Li Qingyue crouched in the underbrush, breath shallow, hand trembling slightly as she picked up the crude but heavy spear the golden-furred warthog had dropped during its charge. The metal was stained with old blood and etched with crude beast markings. It felt foreign in her grip, but her heart burned with a quiet resolve.
She was not its match. Not yet.
But she could not let her uncle die.
Her gaze flicked to the battlefield. Li Zhen was bleeding, staggering, barely holding on. If she failed, they would both perish. But if she succeeded—if the flower and a beast core could both be brought back—her body would advance by leaps and bounds.
She stood. A moment later, the spear left her hand.
It cut through the wind with a faint whistle before it slammed into the beast's hide. It scraped past its thick fur, barely grazing the skin. The warthog didn't even bleed—but it noticed. Its heavy head swiveled, small golden eyes narrowing on the source. Then it noticed the missing Spirit Flower. It roared.
And charged.
Li Zhen fell out of its vision, no longer a threat. All its fury was now directed at the girl who had dared to steal what it guarded.
Qingyue's heart pounded. She turned and ran deeper into the forest.
The trees here grew taller and denser. Shafts of pale light barely reached the moss-covered ground. Qingyue's boots pressed against roots and rotting leaves as she sprinted. The beast thrashed behind her, crushing shrubs, snapping branches.
Her plan was reckless. Dangerous. But the only one she had.
If she stepped into another spirit beast's territory, the warthog might be drawn into a fight. She could use the chaos to escape. A risky gamble—but better than dying with no options left.
Minutes passed. Her breath grew ragged. Stamina drained from her limbs like sand through fingers. She'd overestimated her speed—and underestimated the beast's endurance.
It was gaining.
She glanced around. The trees were immense, thick enough to hide behind, tall enough to climb. Desperation seized her. She threw herself at the nearest trunk and began to climb, drawing on every ounce of muscle memory drilled into her at the sect.
Up. Higher. She grasped a thick branch and pulled herself onto it, hugging it tight. Her chest heaved with each breath.
Below, the warthog skidded to a stop. It raised its snout, snorted once, and bellowed with rage.
It slammed into the base of the tree.
The whole trunk shuddered. Bark cracked. Qingyue's body jerked, barely holding on. A second strike came, this time stronger. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. One wrong move, and she'd fall.
She reached into her pouch. The flower. If she threw it, maybe it would distract the beast—buy her a moment to leap to another tree or escape.
But just as her hand brushed the silken petals, something shifted beside her.
A branch moved.
Or… not a branch.
From the canopy above, a massive green shape slowly unfurled. Scales glinted beneath filtered sunlight. A forked tongue flicked lazily from a maw large enough to swallow her whole.
A snake.
It had been so still, so perfectly camouflaged against the foliage, that she had mistaken it for part of the tree itself. Coiled around the trunk, the creature's emerald body shimmered with a faint light. A large, smooth purple crystal was embedded in its forehead—like a crown.
A snake… no, a dragon? No legs. It lacked wings, horns. And yet, its presence…
Qingyue had studied spirit beasts deeply in her previous life. She had hunted, battled, observed—she could name dozens by sight. But this… she had never seen anything like it.
Its eyes remained half-lidded, sleepy. Until the warthog roared again, ramming the tree for a third time.
Then those red eyes snapped open.
A cold, ancient fury swirled in them.
With a hiss, the serpent uncoiled, its body sliding like a whisper of death. Its massive tail swung out—faster than lightning.
The warthog never had time to squeal.
With one deafening crack, its body exploded into mist. Blood rained down. The earth was painted red.
Qingyue didn't move. Couldn't. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body trembled, sweat soaking her back.
In her past life, she had reached Core Formation at twenty. She had slain beasts at the Nascent Soul stage, fought rival geniuses in duels of life and death. She had seen danger—lived through it.
But this…
This snake had not used a technique. No spiritual energy surged from its tail. It had not summoned a domain, or flared its presence. That casual swing was a gesture of annoyance, nothing more.
And yet it annihilated a warthog spirit beast in a single blow.
Above Core Formation.
Above Nascent Soul.
It had to be.
Her instincts screamed at her. This creature had long gained intelligence. That meant it could speak. Reason. Or worse—toy with her.
The snake slowly turned.
Its long body shifted until its head hovered level with her branch. Crimson slits locked onto her face. She tried not to breathe.
Then it spoke.
Its voice was a whisper, almost too soft to hear. Yet it seemed to echo in the marrow of her bones.
"What do we have here…"
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