Chapter 26 - Betrayal and Pursuit
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Qin Ting stepped forward, his face darkening as a sneer etched deep lines into his chiseled features—a stark mask of disdain that vowed no mercy.
With a flick of his wrist, as casual as one might dismiss a beggar's plea, a surge of purple energy flared from his palm. It blazed outward, sharp and radiant, like fractured amethyst splintering the sunlight into a jagged prism of menace.
The air hummed with its passage, a low vibration that set teeth on edge, before it struck Mu Qingyi's painstakingly conjured barrier. The shield—a giant wall of light woven with the desperate threads of her will—shattered in an instant.
The sound was delicate yet devastating, a cascade of crystalline fragments tinkling as they dissolved into the wind, leaving behind a mournful echo that lingered like the sigh of a dying star.
Mu Qingyi's gasp tore from her throat, raw and involuntary, as the blast's force hurled her backward. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she crashed to the ground, the gritty soil biting into her palms as she caught herself.
Dust swirled around her in a choking veil, stinging her eyes until tears blurred her vision, mingling with the metallic tang of blood where she'd bitten her lip. Her silver hair spilled loose in wild strands, clinging to her sweat-slicked face. Her hands trembled, her meridians pulsing weakly, drained from the effort she'd poured into that fleeting defense.
Before she could rise or summon another shred of power, a shadow fell over her, vast and suffocating, swallowing the faint light that dared to linger.
The Crimson Pyre Warden loomed closer, his hulking frame a grotesque monument forged from the earth's molten depths. He raised a gnarled hand, the air warping around it, and his voice rumbled forth, a low growl that shook the ground beneath her knees.
"Insolent trash."
A torrent of crimson flames erupted from his palm, twisting midair into a demonic art—a clawed beast sculpted from fire, its maw gaping wide, fangs dripping with searing heat. The air crackled, thick with the stench of brimstone and charred stone, as the inferno hurtled toward her, its intent clear: to obliterate her in a single, merciless strike.
Her breath caught, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird desperate to break free.
'I can't block this—it's over...' Her fingers tightened in the soil, her eyes squeezing shut as she braced for the end, the heat already prickling her skin.
But the end didn't come. At the last heartbeat, Qin Ting's silhouette flickered into existence before her, his movements languid, almost bored, as though stepping into a petty squabble unworthy of his time. With a single, disdainful slash of his hand, a wall of ice surged upward—crystalline and unyielding, its surface shimmering with a frostbitten sheen.
The flaming beast collided with it in a deafening roar, the clash birthing a shockwave that flattened the brittle grass and sent ice shards skittering across the ground like scattered jewels. The demonic flames splintered apart, embers raining down in a harmless cascade, winking out like stars snuffed by dawn.
The air stilled, the Warden's snarl faltering as a flicker of surprise—or perhaps irritation—crossed his molten features.
Qin Ting lowered his hand, the icy glow fading from his fingertips, and a faint smirk played on his lips, sharp and unreadable.
He turned, his shadow falling over Mu Qingyi like a shroud as she knelt, dazed and trembling in the dirt. His eyes glinted with cold amusement, a predator savoring the sight of wounded prey.
"Far too naive and soft-hearted," he mocked, his voice a silken blade, each word dripping with scorn and sinking into her pride like barbs. "You bring shame to your sect, to your father's name. Emotions cloud your judgment when reason should reign. Truly pathetic."
He pivoted smoothly to face the Warden, inclining his head in a gesture of calculated deference, his demeanor shifting seamlessly from cruelty to composure. "My apologies for her actions, Honorable Elder," he said, his tone smooth as polished jade, betraying none of the disdain he'd just unleashed. "Her foolishness is an embarrassment to us all. Do as you will with the boy—she won't interfere again."
Mu Qingyi's breath hitched, her fists clenching in the soil until her knuckles whitened, dirt caking beneath her nails. Humiliation and fury warred within her, a storm brewing behind her wide, glistening eyes—eyes that had once shone with resolve, now clouded with the weight of her failure.
The Warden's molten gaze flicked between them, his snarl softening into a guttural grunt. "Hmph. See that she doesn't!" he rumbled, before turning his attention back to his quarry.
In the distance, Old Man Tie bounded after Ye Qiu's fading streak, his sword gleaming with murderous intent, its faint song slicing through the wind like a promise of retribution.
The crowd encircling the scene—disciples in flowing robes, grizzled elders with weathered faces, and wandering cultivators cloaked in dust and secrets—murmured among themselves, their voices a low hum of shock and intrigue.
"Did you see that? Qin Ting broke her barrier like it was nothing," one whispered, awe threading through his tone as his eyes darted nervously to the future Holy Son.
"He's ruthless—didn't even hesitate to put her in her place," another muttered, an elder nodding in quiet approval.
A third man with a scar snaking across his cheek snorted softly. "She's lucky he stepped in. The Warden would've turned her to ash without a second thought."
Mu Qingyi remained on her knees, her chest heaving, the weight of her shattered resolve pressing down like a mountain carved from her own doubts.
'Brother Ye, how could you do this? How could greed twist your noble heart?' she thought, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips, barely audible over the rustling wind. 'You were never like this...'
