Oil

Lu Heng decided to stop thinking about it and test the waters.

The Deboning Knife was drawn, Mental Energy flowing into its blade, which hummed. With a single slash, the blade's energy cleaved through the curtain of tentacles hanging overhead—seven or eight of them snapped off in unison, splattering dark red liquid that hissed and smoked on the ground, filling the air with a sweet, burnt smell.

it works.

Within three seconds of the break, new buds sprouted from the cut. The tender white filaments grew longer, thicker, and turned red at a speed visible to the naked eye, becoming even stronger than before they were cut. At least a hundred tentacles swayed on top, densely packed, like a living curtain.

You can cut it all, but you can't cut it all down.

He slashed three times, each strike infused with Mental Energy. Dark red remnants of roots lay scattered on the ground, wriggling and retracting. But the curtain of tentacles above his head grew even denser, adding two more layers. The Bone Demon beside him punched and smashed two thick roots that had reached out, new tendrils immediately sprouting from the broken ends and wrapping around its bony arms. The Bone Demon swung its arm, shattering the roots, and even more tendrils hung down from its head.

His breathing became heavy. His temples throbbed. After four cuts, less than half of his Mental Energy remained.

He stepped on a broken piece of the heel with his shoe, which immediately wrapped around him. He stomped his foot to break it, then retreated to the edge of the pool, his back against the cracked cement wall.

We can't cut any more.

Change approach.

Sheath the sword. Close your eyes. Withdraw your Mental Energy from the blade and instead push it into your palms. Instead of channeling it into the sword, release it directly into the air.

The air in front of his palm began to distort.

Lu Heng pushed his hands forward—

A wave of heat exploded.

This wasn't the tentative size of a washbasin he'd used before. He pulled it to its limit, combining his mental Talent with his innate abilities. Centered on him, the air temperature within five meters instantly skyrocketed, and the broken bricks on the ground began to scorch.

The roots began to appear, turning black, curling, and shrinking, emitting a dense hissing sound, like hundreds of snakes being thrown into a pot of oil at the same time.

But before the charred tentacles even hit the ground, new buds sprouted from the broken ends.

But this time Lu Heng didn't give it a chance.

He gritted his teeth and continued to pour his Mental Energy into the area. The edge of the hot zone began to expand outward—six meters, seven meters, eight meters. The moisture in the air was instantly evaporated, and a heat wave was right in front of him.

The trunk of the Blood Banyan Tree sensed the threat. Its dark red bark contracted violently, and a viscous sap seeped from its surface, resembling a layer of cold sweat. A dozen thick roots suddenly emerged from the bottom of the pool, lunging at Lu Heng like giant pythons, attempting to strangle him before the heatwave spread.

The Bone Demon smashed the nearest bone in half with a single punch, but three other bones had already wrapped around it from different directions.

Lu Heng did not back down.

He pushed forward with both hands—the boundary of the hot zone surged forward like an invisible wall of fire, directly crushing the three thick roots. The surface of the roots instantly charred, cracked, and snapped off, spraying his face with scalding dark red sap.

The Blood Banyan Tree emitted a low, hissing sound, as if it were squeezed out from within its trunk.

It works.

However, the hot zone got stuck when it expanded to eight meters.

It's not that the output is insufficient; it's that the airflow is wrong.

Below us was a sewage pool. The bottom of the pool was filled with black liquid, and large amounts of water vapor kept seeping up from the cracked cement walls, like countless wet towels being stuffed into the hot zone at the same time. The heat at the edge of the hot zone was being eaten away little by little by the moisture, and steam rose from the boundary of the hot zone, a white expanse, like a wall of fog.

The temperature won't go up.

He desperately channeled his Mental Energy, barely managing to maintain the scorching heat at the center of the hot zone, but the edges were constantly shrinking. Eight meters, seven meters, six meters—the humidity surged back like a tide, gradually swallowing the hot zone back.

Sensing the temperature stagnation, the tentacles tentacled tentacles began to tentatively probe back. One layer scorched, another grew, appearing and disappearing in the mist like countless dark red snakes wriggling.

He stopped.

The heat dissipated, and humidity returned, making clothes stick to the body, feeling both cold and sticky.

