Chapter 115: Crushing Bones

The eyes of the Beast Stage had recently converged on a single point.

The previous tournament at the Beast Stage had lasted for three full months, resulting in countless casualties. Ultimately, a man named Qi Min had claimed the crown. However, when the Master of the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion invited him to join the organization that day, he insisted that his strength was not yet sufficient and that he needed further tempering. Thus, he began competing once again from the very bottom of the Beast Stage.

What was originally an indisputable, default first place was challenged a month ago when a pair of young people arrived, achieving victory after victory with unstoppable momentum.

In at least several matches, the youth in black only maimed his opponents without taking their lives. The girl, however, took a life in every single match, never showing mercy. Even if an opponent lost and had not yet begged for quarter, her blade would seal their throat. Some of the smarter ones would kneel and plead for mercy the moment they stepped onto the stage, but because the girl had encountered cunning individuals in previous matches who feigned surrender only to attack instantly, she showed no compassion and spared no one.

Her fame rose within just one month.

Because of the vast gap in power, the crowd could not discern how deep her demonic energy was; they did not even know if she was using demonic energy at all. They only knew she was strong—to this day, she had never been injured and had never met a well-matched opponent.

The number of participants dwindled at a terrifying rate until yesterday, when the girl finally faced off against the youth who traveled with her.

The two rarely employed their cultivation abilities, clashing for a full day and night using only their weapons.

The arena where Zora stood was no longer one of those narrow, crude venues. The platform beneath her feet was spacious and hard; even if human bones were splintered upon it, not a single scratch would be left on the surface. The sharp sound of clashing metal rang out continuously until the sunset gave way to a bright moon in the sky.

Blood stained the platform, yet a group of wealthy and noble figures remained seated on high thrones at the edge. Initially, some had heckled like they did with other contestants, shouting insults. But gradually, they fell silent.

When they fell silent, the match had not even begun.

The youth in black, named Vane, stood at the edge of the stage preparing. He leisurely wiped his long spear, Dark Dust, his expression indifferent. He was deaf to the idle gossip around him, only glancing up when someone mentioned Zora.

"I’m telling you—" The man caught Vane’s gaze; it was as calm as stagnant water, yet he instinctively fell silent.

—What was going on?!

The man was astonished by the way the hair on his body stood on end in a frantic, instinctive warning. He did not know this was the effect of the youth’s spiritual power. Spiritual power could be righteous, but if one wished, it was perfectly capable of performing sinister deeds.

A wisp of cold spiritual power drilled into the man’s brain through the back of his neck, treating flesh and blood as nothing as it roamed freely within his uncultivated sea of consciousness. After a long time, as the man’s teeth began to chatter inexplicably, the spiritual power finally settled into silence.

Zora could hear their words, but since they held no murderous intent, she let them go in one ear and out the other, just as she had in the gladiatorial pits.

If she defeated Vane, she would face that Qi Min. The winner would meet the Master of the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion, and vast fortunes and rare treasures would be presented as entrance gifts. If one desired beauties, there were plenty, regardless of gender.

Think of it as practice,

the two thought in unison before entering the arena.

And for practice, one had to be serious.

First came the sword.

Those seeing Zora draw her sword for the first time instinctively held their breath, terrified of provoking that chilling sword intent.

...What realm of demonic cultivation is she in? the crowd wondered.

Eventually, during their match, at some unknown point, all human voices faded away. The venue was deathly silent, save for the ear-piercing ring of weapons clashing. This continued until night fell, when Zora suddenly found an opening, kicked Vane to the ground, and crushed his forearm with her foot.

"...!" The youth couldn't help but let out a muffled groan. A dense series of cracking sounds erupted from his bones. His hand was forced to loosen its grip, and the long spear was flicked by the tip of the sword, falling straight out of the arena in an instant.

A crisp clattering sound followed.

His bones were tougher than the hardest spiritual stones in the cultivation world; Zora had to coat the sole of her foot with a layer of spiritual power to crush them. Since the cultivation of everyone present was inferior to hers, they naturally could not see through her disguise to realize it was spiritual power.

She had wounds from the spear on her body, staining her clothes red. Zora quietly scanned the youth’s body. Since it was impossible to kill him like in other matches, she needed to do more to win.

His black clothes were soaked with blood, turning a dark, eerie shade. Just as Vane was about to break free, a sharp pain shot through his other arm.

She had crushed his other forearm.

This time he didn't even groan. Her arrogant and unruly spiritual power rampaged through his bones, appearing to only know how to cause crude damage with no concept of gradual progression.

Vane looked at her. The girl’s clear amber eyes then looked toward his legs. She seemed to want to cripple all four of his limbs.