Beneath her resignation stirred a deeper, more tangled emotion—remorse, sharp and bitter, cutting through her like a blade forged from her own memories.
Earlier that day, the Crimson Pyre Warden had descended upon their encampment like a wrathful deity, his aura a suffocating shroud that silenced even the boldest among them. His demand had been simple yet searing, his voice a rumble that shook the tents and sent lesser disciples scrambling: "Who stole the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit?"
Ye Qiu had stood among the gathered, his broad shoulders hunched, his usual brash confidence—a fire that had once lit their small sect with hope—replaced by a tense, guilty silence.
He'd refused to confess, even as the Warden's wrath ignited, unleashing a chain of destruction that claimed lives—disciples and elders caught in the crossfire, their screams swallowed by the flames, their faces flashing behind Mu Qingyi's closed eyes.
She understood human weakness, the instinct to falter under such pressure. Yet a shard of disappointment lodged in her heart, cold and unyielding. 'In my mind, Ye Qiu was a man of valor, bold and unyielding—a brother who'd sworn to protect us all. But this time...' Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Qin Ting.
When he'd stepped forward to confront the Warden, his poise and confidence had shone like a beacon—a stark contrast to Ye Qiu's shrinking figure. The difference gnawed at her, a quiet ache she couldn't shake, a whisper of doubt about the path she'd chosen to walk.
Worse still, she had offended him—the future Holy Son of the Xuantian Sect, heir to the greatest faction in the Eastern Wilderness, a man whose name alone could silence a room. She'd challenged his authority in front of the Warden, forcing Qin Ting to intervene on her behalf.
'I owe him my life now,' she realized, the thought bitter as gall, a debt she could neither repay nor escape.
With a soft, almost inaudible sigh, she let her gaze fall to the torn earth beneath her hands, her lips pressed into a thin line as the clamor of the crowd faded into a dull roar.
Meanwhile, Ye Qiu fled like a man possessed, his face twisted with madness, sweat and blood streaking his once-handsome features.
He pushed his cultivation technique to its breaking point, desperation fueling his flight, the meridians in his legs burning as though threaded with molten wire.
Hatred seared through him—hatred for Qin Ting, whose mocking words and unshakable calm had cornered him into this life-or-death gamble.
'That bastard—he planned this, didn't he? To humiliate me, to strip me of everything!' His teeth ground audibly, his mind a churning storm of rage and despair.
Even if he escaped today, the future loomed bleak. His name would be dragged through the mud, reviled by thousands across the Eastern Wilderness. The comrades he'd fought with, the reputation he'd built brick by bloody brick, would crumble to ash.
'I'll kill him,' he vowed silently, his eyes burning with a feral light, pupils dilated with the madness of a cornered beast. 'One day, I'll rip that smug grin off Qin Ting's face and make him beg for a swift death.'
The Crimson Pyre Warden's bellow shook the ground, a roar of rage that fractured the air, his sanity fraying at the edges. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a thin, searing stream of molten lava, its speed blinding as it streaked toward Ye Qiu's distant form, now a mere speck against the horizon.
The glowing thread hissed and spat, leaving a trail of scorched air in its wake, a venomous serpent hunting its prey. The onlookers held their breath, hearts pounding—they could almost see Ye Qiu pierced through, his body erupting in flames, his end written in fire.
But at the last possible moment, Ye Qiu contorted his body in an unnatural twist, his spine bending at an impossible angle—a grotesque dance born of desperation and instinct.
The lava streaked past, missing by a hair's breadth, sizzling as it burrowed into the earth with a hiss of thwarted fury.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, a mix of disbelief and grudging awe. His eyes burned with a crazed light, veins bulging at his temples as he teetered on the edge of collapse. He knew this was it—life or death hinged on this fleeting second.
"Bloodreaver's Vile Prohibition!" he roared, his voice a hoarse, guttural snarl, as though the curse had been ripped from the depths of his soul.
A torrent of crimson burst from his body, drenching him in blood until he resembled a grotesque figure carved from gore, a specter of his former self. The metallic stench filled the air, thick and cloying, as his skin paled, his vitality flickering like a candle in a storm.
His face slackened, eyes rolling briefly before snapping back into focus with a manic gleam.
Yet his speed surged—his body became a streak of blood-red light, the air cracking with sonic booms as he tore through the sky. In an instant, he vanished beyond the horizon, leaving only a faint trail of crimson mist curling in his wake.
The Warden howled in fury, his molten eyes blazing brighter, cracks spreading across his rocky skin like fissures in a crumbling dam. "Impossible!" he snarled.
He, a Great Demon of the Divine Palace Realm, a name feared across the Eastern Wilderness for his ruthless power, was no master of speed—but to think a mere ant from the Divine Wheel Realm could slip through his grasp?
The insult burned hotter than his flames, a wound to his pride that demanded blood. With a thunderous roar, his aura flared to new heights, a wave of heat washing over the crowd, forcing many to stagger back, shielding their faces with trembling hands.
He thrust out a palm, and a colossal hand materialized in the void—hundreds of feet wide, its fingers wreathed in swirling flames and shadow.
