She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar-Chapter 104

◎His obsidian-like eyes stirred with a frost-like ripple of darkness.◎

Thanks to Wu Manshuang’s exceptional disguise, Dui Choumian received invitations from the underground fighting arena with increasing frequency.

For Dui Choumian, this was a tacit signal between both parties.

As for the Silver Light Arena, this was their way of extending an olive branch—proof that they were open to accepting Dui Choumian.

As for why Dui Choumian’s acceptance had gone much smoother than expected, Wu Manshuang had once put himself in the shoes of the Silver Light Arena to consider the matter.

First, Dui Choumian was exceptionally strong.

And when it came to talented young individuals, every major sect was eager to recruit them.

Even if it weren’t the Silver Light Arena—even if it were the Guiyuan Sect, the Temple of Buddhist Chants, or even the Vast Fortune Palace—Dui Choumian’s age, cultivation level, and unfathomable abilities would ensure that any sect would treat him with the utmost respect the moment he expressed interest in joining.

If Yan Luoyue were here, she might have given a more relatable example—

Do you know how fiercely the admissions offices of the Northern and Qinghua Universities compete for top students during the annual college entrance exam season?

They’ll even take the students and their parents to scenic tourist spots, wining and dining them while blocking the other university’s phone numbers.

By comparison, the Silver Light Arena’s approach was downright restrained.

Second, Wu Manshuang had long suspected that Yan Luoyue’s offhand suggestion of a Southern Border demonic youth aesthetic was actually a plus in the eyes of the Silver Light Arena.

If one followed this line of reasoning, the conclusion would be unsettling.

Fighting arenas were the most common entertainment venues in the cultivation world, much like bars and karaoke clubs in modern society.

Generally, when people saw such establishments, they would assume the owners had some shady, unspoken backing.

And Silver Light, as a chain of arenas spanning the entire cultivation world—just what kind of force could be powerful enough to support it?

If the vast, bloated, and domineering Vast Fortune Palace was already a towering ancient tree, then could the Silver Light Arena be one of its newly sprouted branches?

Lastly, based on the information he had gathered, Wu Manshuang deduced that the Silver Light Arena had an enormous demand for talent.

Not long ago, he had received a letter from Yan Luoyue detailing the affairs of Yin Wangyou and Wei Qingsi.

As a demonic puppet who had betrayed her friends without hesitation for the Silver Light Arena, Wei Qingsi was clearly an insider.

Yet her abilities were far from impressive, and aside from backstabbing, she didn’t seem to have any notable skills.

If even someone like her could be privy to the Silver Light Arena’s secrets, then their standards for recruiting subordinates couldn’t be very strict. There certainly weren’t any grueling trials or eighty-one layers of tests.

No wonder Dui Choumian had passed so easily.

However, as the saying goes, easily won hearts are just as easily lost.

If subordinates were so easy to recruit, how did the Silver Light Arena ensure they wouldn’t leak its secrets?

Instinctively, Wu Manshuang recalled the cups of thick, pungent blood-red wine.

…It seemed the Silver Light Arena had truly opened its doors to Dui Choumian from the moment they watched him drink that wine.

Like a spider sitting at the center of its web, occasionally casting a soft yet icy glance at the insects caught at the edges—

Once ensnared, there was no escape.

As if confirming Wu Manshuang’s suspicions, the Silver Light Arena’s invitations to Dui Choumian had grown even more frequent in recent days.

Thus, when Wu Manshuang realized that his golden beast-head ring could now be upgraded to crystal, he faintly sensed that the moment of being drawn into the web had arrived.

Sure enough, when Dui Choumian was escorted backstage by a servant that day, he looked up and saw a familiar figure.

It was Bu Ye, the fifth disciple of the Cloud-Cleaving Sword Sect.

The prediction Wu Manshuang had made days ago was about to come true.

Dui Choumian chuckled softly and flicked a soft, shimmering silver ornament on his shoulder.

The silver bell, adorned with dangling tassels, swayed under his slender, pale fingers, emitting a faint, dreamy chime.

Hearing the sound, Bu Ye turned his head. His gaze burned with a fierce, battle-ready intensity.

Wu Manshuang: "…"

Wait, hadn’t Senior Brother Kang said they’d already sent someone to contact Bu Ye?

At this moment, Wu Manshuang had to consider one possibility: Did this swordsman brother not realize that Dui Choumian was his contact?