Vane spoke at the appropriate moment: "I can no longer move now."

Only then did Zora fix her gaze on him. The youth’s face was pale, yet it radiated a sense of resilience rather than frailty. He even had the leisure to slightly curve those beautiful dark eyes, his tone ordinary.

"You win."

Zora met his gaze. Vane looked directly into her eyes, just like before, breaking down logic to persuade her.

"I still want to buy you something to eat later."

"Mhm," Zora thought for a moment, "remember to buy it."

As soon as she finished speaking, before Vane could take the opportunity to rise and attack to force her back, his chin was struck violently by a hard object—likely the top of the scabbard. His vision went black, and he nearly lost consciousness for a second.

But he opened his eyes very quickly.

"...Are... Are you alright?" the judge who had just declared Zora’s victory asked tremulously.

"..." Vane didn't need support; with a slight exertion of his core, he sat up directly. His arms were limp, though fortunately, it was only the forearms that were crushed.

The judge winced as he watched the youth press his palms against the ground to push himself up; his forearms bent like they were boneless, yet his expression did not change.

Vane accurately captured Zora’s silhouette. She was walking away, her clothes soaked with blood, her sword on her back. Some nobles stepped forward intending to recruit her, only to be shut down with a few words.

The judge was still racking his brains for words of comfort—at any rate, he just hoped the youth wouldn't take his anger out on him. The previous judge had met his end that way. To his surprise, this man didn't even look at him, walking with steady strides toward the fallen spear.

Zora’s spiritual power had already dissipated. A hint of regret appeared in his eyes. His own spiritual power was rapidly nourishing the broken bones, and his right hand regained some strength. With a flick of his toe, the spear leaped into the air and was caught casually by Vane.

The judge watched blankly as the youth walked in the direction the victor had left. If they were companions, the strikes were merciless, showing no concern that the injuries might affect the next match. If they were rivals or enemies, Zora hadn't killed him. Come to think of it, Vane was the only person to survive her hand.

Since neither Zora nor the next opponent, Qi Min, were people the judge could squeeze any profit from, he cast aside his complicated thoughts and wondered which level of the arena would offer better tips in the next tournament.

Zora walked toward her room. Everywhere she went, the boiling noise would eventually cease, and phantom-like gazes stuck to her, filled with both fear and wariness. Those who had never seen Qi Min were evaluating her wounds, thinking that telling Qi Min might earn them his favor and some benefits.

Soon, someone caught up to her. He first scanned the surroundings with a smile, and the crowd immediately scattered like a flock of birds, resuming their movement.

"Do you need Qi Min dealt with in advance?" Vane walked alongside her, asking in a low voice.

Zora: "No need. There is no one here with higher cultivation than me." She glanced at him. "We'll see after I meet that Master tomorrow."

Vane did not doubt she would win: "And after killing the Master of the Immortal-Slaying Pavilion?"

"..." Zora pondered for a moment. "Find a beautiful place and bury Master there." Then she would be idle, waiting for the outbreak of the evil spirits and for Tu Ruichi and the others to come save the world.

Vane nodded.

Inside the room, Zora’s wounds had already stopped bleeding, her vast spiritual power circulating continuously. Vane did not enter; he went into his own room next to Zora's. Zora looked back once; he didn't follow her in, but the door was closed.

Taking the opportunity, she changed her clothes. A cleaning spell could wash the clothes instantly, but it couldn't repair the holes. The spear had pierced her sleeves and the fabric at her abdomen, and her skirt was in tatters; only her inner garment was intact.

As her wounds quickly scabbed over, Zora sprawled on the bed like a fish, her face buried in the quilt, waiting for tomorrow's match.

After a while, the door was pushed open gently.

His right hand was clearly much better. His powerful physique allowed him to recover so quickly even when facing damage from spiritual power higher than his own. Zora smelled the aroma of food and turned her head to reveal her face.

Vane placed the oil paper containing a steaming roasted fish on the table. His left arm hung limp, but he didn't care. He turned his head and asked seemingly casually: "Are you sure you don't need Qi Min dealt with beforehand?"

Zora gave him a strange look: "No need."

He paused and said, "Qi Min is very filthy. I don't want your hands to be dirtied." It appeared Vane had investigated in advance.

Zora had assumed there was some life-threatening reason; she sat up in her chair to listen, then said expressionlessly, "The one that gets dirty isn't my hand, it's my sword. I'll just wipe it."

She began to slowly munch on the roasted fish. It was charred on the outside and tender on the inside, with no bones; even the large bones had been picked out completely. Each bite was full of spice and the aroma of fish.

