Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 218 - Finding an Abandoned Sect

She let that sit.

The hall was quiet.

She looked at the Chief. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"He did not ask anyone else’s," she said.

The specific, present, informational delivery of a woman who was not gloating — who was simply providing data she had observed and was offering it to the group as relevant.

The Chief looked at her.

The specific, flat, present, amber-eyed look of a woman who had received a piece of data she had already known and was acknowledging the receipt.

"Then you are ahead," the Chief said.

Flat. The specific, flat, non-bitter, direct acknowledgment of someone who was dealing in facts.

"We all need to be ahead," the Chief said.

She looked at the hall.

"He likes—" She stopped. The specific, one-beat stop of a woman who had been the Chief for six years and was now about to say something the Chief would not typically say and was acknowledging the category revision.

She continued.

"He bites," she said. "He bites the nipple. Hard. The specific, flat, deliberate bite that — you know what it does. He knows what it does. He does it because he knows."

Nodding.

The flat, present, twenty-six-person nodding of women who had this specific data and were confirming the data.

One of the first twelve — the MILF who had been at his left side from the beginning, the one who had been to the tower base — said:

"He likes the armpit."

Several more nods. Several faces with the specific, present, involuntary expression of women who had been bitten there and were filing the memory.

"The hair," someone else said.

"What hair," someone asked.

"All of it," said the one who had said it, with the flat, present, completely unembarrassed specification of someone who was being precise about categories.

The hall’s ambient sound changed.

The specific, accumulated, warm-realm-air, present quality of twenty-six women who had been in five days of dual cultivation and were now in a castle having the specific, frank, thorough, detail-specific conversation that five days of dual cultivation produced.

It was a loud conversation.

Not heated — loud. The specific, multiple-voices, all-contributing, present, warm, vulgar loud of a group of women who had arrived at the point in the conversation where the information flow was running faster than the architecture of taking-turns.

"He goes deep—"

"He goes all the way, I mean all—"

"The womb—"

"I know about the womb—"

"Did you feel when he—"

"Yes—"

"Both at once—"

"I was not expecting both at once—"

"Nobody was expecting both at once—"

"The pace—"

"The pace doesn’t change—"

"It doesn’t ever slow down—"

"Not once—"

"For five days—"

"Five days and he did not—"

"Not once—"

The hall.

The flat, present, warm, amber-light, twenty-six-woman, castle-hall ambient of a conversation that had departed the managed register entirely and was running on its own momentum.

The Chief was letting it run.

She was at the front, her arms folded, her amber eyes moving from face to face, and she was letting it run with the flat, present, Chief’s awareness of someone who understood that the morale of the group had a specific structure and this was the structure doing its work.

She let it run.

Then:

"Clothes," she said.

The hall went to its previous ambient.

She looked at them.

"He said tight," she said. "He said easy access." She paused. "We are going to make clothes that are specifically designed to be tight in the places he grips and accessible in the places he accesses."

The stitching woman — the one who had raised her hand at the clearing — was already nodding.

"I need three helpers," the stitching woman said.

Four hands went up immediately.

"I want mine cut here," someone said, indicating a location.

"Mine with ties," someone else said. "Ties he can pull."

"The back," Youe Bitch said. "Make the back accessible. He comes from behind."

She said it with the flat, present, practical information of someone who had been at position eight in the doggy position and had a specific, architectural recommendation based on the data.

The hall reorganized.

The flat, present, forward-motion reorganization of twenty-six women who had a project and were beginning the project — some toward the forest, the stitching team and their helpers heading for the natural materials; some toward the castle’s upper rooms to begin establishing their spaces; some staying in the hall to continue the conversation at the more detailed level.

The Chief watched them go.

She watched the hall empty.

She stood in the quiet of it — the flat, present, stone-wall, amber-lit, post-group quiet of a hall that had just had twenty-six women in it.

She looked at the realm’s sky through the window.

At the waterfall.

At the sky.

She pressed her lips together.

The specific, single, flat, present, deliberate press of a woman who was making a decision.

She filed it.

She turned.

She had rooms to claim.

’’’

He came out of the realm the way he had gone in — the flat, present, spatial-step, no-ceremony exit of a man for whom realm entry and exit were logistical events.

He stood in the air.

The specific, flat, un-clothed, morning-air standing of a man who had not been wearing much inside the realm and had not replaced anything on exit and was currently at several hundred meters altitude in the cultivator’s natural standing-in-air position of someone who had the qi architecture to do this and did it without noting it.

He stretched.

The flat, arms-over-head, spine-extending, everything-at-once stretch of someone doing a structural inventory after five days of sustained output.

The skeleton filed: still operational.

He looked at the sky.

At the territory below him.

At the flat, present, morning-light geography of the cultivation world that had been here for a thousand years and was continuing to be here regardless of what had happened inside a sealed compound’s clearing for the last five days.

He looked toward the horizon.

Toward the Giantess realm.

The flat, distant, mountain-heavy, earth-element-dense signature of a territory that was distinguishable even at this distance by the specific, heavy, ground-qi weight of a zone that had been saturated with Titan bloodline cultivation for four hundred years.

Far.