Wu Manshuang: "…"

Wu Manshuang reflected.

He thought: Perhaps, maybe, possibly… Dui Choumian’s act had been a little too convincing.

Before Dui Choumian could send a second signal, a servant arrived and led them into a private chamber.

Seeing the servant bow and prepare to leave, Bu Ye grew impatient.

Frowning, he called out, "Wait—are you putting me with him again?"

Dui Choumian rested his pipe against his lips, a lazy, languid smile on his face as he watched in silence.

The servant didn’t answer, only shuffled backward with small, quick steps.

Bu Ye raised his voice slightly. "Hold on, didn’t you hear me? I said before—when assigning opponents, avoid him, and avoid that [redacted] too!"

"Ah… and here you still don’t understand?"

A sigh suddenly came from behind Wu Manshuang and Bu Ye, in the direction opposite the chamber’s exit.

The two turned in unison to see the Silver Light Arena’s manager standing between two curtains. His appearance was somewhat refined, but the fine red veins in his eyes and the faintly manic twist of his lips gave him an air of madness.

After speaking, the manager ignored Bu Ye entirely, fixing his gaze solely on Dui Choumian.

"He doesn’t get it—but do you?"

Dui Choumian took a slow drag from his pipe, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke like white mist before answering leisurely:

"Though I dared not ask, it was always my wish. To be honest, I’ve been waiting for this day."

No one saw what he did.

But the swordsman beside him suddenly stiffened, his body rigid as a statue before he toppled over like a plank.

As he fell, Bu Ye’s face was still etched with shock. "You—you all… the arena…"

Dui Choumian chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with mockery.

"There are two great pains in this world—having life but no money, and having money but no life. Congratulations, Swordsman Bu. You’re about to experience both."

As he spoke, Dui Choumian drew the curved blade at his waist, adorned with turquoise and amber.

The blade flashed, and without hesitation, he brought it down.

Just as the edge was about to slice through the swordsman’s neck, the manager suddenly called for a stop.

"…"

Dui Choumian paused, straightening with visible displeasure. "What? He’s not my pledge of loyalty anymore?"

The supervisor chuckled lightly. "Mr. Dui, there’s no need to rush. Your strength has already proven your qualifications. As for this Bu Ye… letting his head roll would be such a waste."

Dui Choumian asked pointedly, "Then how do we avoid wasting him? Dragging him away to be brewed into blood wine?"

The supervisor waved his hand dismissively. "We welcome talents like Mr. Dui with open arms. As for someone like Bu Ye, we’re willing to accept him in another way…"

Before he could finish speaking, a thin thread suddenly shot out from behind the curtain.

Had Yan Luoyue been present, she would have found the thread eerily familiar—

It resembled the sinews of the Thousand-Faced Demon or the shell of the Left-Spiral Snail Demon, differing only slightly in toughness and thickness. It was unmistakably the legendary Puppeteer’s Thread.

With lightning speed, the thread lunged toward the back of Bu Ye’s head.

Once it had extracted all his memories, the thread would snap on its own.

By then, Bu Ye would be reduced to a mindless puppet, controlled beyond redemption.

The moment Wu Manshuang recognized the Puppeteer’s Thread, his pupils constricted—so the Silver Light Arena was undeniably tied to the demonic forces!

In the next instant, Dui Choumian shot forward like an arrow, his figure darting like a swooping eagle!

He didn’t spare a glance at the stiffened Bu Ye on the ground, nor did he acknowledge the supervisor’s frozen smile.

The Southern Border’s demon prince unsheathed the curved blade at his waist, conjuring a sudden whirlwind within the cramped chamber as he lunged ruthlessly toward the curtain!

He had left Bu Ye—now defenseless—on the ground, abandoning him to face that terrifying Puppeteer’s Thread alone!

The supervisor, stunned, barely had time to react before swiping at Dui Choumian as he brushed past.

At the same moment, Bu Ye—who should have been immobilized—suddenly sprang up from the ground like a carp leaping from water.

With a single slash, he severed the unyielding Puppeteer’s Thread.

His second strike aimed straight for the supervisor’s back.

Feeling the sharp surge of sword intent behind him, Wu Manshuang allowed himself a faint smirk—

Good. The swordsman had caught his signal and wasn’t as foolish as he seemed.

The paralyzing smoke had only rendered Bu Ye immobile for less than a tenth of a second.