"..." Vane was silent for a moment.

Zora finished quickly and looked at his left hand. "Your hand actually hasn't healed yet."

"...It’s fine."

He didn't mention that he had only accelerated the healing of his right hand so he could bring her food and look after her, leaving the left hand to its own devices.

Zora reached out and suddenly squeezed his limp, powerless left hand. Beneath the resilient muscle of the forearm was a bizarre sensation of broken fragments that could be felt with a single press. A dense, overwhelming pain suddenly flooded him.

Vane lowered his lashes, his face calm, looking at her instead. Zora squeezed the places where the bone was indented or broken to the point of being slightly displaced, observing the extent of the bone damage. Although she hadn't used her full strength, she had to disguise herself in the Demon Realm and couldn't use her spiritual power freely; she was always unable to accurately gauge the power of her spells.

Just like with mortals, she occasionally used light force, yet some people's necks would be snapped instantly while others could still say a few words—it was very inconsistent.

Recalling the force she used to crush Vane’s hand bone earlier, Zora massaged the injury as if reviewing the event. When both her hands were squeezing, Vane spoke: "His filth is not like being stained with mud."

"Then what is it like?" She looked up. At some point, a flush had appeared on the youth’s face, though his expression remained steady.

He paused slightly. "When Qi Min is harmed, he gets excited; he enjoys being beaten by others. It’s just that he still has a contradictory instinct for survival, so he is the victor every time."

Zora looked at him and asked confusedly, "Just like you?"

At least right now he looked quite happy. Although his expression was deep, she uncannily felt as if little flowers were about to pop out all around him; he was very joyful.

"...No, it’s not," Vane pursed his lips, letting his left hand be manipulated like a noodle. "He gets excited and frenzied if anyone hits him. But I am not..." He paused, meeting her gaze, his tone gentle. "It is normal to be excited for only one person; to be excited for everyone is filthy."

Qi Min couldn't compare to his cleanliness and loyalty.

Thinking of tomorrow's match, Vane raised his right hand, touched the hair ribbon sticking to Zora’s face, and gently brushed it back to where it belonged. The long blue silk fell submissively amidst the girl’s black hair.

Zora seemed thoughtful and quickly understood the difference, but the youth’s considerate voice reached her ears.

"If you are so disgusted tomorrow that you don't want to get close, just use your sword to sever the tendons in his limbs. After you win, I will deal with him."

Zora blinked. "You want to steal my chance to kill?"

"...I apologize, that is not my intention," Vane said, suddenly smiling warmly. "My killing him is no different from you killing him. Because I am always your servant, your hand, your sword. I am not your rival; I am just another choice for when you occasionally don't want to kill someone yourself. I can be used, or I can be ignored."

This logic of not treating himself as a living being uncannily persuaded Zora. This wasn't a "theft" between equals, but a "solving the master's troubles" within a hierarchy.

She squeezed his broken bones and thought for a moment.

"Alright. If I don't want to kill him, I'll toss him to you."

But how could I ever resist killing someone myself? Unimaginable,

Zora thought.

Even when spiritual power is restrained and recovery is slowed as much as possible, a cultivator's body will self-repair. His bones were gradually recovering. Zora felt a smooth piece of bone. This was a piece that was gradually healing.

She followed that smooth, healing bone, no longer applying force. Instead, like a doctor checking a patient’s skin condition, she touched wherever his bone had improved, feeling the influx of vitality. The healing of the human body is growth; cultivators accelerate this process. Zora had never carefully felt the healing status of her own flesh and bone, but now that she had the leisure, she felt the process of his healing bones fusing together quite clearly.

The bones made a faint clicking sound as they self-corrected—that was the incredibly resilient side of the youth’s body showing through.

After a while, she stopped and looked for snacks in his new storage bag. Vane didn't intend to remind her, tidying the table instead. Just then, Zora dumped out a whole heap of snacks onto the table, filling it.

Seeing that she had completely lost interest and was no longer looking at him, he felt a slight pang of regret as he used his spiritual power to accelerate the healing process.

The tips of his ears were burning. The pain in his arm earlier had been too much, intensely reflecting the fact that "she was touching him," a reaction his body produced involuntarily.

Vane touched his ear and sat down next to her, smiling. "The variety of food in the Demon Realm is too small. These items are things I learned to make from people in the mortal realm twenty years ago."

Zora glanced at him and evaluated, "Quite good."

After eating a few more bites, she asked, "What else is there?"

Vane’s dark eyes curved slightly. "There is much more."

So much it was uncountable. After all, the decades he spent in the past were enough for him to learn how to make every type of food in the mortal realm.