Lordi Payne's pulse thundered as he peered through the Blood Puppet Sedan's lattice.
Garrick Blackthorn strode at the forefront, Ruru Rosa, Carl Murphy, and others trailing, their forms etched in moonlight. Yet Cade Barret and Janiyah Sullivan were nowhere among them.
"Hmm?! Junior Brother Payne, cultivating still? You've been cultivating all this time?!" The returning team, robes flecked with blood stain but whole, bore faces carved with unease. They halted, startled to find Lordi Payne, their eyes widening in fleeting shock.
Garrick Blackthorn's stare glinted with something unreadable. "Really, you heard nothing just now, Junior Brother Payne?"
Under their piercing stares, Lordi maintained a stoic expression, his body steady in the rhythm of cultivation. The group's faces darkened, their eyes exchanging silent, knowing glances. Then, without warning, Garrick's hand flicked—a spell surged forth, its invasive energy coiling toward Lordi like a venomous serpent.
A cold, alien force slithered into Lordi Payne's meridians—an intrusion both subtle and strange. Yet before he could react, the System's cheerful chime cut through his focus.
~ Ding! System Notification Chime ~
[AllFullOS: Version 1.0.0]
> External attack detected.
> Cultivation session status: TERMINATED
> Host control: RESTORED
> Thank you for using the All-Smart Full-Host Cultivation System™ (AllFullOS v1.0.0)
> Feedback request:
- We value your opinion! (No, really, we do.)
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With practiced ease, Lordi Payne tapped a four-star review, even as his spiritual power surged through his meridians, expelling the invasive energy.
[AllFullOS: Version 1.0.0]
> [★★★★☆]
> Submitted. Thanks for your feedback.
Lordi Payne leapt to his feet and bowed hastily.
"Senior Brother Blackthorn!" His voice carried just the right mix of surprise and deference. "Forgive my distraction—I was too deep in cultivation and didn't notice your return. What… what's happened?"
The crowd remained silent, seemed that they did not dare to speak to him immediately. Instead, their gazes locked onto Garrick Blackthorn. The Thorn Squad captain's brow furrowed—then, after a tense pause, he gave a curt nod.
"He's clean."
The others exhaled, shoulders loosening, but Ruru Rosa's sharp voice cut through the relief.
"Too deep in cultivation?" Her lips twisted in disbelief. "Don't insult us. That thing out there trapped every last one of us. Even Senior Brother Blackthorn fell for it!" She took a step forward, eyes blazing. "So how the hell did you feel nothing and walk away untouched?"
Huh?
Aw shit... Does this woman even know how to speak properly?
Come on, they said women with big knockers haven't got a brain cell to rub together, do they? So, what, you telling me women with small tits are just as daft? Bloody hell, I'm gobsmacked at the sheer stupidity of her!
Ruru Rosa's words struck like a poorly-thrown dagger—by implying he'd resisted what even Garrick Blackthorn couldn't, she'd practically painted a target on his back. "I didn't survive this long to die from your loose tongue," Staring at Ruru Rosa's young teenager like body, Lordi seethed internally.
With practiced calm, he countered, voice steady "Senior Sister, are you saying someone's impersonating squad members to lure me out?" A dismissive wave. "I heard the calls, but I ignored them. As Senior Brother Blackthorn commanded—no one leaves the blood puppet floats without reason unless necessary. So I didn't budge"
Ruru Rosa blinked, caught off guard, momentarily derailed. "Just… like that?"
"Exactly." Lordi Payne layered admiration into his tone. "Captain Garrick's at the peak of Ninth Layer, half-step to Foundation Establishment Stage. If he sensed danger outside and gave that order, it's clear he knew something was off. How could this humble junior to question captain's orders?"
To steer the conversation away from her probing, Lordi Payne quickly added, "Speaking of which—where are Senior Brother Barret and Senior Sister Sullivon?"
The air curdled. The squad's faces darkened, a shadow passing over their eyes. Garrick Blackthorn's gaze grew heavy like storm clouds, his voice flat but laced with suppressed anger. "They've… vanished."
