After the Demon-Suppressing Stele fragment absorbed the third drop of heart's blood, the golden glow on its surface withdrew, returning it to an unremarkable slab of black stone. Yet when held in the palm, a faint warmth pulsed from within—like a dormant life breathing ever so slowly.
Lu Chen put it away and glanced at the time: 11:23 p.m.
The apartment was silent save for the soft hum of the central air conditioner. From the street below, the occasional car drifted past, the sound of tires scraping asphalt stretching languidly through the night.
He walked into the study, powered on the computer, and logged into an encrypted email account—one the former Lu Chen had used to connect with various "grey channels." It was filled with junk mail and all manner of shady advertisements.
He deleted most of them, leaving only three messages.
The first came from a middleman known as "Old Ghost," sent yesterday afternoon, asking whether to keep following the "Ye Chen lead."Lu Chen replied: "Settle the remaining payment. The deal is terminated."
The second was the weekly bulletin from the underground black market, listing the contraband circulating in Jiang City—from military-grade stimulants to smuggled weapons. He skimmed it quickly and paused at an entry under "Special Items":
[Unknown Metal Fragment]: Origin unknown. Extreme hardness. Shows mild resonance with energy. Seller asking 500,000. Negotiable.
Attached was a blurry photo of a palm-sized piece of silver metal, irregular in shape, its surface scarred with corrosion.
Lu Chen downloaded the image and sent it to Huang Mao:"Find its whereabouts. Do not alert the seller."
The third message was the shortest—only a single line:
"What you asked for. Tomorrow at ten. Same place."
The sender's address was a string of gibberish, but Lu Chen found the match in the original host's memories—an information broker codenamed "Night Owl," a man who trafficked in the secrets and scandals of martial artists. The former Lu Chen had once bought blackmail material from him.
Lu Chen replied: "Change the time. Now."
The email came back instantly: "Thirty percent extra."
"Fine."
"Thirty minutes. Blue Bay Wharf. Warehouse No. 7."
Lu Chen shut down the computer, retrieved a set of dark athletic wear from the wardrobe, tucked a gun into the back of his waistband, and strapped on a military dagger—one of the original host's collectibles, sharpened but likely unused.
Before leaving, his eyes fell on the Demon-Suppressing Stele fragment on the coffee table.
"Take it with you," Li Xuan's voice urged. "It isn't activated yet, but an Earth-tier artifact's material alone can repel certain corrupt energies. That Chen Feng cultivates the Blood Fiend Art, a path steeped in foul blood. The Stele is his natural bane."
Lu Chen slipped the slab into his inner pocket.
The elevator carried him down to the underground garage. His vehicle was a black Mercedes G-Class, something the former Lu Chen had purchased to show off, though seldom driven. He started the engine and pulled out of the complex.
At this hour, Jiang City's streets were far emptier. The streetlights smeared into drifting ribbons across the windows. Lu Chen maintained a steady speed, checking the mirrors occasionally—no signs of pursuit, but Qi Sense remained fully active, covering fifty meters around him.
Blue Bay Wharf sat along the northern riverbank, a relic of the old industrial district. Most warehouses were abandoned now, repurposed for grey-market dealings.
Twenty minutes later, his car rolled into the dock zone. Cracked concrete roads, rusted sheet-metal structures, and swarms of insects circling dim streetlamps. From the river came the distant, muffled horn of a cargo ship.
Warehouse No. 7 sat deeper inside, its rolling door half-open, leaking a faint sliver of light.
Lu Chen parked fifty meters away in the shadow, stepped out, and approached on foot.
When he reached the doorway, he stopped.
Something was wrong.
Too quiet.And… the faintest hint of blood.
Barely noticeable, but not enough to slip past his enhanced senses.
His right hand settled on the gun at his back. With his left, he slowly lifted the rolling door.
Creaaak—
The metal scraped loudly in the stillness.
Inside were old wooden crates and discarded machinery. In the center, a folding table sat beneath a battery-powered lamp, its cold white glow spilling across the floor.
Beside the table lay a man.
Male, in his forties, wearing a jacket. A dagger protruded from his chest. Blood had soaked through the fabric, pooling into a dark stain. His eyes were open and empty.
Night Owl.
Lu Chen did not enter immediately. He scanned the warehouse from the doorway.
Within his Qi Sense, aside from Night Owl's fading life force, there were three other signatures: two level-15 types hiding behind the crates on the left, breathing heavily; and one level-22 on the right, perched atop the crane operator's station, heartbeat steady.
An ambush.
Lu Chen stepped back. Drew his gun.
Almost at once, a low shout came from behind the crates:
"Do it!"
