Half an hour later, Chen Haunt stumbled out of the dense mountain woods, his body battered and bloodied, but his spirit alight with a fierce, desperate triumph. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth crimson as he grinned through the pain. The vast valley stretched before him, its open expanse a beacon of hope. He was so close—just a dozen miles more, and he would cross into the range of the Nether-Slaying Demon Array. If the Man-Faced Spider dared to follow him there, it would be reduced to ash in an instant.
"Bwahahahaha…" Chen Haunt's laughter echoed through the valley, a manic sound that mingled with the rustling of leaves and the distant screech of the spider behind him. Though the beast still pursued him relentlessly, its crimson eyes blazing with unrelenting fury, Chen Haunt's heart swelled with a twisted sense of victory. He had outsmarted it. He had survived.
"That little bastard Pay Ling nearly ruined years of my work," Chen Haunt muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with venom. He glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the spider's grotesque form as it barreled through the trees, its massive legs tearing through the underbrush. The sight of its rage-filled eyes only deepened the cruel smirk on his lips. "Once I'm back in the city, I'll chop Pay Ling into pieces and feed him to the banner. Let his soul scream for eternity."
But even as he cursed Pay Ling, a flicker of dark amusement crossed his mind. "This punk's sheer dumb luck might've done me a favor," he thought, his grin widening. "The demon spider's too enraged, its madness blinding it to the danger ahead. It might just charge straight into the range of Lothgar's protection array. If it does…" His eyes gleamed with greed. "The body of a Foundation Stage demon beast, even if obliterated by the grand array, would leave behind valuable scraps. Enough to repair my banner and then some."
The thought of such a lucrative haul filled him with glee, dulling the sharp sting of his wounds and the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him. He pushed forward, his steps faltering but determined, each one bringing him closer to safety—and to revenge.
Just as he was about to break into a sprint, a sudden breeze sliced through the air, cold and sharp as a blade. It swirled around, coalescing into a familiar figure midair. Chen Haunt's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the man before him—Jarl Drainwood.
"Jarl?!" Chen Haunt stiffened, his mind racing. His hopes of looting the demon spider's corpse were now dashed, but as he felt the weakness in his limbs, the toll of the Blood-Burning Technique sapping the last of his strength, he realized that encountering Drainwood might not be such a bad twist after all. Even if he reached the protection array, the spider might still unleash a final, desperate attack—a venomous strike or a crushing blow—that could finish him off. With Drainwood here, the risk was significantly reduced.
Grinning through the blood and pain, Chen Haunt veered toward the Jarl, his voice rising in a desperate shout. "Jarl, help! That Man-Faced Spider left its nest for some reason and has been chasing me all the way here. It's exhausted from the trek—this is the perfect time for you to take it down!"
Drainwood's gaze swept over Chen Haunt, lingering for a moment on the Summon Soul Banner clutched in his hand. A faint smile played on the Jarl's lips, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. But then Drainwood nodded, his voice calm and measured. "Very well."
Chen Haunt's face lit up with a flicker of hope, his eyes gleaming with a joy as he sprinted toward Jarl Drainwood. But before he could close the distance, the Jarl raised his hand—a motion so casual, so effortless. Yet, when his palm descended, the air itself seemed to shudder.
The strike was deceptively light, like the brush of a feather, but its impact was anything but gentle. Chen Haunt's body was hurled backward as if caught in the grip of a tempest, his form crashing to the ground a dozen feet away. Blood erupted from his mouth in a crimson torrent, splattering the earth like a macabre painting. His fingers, trembling and weak, could no longer clutch the Summon Soul Banner, and it slipped from his grasp.
"J-Jarl... what is the meaning of this?!" Chen Haunt stammered, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock and panic. His mind raced, clinging to a fragile thread of hope. If Drainwood had truly intended to kill him, that single strike would have been enough to reduce him to ash. The fact that he was still breathing, albeit barely, suggested that the Jarl had other plans.
