Chapter 8 - Villain System's Judgement
Qin Ting withheld a finishing strike after his initial blow left Elder Zhang gravely wounded. The elder sprawled across the cracked stone floor, his once-imposing figure reduced to a crumpled heap. After all, Elder Zhang held the esteemed title of Sect Elder—and more specifically, the Elder of Discipline.
To end his life would cross a line, an insult too brazen even for Qin Ting's audacity. Though fearless of repercussions, he preferred to sidestep the inevitable tangle of sect politics that would follow.
Besides, the damage was done. Qin Ting's Divine Raging Thunder Secret Technique had ravaged Elder Zhang's internal meridians, leaving them in tatters. Lightning still flickered faintly in the air, a testament to the strike's ferocity. Whether the old man could cling to life, let alone reclaim his shattered cultivation, was a gamble against fate—and not one Qin Ting cared to wager on.
'Who holds more value?' Qin Ting mused to himself. 'A pathetic geezer with no future, or an eighteen-year-old prodigy already standing in the Divine Spirit Realm? The answer's obvious.' Confidence surged within him, bolstering his sense of untouchability. The sect would shield him; he was certain of it.
He cast a sidelong glance at the fallen elder, calculating the aftermath. Even if Elder Zhang somehow mended his Dao Foundation—a feat Qin Ting deemed unlikely—the old man's days as Elder of Discipline were numbered.
Stripped of his title, his influence would crumble. And a man like Zhang, who had trampled over countless others during his tenure, would find no shortage of enemies eager to settle scores. Qin Ting smirked faintly. Some might even move against the elder just to curry favor with him.
Elder Zhang, sprawled in the dirt, seemed to grasp this grim reality as well. His face, pale as a shroud, bore the weight of defeat. Blood dribbled from his lips with each ragged cough, staining the ground beneath him.
Too weak to rise on his own, he waved a trembling hand, summoning a few disciples forward. They hoisted him up alongside the unconscious Song Changge, their faces blank. Without a word—not even a flicker of defiance—Zhang allowed himself to be carried toward the medical ward, his silence heavy, like that of a man already resigned to his grave.
The onlookers watched him go, their gazes cold and unfeeling. No one spared a shred of pity for the disheveled figure, taken away in disgrace. The crowd wasn't blind; they'd witnessed Elder Zhang's earlier provocations against Qin Ting—his petty schemes and blatant hostility. That he'd fallen so low now seemed only fitting. Poetic, even.
Among the spectators, a few elders and disciples who'd long chafed under Zhang's iron rule exchanged furtive glances. Their minds churned with possibilities. Revenge, once a distant dream, now glimmered within reach.
Suddenly, a jolt surged through Qin Ting's mind, sharp and electric, accompanied by a clear, resonant "ding" that echoed in the depths of his consciousness. A voice followed—flat, mechanical, devoid of warmth or inflection—the unmistakable tone of the system.
[Host behavior detected: Crippled a fellow True Disciple and a Sect Elder. Reward: 25,000 Villain Points for villainous conduct, as deemed by the system.]
A wave of exhilaration crashed over Qin Ting, his lips twitching into a faint, incredulous grin. He hadn't anticipated this—such a windfall from a single act!
True, he'd had his reasons for leaving Song Changge and Elder Zhang broken and bleeding in his wake, but the system didn't care for justifications. To it, maiming a senior brother and an elder was the epitome of villainy—and apparently, a profitable one.
'This is too perfect,' he thought, delight bubbling within him. 'Not only do I gain from settling scores, but I'm showered with Villain Points too. Why wouldn't I keep this up?'
As Qin Ting savored the revelation, the murmur of the crowd swelled around him. Disciples and onlookers pressed closer, their voices a chorus of awe and reverence. They bowed low, heads dipped in respect, their eyes gleaming with admiration. Whispers rippled through the throng—many openly declared that the coveted title of Holy Son of the Xuantian Sect belonged to none other than Qin Ting.
Even the elders, typically aloof and stingy with their praise, now wore broad, approving smiles. Their words dripped with flattery, lauding his unparalleled talent, though the subtext was clear: in their eyes, the sect's future rested squarely on his shoulders.