"Wha... Vanished?" Lordi's throat tightened, his mind reeling. He pressed cautiously, "May I ask captain, how did they vanish?"
Carl Murphy exhaled heavily, his mustache drooping. "We've turned the grove inside out. Senior Brother Blackthorn even tore up the earth and uprooted dozens of cherry trees. Not a trace—nothing."
Lordi opened his mouth to ask more, but Garrick's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the distance. "Enough," he cut in, voice sharp. "Another battle squad's approaching. Move. We're going to check it out."
As Garrick Blackthorn's words hung in the air, he formed a swift hand seal. The Blood Puppet Floats shuddered, its grim, bone-like frame lifting from the cherry grove and soaring over the blooming trees toward the marsh's edge.
A few moments later, it settled by the waterfront, where four battle squads stood gathered, their silhouettes stark against the marsh's white, early sun surface.
"Where's Soren Langley and his men? Why haven't they shown up?" a deep voice rumbled, cutting through the murmurs. The question came from a mountain of a man. At nearly two meters tall and built like a siege engine, his Mohican crest bristling like a war banner. The man's appearance reminded Lordi of the rugby brutes from his past life—except no athlete ever bore a scar like that. A jagged trench split his face from forehead to jawline, narrowly missing an eye. The wound pulsed faintly, resisting even a cultivator's healing.
Stranger still was the pearl locket around his corded neck. Delicate and out of place, it dangled from a black cord etched with hollow Fulu characters, its five-colored palace belt fluttering like a festival ribbon against his white sect robes and snow-pale cloak.
Despite the elegant sect robes and snow-white cloak, the man radiated violence like an unsheathed blade. The delicate five-colored palace belt hanging from his neck only accentuated the dissonance - like seeing a battle-scarred wolf forced into a silk harness. Every fiber of his being rejected the refinement of his attire, his bloodstained aura tearing through the pretense of cultivation decorum.
"Relax, mighty Mister First Dominator, please calm down." Upon hearing this, not far away, a frail-looking male cultivator who who resembled a mortal scholar said, his thin smile was all patience. "Senior Brother Donovan Valdez. Actually, the thing is much more complicated. It's not just Junior Brother Soren Langley and his GhostClaw squad missing. Senior brother Blackthorn's Thorn Squad is short two members, isn't it?"
The man couldn't have been past thirty, skin pale as parchment, with eyes clear as springwater. His smile radiated such earnestness that Lordi thought: Give him a pair of spectacles, and he could swindle entire clans while they thanked him for his honesty.
Garrick Blackthorn's jaw clenched hard enough to crack stone. A muscle twitched near his temple as he bit out, "They're on other duties. Thorn Squad matters don't concern you." The words came out like frost forming on steel. "But how... thoughtful... of you to ask, Junior Brother Blue. Many thanks."
Jorge's smile didn't waver. "Is that so? Then Senior Sister Quinn, your absent squad members—reassigned to other duties as well, I presume?"
Without waiting for the only female cultivator among the four squad leaders to respond, Jorge Blue pressed on, his voice light but probing. "We arrived last night. With the grand defensive array's breach still hours away, I planned to rest nearby and regroup later."
"My Thirst Bull Squad had thirteen at departure," Jorge continued, tapping his fan against a bony palm."
"However, out of my expectation, at dawn, only ten remained. No screams. No struggle. No trace."
"You were ambushed too?" Shirley Quinn's voice was a sultry purr, her full red lips glistening as she traced them with a slow, deliberate lick. Her beauty was mesmerizing, a dangerous siren draped in a scandalously scant red dress that clung to her voluptuous curves like a second skin. The fabric was audaciously cut, barely covering her ample, heaving breasts and the tantalizing space between her rounded thighs, leaving vast expanses of alabaster skin exposed to the moonlight. Her waist, lithe and supple as a willow in autumn, swayed with a hypnotic grace, each breath making her curves ripple enticingly, a vision of raw, untamed allure.
In her hand, a fan of exotic, iridescent feathers danced, each flick sending waves of an intoxicating, musky scent that curled through the air, teasing the senses. Yet, despite her breathtaking presence, no one dared meet her gaze. Lordi Payne, like the others, instinctively averted his eyes.