Forced to defend himself, the supervisor spun around.

A dark green, eagle-claw-like weapon materialized in his palm, clashing against Bu Ye’s blade with a metallic clang.

The impact sent eerie, lingering reverberations through the chamber.

Meanwhile, behind the curtain, the lone puppeteer stood as if in a field freshly fertilized—dozens of shadowy figures abruptly rose from the darkness!

These cultivators varied in height, build, and gender.

The only thing they shared was the same hollow, lifeless gaze.

A dozen puppeteered cultivators struck at once, intercepting Wu Manshuang’s blade while unleashing a shockwave that hurled his toxic smoke back at him.

In an instant, Wu Manshuang and Bu Ye retreated, standing back-to-back.

Bu Ye, still clueless about the bigger picture, blurted out in confusion:

"What’s going on? Did the demonic forces infiltrate the Silver Light Arena?"

Explaining would take too long.

At the critical moment, Wu Manshuang opted for the most effective motivation:

"It’s a new tournament format. We’re teaming up—win, and we get ten thousand low-grade spirit stones."

Bu Ye’s eyes lit up. "That’s amazing!"

Wu Manshuang calmly added, "Lose, and my smoking pipe and your sword will be remarried to someone else."

"…"

Bu Ye let out a furious roar and leaped into action!

A true swordsman would never let his wife be taken away!

Nor would he allow her scabbard to be sold off!

The next second, the puppeteered cultivators, provoked by Wu Manshuang’s earlier assault, lunged at him en masse.

At the same time, the curtain swept shut, concealing the puppeteer.

From behind it, dozens of Puppeteer’s Threads shot out—thin, inconspicuous, yet writhing like octopus tentacles, all homing in on Bu Ye from every direction.

The supervisor, however, didn’t rush into the fray. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Wu Manshuang, muttering something under his breath.

"…"

Among the puppeteered cultivators was a woman wielding a rainbow silk ribbon.

She flung her enchanted silk, twisting it through the air in a dozen loops before finally snagging Wu Manshuang’s smoking pipe—then yanked hard.

Simultaneously, the other puppeteered cultivators swarmed him, attacking from all angles.

Their goal was clear: force Wu Manshuang to relinquish his pipe.

A mocking smile flickered across Wu Manshuang’s face.

—These fools didn’t realize his poison arts were innate, not dependent on any artifact.

Without hesitation, he released his grip.

At the same time, a dense black miasma exploded from his back, engulfing both him and the puppeteered cultivators.

The toxic fog even blocked spiritual senses.

For a brief moment, no one could discern what was happening inside.

Even the puppeteered cultivators, blinded within the haze, could only flail blindly in random directions.

Seizing the cover, Wu Manshuang pricked his fingertip, condensing droplets of blood into ruby-hard beads.

With a flick, he sent them flying in all directions.

Some pierced straight through the puppeteered cultivators’ armor, instantly sapping their defenses and dropping them like broken marionettes.

Others bounced off defensive artifacts—only to shatter into a fine crimson mist that seeped through every crack.

Within moments, those who had blocked the blood beads collapsed, their faces ashen.

Their injuries, ironically, were far worse than those who had taken direct hits.

Meanwhile, Bu Ye fought with equal ferocity.

Though luck and wits weren’t his strong suits, his skill was undeniable.

In a single breath, he unleashed twenty-one sword strikes.

Every flash of steel cleanly severed a Puppeteer’s Thread—each cut as precise as tearing paper barehanded.

Bu Ye didn’t even blink.

Between slicing threads, he still found time to lunge at the supervisor, who stood muttering nonsense to himself.

The supervisor: "…"

The person in charge dodged aside, his eyes bloodshot and bulging with an almost insane disbelief as he stared at Wu Manshuang.

“Impossible… You clearly drank the blood wine, so how could you…”

Wu Manshuang immediately realized: “Your blood wine—aside from being addictive, it also has a controlling effect?”

No, that couldn’t be right. It shouldn’t be capable of manipulating a cultivator’s actions.

If a single cup of wine could achieve that, then the Silver Light Arena wouldn’t have needed to spend such a high price to raise puppet masters.

In a flash of realization, Yan Luoyue’s letter, along with the bolded lines she had emphasized, raced through Wu Manshuang’s mind.