Two figures lunged forward, cleavers raised. Their movements were brutal but crude—mere street thugs.
Lu Chen didn't dodge.
He advanced. As the first thug's blade came down, Lu Chen sidestepped, seized his wrist, twisted, and slammed the gun's butt into his temple.
A crack of bone.A dull thud.
The first man crumpled.
The second was already upon him, cleaver swinging. Lu Chen kicked his knee, and as the man stumbled, he jammed the gun under his jaw.
Pulled the trigger.
The gunshot exploded inside the warehouse, echoing violently. The bullet tore upward through bone and brain, spraying red and white matter.
The body dropped.
The whole exchange took less than three seconds.
Lu Chen didn't spare the corpses a glance. He turned the gun toward the crane platform.
"Come out."
Silence.
Then applause.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."Chen Feng stepped out from the shadows, a grin twisted with excitement and cruelty. "Better than I expected. Young Master Lin… you hid yourself well."
He jumped down, landing soundlessly like a predatory cat. A butterfly knife spun between his fingers, its blade catching the lamp's pale light.
"You killed Night Owl?" Lu Chen asked.
"Mm." Chen Feng tilted his head. "He tried to raise the price when I wanted info about you. And I thought—why pay? Just ask him directly. Then kill him after."
He nudged the corpse with his foot."Hard-mouthed bastard. Took me some work."
Lu Chen kept his gun trained on him.
"And what did you want to know about me?"
"Everything." Chen Feng's smile widened. "How you suddenly got stronger, what treasures you're hiding… and most importantly—"
His gaze sharpened with predatory hunger.
"—what your blood tastes like."
Lu Chen fired.
But Chen Feng blurred aside before the shot rang out, moving at an eerie angle. The bullet skimmed his shoulder and sparked against the metal wall.
"Too slow," his voice taunted from the right.
Lu Chen swung the gun, but Chen Feng's speed was monstrous. He flashed to the left, butterfly knife slicing toward Lu Chen's wrist.
The blade grazed his arm, tearing fabric and skin.
Lu Chen retreated, firing three shots to cut off his movement paths.
But Chen Feng's body twisted impossibly, sliding between the bullets. He surged forward, knife stabbing for Lu Chen's throat.
Lu Chen blocked, earning a deeper cut along his forearm as blood splattered.
The scent sharpened Chen Feng's frenzy.
"Smells good!"He licked his lips and attacked harder.
His knife became a storm of silver arcs, each target a vital point—eyes, throat, heart, abdomen. No wasted motion. Every strike lethal.
Lu Chen retreated under pressure, using Enhanced Neural Reflexes to barely keep up. Yet fresh wounds bloomed across his body. One slash nearly opened his carotid; he tilted just in time, the blade carving a burning line across his collarbone.
"That's it?" Chen Feng sneered. "The Lin family's cherished heir, level nineteen—can't even last twenty moves?"
Lu Chen remained silent. He was observing.
Chen Feng's movements were wrong. Not orthodox martial arts, but some twisted demonic path—prioritizing speed and bizarre angles over structure or force. And…
There were gaps.
After each burst of speed, he froze for a fraction of a second—something like a breath interval.
Short, but real.
And his aura fluctuated. Though labeled level 22, it wavered between 20 and 24. Injured? Or… backlash from his cultivation?
Lu Chen took another cut, this one along his ribs—shallow, but bleeding heavily.
Chen Feng inhaled sharply at the smell, eyes burning hotter.
"Yes… more…"
He lunged again, this time committing fully, blade thrusting for Lu Chen's heart.
Now.
Lu Chen didn't dodge.
He surged forward, grabbing Chen Feng's wrist even as the blade stabbed into his shoulder—fiery pain exploding through his nerves—but he held firm.
His right hand pressed the gun to Chen Feng's abdomen and fired twice.
Bang! Bang!
At this range, both bullets struck home.
Chen Feng jolted, staring down at the wounds in disbelief.
But he didn't fall.
He grinned instead.
"Pointless… I barely feel pain anymore…"
He twisted his wrist, the butterfly knife grinding inside Lu Chen's palm.
Lu Chen grunted and released him, stepping back.
Chen Feng tore out a misshapen bullet with his fingers, blood spurting. He didn't seem to notice.
"Third layer of Blood Fiend Art. Blood protects the flesh," he rasped, ghostly pale but still grinning. "Unless you blow my heart or head apart, I could fight you with my guts hanging out."
He lunged again—faster than before.
Lu Chen dropped the empty pistol and drew the dagger.
Sparks burst as blades clashed.
Chen Feng's strength surged—not genuine cultivation growth, but reckless overdrawing of his potential. His eyes reddened, veins bulging as if worms crawled beneath his skin.