His eyes darted to Drainwood's face, searching for answers, but the Jarl's expression was unreadable—cold, detached, as if Chen Haunt were nothing more than an insignificant speck in his vision. Instead, Drainwood's gaze was fixed on the Summon Soul Banner, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable interest.
Chen Haunt's heart sank, his face twisting into a mask of dread. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, a translucent hand of pure spiritual energy materialized behind Drainwood. It moved with a ghostly speed, snatching the banner from the ground and presenting it to the Jarl.
"A fine piece indeed," Drainwood murmured, his voice low and appreciative. He turned the banner over in his hands, examining it with the scrutiny of a connoisseur. The banner writhed faintly, as if alive, its spirit—Chen Haunt's essence blood—struggling to return to its master. But Drainwood's grip was firm, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the fabric. "A top-tier Qi Refinement stage Dao Weapon," he mused, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Even in the presence of a Foundation stage cultivator, it dares to resist. Impressive."
He paused, his gaze distant, as if envisioning the banner's potential. "Given time, this could become a cultivator's greatest ally," he said, almost to himself.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, an array compass materialized at his side. The compass spun rapidly, its surface flashing with an ominous black light that enveloped the banner. In the span of a single breath, Chen Haunt felt a searing pain tear through his mind—a sensation akin to a blade severing his very soul.
ARHHHH!
A guttural scream ripped from his throat, raw and primal, as the bond between him and the Summon Soul Banner was ruthlessly severed. The pain was unbearable, the agony that left him gasping for breath, his body convulsing on the ground.
Drainwood, utterly unfazed, pocketed the banner with a casual motion, as if nothing was happening. Then, with a flick of his finger, he pointed to the ground. Instantly, thick vines erupted from the earth, coiling around Chen Haunt's body with a vice-like grip. He struggled, but the vines only tightened, their thorny tendrils digging into his flesh.
Summoning a dark cloud beneath him, Drainwood lounged atop it, floating effortlessly in the air. His expression was calm, almost bored, as if he were merely waiting for a mundane appointment.
It wasn't long before the Man-Faced Spider arrived, its giant grotesque form charging into the clearing with a terrifying ferocity. Its multiple eyes glinted with malice, and its fangs dripped with venom. But upon sensing the presence of a Foundation stage cultivator, it hesitated, its movements slowing as it assessed the situation.
"Greetings, FellowDao," Drainwood said, his voice smooth and composed. He offered a slight salute from his perch on the cloud. "I am Jarl Drainwood of Lothgar City. Behind me lies the Nether-Slaying Demon Array. I am not certain how these juniors have offended you, but surely you understand the principle of 'squash the beef, keep the peace.' You've already claimed a few lives on your way here—a testament to your strength, no doubt. As a gesture of goodwill, I offer this sixth-layer cultivator as a peace offering. Let us consider the matter settled—at least for today. What say you?"
Chen Haunt's soul nearly fled his body in sheer terror. His eyes widened, and he thrashed against the vines, his voice rising in a desperate shriek. "Drainwood Yowl! How dare you?! A Foundation Stage cultivator, harming a Qi Refinement disciple—Strong bullying the weak! According to Sect law, this is—"
"Noisy," Drainwood interrupted, his voice as cold as ice. With a flick of his hand, Chen Haunt's tongue was sealed, his words reduced to muffled grunts.
Ignoring Chen Haunt entirely, Drainwood turned his attention to the Man-Faced Spider, his tone measured and earnest, as though addressing an equal. "This Chen Haunt may not fully compensate for your loss, but consider him a gesture of goodwill. You ventured from the deep mountains to lay your eggs—your vitality has been greatly depleted. Even if you avoid the array, we are of the same cultivation stage. While your demonic body is far tougher than mine, there is no gain in fighting me."
He paused, his voice dropping lower, carrying a subtle edge of warning. "If you provoke the wrath of a high-tier cultivator from our holy sect, your fate will be sealed. So, let us end this here. It is good for you, and good for me."
The Man-Faced Spider let out a guttural hiss, its legs and fangs thrashing in the air, its grotesque face contorted with rage. It seemed to reject the offer outright, its crimson eyes burning with unrelenting fury.