Qin Ting met their adulation with a smile of his own—confident, radiant, yet tinged with an effortless supremacy that set him apart. He laughed lightly, exchanging jests with the crowd, his poise unshakable, as though he were a deity gracing mortals with his presence. The disciples drank it in, their reverence bordering on fanaticism. To them, standing in his shadow was an honor, a privilege they'd recount for years to come.
The spell broke as a handful of True Disciples approached, their steps measured and deliberate. Sensing the shift, the crowd dispersed with practiced tact, offering quick bows before retreating into the distance.
Luo Yuan's laughter rolled through the crisp mountain air like thunder unfurling across a clear sky, hearty and unrestrained, a perfect echo of the man's larger-than-life presence. "Junior Brother Qin, you've truly surpassed all expectations this time! After today's performance, I'm thoroughly convinced of your prowess!"
Beside him, Feng Qianhan's lips curved into a smile, but the expression was a fragile thing, crumbling before it could warm his cold, shadowed eyes. To anyone paying close attention, the tension in his face was palpable—his features pulled tight as if an invisible thread strained against his carefully crafted mask, threatening to snap and lay bare the turmoil beneath.
'How could this have happened?' he brooded, his thoughts churning like a tempest trapped within the cage of his skull. 'Song Changge—that spineless fool—folded like paper. And Elder Zhang? Even he couldn't withstand Qin Ting's might.' Disbelief gnawed at him, a relentless predator stalking the edges of his mind, its claws shadowed by a dread he refused to name.
Feng Qianhan harbored no loyalty to Jiang Zhongbai, but he'd taken a quiet, almost petty pleasure in watching the man's schemes target Qin Ting. Now, that satisfaction had curdled into bitter defeat. Worse still, his prized secret treasure—the Swords of Heaven Formation—had slipped through his fingers, lost to Luo Yuan in a wager he'd been so certain he'd win. The memory of it sank into his chest like a dagger, each recollection twisting the blade deeper.
Zhou Pingyue, a True Disciple of the sect, broke the heavy silence with a laugh that sparkled like sunlight on water, cutting through the tension with playful ease. "Of course Senior Brother Luo's convinced—he's walking away with Senior Brother Feng's Swords of Heaven Formation, after all!"
"Oh?" Qin Ting's voice carried a note of intrigue as he turned his gaze toward Feng Qianhan. His blue eyes glimmered with a sharp, probing light, like a blade catching the sun just before it struck.
Feng Qianhan summoned another smile, though it clung to his face awkwardly, rigid as a poorly fitted mask. "It's merely an added flourish," he said, his tone light but edged with strain. "A small token to celebrate our Junior Brother's triumph..."
'That meddling little—must Zhou Pingyue always poke her nose where it doesn't belong?' he fumed inwardly, his temper flaring hot and silent.
Qin Ting's lips tilted into a sly, knowing grin, his voice smooth as silk yet threaded with subtle amusement. "Senior Brother Feng wagered the Swords of Heaven Formation, did he? Now I'm curious—what did Senior Brother Luo put forward to match such a stake?"
Luo Yuan tilted his head slightly, an enigmatic smile dancing across his rugged features like a secret half-revealed. "Oh, just a curiosity I picked up in a secret realm some years back," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The Seven-Colored Glass Flower."
Qin Ting's interest was piqued, one dark brow lifting in quiet astonishment. The Seven-Colored Glass Flower was no mere curiosity—it was a legendary spiritual medicine, its shimmering, iridescent petals rumored to possess extraordinary properties. In truth, its value eclipsed even the Swords of Heaven Formation, a fact not lost on anyone.
"With an item that rare, I'd be half-mad to demand it in a bet," Qin Ting remarked, his cunning smirk widening as he leaned slightly forward, eyes glinting with mischief.
Zhou Pingyue's laughter bubbled up again, bright and unrestrained, slicing through the growing tension like a bell tolling in a storm. "Senior Brother Feng must've thought the same—he insisted on the Seven-Colored Glass Flower as his prize. Could it be that Senior Brother Feng's breakthrough to the Divine Platform Realm is nearer than we've guessed?"
