The other two thugs, their momentum betrayed by the empty air where Luotian had been a heartbeat before, stumbled past him. Confusion flickered in their eyes—a brief, pathetic window of realization as they scrambled to pivot. But before the first could even chamber a punch—
WHAM!!
A whip-like kick connected squarely with his solar plexus. His body folded like wet paper under the kinetic surge, every lungful of air forced violently from his chest in a silent gasp. The impact launched him backward like a projectile, slamming into his remaining comrade with enough force to floor them both. They collapsed into a tangled, gasping heap on the cold cobbles, the metallic scent of sweat and fear rising from them.
"H-How did you—? You're just a c—"
The Four Fangs leader's desperate denial was cut short as a sturdy hand clamped over his face with the iron-like strength of a Monster's maw.
CRACK!! BOOM!!
Feng Luotian drove the man's head into the alley wall. Cracks spread through the crumbling brickwork, and blood stained the mortar. The thug's limbs sagged, and his muffled groans grew faint. He was too dazed to strike back.
A faint, high-pitched hum suddenly vibrated through the alley.
Buzz… Thunder!!
Sparks erupted around Luotian as he activated Pinnacle Flash Lightning. Golden arcs wrapped his body, throwing flashes of light across the dim alley and the two men still struggling on the ground.
The other two thugs staggered to their feet in panic. Before either could locate Luotian, a flash of golden lightning streaked past them.
CRACK!! CRACK!!
The sickening sound of snapping vertebrae echoed against the walls. Their worlds spun with a violent, nauseating speed; it wasn't until their vision settled on their own shoulder blades that the horror dawned on them. Their heads had been twisted 180 degrees in a single, electrified blur. The alley turned upside down as their nervous systems short-circuited, their bodies crumpling to the ground for the final time.
Feng Luotian rose from his crouch as the lightning faded into scattered sparks. He turned toward the final survivor, the leader still slumped against the broken masonry. His boots clicked over the blood-slicked cobbles as he approached.
Reaching out, he seized the man by the throat, his grip tightening with the mechanical, crushing force of a steel vice. The thug's body twitched in a series of feeble, uncoordinated spasms, his skin draining of all color until it matched the grey of the weathered bricks behind him.
"P-P-Please... spare me, Young Master!" he stammered, the words hitching in a throat choked by both fingers and sheer desperation. Fat tears tracked through the grime on his face, his lips quivering as he sobbed for a mercy he hadn't intended to give.
The realization had finally set in, a jagged and terrifying truth: this was no "Crippled Son" of a God. What stood before him, wreathed in the fading scent of ozone and copper, was a demon. The man's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, his mind consumed by a primal, soul-deep terror as he stared into Luotian's merciless stare.
"Tell me. Why should I spare you?" Luotian asked, his voice disturbingly calm.
"I-I-I will… I'll be a good man! I'll change! I'll never commit another crime again! I'll contribute to the city!" The thief's voice fractured into a high-pitched wail as he scrambled for salvation, his mind frantically grasping at any hollow excuse that might anchor his life to this world for one more minute.
"Really?" Feng Luotian tilted his head, his expression unmoved. "Then tell me—what would have happened to me today if I really were the cripple you thought I was? If I couldn't fight back? Think carefully before you answer. One lie, and I'll kill you." The thief went rigid under his stare.
"W-We just wanted to scare you!" the thief stammered, the words tumbling out in a panicked, incoherent rush. "Just to secure the ring, that's all! We—we never intended to spill blood! Please, you have to believe m—"
Crack.
The thief's plea was severed mid-breath, his desperate words replaced by a sickening, wet sound that filled the narrow corridor. Luotian's hand moved, tearing out the man's throat in a single, fluid motion.
Luotian stood amidst the shadows, holding the gory, pulsing chunk of flesh as the thief's lifeless frame crumpled to the cobbles. A thick pool of crimson spread beneath the corpse, staining the weathered bricks.
"I warned you," Feng Luotian said coldly. "A single lie would cost you your life." He looked down at the body, anger tightening his face.
"And why," he continued, his voice rising with a sudden, thunderous surge of indignation, "should I spare you who would only go on to feast upon the weak tomorrow? If I let you crawl away, the agony you inflict on the innocent would be my own sin. Do you expect me to bear that burden? To betray the helpless by sparing a viper like you?!"
His voice echoed against the alley walls. With a look of disgust, he hurled the flesh to the ground, splashing blood across the dirt.
Feng Luotian extended his palm over the corpse's chest, his fingers hovering inches above the cooling flesh. A faint, ghostly glow emanated from his hand as he drew out a white puff of hazy, ethereal light from the lifeless vessel.
This was Soul Collection.
Soul Collection had become a habit in his previous life as the bearer of the Scarlet Demon God Phoenix bloodline. Whenever he used Last Dance Curse, he had to gather souls afterward to prevent his cultivation from falling. Long practice had made the act second nature.