"Must we fight, Fellow Dao?" Jarl Drainwood's smirk twisted into a cold, angry expression. "Do you mistake my concession for weakness? Do you think I, Drainwood Yowl, am soft?!"
The final syllable had barely left his lips when the air around him erupted with darkness aura. The array compass at his side spun violently, spewing tendrils of cadaveric fog that coiled around him like serpents. The oppressive killing intent radiating from the heavy fog momentarily overwhelmed the spider's ferocious aura, forcing it to take a step back.
The demon beast growled low in its throat, its massive legs gouging deep scars into the earth as it struggled to contain its rage. Sparks flew where its claws scraped against the rocky ground, the sound grating and harsh. Its fury was palpable, a storm barely held in check.
But after a tense moment, the spider's head reared back, and it let out a piercing wail that echoed through the valley. In a flash, it spat a thick, glistening web—a deadly projectile aimed not at Drainwood, but at Chen Haunt.
Drainwood watched, serene and unmoving, as the web engulfed Chen Haunt in an instant. The venomous strands seared his skin, the pain so intense that Chen Haunt's body convulsed violently, his muted screams trapped behind sealed lips. His eyes bulged in panic and agony, but there was no escape.
The spider, however, was far from satisfied. With a swift, brutal motion, it dragged Chen Haunt closer, its blade-like legs slicing through his limbs inch by inch. The sound of flesh and bone being severed was sickening, each cut deliberate and merciless. The spider's fangs gleamed as it chewed on Chen Haunt's arm right in front of his face, piece by piece, its crimson eyes locked onto Drainwood as if daring him to intervene.
Drainwood, for his part, remained utterly unfazed. He idly toyed with the Summon Soul Banner in his hand, a faint half-smile playing on his lips as he observed the gruesome spectacle.
The spider's feast slowed, its grotesque mandibles tearing through Chen Haunt's limbs with deliberate precision, savoring each bite as though relishing the taste of vengeance. Bit by bit, it consumed everything, leaving Chen Haunt a broken, limbless husk. Yet, even as the spider gnawed, its crimson eyes flicked repeatedly toward Drainwood, weighing its odds of victory. The Jarl's calm, unmoving demeanor was a silent challenge, one the spider seemed unwilling to fully confront.
Finally, with a guttural hiss of resentment, the spider flung Chen Haunt's mutilated body onto its back. The man was barely alive, his tormented form twitching faintly as the spider retreated into the shadows, its movements heavy with frustration and rage.
"Safe travels, Fellow Dao," Drainwood called after it, his voice gentle, almost smiling. He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing as the spider disappeared into the distance. With a flick of his hand, he cast a seal, and Chen Haunt's muted voice finally returned, his gasps and cries filling the air.
"J-Jarl, mercy!" Chen Haunt's voice was a ragged whisper, desperate and pleading. "The banner's yours—a gift from this humble disciple! I'll serve you as a slave, I'll swear a heart-demon oath to obey you and Senior Brother Morbid forever—I'll risk fire and ice! Please, spare me!"
His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, each one laced with desperation. "Please, mercy!!! Jarl—Jarl! Mi-lord! Your honor! I delivered Senior Brother Morbid's letter—we're like brothers! Spare me, and I'll serve the Drainwood Clan for life!!!"
Drainwood stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression serene, his faint smile never wavering.
Chen Haunt's hope shattered completely, his desperation twisting into hysterical rage. "Drainwood Yowl! You fucking bastard!!! You're the damn Jarl of Lothgar—how dare you not protect your sect disciples? How dare you rob and kill me?! You'll die horribly for this!!!" His voice rose to a shrill scream, his words echoing through the valley. "And that little fucking bitch Pay Ling!!! The holy sect's Punishment Crypt won't spare you!!!"
Jarl Drainwood's high spirits were palpable, he let the curse words wash over him like a mountain breeze, utterly unbothered. He chuckled softly, before flicking his sleeve with a flourish. In an instant, his form dissolved into a swirling breeze, carrying him back toward Lothgar City.