novelraw Chapter 395: He Is a Dead Man
Chapter 395: He Is a Dead Man
Waves roared, churning violently.
Rich water-attribute spiritual energy spread across the heavens and earth.
Master Qing Yan, standing atop a majestic water dragon, gazed coldly at the three Divine Transformation cultivators about to be consumed by a towering tidal wave.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three explosive sounds reverberated in unison.
The three cultivators vanished on the spot, scattering in three different directions. Without offering any resistance, they fled immediately, as if convinced they stood no chance against Master Qing Yan.
A faint furrow crossed Master Qing Yan’s brow.
Their strange reaction caught him off guard.
Had they chosen to resist, he was confident he could have detained all three. Yet their immediate retreat left him momentarily unprepared.
In the chaos, he resolved to focus on one of them, determined to uncover their intentions. His gaze turned sharply toward the figure fleeing to the right.“Rising Moonlight!”
As his words fell, an eerie force permeated the air.
The sky, which had regained its clarity upon his arrival, turned dark once more, shrouded in a dense black mist that obscured everything. The world seemed veiled in an impenetrable gloom.
The fleeing Divine Transformation cultivator felt a sudden chill envelop his body. A wave of intense dread surged through him. Without hesitation, he activated several layers of spiritual energy shields and placed a magical artifact before him.
His hands moved rapidly, yet his teleportation remained unaffected by his defensive maneuvers.
Then, a beam of light pierced the darkness, illuminating his figure.
“Ahhh!”
A piercing scream tore through the air. Clutching his head, the cultivator fell from the sky like a broken kite.
Bright red blood splattered onto the ground, mingling with a faint, metallic scent in the air. The cultivator, crumpled on the earth, clutched his head tightly, blood streaming continuously from between his fingers.
Large clumps of hair fell away, revealing patches of raw, rotting flesh wherever the light had touched. His agonized wails filled the air as his body convulsed uncontrollably, emanating a stench of blood and decay.
Unmoved by the grisly sight, Master Qing Yan reached out, and the wounded cultivator’s body floated upward, drawn toward him.
Watching the bloodied figure in midair, Yu Zhao frowned deeply.
Though her own strength had yet to reach the level of Divine Transformation, her keen eyes—sharpened by the memories of Hermit Bright Moon and Senior Chang Sheng—made her acutely aware of one troubling detail.
Master Qing Yan’s abilities were indeed formidable, surpassing most of his peers. Yet the ease with which he subdued this cultivator was suspiciously unusual. The discrepancy in power didn’t feel genuine.
Just as this thought crossed her mind, the barely-alive cultivator’s aura turned chaotic. A destructive energy began surging within him, rapidly intensifying.
“Self-detonation?”
Yu Zhao’s pupils contracted. Her first instinct was to flee.
Even a Nascent Soul cultivator’s self-detonation could obliterate an area spanning hundreds of miles. The destruction wrought by a Divine Transformation cultivator would be unimaginable.
Before she could act, a warm, tranquil force enveloped her, and in the blink of an eye, she found herself transported a thousand miles away.
“Abbot Jie Tan.”
Yu Zhao stared at Abbot Jie Tan, stunned.
The abbot offered her a gentle smile. “No need to thank me. It was the duty of this humble monk.”
Glancing back toward the distant battlefield, then at the serene abbot before her, Yu Zhao hesitated, words caught in her throat.
Abbot Jie Tan, untroubled by his decision to abandon Master Qing Yan momentarily, noticed her furrowed brow and offered a reassuring comment.
“Master Qing Yan’s strength is unparalleled. Even if that cultivator detonates, he will remain unscathed.”
The unspoken implication was clear: the abbot’s intervention was necessary to protect Yu Zhao rather than risk his own life unnecessarily.
Moments passed. Contrary to their expectations, no explosion occurred. The distant horizon remained eerily calm.
Before they could decide whether to investigate, a mangled figure was flung unceremoniously before them, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
The abbot waved his hand, creating a shield of spiritual light that blocked the spattering blood. His gaze darkened as he observed the figure on the ground.
“I intended to subdue this man and search his soul essence, deliberately leaving him an opening to exploit,” Master Qing Yan said as he approached, his expression grim. “Yet he destroyed his own soul essence first, severing any traceable clues.”
The abbot and Yu Zhao exchanged glances, their unease growing.
“Such a response is atypical of a Divine Transformation cultivator,” the abbot murmured. “It resembles the training of a deathsworn loyalist.”
“Even ants cling to life,” the abbot added, perplexed. “Few among the Divine Transformation stage would resort to self-destruction so readily.”
Master Qing Yan nodded. He, too, felt the same.
During their brief encounter, the man had not fought with his full strength. His first instinct had been to flee; his second, to self-destruct—as if his own life held no value.
“Let us unveil his true face,” Master Qing Yan declared, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
Channeling his spiritual energy, he grasped the man’s mask and tore it away. The cultivator’s rotting flesh and hair clung to the mask, falling away as it was removed.
At last, a plain, unremarkable face was revealed.
While both Yu Zhao and Abbot Jie Tan found the man’s appearance unfamiliar, Master Qing Yan’s expression changed dramatically. He stepped closer, scrutinizing the twisted visage in disbelief.
“How… how can it be him?” he murmured.
The abbot raised an eyebrow. “An old acquaintance of yours, Master Qing Yan?”
The master didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the lifeless man. “How can it be him?” he repeated, almost to himself.
Yu Zhao and the abbot exchanged a concerned look, their curiosity piqued.
After a long silence, the abbot asked cautiously, “Master Qing Yan, who is he? Where did you know him from?”
“He is a dead man,” Master Qing Yan replied.