The hazy soul spiraled into his palm, and CRONOS promptly projected the status update into his mind:
///// Soul collected: +3% energy » Four Fangs (16%)
Without a shred of hesitation, he stashed the corpse into the void of his spatial ring and moved toward the other two bodies. His palm glowed with that same spectral light as he repeated the cold extraction.
///// Soul collected: +1% energy » Four Fangs (17%)
///// Soul collected: +1% energy » Four Fangs (18%)
"The energy required for each level is insane!" Feng Luotian clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the quiet alley as his frustration bubbled to the surface.
He understood the mathematics of power better than most. For an average Fang Fighter of Scarlet Demon God Phoenix bloodline, defeating four or five peers and absorbing their energy would typically provide enough to trigger a Breakthrough.
But for him?
With his monstrous energy demands and the sheer density of his foundation, he would require more than thirty souls of equal-level Cultivators to advance by a single minor realm. The path ahead was not just long; it was paved with a mountain of corpses should he choose this grim method of Cultivation.
However, although Soul Collection was undeniably the fastest way to surge through his current Level, Feng Luotian knew he wouldn't rely solely on this path. His heart remained resolute, anchored by a code of conduct that even a "Devil" respected.
"If there were no evil in this world," he murmured to himself, his voice lost to the cold wind of the alley, "I wouldn't kill for the sake of Cultivation. I wouldn't need to."
A fleeting softness touched his expression, a rare and fragile glimpse of the hope buried beneath his battle-hardened exterior. The thought of a peaceful world—a realm without enemies, malice, or the constant scent of blood—brought a momentary sense of longing. He allowed himself a second to imagine how relaxed he would feel in such a place, his spirit free from the heavy necessity of taking lives to sustain his own Breakthrough.
But that dream was a ghost, nothing more than wishful thinking.
The world did not function on such idealistic gears. There would always be predators who sought to feast upon the weak—men whose very existence seemed destined to provide him with the souls he required to reach the next Realm.
As if by some cruel, divine design of the gods, there would always be evil. There would always be enemies lurking in the shadows. And therefore, there would always be more souls for him to collect.
* * *
After completing the cold extraction of the souls, Feng Luotian stowed the remaining husks within his spatial ring, leaving the alley as if he had never been there. Without any outward sign of urgency, he departed the city gates, his destination set for the infamous Warland Thicket. While the outskirts were sparse, Luotian deliberately aimed for the dense heart of the wilderness—a perilous section that even veteran Cultivators regarded as a harrowing gauntlet of survival.
Warland Thicket was an unimaginably vast expanse, a sea of emerald spanning billions of acres. It acted as a border between Divine Bird City, Silver Fox City, the Vermilion Kingdom, and countless other territories. Scattered throughout this primal reach were small towns, nomadic tribes, and isolated villages that had carved out a precarious existence amidst the constant threat of Monster attacks.
The thicket was a land of extremes, rich in exotic herbs and teeming with Monsters, particularly within its lightless depths. It was the physical embodiment of the ancient proverb: No venture, no gain. The region was strictly categorized into five zones based on their lethality: green, yellow, orange, red, and black.
The Green Zone served as the hunting ground for Fang Realm threats.
The Yellow Zone was the undisputed domain of Talon Realm predators.
The Orange Zone belonged to the soaring terrors of the Wing Realm.
As for the Red and Black Zones, not even a figure as prestigious as the Peacock Lord dared to tread upon those cursed soils. Legends whispered of entities far beyond the Wing Realm that could mimic human forms, luring the unwary with gentle words before reverting to their true, titanic shapes to devour their prey.
Feng Luotian knew his limits. His knowledge and bloodline abilities gave him an advantage, but entering the yellow zone at his current level would still be suicide.
For the moment, his sights were locked on the middle tier of the Green Zone. Here, Monsters ranging from Four Fangs to Seven Fangs roamed with raptorial freedom. Compared to the outskirts where he had trained with Mei Yue'er and Sun Wuji previously, this area was far more congested, pulsing with a volatile intensity.
Thanks to the passive influence of CRONOS's Aura Concealment, which masked his presence in a shroud of void-like silence, Luotian moved through the brush with ease. To the local fauna, he appeared as nothing more than a mundane commoner devoid of Cultivation. This made his journey significantly more efficient than that of the average Fang Fighter.
Most Monsters ignored commoners unless driven by the madness of starvation. They preferred the high-octane meat of other Monsters or Cultivators at their own Level, as consuming Theríon-rich flesh offered a direct path to their own Breakthrough. A commoner was a hollow meal—satisfying hunger, but offering no growth. As for the low-level Monsters that did hunt humans? They stood no chance of catching a shadow like Feng Luotian.
He blurred through the undergrowth. The towering trees became a green smear in his periphery, and the whistle of the wind was his only companion as he navigated the treacherous terrain.
Eventually, he reached his destination—a tranquil river cutting a silver vein through the forest floor. Slowing to a stop, he gazed at the sparkling water, its gentle flow reflecting the vibrant canopy above in a rare moment of natural stillness.