I Cultivated Too Long and Got Isekai'd Into a Game-Chapter 206: Passing Game

The Roamita family’s sanctum was cloaked in velvet and shadow.

Overhead, a crystal chandelier shimmered coldly, casting a pale blue light over polished floors that reflected not opulence, but menace. Every wall bore engraved sigils, stained faintly with dried blood—silent witnesses to countless forbidden rites that had been conducted in this room.

At the center of the hall sat a long, blackwood table. And at its heart, resting on an iron pedestal, was a glass orb that pulsed like a beating heart.

Each thump sent a flicker of sickly purple light and thick mist crawling across the chamber.

The patriarch of the Roamita family sat at the head, his broad shoulders wrapped in crimson robes embroidered with serpent patterns. Around him were elders, advisers, and heirs—faces tight with worry, yet cloaked in arrogance.

The orb stirred the next moment.

Shadows writhed within, and then a distorted shape rose from its depths.

It was a figure neither fully man nor beast, tall and indistinct, with burning eyes that seemed to pierce the soul. When it spoke, its voice was a chorus of many, distorted by rage.

[Kevro Roamita... you claimed your plan was foolproof. Your promise, sealed in blood. Yet, our champion has perished—consumed by a mere mortal girl. How will you explain yourself?]

The temperature dropped at once, as if winter drew instantly.

Several juniors flinched; an elder clenched his fists, knuckles whitening, while some even grabbed their weak hearts.

The patriarch leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting coldly.

"Hmph. Perhaps your so-called vessel was weaker than you claimed. Do not place your failings upon us."

The envoy’s laugh was hollow and cruel, reverberating off the walls.

[Weak? No. She was aided. Another will entered the trial—an ancient cultivator. His aura thundered like the heavens. Do not tell me you know nothing of this intruder?]

Murmurs rippled through the Roamita elders.

An ancient cultivator? Was an evil spirit, older than their country, calling a cultivator "ancient"? Such a figure didn’t exist, at least in their knowledge.

One of the advisers slammed his hand against the table.

"Ridiculous! You were the ones who controlled the trial grounds. If an outsider interfered, it is your fault, not ours!"

The envoy’s eyes burned hotter, the orb glowing blood-red. His voice thundered with cold anger kept under wraps.

[Do not play the fool! You plotted to use us as scapegoats, hoping to get what you want without taking the fall! Don’t think I wouldn’t notice your ploy!]

His words struck like knives.

Several advisers stiffened, while the patriarch’s expression barely flickered. Inwardly, his heart sank. It was true that they had arranged for the venue to be poisoned and pushed the blame to the Evil Spirits, who would conveniently arrive at a perfect timing—earlier than planned.

Calmly, he spread his hands.

"An ancient cultivator? We have no idea who that is. We gain nothing by allowing an intruder to disrupt our deal. If what you say is true, then you simply failed to account for such a presence in your plans."

The orb quaked, causing cracks to spread like spiderwebs across the table beneath it. The envoy’s form swelled, its voice dripping venom.

[The pact is written in blood. Betrayal carries cost. Should we judge you guilty, every sigil and every contract sealed with us will turn upon your family. Even now, your blood knows this.]

The patriarch’s wrist flared. A scar hidden beneath his sleeve seared open, crimson script burning across his flesh. He did not flinch—though pain lanced up his arm—but only pressed his hand to the table until his knuckles blanched.

A cold silence gripped the chamber. The elders glanced nervously at one another, sweat dripping despite the chill.

Finally, the patriarch exhaled slowly. "We have not broken faith. But this cultivator you speak of—if he is the root of your fury, then tell us what we face. Who is he?"

The envoy paused, taking a brief time to organize his thoughts. His voice dropped to a low growl.

[He reeks of the higher heavens. His will alone unraveled our vessel, hidden deep within our kin’s soul. If left unchecked, he will destroy you and us alike.]

The room erupted in whispers.

"Higher heavens?"

"Impossible—such a level shouldn’t exist here!"

"That man... Is he after us as well?"

The patriarch raised a hand, silencing them all after a few breaths. His gaze returned to the orb.

"And what do you demand?"

[Destroy him.]

The envoy hissed, each syllable like molten iron.

[Or seal his cultivation. Nothing less will suffice.]

To an evil spirit like him, meeting Xu Tao and picking a fight would practically be suicide. However, for humans, it shouldn’t be impossible...

After all, he had a weakness they could take advantage of—his disciples.

The orb pulsed once more, violent enough to rattle the chandeliers. A distorted scream rang through the sanctum. Then, the shadow collapsed, and the orb went dark—its light extinguished as if nothing had ever been there.