He murmured, “Self-destruction…”

Luoyue had once mentioned that Wei Qingsi’s direct cause of death was a self-detonation that couldn’t be stopped, even when her spiritual power was sealed!

Seeing Wu Manshuang confront the person in charge head-on, Bu Ye suddenly spoke up. “You deal with him? Fine.”

Before the words had fully left his mouth, Bu Ye’s figure brushed past Wu Manshuang, charging straight toward the heavy curtains.

This swordsman fought with such passion, such intensity, such single-minded focus.

Clearly, he had taken Wu Manshuang’s offhand remark—“Winner gets ten thousand spirit stones, loser’s wife remarries”—to heart.

Wu Manshuang: “…”

Human stubbornness could sometimes be a virtue.

Bu Ye’s sword arrived before he did.

The thick, floor-length curtains were sliced cleanly into four pieces, fluttering to the ground.

The puppet master behind the curtains tried to flee, but seeing Bu Ye chasing after him like a rabid dog, he hastily shot out over a dozen puppet strings.

Perhaps because all the puppet cultivators he controlled had died, this demonic puppet master was severely weakened.

The strings he released were limp and flimsy, a far cry from the razor-sharp blades they had been before.

Bu Ye severed all of them with a single stroke.

For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to hold its breath, leaving only the sound of that sword’s slash.

A sorrowful, tragic sword intent filled the small chamber.

It was so heartbreakingly beautiful, so full of grief—as if it were about to burst from the chest and spill forth—

Then, the moment it pierced the puppet master’s heart, the sword’s force blasted open the ceiling of the chamber.

The puppet master died with a resentful gurgle.

And through the broken roof, a figure waving eight tentacles leapt down from the gap!

“Sorry I’m late, Junior Brother!”

Wu Manshuang exhaled slowly, a faint, warm smile appearing at the sight of reinforcements.

He said softly, “Senior Brother Bashui.”

Before dying, the puppet master let out a shriek so shrill it was beyond the range of human vocal cords.

The sound made everyone present grimace, and the person in charge looked especially furious.

Laughing in extreme rage, the man bared his teeth in a crazed grin and roared, “Good, good—you’ve all done so well!”

The next second, the person in charge leapt into the air, brandishing a magical gourd tied with a red cord.

Holding the gourd aloft, he first called out Bu Ye’s name.

At the sight of this, Wu Manshuang instantly recalled a story Yan Luoyue had once told him—

A fantastical tale about “Sun Wukong,” “Wukong Sun,” “Kong Sun Wu,” and a golden gourd.

Without hesitation, Wu Manshuang shouted, “Don’t answer—”

Bu Ye, of course, did not answer.

After all, he was a taciturn, aloof swordsman who valued brevity.

But he merely looked up—not even uttering a word—before the gourd’s immense suction force yanked him inside!

Wu Manshuang: “…”

Kang Bashui: “…”

The person in charge sneered and called out another name: “Dui Choumian.”

Wu Manshuang remained silent. Learning from Bu Ye’s mistake, he didn’t even glance in the gourd’s direction.

At the same time, he didn’t forget to slice open his own palm.

If he were to be sucked in, then they’d just have to see—would his blood corrode the magical tool (and poison its owner) first, or would the gourd kill him first?

Seeing Wu Manshuang’s lack of reaction, the person in charge guessed that “Dui Choumian” was likely a fake name.

He curled his lips and shook the gourd tauntingly.

“Tell me your real name, and I won’t kill him.”

Wu Manshuang shot him a mocking look. “Oh? You think I’d invite the enemy in, just like you?”

The person in charge’s eyes bulged with fury. “Aren’t you a disciple of a righteous sect? You don’t even care if I kill him?”

Wu Manshuang replied with exaggerated solemnity, “We righteous sects specialize in hypocrites. This man isn’t my senior brother, and there are no witnesses from his sect here—who’s to say how he died?”

The person in charge: “…”

The logic was flawless.

In fact, Wu Manshuang had even preempted the man’s inevitable “hypocrite” insult, stealing his lines right out of his mouth!

With all arguments—both righteous and sarcastic—already spoken, what was left for the person in charge to say?

Truly, this was the art of stealing someone’s words and leaving them speechless!

The man’s neck seemed to stretch an inch longer from sheer frustration.

After an obvious, choked pause, he turned his gaze to Kang Bashui.

A wicked idea flashed in his eyes.

