The chamber was a cathedral of shadow and splendor, its jade-inlaid walls shimmering faintly under the glow of crystalline orbs—floating lanterns pulsing like captured stars. Qin Ting reclined on his ebony throne, its carved serpents coiling around the armrests, poised as if to strike.
Before him hovered the Villain System's holographic interface, a lattice of blue light visible only to him, a secret bound to his soul since he transmigrated into this world. Its soft hum broke the silence, casting flickering shadows across his sharp features.
The memory of his latest triumph lingered like the aftertaste of fine wine. Ye Qiu, once a persistent thorn, now a broken wretch, had crumbled under Qin Ting's schemes, exposed as a traitor before the Qianyuan Sect.
The image of Ye Qiu's bloodied form, fleeing in despair, sparked satisfaction in Qin Ting's chest. That victory had earned him 95,000 Villain Points, bringing his total to an imposing 200,000.
'Another milestone carved from my enemies' blood,' he mused, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the throne's armrest. 'And another chance to bend luck to my will.'
The Wheel of Fate beckoned, its promise of power irresistible. With a thought, he summoned it. The air shimmered, and a spectral prize wheel appeared, its edges lined with arcane runes that pulsed like veins of light.
The system's voice—cool, mechanical, impartial—echoed in his mind: [The Host's accumulated Villain Points have reached 200,000. A draw of the Wheel of Fate has been awarded. Would you like to proceed with the draw now?]
Qin Ting's lips curved into a predatory smirk. "Yes. Spin it," he commanded, his voice smooth yet unyielding, like a blade sheathed in silk.
The wheel's pointer sprang to life, spinning with a whir that cut through the chamber's stillness. Colors blurred into a hypnotic vortex—crimson like spilled blood, gold like molten ambition, violet like a bruised sky. Each tick tightened the coil of anticipation in his chest, a rare thrill for a man who had mastered control. Time stretched, an eternity compressed into seconds, until the pointer slowed and settled.
[Congratulations to the Host for obtaining the legendary item: Dreamwraith Amulet,] the system announced, its voice a ripple across his consciousness.
"Oh?" Qin Ting's eyebrow arched, curiosity flaring in his obsidian eyes. He leaned forward, the silk of his purple robe whispering against the throne, and summoned the item's description with a flick of his wrist. The holographic text unfurled, shimmering like frost on glass.
[Dreamwraith Amulet: When driven into a target and activated, this amulet marks them, allowing you to cloud their mind and sow confusion for a set duration, regardless of the target's power level.]
His breath caught for a moment before he regained composure. 'This is no mere trinket,' he thought, tracing the air where the text hovered. 'This is a weapon for gods.' Possibilities flooded his mind—enemies undone by fractured thoughts, allies turned unwitting pawns, battles won without a blade drawn. In a lesser man's hands, it might be a curiosity. In his, it was a key to dominion.
As the young master of the Qin Family and a True Disciple of the Xuantian Sect, Qin Ting had no shortage of treasures. His vault brimmed with legendary artifacts: swords weeping enchantments, elixirs glowing like starlight, talismans that bent nature's laws.
Most system rewards paled beside his inheritance, but the rarest prizes—like Fortune Points that could rewrite fate or relics like the Dreamwraith Amulet and the Veiled Scroll Guard—stood apart, transcending this world's opulence.
He summoned the amulet. Mist coiled in his palm, and the talisman took shape: a palm-sized disc of obsidian and silver, etched with spiraling glyphs that pulsed with an otherworldly rhythm. As his fingers closed around it, a surge of cold, forbidden power coursed through him, intoxicating. The amulet seemed to whisper, promising chaos and control.
'Perfect,' he thought, his lips twisting into a sneer both calculating and cruel. 'I see the board shifting. Ye Qiu… and perhaps others. This will be your undoing.'
A sharp knock at the chamber door broke his reverie. "Young Master," came a voice like gravel—Nie You, his loyal servant, whose devotion was forged in steel. "The scouts report unrest in the Blazing Valley. Shall I investigate?"
Qin Ting slipped the amulet into his sleeve, its weight a secret against his skin. "Not yet," he replied, his tone cool and measured, a king addressing a knight. "I'll handle it in time. For now, ensure the men are ready for my command."
Nie You bowed, his armored silhouette clanking faintly in the dim light, and withdrew silently. Qin Ting's gaze lingered on the door as it closed, the echo of the general's steps fading.
'Patience, Nie You,' he thought. 'The game is just beginning—and I hold the winning piece.'
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Far from Qin Ting's sanctum, a hidden valley nestled within the Lian Yun Mountain Range simmered with secrets. The air was heavy with the scent of moss and a faint metallic tang of minerals, pulsing beneath the rustling of ancient trees. Luminescent vines clung to the cliffs, their green glow casting an eerie light across jagged stone. Ye Qiu stood at the valley's heart, his lean frame tense, eyes locked on the figure before him.
