Chapter 397: Big Senior Brother, Please Noooo!
“Did you find those demon cultivator camps?”
The pale-faced guy thumped the table excitedly—poor guy, he’s been having a rough patch lately. Those righteous guys are getting more aggressive every day. Not only are they trying to corral the other demon cultivators, but just keeping their own camp’s numbers steady is a challenge. It’s like herding cats—if the cats were all wielding magic swords and evil energy.
Fortunately, these righteous folks are also fighting another demon cult gang, splitting their forces to handle the new threat. Less pressure for our hero, no doubt.
“Yeah, I went through hell and back to escape from there,” the communication demon cultivator nodded hurriedly. Because, you know, the more intense the fight, the more fun it is to stuff your pockets with loot!
“Good job. Go pick three items from the warehouse—anything you like,” the pale guy said, waving dismissively.
“Thanks, Senior Brother!”
With that, the demon cultivator practically sprinted out, eager to snag a spiritual artifact—something shiny, maybe, to brag about later.
Following Big Senior Brother’s advice, he’s definitely on the right track. If it were other demon cultivators, they’d never be this generous!
After the demon cultivator departs, the pale-faced man licks his lips, holding back a grin. Ever since the demon cultivator numbers started dwindling, he’s been holding his own until a good opportunity arises. When the demon camp falls, he’ll finally get to have some fun—literally.
And he’s already done his homework: the camp isn’t a trap. No way; he’s checked—absolutely no traps. Why? Well, inside are people cultivating demonic arts, surrounded by demon energy, and being chased by righteous soldiers. He’s seen one cut in half, with the head flying off like a magic frisbee. It was a glorious mess. Plus, even in danger, these demon cultivators still fight among themselves—fighting to the death. That’s something righteous cultivators could never pull off.
“Time to prepare for the attack,” he said, licking his lips again, eyes shining with a hint of bloodthirsty red.
—
“Whoa, finally finished setting up this array before the trial card expires. Damn, this array’s more troublesome than I thought. Speaking of which, did that demon cultivator leak the camp’s location?”
Bai Feng stands in a crowd of ‘demon cultivators’—the quotation marks are for style, not history class. The demon cultivators don’t seem to notice him, lost in their busywork.
He slowly approaches a cautious demon cultivator, pulls out his sword, and stabs it straight to that guy’s heart—metaphorically, of course. The guy’s brow furrows, reaching towards his own wound, yet his face shows confusion. He feels a prick in his chest but no pain. Objectively, he’s dead—the light goes out.
Bai Feng then pulls out tools and begins making a flesh-and-blood puppet in front of the others. Meanwhile, the other demon cultivators are completely oblivious—they come and go, occasionally carrying materials over to Bai Feng’s growing pile of parts, then forget about it and keep working.
Before long, a cautious demon cultivator takes his place again, busy like the rest. The entire camp is a maze of blood and flesh puppets—more convincing than a horror movie. Word gets out, attracting some demon cultivators who—foolishly—think it’s a real camp. They become part of the fake “stronghold.” Classic bait-and-switch.
Bai Feng gazes at this blood puppet paradise, feeling a bit guilty—almost like a villain from a bad novel. If righteous cultivators saw this, they’d call him evil incarnate. He shakes his head, stopping his wild thoughts.
All is ready. Now just waiting for the immortal finger-traced cultivator to show up and get smacked… I mean, to join the fun.
—
“Such dense demon energy.”
The pale man gazes from afar at the camp, gulping nervously. Seeing so many demon cultivators and their demonic crystals, he’s about to lose control.
No way he can kill them all—he still needs their help fighting righteous cultivators!
He takes a deep breath, then leads his squadron skimming toward the camp.
In no time, he arrives overhead, looking down at the crowd, saliva drip-drip-dripping uncontrollably.
Fighting temptation, he restrains himself, reaching out and asking a demon cultivator below, “Who’s the boss here?”
The demon cultivator’s face shows panic. “I—I don’t know! I’ve never seen him!”
The pale guy frowns slightly. He’s thinking about how to subdue these demon cultivators. He doesn’t want a fight, so instead, he lowers his head to their level:
“Follow such a sneaky guy? No wonder you’re all suffering. But it’s okay, I’ve arrived! I can lead you to defeat that shameless righteous gang. Come, join me as my little brother!”
The demon cultivators stare blankly. Did he just call himself their savior? Or a villain? Hard to say.
His face shows some confusion—he expected these stubborn demons to curse and attack him outright. Maybe even punch him. He’d enjoy capturing a few as trophies. But they? They just look at him, indifferent.
Normally, he’d notice something’s off, but thanks to his hunger, most of his mind’s occupied with devouring them. That last sliver of rationality is just hanging by a thread.
Suddenly, his little follower beside him whispers nervously, “Master, something’s off.”
He notices the demon cultivators’ eyes—they look dead, soulless like corpses. A bad feeling creeps in.
Gobbling that sense, he realizes it: it’s a trap. Run!
As he utters this, the world suddenly changes color.
With the realm of Refinement Stage at his beck and call, using spiritual energy to influence the environment, Bai Feng’s array is no different—except worse.
The pale man freezes not for fleeing, but for unleashing a surge of demon energy, pulling his subordinate into the fray, clutching a demon cultist from the camp tightly.
Next moment, those so-called demon cultivators ignite in flames, instantly turned to ash—and the one in his grasp is vaporized too. If he’d hesitated even a second longer, the fire might have engulfed him.
“Damn it!”
He curses, reaching for his subordinate.
“Senior Brother?” the frightened disciple stammers.
But Bai Feng’s grip is too tight. As the guy’s half swallowed, he screams, “Senior Brother, nooo!”
Bai Feng’s grip remains firm, almost as if he’s eating the kid, dividing his body in a moment.
After swallowing one demon cultivator, he turns again to the others, planning to forge them into power-fueling materials and then escape—until a sudden flash of sword Qi slices him apart from the demon cultivators.
He wastes no time, charging *through* the sword energy to grab more demon cultivators, even as his flesh is torn apart and only his pitch-black bones remain—no sense in stopping now.
But he’s just a step late. Nearly instantaneously, those demon cultivators are swallowed by the land below. The blood he’s hidden in their bodies begins vanishing one by one.
Meanwhile, underground, Zuo Qiu’s burning flames and sparking thunder deal with the demon cultivators trapped beneath the array.
As the last drop of blood vanishes, the angry fire in Bai Feng’s heart grows louder, yet his expression suddenly calms. He looks up at the empty sky.
“I sense your aura. Trying to steal my finger with such tricks? Dream on!”