It stretched endlessly across the sky, the air warping beneath its weight, a manifestation of wrath given form. It slammed down toward the fleeing Ye Qiu with devastating force, the ground trembling as though the plateau itself groaned in fear.
"Die, you filth!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the heavens, abandoning all restraint. He'd held back earlier, wary of destroying the priceless fruit Ye Qiu carried. But now, with escape within the thief's reach, pride outweighed pragmatism.
He would erase Ye Qiu entirely—flesh, soul, and all. The dignity of a Divine Palace Realm powerhouse demanded no less.
The void hand struck true. Ye Qiu's body jolted mid-flight, his flesh splitting apart, bursting into a cloud of blood mist that sprayed across the sky like a grotesque painting.
The crowd gasped, some shielding their eyes, others leaning forward in morbid fascination, their breaths held in collective dread. Yet, impossibly, his momentum didn't falter. The crimson haze streaked onward, a faint, defiant glimmer within it—a spark of will that refused to gutter out—vanishing into the distant sky.
The Crimson Pyre Warden stood frozen, his chest heaving with a mix of rage and disbelief, steam rising from his cracked skin. An ant from the Divine Wheel Realm had escaped him? Him?!
His roar shook the heavens as he gave chase, tearing after Ye Qiu's trail, his massive form blurring into a streak of fire and shadow. Even as he vanished, the air thrummed with his unyielding, wrathful cry, a promise of retribution that lingered like a storm brewing on the horizon, dark and inevitable.
The crowd stood stunned, the wind whistling through the sudden stillness, a hollow sound that mirrored the void left in their hearts.
Ye Qiu... had survived?
From the distance came the anguished voice of Old Man Tie, who stumbled back into the encampment, his sword still clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
"That Ye Qiu must be gravely wounded! He won't get far!" he shouted, his voice splintering with grief and rage. Tears streaked his weathered face, mourning his fallen grandson, slain in the Warden's brutal rampage. "I'll carve him to pieces—spill his blood as an offering to my grandson's spirit in the heavens!"
The onlookers snapped awake, their shouts rising in a furious chorus that drowned out the wind.
"We'll find Ye Qiu at all costs! He dies today!" cried a burly man, his fists clenched, tears cutting paths through the soot staining his face—grief for a brother lost to the Demon's carnage.
"Avenge our fallen brothers and sisters!" echoed a woman, her voice shrill with anguish, her sword raised high, its tip gleaming with the promise of vengeance.
But not all were driven by sorrow. Others, sharper and more calculating, saw opportunity hidden in all this.
Ye Qiu, a mere Divine Wheel cultivator, had evaded a Divine Palace powerhouse—an impossibility that whispered of hidden treasures, of secrets that defied the natural order. Eyes glinted with greed, lips curling into sly smiles.
Several figures exchanged knowing glances and slipped away quietly, melting into the crowd's frenzy. Even the disciples of the holy lands, their pristine robes a stark contrast to the blood-soaked earth, dispersed with veiled intentions, their whispers lost to the clamor.
Nie You, Qin Ting's loyal attendant, approached with measured steps, his dark robes pristine despite the chaos. He bowed solemnly, his voice steady but tinged with shame as he spoke. "Young Master, I regret to inform you that Ye Qiu managed to elude us. We lost him."
Qin Ting's lips curved into a faint, untroubled smile, his eyes half-lidded with a calm that bordered on eerie, a stillness that belied the trap he'd orchestrated. He waved a hand dismissively, the gesture almost languid, as though brushing away an inconsequential nuisance.
"No matter," he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement, a predator savoring the hunt's opening move. "Establish a perimeter outside the Lian Yun Mountains and kill anyone who tries to infiltrate our camp. Many will seek to steal from our supplies in the confusion that follows."
"Yes, my lord!" Nie You replied, his voice firm as he marched off, his steps purposeful, a soldier honed by years of unquestioning loyalty.
Qin Ting's thoughts shifted, a quiet thrill stirring within him, a ripple beneath the surface of his icy composure. 'He's a Child of Destiny—how could he fall so easily? This was a mere test, a casual prod at the power of the heavens themselves. Well within my calculations...'
Just then, a chime rang in his mind, crisp and clear, like the tolling of a celestial bell—a sound only he could hear, a gift from the system that bound him.
[You have exposed Ye Qiu, resulting in his fugitive status and severe injury. Host has been rewarded with 95,000 Villain Points. Moreover, you have successfully plundered 20 Fortune Points from the Protagonist.]
His heart leapt, a rush of elation flooding his veins, though his expression remained impassive, a mask of cool indifference honed by years of discipline. Fortune Points—the elusive prize he coveted above all else, the very essence of destiny itself, snatched from Ye Qiu's grasp like a thief plucking a jewel from a crown.
'Finally,' he thought, his smirk deepening ever so slightly, a crack in the facade that hinted at the hunger beneath. 'The heavens may favor him, but I'll carve my own path through their design—one paved with his ruin.'
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where Ye Qiu had vanished, a speck of crimson swallowed by the endless sky.
"Run all you like, little rat," he murmured to himself, his voice a whisper carried away by the wind. "The game's only just begun."