Feng Qianhan's jaw tightened, a subtle ripple of tension beneath his otherwise unshakable mask of composure. 'She's too sharp for her own good,' he mused bitterly, a quiet storm brewing in his chest as he silently cursed Zhou Pingyue's uncanny ability to slice through his defenses with surgical precision.
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His gaze darted toward her, a flash of anger igniting in his dark eyes. Zhou Pingyue had chosen today to bare her claws, aiming her barbs squarely at him. 'Enjoy your little victory,' he thought, his lips twitching faintly. 'I'll repay this slight tenfold when the time is right.'
Nearby, Qin Ting's eyes shimmered with a flicker of mischief, his lips curving into a sudden, melodic laugh. "It seems Senior Brother Feng holds quite a fondness for Senior Brother Luo," he said, his tone light but laced with a teasing edge. "One might even think Hidden Sword Peak has forged some... unexpected alliances with Senior Brother Feng's circle. Truly, it's the kind of bond others might envy."
Luo Yuan's easy smile faltered for a heartbeat, his thoughts snagging on Qin Ting's words. 'What game is he playing at?' he wondered, his gaze drifting to Feng Qianhan with a probing depth.
Then, as if brushing aside a fleeting shadow, he let his smile bloom anew. "Junior Brother Qin jests," he replied smoothly, his voice carrying a practiced warmth. "Hidden Sword Peak is my domain. If anyone there were tangled with a rival Peak, I'd know of it long before whispers reached the wind."
Qin Ting's response was a faint, knowing smile, his silence speaking louder than words. He let the matter drop, but the seed had been planted. The air between Luo Yuan and Feng Qianhan thickened with unspoken tension—an inevitable rift now simmering beneath the surface.
Feng Qianhan's expression darkened, his features hardening into a brittle mask. Forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he inclined his head stiffly. "I've matters to attend to," he said, his voice clipped and cold. "I'll take my leave." With a sharp turn, his robes billowed like a storm cloud as he swept away, leaving a chill in his wake.
As the scene settled, a familiar voice chimed in Qin Ting's mind, crisp and mechanical: [Host detected instigating discord between fellow sect members, a clear act of villainy. Reward: 5,000 Villain Points.]
A sly smirk curled the edges of Qin Ting's lips, a subtle glint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
'Just as I predicted!' he mused inwardly, his thoughts cloaked in quiet triumph.
The system, cold and impartial, cared little for the intentions lurking behind one's deeds. Whether driven by malice or cunning, as long as the actions bore the unmistakable mark of villainy, it rewarded them with Villain Points.
At that moment, a soft voice broke his reverie. Li Junning, a fellow True Disciple who had remained quiet until now, spoke with a gentle timbre. Her beauty was a breathtaking vision—delicate yet striking, rivaling or perhaps even eclipsing Zhou Pingyue's renowned allure. Her presence seemed to command the air around her without effort.
"If I may ask... What was that final technique Junior Brother Qin used against Elder Zhang?" she asked, her tone laced with genuine curiosity. "Junning has never witnessed such a move before—it didn't seem to belong to the divine arts of the Xuantian Sect."
Qin Ting turned to her, his smile disarmingly warm, though it carried an undercurrent of pride he deftly masked. "Oh, that's just a humble divine art of my own making," he replied, his voice smooth as polished jade. "A variation inspired by a technique my lord father once crafted."
The words dripped with a modesty that might have rung hollow from another's lips, yet from Qin Ting, they felt oddly fitting—his charisma rendering even false humility captivating.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking with hers. "If Senior Sister doesn't mind, I'd be delighted to visit your Pavilion of Delicacy and demonstrate it for you." His tone was velvet, each syllable carefully measured, as he extended a hand toward her with an air of effortless grace.
Li Junning's eyes flickered with a hint of intrigue. She inclined her head in a faint nod, her delicate fingers brushing against his as she accepted his offer. "Thank you, Junior Brother," she said softly, her voice carrying a trace of warmth. "I'll trouble you this time."