Chapter 347: Atrocious, Fooled Like a Fool

“You want to claim the treasure left behind by our founding ancestor, only to use it to bring ruin upon the world? Monster! I’ll tell you this—never!”

White Beard Elder’s face was twisted with grief and fury as he bellowed.

“Xiao Jian Wen, why must you be so stubborn?” The Disheveled Figure sighed. “That artifact is useless to you. Why cling to it like this?”

“I may not be able to wield it, but I will never let it fall into the hands of a demon like you—someone who would slaughter countless innocents! What face could I possibly show the ancestors below if I allowed such a thing?”

White Beard Elder stood firm, unyielding.

“Then tell me,” the Disheveled Figure’s voice turned cold, “if every last soul of Qingyun Jian Ge perishes, and our heritage is wiped out—what honor would you have in facing your so-called ancestors?”

Seeing the elder’s unyielding resolve, the Disheveled Figure finally lost patience. With a flick of his hand, he seized a young disciple beside him.

The boy screamed in terror, “Master! Help me! Please!”

The Disheveled Figure didn’t silence him. Instead, he fixed his gaze on White Beard Elder.

“Xiao Jian Wen, I remember—this boy was your latest and most cherished disciple, wasn’t he? So tell me, can you truly bear to watch him become nothing more than a withered sheet of human skin, just like the others beneath my feet?”

“Monster! You’re utterly heartless—unworthy of being called human!”

White Beard Elder roared, fury burning in his eyes.

“That’s better,” the Disheveled Figure sneered, his face twisting into a cruel smile. “Xiao Jian Wen, if you don’t want him drained of every drop of blood and marrow, then tell me—where is the artifact?”

Watching his beloved disciple thrashing in agony, tears and snot streaming down his face, White Beard Elder’s expression twisted with anguish.

“Ah… so your heart is truly cold, Xiao Jian Wen. To uphold your so-called justice, you’d let your own son-like disciple die before your eyes.”

The Disheveled Figure’s eyes hardened. No more words. He clenched his hand, and bloodlight instantly flared above the boy’s head.

To be drained alive—blood and marrow sucked out—was agony beyond imagination. The young disciple let out a scream so horrid, so soul-rending, it sounded like a demon wailing from the underworld.

“Stop! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

White Beard Elder, broken at last, collapsed under the weight of his suffering.

“Ah… finally,” the Disheveled Figure smirked, releasing the boy. He fell limp to the ground.

But in just moments, the boy’s face had turned gray and lifeless. His hair had dried and frizzled. In mere seconds, he looked as if he’d aged ten years.

White Beard Elder stared at him, his heart shattering. Regret clawed at him—had he only acted sooner…

“Xiao Jian Wen,” the Disheveled Figure said coolly, “speak. Where is it?”

“I’ll tell you,” White Beard Elder whispered, weak but resolute. “But I have one condition.”

“You want me to let these worthless fools go?” The Disheveled Figure saw through him instantly.

“Yes. Release them, and I’ll tell you the location of the treasure. Otherwise… even if you kill us all, you’ll never find it!”

The Disheveled Figure studied the elder’s eyes—unwavering, unyielding. He knew this man would rather die than betray his oath.

He knew White Beard Elder’s nature. Push further, and the old man would truly die without compromise.

“Fine. They’re useless to me anyway. Sucking their blood would only soil my cultivation.”

With a flick of his hand, a black tendril of energy shot forth, slicing through the ropes binding the others.

“Get out. Now.”

“Zong Zhu!” The freed disciples turned to White Beard Elder.

White Beard Elder closed his eyes. “Go. The tide has turned. If you survive, at least you’ll preserve a spark of Qingyun Jian Ge’s legacy.”

They trembled, then dropped to their knees and bowed three times before the elder. Then, supporting the unconscious boy between them, they staggered toward the mountain gate—wounded, exhausted, barely able to walk.

Once they vanished into the distance, the Disheveled Figure turned.

“Xiao Jian Wen, I’ve released them. Now tell me—where is the artifact?”

“Xiao Shi Shu jokes,” White Beard Elder said, expressionless. “With your power, you could catch them in an instant. How could I risk telling you now? How about this—wait half an hour. Only when Jian Ming and the others are truly safe will I reveal its location.”

“Xiao Jian Wen,” the Disheveled Figure sighed, “did you really think me such a fickle, dishonorable man?”

White Beard Elder remained silent, his cold stare answering for him.

The Disheveled Figure’s eyes narrowed.

“Very well. I’ll give you another half hour. If you still refuse… I’ll show you what true torment feels like—no death, no release, only endless suffering.”

The training ground fell into silence.

The flickering torchlight, the oppressive aura of the Disheveled Figure, and the scattered human skins on the ground created a scene of pure, haunting terror.

You Chang Lao lay motionless atop the mountain gate, breathing shallowly, his every sense on high alert. His unique treasure pulsed gently in his arms, its aura blending seamlessly with the surroundings, making him nearly invisible.

Below, the Disheveled Figure seemed only moderately powerful, yet he radiated a chilling danger. Add to that the horrifying Demon Cultivation Technique he had used—unnatural, grotesque—and even with his treasure, You Chang Lao dared not move.

The Master was right. Tian Di Bian Hua, Qi Lu Fu Su—these weren’t just about Qi Yun Zhi Zi, the celestial prodigies born of fate. The world is also filled with demons and fiends, stirring chaos.

This man… he’s one of them.

Time passed.

The half-hour drew near.

The tension in the air grew heavier, suffocating.

