Soul Power poured into Feng Xiaotian's palm, rampaging through the green-glowing human body.
The already dimmed core of light was jolted three times by this external force—like a candle flame struggling in the wind, about to go out.
Green cracks spread from the surface of the light core, as fine as a spider web, with each crack oozing out eerie green light fragments.
The green-haired man's body suddenly arched back, like an insect whose abdomen had been stepped on. His mouth opened, but no sound came out—not because he didn't want to scream, but because he couldn't. Feng Xiaotian's compressed wind cone had severed most of his meridians, and now he couldn't even move a finger.
"You..." His voice was hoarse, no longer a blend of two voices, but reverting to the original thin, raspy tone, "What exactly..."
Feng Xiaotian did not answer.
He withdrew his hand and took two steps back. The green-glowing man collapsed to the ground like a lump of mud, the green light in his abdomen completely extinguished, leaving only scattered specks of light wandering within him, like fireflies struggling in their death throes. With each inch they moved, those specks of light dimmed a little, growing weaker and weaker, more and more scattered.
Huo Xiao stepped forward, glanced down, and frowned slightly. He squatted down, pinched the green-haired man's chin with two fingers, and turned his face towards him.
On that rotting face, the yellow eyes had begun to glaze over, and the halo around the pupils faded layer by layer, like the receding tide.
"Speak," Huo Xiao's voice wasn't loud, but every word pressed down on the green-clad man like a branding iron, "How many men do you have left?"
The green-haired man's lips moved, and a hoarse laugh escaped his throat. The laugh was like a leaky bellows, intermittent, carrying the madness unique to a dying man.
"My men?" His voice was hoarse and mocking. "You think... I'm the boss?"
Feng Xiaotian's gaze sharpened.
The green-haired man grinned, revealing uneven, yellow teeth. "I'm just... a supplier. There are... people above me."
Everyone tensed. Was there someone else up there?
The green-man opened his mouth, and squeezed out the last few words:
"They are... great..."
Then his eyes suddenly widened.
It wasn't fear, it wasn't surprise—it was some external force that precisely severed his last chance at life.
The name that was about to be uttered got stuck in his throat, swallowed back down forever along with the last syllable.
Huo Xiao suddenly turned his head and looked in a certain direction outside the stronghold.
But there was nothing in the darkness.
Only the mournful sound of the wind blowing through the cracks in the rocks could be heard.
Huo Xiao stared at the darkness for a few moments, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. He didn't speak, but the fingers that had been gripping his chin loosened.
The green-haired man's head tilted to one side, his mouth still wide open, like a wax figure frozen in a smile. The last few points of light in his abdominal cavity went out at the same time.
"Dead." Huo Xiao stood up, his gaze still fixed on the darkness. "He was silenced."
Feng Xiaotian's pupils contracted slightly. He followed Huo Xiao's gaze and saw only darkness—the night outside the cave was as thick as ink, and he couldn't see anything.
"Can we catch up?" Feng Xiaotian asked in a low voice.
Huo Xiao shook his head. "The aura has dissipated. The opponent was very cautious; they retreated immediately after making their move, leaving no trace."
What Huo Xiao didn't say was that the opponent's strength was at least equal to his own—to be able to accurately eliminate witnesses within his perception range and then escape unscathed.
The cave was quiet for a moment. Gravel was still falling occasionally, and the tortoise shell was still slowly rotating at the top, but the suffocating feeling that had been pressing on my heart had dissipated.
Lu Hanxiao stood still, his wings slowly folding back.
He didn't look at the body, nor at anyone else; he just kept his head down, his shoulders trembling slightly.
The Cold Wind · Wing Slash had dissipated, the ice blades on his wings turning into fine ice shards that fell to the ground, mingling with his shadow.
Lu Qing walked to his side, about to speak, when she suddenly stopped.
He saw it.
Lu Hanxiao lowered his head, his eyes slightly red, with tears welling up in them—but they didn't fall. He clenched his teeth, his jaw taut like a fully drawn string, swallowing back everything.
Lu Qing didn't say anything.
He simply reached out and patted Lu Hanxiao's shoulder forcefully.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Lu Hanxiao's shoulders stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed.
The water didn't fall. But Lu Qing knew that something was different. The thing that had been weighing on his heart since he was nine years old wouldn't completely disappear just because of the death of an Evil Soul Master, but at least—it had loosened a little.
Huo Xiao glanced at the two brothers but didn't say anything. He turned to Feng Xiaotian, "Have Jiang Lin search the entire stronghold thoroughly."
Evil Soul Master of this caliber would not act alone; all of his supplies, accounts, and communication records must be thoroughly investigated.
"Furthermore," his voice deepened, "Try to investigate the method used to silence them earlier."
Feng Xiaotian nodded and turned to walk towards Jiang Lin.
Lu Hanxiao remained standing in the same spot, head down. His shoulders had stopped trembling, but he didn't move.
Lu Qing's hand was still on his shoulder, and he didn't pull it away.
" A Xiao." Lu Qing's voice was very soft, so soft that only the two of them could hear it.
Lu Hanxiao did not respond.
"Let's go," Lu Qing said, "It's not over yet."
Lu Hanxiao finally raised his head.
His eyes were still red, but the fire in them hadn't died down—it had simply calmed down from its boiling point, and transformed from burning to a blazing intensity.
"Hmm," Lu Hanxiao said, "It's not over yet."
He turned around and walked with Lu Qing deeper into the stronghold.
Lu Qing didn't ask what had just happened. Lu Hanxiao didn't say.
Some things don't need to be said.
In the darkness outside the stronghold, a figure slowly retracted its outstretched finger.
He stood on the cliff face, without using any Soul Skill, firmly pressed against the vertical rock surface. The moonlight couldn't reach his face, only revealing a blurry outline. Faint traces of Soul Power lingered on his fingertips, the marks of his recent attack.
He looked towards the cave and remained silent for a few moments.
"Useless." He muttered under his breath, his tone devoid of anger, only filled with cold disdain.
Then he turned around and, like a falling leaf, drifted down the rock face, disappearing silently into the night.
No trace was left.
Only the wind blowing across the hillside gradually dissipated the stench of blood from the cave.