Han Shuo's heart pounded like a war drum as he sprinted through the moonlit graveyard. Behind him, the tall, powerfully built swordsman Eric closed in fast—dark-green fighting aura flaring along his blade, every stride making the thick muscles of his thighs and broad chest strain against his blood-splattered tunic. The man was a masterpiece of raw masculine power: sharp jaw clenched in focus, sweat glistening along the deep cut of his collarbone, arms corded with veins that spoke of years spent dominating battlefields.
*Fuck… that body. One day I'll have him pinning me down, that massive straight cock stretching my ass open while he growls my name and loses control,* Han Shuo thought, dark heat flaring low in his belly even as he ran for his life.
The demonic yuan inside him surged faster than ever, flooding his legs with unnatural strength. He twisted left and right through the familiar maze of broken graves and bone piles, shaking Eric by a widening gap.
"Eh?!" Eric's deep voice rang out in surprise. The handsome swordsman hadn't expected an errand slave to move like this. His refined features hardened; he snatched up several heavy stones mid-stride and hurled them with precise, lethal force.
Han Shuo felt the impacts slam into the backs of his knees. Pain exploded, but the demonic yuan immediately wrapped around it, numbing the worst of it. He stumbled, face-planting hard into the dirt.
"Young man… my apologies," Eric called, voice almost regretful as he raised his longsword. A blazing orb of dark-green fighting aura gathered at the tip.
Han Shuo's mind sharpened to crystal clarity. He slammed both palms and feet into the ground and rolled desperately to the left just as the orb crashed down. The ground where he had lain shattered like a broken chessboard—deep, clean cracks radiating outward. Had he been a second slower, he would have been torn apart.
"I really didn't see anything! Don't kill me!" Han Shuo cried, scrambling up with a face full of terror while his eyes drank in the way Eric's powerful shoulders flexed, the way the man's sweat-slicked chest rose and fell.
Eric shrugged, almost apologetic. "Young man, you saw something you shouldn't have. I'm sorry… but I have to kill you."
He lunged.
Han Shuo dodged frantically, but Eric was too fast. The senior swordsman blurred behind him in a gust of wind and drove the hilt of his sword into Han Shuo's back. Dark-green fighting aura exploded into his body like a hammer.
Han Shuo flew forward and slammed face-first into the dirt again. White-hot pain ripped through his spine, but the demonic yuan roared to life, wrapping around the invading energy like a starving beast. The foreign aura began dissolving strand by strand, nourishing his own power.
*So strong…* Han Shuo thought through the agony, a twisted, hungry smile forming even as blood trickled from his mouth. *This kind of straight, dominant man will feel incredible when he finally pins me down and fucks my ass senseless.*
Eric paused, frowning. "Whew… why does it feel like I just lost a bit of my fighting aura? Must be exhaustion." He shook his head, then grabbed Han Shuo by the back of his robe and tossed him carelessly into a nearby broken grave.
Han Shuo lay motionless, pretending to be dead. The pain in his back was excruciating, but the demonic yuan was already converting Eric's aura, making him stronger with every heartbeat.
Little Skull, sensing danger from its hiding spot, started to climb out. Han Shuo sent a razor-sharp mental command: *Stay hidden.* The skeleton froze instantly.
Eric lingered only a moment longer, then vanished back the way he had come.
Nearly an hour passed before Han Shuo dared to move. His back was a bloody mess, but the demonic yuan had already stopped the bleeding and begun knitting the damage. Gritting his teeth, he climbed out, cursing Eric and Duke under his breath.
He staggered back to where Dylan had fallen. The body was gone—probably tossed into another grave. But the soft soil where Dylan had buried something still looked disturbed.
Han Shuo dug quickly. His fingers closed around a heavy gray handbag. Inside: three gold coins, twelve silver, fifty-six copper—and a small, dark-green jade box with a matching key.
"I'm rich…" Han Shuo whispered, eyes gleaming. The money alone would keep him fed for years. But the jade box pulsed with a cold, sinister aura that made his demonic yuan stir with interest.
He stuffed everything back into the bag, hid it under his coarse shirt, and limped toward the warehouse with Little Skull trailing silently behind.
Back in the safety of his tiny room, Han Shuo let Little Skull clean and bandage his wounds. The pain faded faster than it should have. He collapsed onto the bed, exhausted but exhilarated.
In the darkness, a dark, possessive smile curved his lips.
*Eric… that powerful, straight-laced swordsman with a body built for dominating. One day soon I'll make you chase me for an entirely different reason. I'll have you pinning me down, that thick cock buried deep in my ass while you lose control and fuck me senseless.*
Sleep claimed him quickly, but the hunger in his dreams only grew stronger.