The reason was starkly clear.
Adorning on Shirley Quinn's o hair were several vibrant butterflies, their wings shimmering with unnatural hues, fluttering as if alive with malice. Her earrings were a pair of thumb-sized, vivid green venomous snakes, their sinuous bodies writhing, eyes glinting with predatory intent. A massive, hairy black spider, the size of a bowl, with eight vicious, gleaming eyes, scuttled across her snow-white belly, its legs brushing her skin as it settled menacingly atop one of her breasts.
A black centipede, as thick as a child's arm and over two feet long, coiled tightly around her bare left arm, its segmented body pulsing with a faint, eerie glow. Her right wrist gleamed with red bracelets—crafted from dozens of bright crimson beetles, squirming and clicking, their glossy shells mimicking coral beads yet betraying their living nature. Her skin, impossibly fairer than fresh snow, only heightened the grotesque contrast of her living adornments.
She stood poised in red stiletto sandals, her crimson-painted toenails flashing with each step. At her feet crouched a two-tailed fox, its fiery red fur glossy under the new dawn light, its long, narrow eyes devoid of a mortal fox's cunning charm. Instead, they burned with a feral, almost demonic intensity, its gaze locking onto the crowds with unrestrained menace.
Shirley Quinn's eyes glinted with a lazy, predatory spark as she surveyed the gathered squads by the marsh's edge, her feather fan flicking softly. "I noticed our numbers were thin," she purred, her voice dripping with honey. "At first, I thought it was just Soren Langley's GhostClaw Squad missing. But now, it seems all our battle squads were preyed upon last night?" Her gaze settled on Donovan Valdez, cautious yet teasing. "Senior Brother Valdez, has your Dominator Squad somehow dodged this trap?"
Donovan's scarred brow furrowed, his hulking frame tensing as he scanned the shimmering marsh. He shook his head, his deep voice gravelly. "No, we didn't. We lost one. Before we left, an Inner Sect Senior Sister entrusted her kin to me—a young girl at Seventh Layer Qi Refinement Stage. Last night, in a moment's carelessness, she vanished."
The four squad leaders exchanged glances, their faces tightening with shared unease, the weight of their losses sinking in.
"We've lost nearly ten cultivators before even stepping into the Hanz Clan Estate," Jorge Blue said, his scholar-like demeanor masking a steely edge, his words slow and deliberate. "This task is no trifling matter. It's far more perilous than I expected." He paused, eyes sweeping the group. "If anyone regrets joining, speak now. Life comes first—leave while you can."
Lordi Payne's lips parted, a hesitant word forming, but Garrick Blackthorn's voice sliced through, cold as ice. "You're right, Junior Brother Blue. I suggest you lead your Thirst Bull Squad out now. My Thorn Squad is set on entering—for the Foundation Establishment Pill Formula and the Crimson Whisker Vine."
Shirley Quinn's lips curled into a languorous, beguiling smile, her scant dress shifting as she leaned forward. "My Suicide Squad stays. We've journeyed too far to turn back. Let's see what lurks inside, shall we?"
Donovan Valdez's lips twitched into a sneer, his pearl locket glinting oddly against his brutal aura. "Dominator Squad is here for the Pill Formula and the Crimson Whisker Vine. The rest of the treasury's spoils? Take what you want."
Garrick Blackthorn's smile was sharp, his tone laced with respect but unyielding. "Senior Brother Valdez, let's not jest. Who crosses thousands of miles for anything less than those two treasures? I admire your strength, but as our sect's adage goes: No mercy waits, no gentle hand to guide; through blood and fire, the Dao is earned, not tried. We cultivators live for valor and progress, fearless in pursuit of the Great Dao. You can't expect us to abandon the Alchemy Formula and rare Vine just because you say so."
The air, already somber from the loss of mysterious vanished squad members, grew thick with tension as Garrick Blackthorn's defiant words echoed. Every eye snapped to Donovan Valdez, their stares piercing, awaiting his response.