Jiang Zhongbai, the eldest True Disciple of the Xuantian Sect, loomed like a specter in white robes, his dark hair catching the vines' ethereal glow like threads of moonlight. Once the sect's prime candidate for Holy Son, Zhongbai carried an air of faded glory, his pride scarred by betrayal yet sharpened into resolve.
"Enough with the mystery, Zhongbai," Ye Qiu snapped, his voice slicing through the stillness. "I need answers. Why did you save me? Until I know your true intentions, I refuse to follow you. So speak, or I'll take my chances out there alone."
Jiang Zhongbai's lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile, amusement glinting in his storm-gray eyes. 'No titles, no deference—just my name on his tongue,' he thought, stifling a chuckle.
"Fair enough," he said, his voice smooth as river-worn stone. "I pulled you from death's jaws because we share a common shadow. You know the saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And I think you know who I mean."
"A common enemy…" Ye Qiu murmured, his brow furrowing as he weighed the words, sharp and heavy like a blade.
Then it hit—'Qin Ting.' The name burned through his chest, smoldering like a fresh coal. The realization fanned his anger into a blaze. Even Ye Qiu had heard whispers of Zhongbai's fall. Once the Xuantian Sect's golden heir, Zhongbai's duels with Qin Ting had been legendary, shaking the training grounds.
But Qin Ting's rise was relentless, eroding Zhongbai's standing. A month ago, Qin Ting had broken through to the Divine Spirit Realm, his potential soaring beyond the elders' predictions. Zhongbai's allies among the sect's leadership had either bowed to the Qin Family or retreated, leaving him a king without a court.
'He's desperate,' Ye Qiu thought, studying Zhongbai's composed facade. 'But to ally with me—an outsider, a fugitive—he's either mad or a genius.'
For Zhongbai, the stakes were a tightening noose. Qin Ting's shadow grew longer each year, suffocating his ambitions. Worse were the rumors: Emperor Qin, the family patriarch, neared the end of a decade-long seclusion. If that titan emerged—his power said to rival the heavens—Zhongbai's hopes of claiming the Holy Son's mantle would vanish.
'This is my last throw of the dice,' he thought grimly, his gaze settling on Ye Qiu.
Ye Qiu's cultivation, at the Divine Wheel Realm, was modest compared to Zhongbai's Divine Platform Realm, but his survival spoke louder than power. He'd escaped the Crimson Pyre Warden, a Demon cultivator rivaling the Divine Palace Realm, and evaded Nie You, the Qin Family's butcher-general. Zhongbai wouldn't wager on himself escaping such odds.
With a sly smile, he leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial murmur. "So, what do you say, Ye Qiu? Shall we join hands and drag Qin Ting from his throne?"
The name Qin Ting conjured a vision—piercing eyes, a mocking grin, the smug certainty of an undefeated man. Rage surged in Ye Qiu, burning his restraint to ash.
"We have a deal," he declared, his voice ringing with resolve that echoed off the valley walls.
Jiang Zhongbai clasped his hands behind his back, satisfaction flickering in his gaze. "Good," he said softly. "Then let's begin. The Blazing Valley stirs—something ancient awakens there. We'll use it to lure him out."
Ye Qiu nodded, his fists clenching until his knuckles whitened. 'Qin Ting, your time is running out,' he vowed silently. 'I'll make you suffer for everything you've stolen.'
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Days later, Qin Ting lounged in his chamber, the Dreamwraith Amulet resting on a velvet cushion, its glyphs catching the firelight. The room was a fortress of luxury—silk tapestries of the Qin Family's conquests, a jade floor polished to mirror the stars—but a sudden tremor snapped him alert.
He rose with a panther's grace, his robe swirling as he crossed to the balcony overlooking the Xuantian Sect's encampment. In the distance, toward the Blazing Valley, the night sky blazed.
Flames erupted like a dragon's roar, painting the horizon crimson. A bellow shook the earth, and an immense underground palace breached the surface—its spires jagged, gleaming with eerie light. The air thrummed with ancient power, setting Qin Ting's blood alight. Nie You appeared at his side, silent as a shadow, his black robes swallowing the brazier's glow.
He knelt, bowing with a soldier's reverence. "Young Master, our scouts report the Strange Flame is about to emerge!"
Qin Ting's eyes narrowed, avarice flaring within them. "The Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame," he murmured, the name pulled from forbidden tomes—a primal force said to forge or raze empires. "Assemble the expedition party. We depart at once."
"Yes, Young Master," Nie You replied, rising with precision and vanishing into the night. Qin Ting's gaze returned to the rising palace, its silhouette a challenge against the sky.
He slipped the Dreamwraith Amulet into his palm, its cold surface tingling like a promise. 'The Earth Emperor's Flame will be mine,' he vowed silently. 'And Ye Qiu… I sense your hand in this, skulking like a rat. This time, I'll bury you so deep the heavens won't find you.'
The wheel of fate had turned—and Qin Ting meant to claim every prize.