I leaned against the pool wall, forcing myself to hold my breath.

Blade energy – it can cut through, but it grows back even faster.

The temperature rises—it burns, but the humidity suppresses the temperature.

It's not that he lacks ability, it's that this place is restraining him. The moisture from the water evaporating from the bottom of the pool is too heavy, preventing the temperature from rising; there are too many tentacles, so his physical output can't keep up.

A head-on confrontation will inevitably lead to death.

We need to change our tactics.

He scanned his surroundings: the pool walls, broken bricks, cracked cement floor. His gaze moved beyond the pool's edge to the factory passageway he had come from. A diesel forklift used by the factory was parked at the corner of the passageway; he had glimpsed it when he came in earlier. The diesel fuel in the forklift's tank had a low flash point and could be ignited without a high temperature. No matter how humid the environment, the oil was not afraid of water.

But the forklift is some distance away.

He looked up at the canopy of the Blood Banyan Tree —it covered most of the space above the pool, and the tendrils extended about ten meters beyond the canopy's projection. As long as he didn't step into that area, the roots couldn't reach him.

The forklift was positioned just outside the coverage area.

He turned to look at the Bone Demon.

The Bone Demon stood by the pool wall. Several tendrils that had been wrapped around its bony arms had been torn off, but new tendrils were still hanging down from its head, tentatively reaching out to drape over it. It remained unmoved, the cold light in its eye sockets flickering steadily, like two lamps that would never go out.

"Stay here," Lu Heng said.

The Bone Demon tilted its head, and a cold light flashed twice.

"Keep an eye on it. If it makes a sound, retreat; don't fight it head-on."

The Bone Demon didn't move. It turned around, facing the Blood Banyan Tree, and found a spot between the edge of the pool wall and the canopy's projection—just wedged at the farthest point its tentacles could reach, like a wall.

It understood.

Lu Heng crouched low and walked along the pool wall outwards. The moment he emerged from the shade of the tree canopy, the stench of blood in the air lessened considerably, and his breathing became much easier. He quickly crossed the factory's passageway, the broken bricks crunching under his feet.

Turning the corner of the factory building—the diesel forklift was still there, parked crookedly by the passageway, its front wheel stuck in a crack in the ground, and the driver's seat covered in dust.

He walked around to the side of the vehicle, found the fuel tank cap, and pried it open with the tip of a knife. He bent down and smelled it—diesel, still there. He inserted a steel bar to guide the flow; the diesel dripped out along the bar and onto the ground, making a gurgling sound. The amount wasn't much; the forklift's fuel tank was small to begin with, and the flow stopped after about ten seconds. A small oil stain appeared on the ground, enough to soak through an area of about one or two square meters.

not enough.

The oil went out as soon as it reached the Blood Banyan Tree; it couldn't even burn through the bark.

He stood up and glanced around. Across the passage was a cluster of collapsed bungalow ruins, with two cars parked crookedly beside them, their doors half-open, as if they had been abandoned when they fled.

He hurried over. The first car had its fuel tank cap unscrewed; it was empty, only smelling of stale gasoline. The second car had fuel, but only a little over half full. He stirred it with a steel bar for a long time, but only managed to extract a slightly more gasoline than the forklift.

The oil from both vehicles spilled out and flowed down the cracks in the ground into the middle of the factory passageway, merging with the oil stains on the forklift side.

As I was bending over and busy, I felt a chill on my ankle.

He looked down—and a thin root sprouted from a crack in the broken bricks and wrapped itself around his shoe.

He stomped on it, breaking it in half, and looked up towards the direction of the Blood Banyan Tree. He couldn't see the pond, but the tendrils at the edge of the canopy were clearly restless, as if they had smelled something.

It sensed it.

The smell of oil was stronger than the smell of blood, and it was wafting towards it.

Quicken your movements and draw out all the remaining oil, letting it spread along the cracks in the ground and the drain towards the pool.

Then back away. Back away to the end of the oil stain, back away to a safe distance.

He reached into his pocket and found the lighter.

That's enough.

In the direction of the pool, the tendrils of the Blood Banyan Tree trembled uneasily. It didn't know what was happening, but it instinctively sensed danger.