He sneered. “Not your senior brother, none of your business? Fine—then I’ll take one who is!”

With ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍a vicious grin, he declared, “You might not know this, but your Senior Brother Bashui’s name is as famous as his eight tentacles—Kang Bashui!”

Wu Manshuang: “…”

Kang Bashui: “…”

For a moment, the world fell into absolute silence.

And yet… nothing happened.

Disbelieving, the person in charge shouted again, “Kang Bashui!”

“……”

Time itself seemed to freeze at the sincerity of that call.

After a long pause, Kang Bashui—or rather, Kang Zhuzhu—finally spoke up slowly.

“Perhaps… that isn’t my real name either?”

The person in charge: “…”

If thoughts could be heard aloud, the entire arena would have echoed with his scream—

Are you people from the Guiyuan Sect out of your minds?!

Why does every disciple use a fake name when traveling outside?!

Ah, what a beautiful misunderstanding. Best to let it persist.

This person in charge was a Nascent Soul cultivator.

Moreover, he wielded an utterly unreasonable magical gourd.

By all logic, he should have been unstoppable.

Unfortunately for him, today he had encountered Wu Manshuang.

And Wu Manshuang’s abilities were even more unreasonable than his.

So, in a matter of moments, the man was subdued beneath a haze of blood mist.

Given that his cultivation was a full realm higher than Wu Manshuang’s, the latter didn’t dare hold back—his first strike was a lethal one, with no thought of taking prisoners.

Judging by the person in charge’s subsequent actions, this was a wise decision.

Because the man himself seemed to have never considered surrender as an option.

Cornered and desperate, before Wu Manshuang’s toxic mist could breach his defenses and touch his skin, the person in charge shot him one last, venomous glare.

Then, he blew himself up into a bloody firework of gore and flesh.

Casually gathering qi into an umbrella, Wu Manshuang prevented the scattered blood and flesh from splattering onto him. He sniffed the air, and amidst the thick, metallic scent of blood, he caught a faint trace of familiarity.

"..."

This feeling...

The sense of familiarity was hazy, as if it came from a past life even more distant than this one—or perhaps like a shadowy figure trying to peer through frosted glass.

Pursing his lips, Wu Manshuang thought to himself: If Yan Luoyue had been practicing her "Turtle Retreat Technique" because of this familiarity, then it made perfect sense.

After all, this clinging, parasitic sensation was like a ghostly hand lightly trailing down one's spine.

Though it caused no real harm, it was enough to send a chill down one's back.

Extending an arm, Wu Manshuang stopped Kang Bashui from recklessly approaching.

First, the little serpent retracted its venom, then it picked up the gourd and released Bu Ye from the magical artifact.

Fortunately, aside from slightly disheveled robes, the swordsman showed no signs of injury.

By now, even Bu Ye, dense as he was, had realized this was likely no ordinary arena match.

Compared to Wu Manshuang, he was far more familiar with Kang Bashui, so he immediately shot the octopus-like senior brother a questioning look.

Wu Manshuang exhaled and pointed at the fallen puppeteer among the curtains.

"Senior Brother Kang, the evidence is here. You can contact the Snow Domain and the Temple of Brahma’s Sound now."

From Wu Manshuang’s tone, Kang Bashui sensed his intention to leave.

Recalling how Wu Manshuang and Junior Sister Yan were usually inseparable, the answer became obvious:

"Wu Manshuang, are you going to find Yan Luoyue?"

Wu Manshuang gave a slight nod. "Yes. I’ll go see how her... Turtle Retreat Technique is coming along."

Kang Bashui asked with concern, "Do you know where she is?"

Wu Manshuang smiled and tapped his chest.

In the pocket over his heart, he always carried a tiny compass no larger than a coin.

"I know her location, and she’ll know mine."

...

Ever since witnessing Wei Qingsi’s death firsthand, Yan Luoyue had indeed been diligently practicing the Turtle Retreat Technique.

—Or, in plain terms: "Lay low and don’t take risks."

So, when the group discussed sending someone to the Silver Light Arena to lure out their enemies and gauge their reaction, Yan Luoyue didn’t volunteer.

Her fighting style was far too distinctive.

If that ominous feeling truly stemmed from the depths of her memories—or rather, from the Moonfall Tree—

Then what Yan Luoyue needed to do now was avoid drawing attention.