"Come on!" he roared, attacks raining down.
Lu Chen blocked desperately. Each strike numbed his arm. His grip split, blood running along the hilt.
At this rate, he would lose.
No—he would die.
Lu Chen's gaze sharpened. Suddenly he dropped his guard, letting Chen Feng stab deep into his shoulder.
Agonizing.
But this was the opening he'd waited for.
As the blade pierced him, Lu Chen drove his dagger upward into Chen Feng's chest.
The angle was slightly off—no direct heart strike.
Chen Feng howled, trying to retreat.
Lu Chen seized his wrist, preventing him from pulling away, and twisted the dagger cruelly inside the wound.
"GRAAAH—!"
Chen Feng shrieked, reaching for Lu Chen's eyes with his free hand.
Lu Chen tilted his head aside and rammed his knee into Chen Feng's abdomen—right into his earlier gunshot wound.
The impact broke him.
Chen Feng stumbled back, leaving the butterfly knife embedded in Lu Chen's shoulder.
They separated, both panting.
Lu Chen, drenched in blood; Chen Feng, pallid and leaking life from two gaping wounds—yet still rabid.
"Good…" Chen Feng wheezed, grinning grotesquely. "You're… better than I thought…"
He pulled out a small vial of viscous, dark-red liquid.
"I didn't want to use this…" He bit off the cap and swallowed the contents. "But your blood… is worth it."
The moment it touched his throat, Chen Feng's body convulsed. Veins thrashed violently beneath his skin. His aura surged: 25… 26… 27…
Stopping at 28.
At the cost of his eyes turning wholly crimson, blood seeping from his seven orifices—like a revenant clawing its way from hell.
"Now…" His voice rasped, warped. "Let's finish our little game."
He vanished.
No—moved so fast his afterimage lingered.
Lu Chen barely registered the motion before a fist slammed into his chest.
A crack—ribs shattering.He flew backward into a stack of crates, collapsing under the debris.
Chen Feng approached, ripping the crates aside, hoisting Lu Chen up by the throat, slamming him against the wall.
"Your secrets… your treasures…" Chen Feng whispered, eyes burning scarlet. "All mine now."
His other hand reached for Lu Chen's chest—toward the pocket holding the Stele fragment.
Lu Chen choked on blood.
And then… he smiled.
"What are you laughing at?" Chen Feng frowned.
"I'm laughing…" Lu Chen rasped, eyes eerily calm. "At your greed."
Before Chen Feng could react, Lu Chen twisted his neck at an unnatural angle, escaping the chokehold—a joint-dislocation escape technique from his previous life.
At the same time, his right hand—hidden behind him this entire time—pressed something against Chen Feng's open chest wound.
The black stone slab.
The Demon-Suppressing Stele fragment.
"What—"
Chen Feng's words died.
The moment the stone touched his blood, it shuddered violently. Ancient, sacred runes blazed awake, unleashing a force vast, solemn, and absolute.
"AaAHHHH—!!"
Chen Feng screamed, a sound not human.
Golden light poured from the Stele, burrowing into him through the wound. Everywhere it touched, the Blood Fiend Art's corrupt energy evaporated like frost beneath a torch.
"N-no… impossible… this is… Demon Supp—"
His hands scrambled to tear the stone away—but his palms stuck to it, unable to move.
His aura plummeted: from 28… 22… 20… 18…
The crimson drained from his eyes; the bulging veins receded.
Worse: he felt years of cultivation melting away—everything he'd built crumbling.
"Let go… LET GO OF ME!" he shrieked.
Lu Chen said nothing. He pressed the slab deeper into the wound.
Light erupted.
Chen Feng collapsed to his knees like a puppet with its strings severed, coughing blackened blood—impurities burned clean.
His cultivation crashed to level 15… and continued falling.
"No… my strength… my power…"His hands trembled, eyes wide with genuine terror.
Lu Chen yanked the butterfly knife from his shoulder, stood, and approached him.
Chen Feng looked up, hatred and despair warring on his pale face.
"You… ruined everything…"
"You came after me first," Lu Chen replied.
He raised the blade.
Chen Feng shut his eyes.
But the strike never fell.
Lu Chen hesitated, then withdrew the knife, turning toward the exit.
"You… you're letting me live?" Chen Feng croaked.
"What good is killing you?" Lu Chen answered without looking back. "You're already ruined. Your Blood Fiend Art crippled, your level likely to drop below ten. Living will hurt far more than dying."
He reached the door and paused.
"And the potion you drank… its backlash must be setting in. If I'm right, it burns your lifespan. How long do you have left? A year? Half?"
Chen Feng trembled violently.