Finally, the Disheveled Figure spoke.

“Half an hour is up. Xiao Jian Wen, where is it?”

“Indeed,” White Beard Elder said, tone eerily calm. “That time passed quickly, didn’t it? Xiao Shi Shu… do you think I’d tell you the truth?”

“You dare lie to me?!”

The Disheveled Figure’s eyes snapped open. A terrifying aura exploded from him.

“Xiao Jian Wen! You are the head of a sect, yet you break your word—how can you face your ancestors?”

“I once trusted your lies and let you go. That was my grave sin. Now you add betrayal to that? What difference does it make? But you’ll never take our ancestral treasure to spread destruction!”

“Good. Excellent.”

The Disheveled Figure laughed, cold and sharp. He reached out, grabbing White Beard Elder’s body and pulling him into his palm, clenching his skull.

“Xiao Jian Wen, this is your own doing. Don’t blame me. Let me show you the taste of Lian Hun Da Fa.”

Black Qi surged from his fingers, twisting into countless serpent-like tendrils that plunged into White Beard Elder’s skull.

The Qi pulsed with a terrible essence. Even the great sect leader, hardened by decades of cultivation, couldn’t bear it. He screamed—a sound so agonized it tore through the night.

It was pure, unrelenting agony. His body twisted, convulsing, muscles twitching uncontrollably.

“Still holding out?” the Disheveled Figure’s voice slithered into his mind, calm and cruel. “Tell me where it is, and I’ll give you a swift end.”

“N-never… even if I die… I’ll never… tell you…”

White Beard Elder gasped, his words torn from the depths of hell.

“Hmph. You’re asking for it.”

The Disheveled Figure’s eyes turned feral. No more restraint. His Black Qi surged, completely engulfing the elder’s head.

“AAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

Another earth-shattering scream tore from White Beard Elder’s throat. His body writhed, limbs bending unnaturally, muscles snapping.

Yet even in torment beyond belief, he did not beg. He did not falter. Not a single hint of the treasure’s location escaped his lips.

Finally, his body stilled.

His life aura faded—slow, silent, extinguished.

He had been killed—slowly, agonizingly, by torment.

“Even in death, your soul shattered… yet you still refused to speak. You’ve got spirit, Xiao Jian Wen. The old man wasn’t wrong when he called you resolute.”

The Disheveled Figure stared at the corpse, his frustration burning hot, yet he could do nothing.

“Still… I don’t believe you buried it so deep. Let’s burn this broken sword hall to ash—see if it won’t come out then.”

He wouldn’t give up.

That artifact meant nothing to him now—just a trinket. But to him, a man stripped of everything, it was vital. Only by claiming it could he heal his wounds and begin forging a Demon Body.

With that thought, he unleashed fire across the entire Qingyun Jian Ge.

Flames roared, devouring the halls, the pavilions, the ancestral tablets—everything.

The Disheveled Figure stood in the center of the training ground, eyes closed, senses stretched wide, searching for the faintest trace of the artifact’s spiritual awareness.

But no matter how long he waited, even as the fire began to die down, he felt nothing.

“Damn it! Where the hell did you hide it?!”

Furious, he kicked the corpse into the flames.

His eyes burned red. His aura raged, wild and uncontrollable—on the verge of breaking.

Yet, in the end, he held back.

His aura flickered, then weakened—suddenly, unnaturally, drained.

“Cough… cough… You little bastard. That cut… I’ll make you pay. One day.”

He coughed, voice thick with venom.

That day in Sheng Cheng… Lu Qing’s Sword Qi sliced through me. I barely escaped using Tenmoxie Ti Da Fa. My Yuan Qi was shattered. Worse still—Lu Qing had just passed through the Heavenly Tribulation. The Sword Qi still carried a trace of Ji Qi—the Thunder Tribulation’s essence.

For a demon cultivator like me, that is the most abhorrent force of all.

Even after devouring countless souls across Zhong Zhou, I still haven’t healed. That’s why I must get that artifact.

Only then can I fully recover… and take the first step toward forging my Demon Body.

But now… that dream was gone.

He looked at the scorched ruins of Qingyun Jian Ge.

He let them go. He must’ve already hidden the artifact elsewhere. They’re the key.

So… he tricked me. Right in front of my eyes, he passed the treasure to them.

A cold realization struck him.

But you think you’re the only one with tricks, Xiao Jian Wen?

Every one of them carries a Demon Qi Mark. Even after half a day’s run… I’ll find them. No matter where they flee.

He spoke softly to the corpse.

Then, without looking back, he strode out of the mountain gate.

The betrayal had been clear. He would not only reclaim the artifact.

He would eradicate Qingyun Jian Ge—exterminate every last trace of its heritage.

Outside, he unleashed his speed, racing down the mountain.

The mountain fell silent once more.

Only the crackling fire remained, fading into embers.

Long after, a black shadow slowly crawled down from the mountain gate.

You Chang Lao stared at the ruins.

A flicker of sorrow crossed his eyes.

Qingyun Jian Ge—once a thousand-year-old sect, a power that had even fought against Wu Jian Lou in ancient times.

Now… erased.

“Who was that man?” he murmured. “That Demon Cultivation Technique… so unnatural, so terrifying. Worse than any legend.”

To drain a man’s blood and marrow… I’ve never seen such a method in our ancestors’ records.

But then—suddenly—a cold, sinister voice echoed from nearby.

“Hmph. No wonder I felt something amiss. There really was a rat hiding in the shadows.”

You Chang Lao froze.

A chill surged from his core, rising up to his skull.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end