Louba Tian stared at Feng Zhiming, his mind reeling. The realization that this seemingly ordinary boy knew intimate details of his thoughts and dreams was shattering his grip on reality.
“What are you?” Louba Tian demanded, his voice trembling as fear gnawed at the edges of his sanity.
Feng Zhiming shrugged nonchalantly. “Me? I am merely a humble servant to my lord,” he replied, shaking his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Don’t lie to me!” Louba Tian’s voice rose, his desperation palpable. “What kind of trickery have you used?!”
“You speak of lies, yet you fail to see the ones right in front of you,” Feng Zhiming replied, his tone laced with pity.
As Louba Tian tried to process Feng Zhiming’s words, a voice, sounding eerily like his own, echoed in his mind. “Why was that bastard Eli smiling when talking about the spoils? There wasn’t anything good there. How could that pipsqueak coward fight without asking for help? And why was Eli trying to kill their hostage?”
Feng Zhiming smirked, leaping effortlessly out of the hole. “I think you know the answers to those questions,” he said slowly, his voice dripping with dark amusement.
Louba Tian took a step back, his body beginning to tremble as his mind unraveled. “How can you know what I’m thinking?” he stammered, terror creeping into his voice.
As he stumbled backward, he felt something bump against him. Turning, he saw the lifeless bodies of his fellow bandits laid out behind him, their cold, dead eyes staring into nothingness. The sight was too much for him, and he fell back onto one of the corpses, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
A shout from outside the camp shattered the macabre silence. “YOU, HOW COULD YOU HAVE ESCAPED?!” Eli’s voice rang out, furious and desperate.
“ELI, COME HERE! THIS KID ISN’T NORMAL!” Louba Tian screamed, his voice filled with panic as he called for help.
Feng Zhiming, still smirking, raised his hand as if expecting something. Almost as if on cue, a head came hurtling out of the darkness and landed in his palm with a wet thud.
“Here he is,” Feng Zhiming said calmly, holding Eli’s severed head in front of Louba Tian’s face. Blood still dripped from the neck, the cut so clean that it seemed as if it could be reattached without a trace.
“E-Eli!?” Louba Tian’s voice was barely a whisper, his horror evident. How could a mere Qi Condensation junior have possibly killed Eli, who was at the Ethereal Core stage?
“I had planned to use him,” Feng Zhiming said, tossing the head aside in disgust. “But he tried to choke me. Useless.”
As Louba Tian’s gaze followed the head, he noticed it was still moving. The lips parted, and the head began to speak, a wide, grotesque smile stretching across its face.
“Chief... I am Chief... I am Chief...” the head repeated, the words slurred and eerie.
Louba Tian recoiled, throwing the head away as he began to crawl backward over the dead bodies of his allies, his mind teetering on the edge of madness.
“I wanted to use you as well,” Feng Zhiming continued, his voice calm and almost gentle. “But I can’t very well leave a participant alive, can I?”
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Louba Tian froze. The word “participant” echoed in his mind, bringing a sudden, chilling clarity. Feng Zhiming had spoken it so casually, yet it was filled with a deadly certainty. Louba Tian realized then that this boy knew everything. There was no escaping it—Feng Zhiming was a player in the same deadly game he had been dragged into.
As Feng Zhiming released his Art of Demonic Suppression, his cultivation level soared, rising from the third layer of Qi Condensation to the ninth, and still climbing. Louba Tian felt the pressure from Feng Zhiming’s growing power crush down on him, making it impossible to stand. His knees buckled, and he fell once more, unable to raise his eyes to meet Feng Zhiming’s.
“After all, what kind of bandit leader would sleep without a woman to accompany him, especially when all his minions were doing the opposite? Not very obedient to your inherited memories, are you?” Feng Zhiming clicked his tongue in disapproval.
Louba Tian, now on his knees, reached for his storage ring in a desperate bid for survival. He hastily removed his spiritual imprint from it, unlocking it and offering it to Feng Zhiming. “Take it, take it! Please, just let me go!” he begged, his voice breaking with fear.
Feng Zhiming examined the ring, sensing the treasure within—a scroll, the very item he had been sent to retrieve.
“What is it that you want? I’ll do anything!” Louba Tian pleaded, his voice trembling with despair.
Feng Zhiming smiled coldly. To Louba Tian’s terrified eyes, it seemed as though Feng Zhiming’s power had reached the level of a Dao Lord. “Unfortunately, I prefer the loyalty of those who turn to me in times of desperation over those who merely fear me. As for what I actually want...” He leaned in close, his voice a chilling whisper. “To win, of course.”
Louba Tian gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his back, realizing too late that his heart had been pierced. He turned to see the headless body of Eli standing behind him, the saber that had ended his life now driven through his chest.
“Nothing to gain and nothing to lose,” Louba Tian murmured as his vision faded. The head that had fallen nearby continued its eerie chant, “I am Chief... I am Chief...”
Louba Tian’s eyes rolled back as life left his body. Feng Zhiming placed his palm on Louba Tian’s head, sending a wave of spiritual energy through his corpse, obliterating any lingering essence just to be sure.
As Louba Tian’s body fell lifeless, a message appeared in Feng Zhiming’s mind.
[What would you like your name to be on the rankings?]
Feng Zhiming was pleasantly surprised. The chance to make his mark again in this world was too tempting to pass up. “Demonic Crow of the Heavens,” he thought.
[Participant 46 has been eliminated. Cause of elimination: Fear]
[Elimination Count Rankings]
No.1 (Participant 33): 1 elimination
No.1 (Demonic Crow of the Heavens): 1 elimination
[Remaining participants: 97]
“Fear? Did I really scare him to death? Haha,” Feng Zhiming chuckled, relishing the moment.
He turned to face the scene before him. A group of thirty-six women stood silently, including the tall female disciple who had been with him earlier. Their expressions were ones of unwavering devotion, their eyes fixed on Feng Zhiming.
“Thank you to the forgotten vessel for his generosity,” said a woman with light blue hair, her cultivation at the Quasi-Spiritual Awakening realm. She knelt before Feng Zhiming, her voice filled with reverence.
“No need for thanks, Anissa. This is the will of the Forgotten One,” Feng Zhiming replied, his tone gentle yet authoritative.
From the moment Feng Zhiming had stepped into the camp, the bandits had been in his control. The instant he entered, his spiritual sense had enveloped the entire area, allowing him to implant a strand of his spiritual energy into every living being in the camp. This subtle maneuver enabled him to utilize his Demonic Phenomena.
A Demonic Phenomena was a rare and powerful manifestation of a cultivator’s nature, often awakened in moments of enlightenment or life-and-death struggles. Feng Zhiming’s Demonic Phenomena was known as the Omen of Death—a terrifying ability that allowed him to influence and manipulate the minds of those around him, planting suggestions and altering their perceptions.
Feng Zhiming chuckled, recalling past exploits. Once, he had taken an assassination mission where he used his Demonic Phenomena to convince his target that the true immortal was calling him, urging him to end his own life. The contractor who hired him had doubted Feng Zhiming’s role in the death, so naturally, Feng Zhiming had killed the contractor and taken everything he owned.