Lu Chen lifted the rolling door. Moonlight streamed in.
"Get out of Jiang City. If I see you again… this stone goes through your skull."
He vanished into the night.
Chen Feng knelt amidst the blood, staring at the black slab embedded in his flesh, fused to him.
He reached to pull it free—and cried out as searing pain shot through him.
It had become part of him.
A strangled, bestial sound escaped his throat.
He staggered to his feet and limped into the opposite darkness.
The warehouse fell silent once more.
Only corpses and blood remained—witnesses to the brief, brutal clash.
Two kilometers away, Lu Chen parked by a secluded riverside.
He collapsed into the seat, gasping.
His left shoulder was deeply pierced, at least two ribs broken. Seven or eight cuts bled steadily. None fatal, but the blood loss made his vision blur.
He opened the glove compartment, retrieving a first-aid kit—something the former Lu Chen had prepared but never used: alcohol, gauze, coagulant powder, bandages.
Treating the wounds hurt, but he did not flinch.
After securing the bandages, he swallowed a final painkiller and glanced at the Stele fragment on the passenger seat.
Its golden glow had faded, returning to black, but the carvings seemed faintly sharper.
And a small stain of dried dark red marked the center—Chen Feng's blood.
"The Stele can absorb demonic energy and convert it into its own power," Li Xuan murmured. "You accidentally activated part of its function. This likely advanced its tempering progress by at least a day."
"Side effects?" Lu Chen asked.
"None. Demon-suppressing force naturally counters the Blood Fiend Art. You simply used his cultivation as fuel."
Then he added, "But purge the remnant of his aura from it quickly. Leave it too long, and he might track you."
Lu Chen infused the slab with pure energy from the Basic Body-Refinement Art.
The red stain evaporated into wisps of black smoke.
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
The system interface appeared:
[High-intensity life-or-death battle experienced][Combat mastery greatly enhanced][New skill gained: Crisis Counter (Passive)]Grants increased reflexes and burst power when severely wounded
Current Strength: Level 19 (Stable)Stele Tempering Progress: 2/3
Detected: Host successfully repelled 'Predatory Fate Protagonist' Chen FengBehavior Assessment: Though not killed, target's cultivation foundation destroyed—qualifies as "Villain Suppression."
Reward: Villain Points +800Bonus Item: Purified Bloodfiend Crystal ×1(Can be exchanged for 500 points or used to craft anti-demonic items)
Lu Chen exchanged it.
Points: 1,300
In the marketplace, he found an item: [Basic Healing Pill], price 200 points, used for rapid wound recovery and minor meridian repair.
He bought two.
After swallowing one, warm energy spread through him. His wounds tingled as tissue knit together. The weakness from blood loss eased.
Ten minutes later, he started the engine and left the riverside.
By the time he returned home, it was 2 a.m.
He washed the blood from his skin—careful to keep the bandages dry—replaced them, then sat on the living room sofa and opened his laptop.
A new email from Huang Mao awaited, regarding the "unknown metal fragment":
"Young Master Lin, we found it. Seller is a boat operator claiming he dredged it from the riverbed. Asking 500k. Our people verified it's genuine, but don't know its purpose. He's at 'Fisherlight Bar' in the wharf district, wants cash."
Lu Chen replied: "Tomorrow at 8. I'll inspect it."
After sending the email, he opened the earlier photo of Chen Feng and began searching public records of the Chen family.
Family head Chen Tianxiong—level 68, surpassing even the Lin patriarch. Three sons: the eldest and heir Chen Zhenghao at level 45; the second, Chen Zhengjie, abroad managing business; the third, deceased in childhood.
No mention of Chen Feng.
A hidden, erased existence.
Lu Chen closed the page and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Jiang City's lights glittered endlessly.
He recalled the final expression on Chen Feng's face—despair deep enough to curdle bone.
"Living hurts more than dying…" he murmured.
Not mercy.Calculation.
Killing Chen Feng could have provoked complications with the Chen family—even if they were hunting him, a dead bastard child invited a different response from a ruined one.
Leaving him alive—crippled—turned him into a walking disgrace, a shame the Chen family would rather ignore than avenge.
And without his Blood Fiend Art, Chen Feng could no longer prey on others' blood essence. His decline would be slow, inevitable, agonizing.
A fate befitting a villain's enemy.
Lu Chen turned back toward his bedroom.
Tomorrow he had to retrieve his martial certification, visit the antique market, and prepare for the evening transaction.
There was much to do.
He lay down, closing his eyes. The last image flickering through his thoughts was the blood-red madness in Chen Feng's eyes, and his whisper—"What does your blood taste like?"
The number of threats in this world was growing.
But he was still alive.
For now, that was enough.