. Xiaojing picked delicately at a bowl of Jade Leaf Greens, savoring the freshness absent in the valley. Lin Feng, however, ate with the focused intensity of a man rediscovering the simple pleasure of good food after months of rations, gnawing meat from bone with relish.
The low murmur of conversations, the clatter of dishes, the occasional bark of laughter—it formed a comforting tapestry of normalcy.
Then, like shards of ice flung into warm water, fragments of a dialogue from the adjacent table pierced their fragile peace:
"You're certain? No room for doubt?" A thin man with a scraggly beard leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rasp. "Then… Lingyue Sect truly hangs by a thread! Juejian won't relent this time!"
"Relent?" Snorted his companion, a thickset man nursing a large mug. His knuckles were scarred, likely from wielding heavy weapons.
"That's a gentle word for what's coming. My cousin serves in the Iron Shield Mercenary band camped near Lingyue's borders. He says the Juejian banners are massing. Not a blockade—an invasion force! The Old Sword himself swore an oath before the Stone of Vengeance at their ancestral hall! If Lingyue doesn't cough up the killer… annihilation is on the table!"
"Annihilation?! Preposterous!" The thin man slammed his hand on the table, rattling the bowls. "Lingyue's Tier 4! A Pill Sect! The backbone of Eastern Xia's alchemical supply! Juejian might be strong, backed by the western mines, but erasing Lingyue? The Verdant Cloud Palace wouldn't stand for it! The Alchemist Alliance would raise hell!"
"Would they?" The thickset man took a slow, deliberate gulp of his ale, wiping foam from his beard. "The Old Sword lost his heir. His only blood. That kind of grief… it breeds madness. Rationality burns away. He's declared this personal. Vowed to wash his son's grave in Lingyue blood if they shield the murderer. As for the Palace? The Alliance?" He gave a derisive snort. "They'll wring their hands, murmur platitudes about balance… but stand against Juejian's full fury? For Lingyue? Feixue Sect out west produces decent pills too. Maybe not Lingyue's top-tier Elixirs, but enough. Convenience trumps loyalty when swords are drawn."
The thin man paled. Silence stretched as he digested this grim calculus. "So… they are abandoned? Lingyue stands alone?"
"Unless a miracle falls from the sky? Yes," the thickset man stated flatly. "And this 'Lin Feng'… who is he? Lingyue claims he vanished in the Poison Mist Valley months ago. Probably dead. But the Old Sword screams it's a lie. Demands his head on a pike. Claims Lingyue shelters him like a treasured son. What could drive a Pill Sect to flirt with destruction over one disciple?"
"Power? Secrets? Blackmail? Who knows?" The thickset man shrugged, the motion heavy with fatalism. "Doesn't matter why. The Old Sword hungers for vengeance. If Lingyue can't produce the corpse… or the killer… he will unleash his legions. He'll paint their mountain red."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" The thin man shook his head slowly, a grimace twisting his features. "War between Tier 4 sects… The tremors will shake the whole Eastern Realm. Innocents will drown in the bloodshed. Who can even predict the fallout?"
The clatter of Lin Feng's chopsticks hitting his plate was unnaturally loud in the sudden silence that gripped their corner of the room. The succulent boar rib lay forgotten. His face, moments ago flushed with warmth and satisfaction, leached of all color, leaving behind a mask of stark, disbelieving horror. Across the table, Xiaojing's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide mirrors reflecting his own shock and dawning terror. The comforting tapestry of normalcy had just been violently ripped apart.