Huh?
Jarl Drainwood's brow creased ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. Pay Ling's breath hitched, his hand instinctively drifting toward the hilt at his back, fingers brushing the wrapped Blade of Life Hater.
But then, like a storm cloud parting, Drainwood's face smoothed out. "Fair point," he said, his voice as warm as a crackling hearth fire. "You've come all this way—can't return empty-handed. Since this mess happened in my city, I'll handle your task for you."
With a casual wave to his attendants, he added, "Take good care of Young Friend Pay."
Before the echo of his words could fade, he melted into a gust of wind and vanished.
A few cups of tea moments later, Jarl Drainwood reappeared, tossing two blood-drenched beasts at Pay Ling's feet with a wet thud. "Young Friend Pay, here you go—the left one's a Peach Blossom Demon, the right's a Purple-Eyed Mink. Check them, see if they fit the task."
Pay Ling swallowed hard, forcing a grin. "Jarl, I'm just a fourth-layer Qi Refinement stage newbie—I don't know nothing…"
"No worries, no worries," Drainwood chuckled, his smile as disarming as a kindly uncle's. "Just swipe your nameplate over them. If I got it wrong, I'll head out to the mountains again—no trouble at all."
Pay Ling's gut screamed no like hell, but pinned under the gaze of a Foundation Stage cultivator, he reluctantly took out his sect nameplate.
The problem was, nameplate in hand, he had no clue what to do next.
"Young Friend," Drainwood piped up, spotting his floundering, "dab some demon beast blood on the nameplate—it'll tell you if they're your targets."
Pay Ling smeared blood from both beasts onto the nameplate. Nothing happened. No glow, no hum.
Elation surged in his mind. "Jarl, looks like they're not the target!" he blurted. "No need to bother your honor again—I'll handle the task myself!"
"That is odd…" Jarl Drainwood stiffened, genuinely puzzled. As Lothgar's Jarl, he knew every beast in his domain like the back of his hand. Blindfolded, he wouldn't muff this.
Frowning, he mulled it over, then his eyes lit up. "Young Friend Pay, when you left the sect, did you register a task?"
"Register a task?" Pay Ling repeated the words, his face blank with confusion. "How should I accept a task? Senior Brother Chen just kept saying I should go with Senior Sister Chen—delivering your letter and hunting down the Flower Demon Monster."
Drainwood Yowl sighed, shaking his head. "Just as I thought. Young Friend, you're fresh to the sect—no wonder you're lost. Holy Sect tasks need to be logged at the Affairs Hall in the outer sect with your nameplate. Only then can you cash in rewards. Coming out blind like this? Unless you detour to the Affairs Hall later when back to the holy sect, you'll waste your time and effort."
Jarl Drainwood squinted, his expression a mix of puzzlement and curiosity. "I thought Young Friend Chen and the others were close to you—you seemed to respect them, and your bond appeared tight. They're task veterans—why didn't they tell you to register the tasks?"
Why? Pay Ling's mind snarled. Because those bastards dragged me out here only to murder me and devour my soul for their banner—why would they waste time on something as trivial as registration?
Out loud, he played dumb, mimicking Drainwood's questioning tone. "Yeah… why didn't they?"
"Probably too focused on forging that Summon Soul Banner," Jarl Drainwood mused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That's a greedy Dao Artifact—it needs plenty of souls and flesh. Even a sharp junior like you, at your cultivation level? It would take dozens of sacrifices to forge it into a top-tier weapon. Maybe they rushed out for tasks, too eager, too concentrated on the Dao Artifact, and didn't have time to explain the details to you, my young friend."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Going back, just patch up the registration paperwork at the Affairs Hall—it's no big deal. Since Young Friend Chen's squad is all gone, you can handle it by yourself."
"Right…" Pay Ling nodded, his face a kaleidoscope of emotions—first shock, then disbelief, followed by sudden realization, rage, relief, and finally melancholy. His voice dipped low with feigned sorrow. "Thanks for your guidance, Jarl!"
Drainwood beamed, his demeanor all chummy and warm. "We're sect comrades, just like family—no need to stand on ceremony."