Only when her golden spiritual awareness grew strong enough, and she reclaimed all her memories, could she determine the best course of action.

Senior Brother Xiao Yuan volunteered to scout the arena and even returned with a silver beast-head ring.

The Silver Light Arena remained eerily silent, as if unaware of Wei Qingsi’s death.

Meanwhile, Yin Wangyou—the key witness and theorist behind the demonic evolutionary lineage—was placed under heavy protection and escorted to the Guiyuan Sect.

Not long after, Yan Luoyue and the others received word from the sect.

Following Wu Manshuang’s suggestion, the Guiyuan Sect had ordered its disciples on external missions to search for traces of "nests."

Yan Luoyue: "!!!"

Right, the nests!

Exchanging a glance with Shen Jingxuan, both recalled their past encounter with a nest and their battle against the Illusion Tree.

And so, the search for nests began.

Under Senior Brother Xiao Yuan’s lead, they scoured the city inside and out, but found nothing.

Then, Yan Luoyue took charge, combing through every remote corner of the wilderness—still, no luck.

"..."

After a moment’s thought, Yan Luoyue decisively pushed Shen Jingxuan forward.

With an adorable smile and hopeful eyes, she said to the little nun:

"Jingxuan, could you... uh... perform that thing you do? You know, getting lost on the spot?"

Shen Jingxuan: "...Huh?"

"Ahem." Realizing she’d been too blunt, Yan Luoyue cleared her throat. "What I mean is, why don’t you lead the way this time? Go wherever you feel like."

"..."

Shen Jingxuan gave Yan Luoyue a suspicious look but eventually nodded under her sparkling gaze.

Yuan Feiyu quietly pulled Yan Luoyue aside and whispered, "What’s the reasoning behind this?"

Yan Luoyue mused, "There is one. After all, Jingxuan somehow managed to find Wu Manshuang dozens of times when he was just a child..."

Back then, Yan Luoyue had spent three or four years searching for Wu Manshuang with no success.

Yet Shen Jingxuan had stumbled upon him in the wilderness over and over.

With that track record, Yan Luoyue had absolute faith in Shen Jingxuan’s abilities.

And so, Shen Jingxuan led the group on their "expedition."

The disciples, having been forewarned by Yan Luoyue, followed without batting an eye no matter how bizarre the path became.

Then... things took a turn.

After passing through a main street, two alleys, three sewer tunnels, four underground passages of unknown origin, and half of what appeared to be a backstage corridor—they arrived...

Everyone: "..."

Yuan Feiyu murmured, "Junior Sister Yan, doesn’t this place look like the underground arena Wu Manshuang described?"

Yan Luoyue stared blankly. "Aside from being in a different city, it matches the letter perfectly... This must be the Silver Light Arena’s underground branch in Yixin City."

Indeed, Shen Jingxuan hadn’t led them to a nest.

Instead, she’d guided them straight into the heart of Yixin City’s Silver Light Arena stronghold.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Shen Jingxuan’s sense of direction had transcended the limits of north, south, east, and west—now encompassing the heavens above and the earth below.

From this day forth, no place in the vast cosmos would be safe from her navigational talents!

While Yan Luoyue was left speechless, the underground arena’s overseer was utterly horrified.

This group had appeared out of nowhere, effortlessly bypassing all defenses and emerging right on the spectator stands.

And aside from the nun leading them, every single one wore the unmistakable robes of Guiyuan Sect disciples!

—This was clearly a raid.

To put it in perspective, it was like an illegal underground casino suddenly being stormed by a squad of uniformed officers.

Anyone with half a brain would assume they were being shut down.

If the arena hadn’t been in operation, the overseer might have turned a blind eye, sweet-talked the disciples, and sent them on their way.

But the problem was... today’s event wasn’t just open—it was packed.

Fresh demon corpses still littered the fighting pit.

Some hadn’t even breathed their last, limbs twitching weakly.

Meanwhile, the blood wine brewed from the first match had already been served to the audience.

Some spectators, having drunk the wine, were now in a highly volatile state.

Some spectators had only drunk half their blood wine when they caught sight of the disciples' robes of the Guiyuan Sect, their eyes instantly flashing with tension.

No matter what, today’s events would not end peacefully.

If these Guiyuan Sect disciples were allowed to escape, it would spell endless trouble. But if they were killed on the spot, the consequences would be just as dire.

If forced to choose between the two...

