Wen Shan's figure melted into the shadows, his gaze piercing through the haze of smoke toward the faint blue barrier in the distance.
Beyond the shimmering curtain, a black-robed demonic cultivator unleashed frenzied strikes. Each blow sent violent ripples racing across the shield, and already, cracks spread like spiderwebs across its surface—it was on the verge of collapse.
The man was no weakling. His cultivation had reached the fifth layer of Qi Refining, his aura thick with blood energy, and his technique resembled the Blood Feast Sutra. Yet his garb was unfamiliar, different from the disciples of the Grand Dao Demonic Sect. His presence, too, did not align with the Valley of Blood Feast.
Clearly, he was not one of them.
Wen Shan's brows furrowed, three different paths taking shape in his mind.
The first choice: Maintain his disguise as a demonic sect disciple, step forward, and command the attacker to retreat in the name of the "Holy Sect." Afterward, he could reveal his "righteous" identity to those inside the mansion, persuading them to lower the barrier and allow him entry. This was the safest course—no blood spilled, no risk taken. But… its chances of success were slim. The people inside were like frightened birds, unlikely to trust a sudden "savior." If they mistook him for a trickster allied with the demonic cultivator, he would lose both their time and their trust.
The second choice: Still drive away the attacker under his false identity, but then personally shatter the barrier. To the mortals inside, he would appear no different than the marauder they had just feared. He could then coerce them into following him, ensuring their survival until he explained the truth later. This method left little room for error, but if complications arose beyond his control, disaster might follow.
The third choice: Abandon words entirely and become a predator among predators. While the demonic cultivator was focused on the barrier, Wen Shan could launch a sudden, ruthless strike. If he killed the man outright, all the better. If not, he would still make it clear: These mortals are mine.
It was the most dangerous choice—but also the most fitting for a disciple of the demonic sect.
After all, when a true child of the Grand Dao Demonic Sect set eyes upon prey, would he waste time speaking? No. He would simply take.
The decision came swiftly. Wen Shan did not hesitate.
In the next heartbeat, he shot from the shadows like an arrow loosed from the string!
The demonic cultivator had no inkling of the storm about to descend. His savage grin widened as the barrier shuddered under his blows, riddled with fractures, ready to collapse.
But then—instinct screamed. A wave of killing intent surged at his back.
"Who!?" he roared, abandoning the barrier and twisting his body at an unnatural angle.
Boom!
A torrent of blood and ghostly qi slammed past, missing him by a hair. Instead, it crashed directly into the weakened barrier. The blue light keened in protest before shattering apart with a thunderous explosion.
The cultivator staggered backward, blood churning from the backlash. Though he had avoided death, he barely steadied himself before turning, fury igniting his eyes.
What he saw made him pause.
His assailant… was only at the third layer of Qi Refining.
At first stunned, he then erupted in rage.
"Courting death! This prey was mine, and you dare snatch food from my jaws?!"
A long, bone-white saber materialized in his hands. Without hesitation, he swung it down at Wen Shan's head.
But Wen Shan neither flinched nor retreated. Instead, arrogance lit his face—wild, domineering, even more overbearing than his foe.
"I am Wen Shan of the Grand Dao Demonic Sect, disciple of the Valley of Blood Feast!" His voice rang cold and imperious. "Hand over these mortals obediently so I may report to the Valley Master. Otherwise… I'll swallow you whole and then settle matters afterward!"
The man froze mid-strike.
The name struck him like thunder. The Grand Dao Demonic Sect.
That dreaded name could not be ignored. He scrutinized Wen Shan—his suffocating aura of blood, his disdainful, predatory demeanor—it all matched the infamous tales.
"You said… the Valley Master's orders… could it be…"
"Exactly." Wen Shan cut him off, his tone sharp and impatient. "These mortals are hand-picked by the Valley Master for the next initiation trial. Every one of them fits the requirements. What? Do you have a problem with that?"
The words were flawless.
The black-robed cultivator's face twisted with conflict. To yield meant abandoning a feast already within reach. But to defy the Grand Dao Demonic Sect… that was suicide.
Wen Shan pressed the blade deeper. His tone turned colder, dripping with threat. "You should know how much the Valley Master values this. If I return empty-handed, I will suffer punishment—but you… you will not survive at all."
The bone saber trembled in the man's hands.
Then, at last, with eyes burning with venom, he lowered it. Wordless, he spun on his heel and streaked away into the night sky.
Only then did Wen Shan release the breath he had been holding.
Without pause, he turned and strode toward the mansion.
Ordinary mortals, faced with such a terrifying "demonic cultivator," should have been struck with paralyzing fear, submitting to his will without resistance.
But as Wen Shan stepped into the courtyard, something unexpected occurred.
From the crowd, a short-haired woman with sharp, heroic features drew a dagger from her waist. Before anyone could react, she lifted it to her pale throat and slashed!
"Miss!"
"Don't do it, Miss!"
The servants screamed, rushing forward—but her motion was too swift, too resolute.
In the blink of an eye, the blade traced her neck.
Yet no blood spilled. Not even a scratch remained. Only a cool, numbing sensation lingered on her skin.
Confused, she stared at the dagger in her hand, uncertain why her strike had failed.
At that moment, Wen Shan's voice, laced with mocking amusement, whispered at her ear.
"Interesting."
He stepped closer, looking down at her with a sly curve to his lips.
"Were it not for my intervention, you'd be dead. Tell me—do you think your death would end this? No. It would only condemn them." His hand swept toward the frightened servants. "If you die, I swear, I will slaughter every last one of them."
"But if you obey me… not a hair on their heads will be touched. What will it be?"
The woman's slender body trembled violently. Slowly, she lifted her cold eyes to Wen Shan, as though trying to pierce through his façade. But after a long silence, her shoulders sank. She lowered her hand and gave a faint nod.
The servants cried out desperately.
"Miss! Don't agree to him!"
"We'd rather die than submit to a demon!"
"Miss, run! We'll hold him off!"
Their voices grated on Wen Shan's nerves. He opened his mouth to silence them—but the woman beat him to it.
Her eyes flashed with resolve. She spun to her followers and barked:
"Enough! From this moment on, you will obey this Immortal Master's commands without question!"
Though resentment burned in their hearts, her authority was absolute. One by one, they bowed their heads in bitter silence.
Wen Shan exhaled in relief.
Counting those he had already rescued, plus this group, he now had seventy to eighty mortals under his charge. Just twenty more, and he would fulfill his master's task.
If… he could bring them all safely back to the mansion he had secured.
But that was far from certain.
Indeed, he had barely led the group down a ruined street when he encountered another.
At the far end stood not a demonic cultivator—but a fellow student.
The very one who had first rushed from the room, clad in golden armor, only to fail in protecting the mortals entrusted to him.