For a long moment, the chamber was silent but for the ragged breaths of those present.

But peace was short, and chaos soon erupted. Elders shouted over one another.

"Destroying a cultivator of the High Heavens?! We cannot fight such a figure head-on!"

"If he truly is from the higher realms, perhaps he can be bargained with—"

"No! He must be destroyed before he turns against us!"

A younger heir slammed his fist on the table—Kevro’s eighth son—gritting his teeth while spouting his idea.

"Or we use him instead." He muttered. "If he can defeat the spirits, then he can be made into our weapon. Why kill what can be harnessed?"

The noise swelled, a storm of ambition and fear. Contradictions and agreement.

The patriarch rose to his feet, his hand letting go of his hurting wrist. His hand slammed against the table with such force that every glass rattled, silencing the chamber at once. His eyes, cold and sharp, swept over them all.

"Enough."

The word carried more weight than the envoy’s roar.

His eyes turned toward a familiar figure—whose face was disfigured with bruises and bumps—Phillip. After all, his "foolproof" plan of poisoning the guests ended up not only failing but also backfiring against them.

Kevro sighed, shaking his head, and moved on just like that.

"He is real and dangerous. That much we now know." His voice was cold, calm, and merciless.

"The spirit bastards see us as fools already. If we waste time squabbling, we will become their scapegoats instead—that’s for certain."

He looked to each elder in turn. "Enemy or tool—it matters not. What matters is that that cultivator will not be left free."

The patriarch leaned forward, his shadow stretching long across the table.

"From this day forward, that cultivator from the higher heavens is our—the Roamita family’s—most dangerous enemy."

Beneath the table, his bleeding wrist throbbed in silent agreement.

🔷🔷🔷

With the birthday girl knocked out completely, the entire celebration ended up postponed...

Well, regardless if Henrietta was awake or not, after the Evil Spirit fiasco, there’s no way they’d continue to party anyway.

Henrietta stayed in the room she was treated in, with Uriel insisting on staying beside her. The little maid Yifa, who disappeared and reappeared at random intervals, also stayed behind to keep watch over the two.

As for Xu Tao...

"...I’m resting."

He just said that and disappeared, leaving Jehanne and Zetian behind.

Nobody knows where he went, but one thing they’re sure of—it wasn’t Henrietta’s mansion he visited.

"What to do...?"

Jehanne asked Zetian beside her, face wrapped in indecision. With Xu Tao going somewhere alone, they had no idea what to do... Or at least, Jehanne was.

"I don’t know about you, but I’m going where my Emperor is."

Zetian casually declared, before waving her fan. The next moment, her figure disappeared like a mirage, dissolving into thin air.

Jehanne saw this but was a step slower in reacting. "Ah! At least take me with you!" She shouted towards the empty air... too late.

She could only grumble lowly, her face looking as if she were about to cry.

"Leaving me alone, Sir Tao and Zetian, the two of you are so heartless!"

"..."

Seeing as nothing but silence answered her tantrum, she could only stomp her feet and walk away, heading back to the room Henrietta was in. There, at least, acquaintances exist.

"Excuse me, miss. You look lonely, so I can’t help but ask... Were you ditched by your date? Then, care to go for a drink with me instead?"

"Huh?"

Suddenly being called, Jehanne glared in the direction of the voice. There stood a young man, face familiar...

Hair as red as burning flames, eyes of pale orange, and an aura that makes one imagine a sharp, naked blade—one wrong touch and you’ll get cut.

"You... Aren’t you Henrietta’s older brother?" She recognized him immediately. "If I recall, your name is... Julian?"

Despite getting his name wrong, the man smiled brightly as he stepped forward, marching closer to Jehanne’s position.

"Close! It’s Julius, by the way, my lady." He said, picking up and kissing the back of her hand.

It was just a common gesture coming from a gentleman, but... "Ugh!" Jehanne’s expression darkened. "What are you doing?!" She asked, pulling her hand away.

Of course, as she was someone who grew up on battlefields, such customs weren’t familiar to her. Instead, she felt disrespected by his sudden actions!

"Haha, are you shy?"

But Julius only chuckled, misinterpreting Jehanne’s disgust as her trying to hide her embarrassment. "Don’t be. I’m never going to do something that you’d hate me for... unless you ask for it."

He added with a wink.

"..."

Jehanne’s veins bulged, trying hard to rein in her anger. However, thinking that despite matters, he’s still Henrietta’s brother... so she just turned around and walked away.

Julius stared at her fading figure, his orange eyes narrowing down into slits.

His tongue peeked out, licking his lips—almost as if a predator finding his prey.