Chapter 112: Scent

It was not an illusion; since arriving in the Demon Realm, Vane was like an animal that had broken free from its cage, exposing everything to the surface.

Zora chewed on her flatbread expressionlessly. Fresh blood happened to splash exactly one inch away from her toes, leaving her untainted by the gore.

"Too much trash at the Beast Stage." Vane had his back to her, crouching on one knee with a cold expression. He pried open the massive wound on the corpse; where the vivid red flesh was turned outward, one should have seen human internal organs, but instead, it was a heap of straw stuffing the human skin.

He couldn't help but let out a soft laugh—not out of mockery, but genuine amusement.

"Because they were afraid of losing the match, they tried to assassinate me in advance."

It appeared he already knew who the culprit was.

Life here was dull and repetitive; the only differences were the daily opponents and the people who tried to assassinate them. Zora had already obtained the qualification to change venues; the competition platforms had moved to areas with spectator stands, and her room had been exchanged for a more spacious and comfortable one.

She had only moved in today. For reasons unknown, Vane was actually able to pull strings to select his own room location, moving in right next door to her.

In recent days, Zora’s life consisted of cultivating, fighting, eating, and sleeping. Vane’s life was much more complex; in a short time, he had untangled the intricate relationships within the Beast Stage management and, at some unknown point, smoothed over the necessary connections.

...Smoothed over the connections.

Zora took another bite of her flatbread.

The System appeared after a long absence. Seeing the current state of affairs, it didn't have time to understand anything else, but fearing she might recall matters of her original world, it hurried to comfort her: [Ah... Host, the arena here is still a bit different from the gladiatorial pits of your world.]

The Host’s original world was not modern; it was barely even close to the early modern era. It was an age of rapid regression, a time where slavery still existed. There were no electric lights, only candles. There was no education, only coercion.

The Host had been a slave.

The System had always avoided this topic, never poking at her sore spots, even if she didn't seem to care. The system of that world was on the brink of chaotic collapse; no one knew if the next phase would be a new form of slavery or an imperial system. In any case, in that bleak world, no matter how one calculated, there would be no progress within a century.

Once the Host returned as a cultivator, she would be at the absolute peak, able to do whatever she wished—she possessed the martial power for it. That was why the System didn't offer biased advice. The world was mud, but when you can control everything, mud can become a priceless treasure.

As a functional slave raised by the gladiatorial arena, Zora’s role was to perform for ornamental effect under the arena's rules, securing rewards from the nobility for the pit. She was also a strange slave. The strangeness lay in the fact that she never seemed to realize she was a slave.

The System vaguely sensed the contradictions in her psychology but remained speechless. ...How to put it? It just became normal when applied to the Host.

Zora didn't recall much of her past and didn't know why the System was saying these things, but she very politely gave an "mhm." The System offered a few more words of comfort, and she gave another "mhm," still not realizing it was comforting her.

[Then... then Host, you continue.]

By the end, the System didn't know what else to say. It rambled on and finally squeezed out a "eat well" before running out of words. It fell silent for a moment, then quickly vanished to set an alarm for its next slumber.

Zora looked at the corpse in the room again. Vane had quieted down, making no large movements for a long time. The faint, sticky sound of muscle and sinew being pried apart echoed continuously. Clearly, he had already determined that the intruder was not a normal human, but at most a puppet, yet he still immersed himself in the scent of flesh and blood.

Vane remained unruffled. Even his fingertips stayed perfectly clean as he used a small knife to slice open the human skin and gently peel it back. He seemed to know the best way to cut; soon, the flesh of the corpse’s chest bloomed like a flower, neat and beautiful, revealing the straw inside.

Seeing that he had finished, Zora finished her bread in a few bites: "A puppet. Who is your next opponent?"

"A puppeteer, Shi Ming." Vane dismantled the puppet's limbs with interest; they were filled with white threads.

Not as beautiful as my gold threads,

Vane thought.

Zora simply asked the question, saying sincerely: "Then don't die."

After all, no matter how high one's cultivation, a moment of negligence could lead to being easily killed.

The youth turned his head, his eyes curving slightly. His pupils were like droplets of black glass reflecting the light. He said, "I won't."

He paid the corpse no more mind. His blood, which had begun to flow faster because of the gore, accelerated even more, yet his murderous excitement settled down. The youth stood up and crouched on one knee before Zora once again. His soft black robes spilled across the floor.

Vane looked up at her, seemingly having something to say. Zora sat on the stool; seeing him approach, she first disintegrated the oil paper that had wrapped the flatbread.

He paused and didn't speak further, smiling as he took out a clean handkerchief to wipe the inconspicuous crumbs from her hands. His head was lowered, his lashes straight and dense without any feminine curl, yet still carrying an air of intimacy as they veiled his eyes. A few strands of black hair fell across his forehead. His brow didn't move; it was as if this were an entirely ordinary matter.