The manager’s gaze darkened in an instant.

The next second, he made a subtle gesture.

Then, he himself, along with the core members of the Silverlight Underground Arena, began retreating without a sound.

Meanwhile, the spectators who had drunk the blood wine needed no further prompting—they charged forward recklessly, as if their lives meant nothing.

Out of the hundreds of spectators, only a handful were exceptions.

Most of them had only consumed the blood wine once or twice. At the sight of the Guiyuan Sect disciples’ robes, their expressions twisted with fear.

But when they saw the other spectators rushing toward the disciples, that fear turned to confusion.

Yan Luoyue had seen Wei Qingsi’s final moments.

Now, in this moment, these blood wine-drinking spectators bore an uncanny resemblance to Wei Qingsi back then.

It was as if they had activated some self-destruct sequence, hurtling toward their doom with unstoppable fervor.

Whether struck down or stripped of their spiritual power, nothing could deter them from throwing themselves to their deaths.

“Damn it!” Amid the chaos, Yan Luoyue heard Senior Brother Xiao Yuan’s furious shout.

Unfazed by the explosions, she barreled through the crowd, driven by a single burning thought—

The true culprits, the managers of the Silverlight Arena… they must not be allowed to escape!

In the blink of an eye, a sudden warmth bloomed in Yan Luoyue’s chest.

Nestled in the pocket of her robe was a tiny compass, no larger than a copper coin.

It was one of a pair—the other belonged to Wu Manshuang.

This sensation could only mean one thing…

The moment Yan Luoyue emerged from the throng, she saw Wu Manshuang descend like a divine avenger.

Perhaps in his haste to find her, the young serpent had not bothered to change his attire, still clad in the vibrant robes of a Southern Border demon.

A black cloak draped over his shoulders, silver bells chiming softly with each step. Beneath the hem peeked pale, bare feet and elegantly shaped ankles, their jade-like contours adding an alluring hint of mystery.

Wu Manshuang landed lightly, wreathed in a mist-like haze.

In an instant, the fleeing managers collapsed as if their strings had been cut.

Unlike their counterparts in Tianyuan City, these men had no forewarning of Wu Manshuang’s poison mist. They had no chance to resist, much less self-destruct with dignity.

Once struck down, they attempted to mimic the exploding spectators—only to realize, to their shock, that the smoky tendrils binding them were unlike anything they had encountered.

Now, not only could they not trigger their internal mechanisms—they couldn’t even twitch a finger.

Ignoring their stunned expressions, Wu Manshuang turned his grave gaze toward Yan Luoyue.

As he had suspected, the scene before him only confirmed his fears.

The blood wine… its effects went far beyond mere addiction.

Just because Wu Manshuang had drunk it without consequence didn’t mean others would be so fortunate.

Especially now, with the crowd erupting into self-destruction, the nauseating familiarity of it all struck him with renewed intensity.

Without hesitation, Wu Manshuang strode toward the frenzied spectators.

After bypassing two or three, he seized one whose resistance was slightly slower, pressing a hand to the man’s forehead.

The moment his spiritual energy probed inward, a chill settled in Wu Manshuang’s heart.

The peculiar energy infused by the blood wine had taken root within these spectators, growing into something… indescribable.

If it were Wu Manshuang’s own primordial poison, even diluted ten thousand times, a single drop would be enough to make a man explode.

But the force within the blood wine, though achieving the same result, was fundamentally different—as if from an entirely separate origin.

If one were to map it on an evolutionary tree, sword energy and blade energy might branch from the same trunk.

But Wu Manshuang’s poison and the force tearing these spectators apart… they belonged to entirely different trees.

Unconsciously, a cold smile curled at Wu Manshuang’s lips.

A long-absent wildness crept into the young serpent’s expression, his obsidian eyes swirling with frost-like patterns.

In this moment, his emotions overlapped perfectly with Yan Luoyue’s when she had witnessed Wei Qingsi’s death.

The only difference was this:

When Yan Luoyue encountered this force, it felt like facing an age-old nemesis.

But for Wu Manshuang, it was like meeting a sworn enemy on a narrow path.

Yan Luoyue’s sense of déjà vu was that of two forces locked in an eternal struggle.

But Wu Manshuang’s feeling…

Was that, for thousands upon thousands of years, he and this force had been locked in mutual slaughter.

And both knew—only when one was utterly annihilated would the other finally relent.