He pointed at the dead beasts. "So, Young Friend Pay, grab these and head back. Don't forget: report this disaster to the Punishment Crypt first, then hit the Affairs Hall to register the tasks."
"Jarl," Pay Ling hedged, his mind racing. He didn't want to go back to the sect now, not with the risk of facing Lee Sagwon's trio's family, clan assassins, or payback. Stalling and hesitating, he ventured, "Thanks for your great support on the tasks, but Jarl, although Senior Brother Chen's gone—maybe the others are still out there, alive? We came here as a team. Shouldn't I wait? Maybe tomorrow, or in a few days, they'll come back?"
Drainwood went quiet, his gaze unreadable.
Pay Ling forced his expression to remain calm. "If it's inconvenient, I'll go stay outside in an inn—"
"What's that nonsense?" Drainwood cut in, his laughter gentle and kind. "Remember what I said? We're sect comrades, just like family. This mansion's got guest wings aplenty—why would you leave and stay at an inn? I was just thinking I hadn't fully considered that. Here's the plan: I'll send the city guard out to search and rescue them. If they're hurt or stranded, we'll lend a hand and bring them back. What do you think?"
Cornered by the words and unable to refuse, Pay Ling gushed with admiration and respect, "What on the holy sect earth did we do to deserve the great help and guidance from your honor, such a kind-hearted sect senior like you?! Thank you Jarl, mi-lord!"
Kind-hearted my ass, Pay Ling thought bitterly. I bet he's sending the guard to sweep the mountain and murder all the squad members tonight!
——
His hunch proved to be completely correct. By dusk, after pacing inside his guest courtyard like a caged ghoul, Pay Ling was summoned by the steward back to the hall.
Jarl Drainwood sat on the main chair, his face etched with grief. Pay Ling's heart leapt to his throat.
Then he saw the old fox choke out, "Young Friend Pay, brace yourself. The guard just brought back some… remains. The city coroner and steward have confirmed—besides Young Friend Chen, the others… they're all gone."
Pay Ling wailed in sorrow as if he'd lost his entire clan.
How the hell do I find more excuses to stay in Lothgar City now?!
"Young Friend, the dead are gone—please take care," Drainwood soothed him, watching Pay Ling's exaggerated grief with a hidden flicker of amusement. This boy's composure… remarkable. "You and Young Friend Chen's squad members were no doubt close. Their spirits wouldn't want you grieving yourself sick. Oh—besides the remains, we found some belongings. They're yours now, as mementos."
"No, no, no!" Pay Ling snapped out of his "sorrow," his hands flailing like a windmill in a storm. "Jarl, no! I'm a weakling—lowly and unworthy! How could I be the one to keep my seniors' belongings? It should be you. If you refuse, you'll chill the hearts of us Qi Refinement cultivators!"
Drainwood chuckled, his face radiating warmth. "Young Friend, no need for that. They're just some common items and perks, but as they were your seniors' personal belongings, by rights, they're yours now."
Pay Ling wasn't buying the "common" line. He stonewalled, refusing flat-out. Finally, Drainwood had the servants bring up the items: a delicate lacquered ebony tray with gold trim, holding a pitiful pile—tattered junk, a tiny vial with three Blood-Qi Pills, and five measly low-grade spirit stones.
Ewh fuck this greedy old fox!
Pay Ling seethed inwardly. Chen Haunt had once gifted him a Blood-Qi Pill like it was nothing on the Corpse Cloud. Five people's remaining gear, and this was all he got?!
This old fox robbed the banner and skimmed the rest, tossing me a pile of scraps!
Greedy motherfucker!
How could I swallow this insult!!!
Fuming inside, Pay Ling's mouth sang a different tune, as polished jade, every syllable dripping with counterfeit fervor. "Jarl, mi-lord, hear this humble disciple. That spider's a nightmare. If not for your saintly kind heart, we'd all be toast! That's true, parents gave me breath, but Jarl, your honor, gave me life itself! Such grace… such mercy… I shall carve it into my bones!"