Zora let him wipe her hands, staring at his face as she pleased. Familiar sensations flooded her; she was still not quite used to them, unable to fully grasp their nature. They prompted feelings of joy, a desire to be near him, to lean against him.

After Vane finished wiping her hands, he switched to a fresh handkerchief, lifted his gaze, and gently touched the corner of her mouth.

It was clearly a problem that a single spell could solve. Just as she still habitually slept, they maintained the interactions of an ordinary master and servant. Zora didn't care; after all, she wasn't the one being inconvenienced. Vane certainly didn't find it a hassle; he felt the soft skin beneath the thin cloth, a faint crimson tinting his ears, though his face remained still.

When he cut open those opponents, he didn't feel they were living people. Now, through the cloth, he felt a vibrant life with absolute clarity. Even his favorite act of killing couldn't compare to the vitality of this person.

Only after he finished cleaning did Vane manage to steady his heart and look her in the eye.

Vane: "I have already bribed someone from the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion. We can skip several layers of unnecessary fights and face more powerful enemies directly. We will soon be able to join the Pavilion and investigate."

"Oh, I see." Zora responded, then noticed him staring at her with pursed lips, appearing very expectant. She thought for a moment and praised him: "You did very well."

Vane smiled, his entire face appearing as if soaked in light, without a hint of darkness.

"...Then, can I still stay in the same room as you?" he asked.

Zora agreed.

He smiled again, his lips curving in a most attractive arc. Thus, after a day of matches, the two remained in one room.

The candles were extinguished. Cultivators could see in the dark, but it was still better to have light for writing or reading. Zora slept on the bed, while Vane did not sleep. He sat at the table, a pea-sized flame hovering in the air beside him. It was dimmer than a candle and only illuminated the area around the youth, not affecting Zora.

Vane had been investigating the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion. He was the most useful hound; wherever she pointed, he would use everything at his disposal to achieve it without looking back. He wrote on a blank piece of paper.

The structure of the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion was simple, even more crude than the immortal sects; it was just layer upon layer of management. One person at the top, followed by ten "Dead Soldier" demonic cultivators—they likely had signed master-servant oaths. The rest were mere pawns.

Vane frowned. Even if the Demon Realm had been heavily damaged by the war, it shouldn't be this useless after decades. As the premier organization not under the Southern or Northern Demon Lords, the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion shouldn't be this fragile. The deeds of those Dead Soldiers sounded terrifying, but Vane could only perceive them as weak. Slaughtering only ordinary people and low-cultivation demonic cultivators—that was piteously weak.

The deterrence of famous families, self-built powers, and even the two Demon Lord factions usually came from killing powerful enemies and then ruling the commoners with severity. But those enemy feats and levels of power couldn't even compare to a medium-sized sect in the cultivation world.

Having only just made contact with the Pavilion, Vane sensed the frailty of the Demon Realm, but he reached no definitive conclusion, merely setting his suspicions aside.

...

Late at night, the moon was bright and stars were few. A high-pitched moan suddenly erupted from the other side of the wall.

Zora was awakened.

"..."

Vane looked at her, the shadows of his lashes flickering under the pea-sized flame. He didn't speak until Zora closed her eyes, opened them again, and rolled over to face him. Only then did Vane say: "...Do I need to get rid of them?"

"No need."

She wasn't a cruel or tyrannical person; she just found it noisy. Just like in the arena, Zora stared at the canopy of the bed as the sounds through the wall continued.

Neither of them spoke. They wouldn't put up a barrier; if there were someone with higher cultivation nearby, it would be easily discovered. She wasn't angry, either. After listening for a while, she felt like she had returned to her home in her original world. She rubbed her ears.

She just had nothing to do. Zora looked at him and beckoned.

Vane set down his brush, stood up, and walked to the bed. He paused, then sat on the edge of the mattress.

Zora asked curiously: "What do they do if they get pregnant?"

"..." Vane thought for a moment. He hadn't paid attention to this before, but he could easily deduce it. "Most wouldn't let the child be born; it’s a burden."

"What if they are born? Why?"

He looked at her and said calmly: "Perhaps to avoid matches, perhaps they want a child, or perhaps they feel they can sell it for a higher price—infants fetch the highest price. However, to keep one alive after birth requires even more strength."

Zora said in agreement: "Indeed."

Her mother had avoided matches, safely spending several months to give birth, and had raised her using the strength she had accumulated in the past. Her mother had originally wanted to give her a random name—little cat or little dog would have done—but in a moment of interest, she took characters from a poem. Because her mother only half-understood the characters from a poem she had seen long ago, her memory was blurred; she mistook the character for "Falling" for "Luo" (珞), and thus she became Zora (珞).

The night was cool. Zora rubbed her ears again. Vane blinked, remaining quiet.

The sounds next door were intermittent. Someone else was also awakened by the noise and shouted a curse: "Which son of a bitch is in heat in the middle of the night! Watch out or I’ll—"

But the voice suddenly cut off. In the dead silence, the sounds from next door continued.

Vane lifted his gaze. Through the wall, he seemed to sense the other party's brief move just now. It was clumsy. But it was deterrent enough for the surroundings; no one dared voice dissatisfaction.

Vane was still idly considering whether this kind of arrogant person who actually lacked strength should be eliminated. Since they were close, he wanted to prevent her from being annoyed one day. She could naturally kill the other party, but he wanted to prevent her mood from being spoiled.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around the youth's waist.

Vane looked down in surprise. Zora was hugging his lean, supple waist; her quilt had been left at the foot of the bed. Before his brain could react, his hands moved first to hover around her back.

But soon, Zora straightened up and leaned forward a bit, her head approaching his neck.

"..."

Vane grew abruptly stiff. The arm that had intended to hold her lightly also froze.

She was sniffing. Tiny, imperceptible breaths brushed against his skin from time to time, triggering countless shivers.

...What was she doing?

Zora: "You have a scent."

"..." Vane spoke raspily. "Perhaps the scent of blood from today hasn't dissipated yet."

Zora shook her head: "No, not those scents."

She sniffed again to confirm.

"The scent on you is strange. It's your own scent. I haven't smelled it before, and I haven't smelled it on anyone else."

She seemed to be affirming herself, repeating: "It wasn't picked up from other things; it's your own scent."

Strange, light, neither fragrant nor foul. It didn't irritate the nose, nor was it cloying.

"..." He tilted his head slightly to make it easier for her to sniff.

Vane took several breaths before saying slowly: "You have your own... scent as well."

Zora: "What scent? Why can't I smell it?"

"...It’s impossible to describe. However," he paused, his tone seemingly very calm, "everyone should have one. But only when you are close and when you care, will you smell it."

Zora tilted her head, not moving away. Her almond eyes stared directly at his profile. Vane tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes looking down. Beneath his thick lashes, he met her gaze, the corners of his eyes forming a long, beautiful arc.

He understood liking far better than Zora. They were not Dao partners, yet they were already intimate. He knew better than anyone what it felt like to be submerged.

The involuntary pursuit of the gaze, the heart out of control—the nose would suddenly transform into a hound's nose, exceptionally sensitive. As soon as she approached, he would smell it like a puppy. Everyone has their own scent. But one only becomes a hound for someone special.

Zora needed to be very close, her nose nearly touching his skin, yet he only needed her to sit beside him to smell her easily. His ears were like an animal's too, suddenly able to distinguish her voice clearly, separating her from everyone else. Even if she disguised her voice, lowering or raising the pitch, he could detect it instantly and keenly.

After he had consciously become obsessed, he seemed to have become a beast. Everything was terrifyingly sharp, capturing everything about her wantonly yet quietly—but only targeting her. Capturing her scent, her voice, her silhouette, her expressions, and everything about her—it was as natural as breathing.

Vane looked at Zora.

Zora looked at him. "I see."

She didn't think having feelings for a servant was shameful; on the contrary, she thought having feelings for someone unsafe was the act of a fool.

The indulgent sounds next door had long ceased. Separated by a single wall, an intimate and youthful atmosphere flowed between the two. She was very close; Vane could see her lashes clearly, their breaths vaguely entwined.

Zora: "This is called caring about you?"

"...If compared to other people." Vane's tone was soft. The more it reached this point, the calmer he seemed to become, insisting on answering her question seriously. "If you possessed countless osmanthus cakes, and you had that bit of liking for only one of them, feeling that it tasted better—then that could be called 'caring'."

This kind of emotion would be seen as shallow by others, something impossible to believe would last. But for Zora, this was her maximum, her most sincere. He knew this with absolute clarity.

Zora thought about it seriously. She indeed looked at him far more than before, she liked being close, and her mood was very good. If this was liking, it didn't seem unsafe.

Having finished thinking according to his words, Zora didn't find admitting it to be a difficult thing. She said honestly: "Then I like you."

Just like saying she disliked a certain food or liked a certain osmanthus cake, it came out perfectly smoothly. Even when saying she liked a person, she was so direct and open.

Zora dropped the subject once she finished speaking. She was merely voicing her internal feelings and preferences. But because of this, it appeared exceptionally sincere, without a shred of falsehood.

Vane: "..."

As if he didn't know what to say, the youth's brilliant tongue suddenly became mute. Only his heart and blood were boiling, a rhythmic thumping in his temples as if his bones were about to be shattered.

Zora stared at him for a while, then relaxed her body to hang onto him again. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her ear was pressed against his neck. She didn't look at him anymore. She let out a lazy yawn and closed her eyes.

In the arms of the youth who was as stiff as a piece of wood, she fell into a peaceful sleep.