Chapter 4 — The Spirit Beast I Adopted Is the Baby Demon Lord

Following our established routine, Black Jade stepped forward, nudging two higher-value mutated beast cores toward my feet before burying its head back into its meal of low-level cores. I had become accustomed to this, as the creature seemed interested only in the most basic specimens. I leaned down, preparing to collect the mutated cores—after all, they were worth ten low-grade spirit stones apiece! But the very moment my fingertips were about to graze them, a piercing, frigid sensation, sharp as a needle made of ice, radiated from Black Jade’s body without warning. It struck toward me with the force of an invisible blade, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end and freezing me in place. The cold vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me wondering if I had merely imagined it. Black Jade remained hunched over, devouring its food with focus, as if nothing at all had transpired.

Yet, I was certain: it was no illusion. That chilling wave carried a clear, icy warning. Was it telling me not to touch the mutated cores? Or perhaps, not to approach it while it was feeding? I stood frozen, my back instantly soaked in cold sweat. For the first time, I realized with chilling clarity that this creature I had rescued was absolutely, undeniably not a typical spirit beast. Its silent, lethal precision, its ability to distinguish between qualities of beast cores, and now this eerie warning—what exactly was it? The air in my cave dwelling turned stagnant, heavy with the sound of Black Jade crunching on its prize, each snap echoing like a strike against my frayed nerves. The days passed in a state of quiet dread. I continued to hunt for rat demons in Black Wind Valley, but each time I faced those creatures, a heavy layer of suspicion gnawed at me. The assistance that always arrived so timely now felt less like a safety net and more like an invisible leash.

It was ensuring I survived to bring back its food. Black Jade remained silent, eating and observing everything with eyes like dark, fathomless pools. Its aura grew increasingly heavy. Though it had only grown slightly in size, whenever it sat in the corner of the cave, the shadows around it seemed to deepen, casting a gloom far more profound than any natural darkness. Then, the day of the sect’s junior tournament arrived. For outer disciples, this competition dictated the allocation of resources for the coming year. My aptitude was mediocre, and I had been trapped at the sixth level of Qi Refining for a long time; this tournament was my only chance. If I could break into the top fifty, I would earn the right to a cave with richer spiritual energy, along with pills and spirit stones. I had to risk it all. The tournament was held at the sect’s training grounds, a cacophony of shouting and the flashing of low-level spells. My opponent was a seventh-level Qi Refining disciple named Zhao Mang. Like his name implied, he was built like an ox, wielding a massive mountain-clearing axe with brutal strength.

Fang Han Nuan? Zhao Mang sneered, shouldering his axe with an air of pure contempt. I heard you have been wallowing in Black Wind Valley lately. What, has killing rats given you some newfound confidence?

A few mocking laughs echoed from the stands. I ignored his taunts, gripping my iron sword tight and focusing my senses. Start! the elder officiating the match declared. Zhao Mang roared, charging like a crazed bull, his heavy axe whistling through the air as he brought it down toward my head. It was a strike of overwhelming weight and power. I scrambled to the side, barely avoiding the edge of the blade, and thrust my sword toward the gap beneath his ribs. Zhao Mang’s reactions were swift; he blocked with the handle of his axe, the clashing steel ringing out with a force that made my arm go numb and nearly sent my sword flying. The gap between the seventh and sixth levels of Qi Refining was glaringly apparent. Relying on his sheer strength, Zhao Mang kept the pressure on, forcing me backward until I was relegated to a desperate, purely defensive stance. Every clash of our weapons made my blood boil and drained my limited spiritual energy.

Is that all you have? Zhao Mang roared with a cruel grin, swinging his axe in a wide, sweeping arc that shimmered with blinding white light. I gritted my teeth and poured my remaining energy into my legs, leaping backward. The sharp, howling wind from the axe shredded the front of my tunic, the edge slicing into my skin and leaving a burning trail of pain. The crowd let out a collective hiss of shock. I panted, sweat stinging my eyes, my vision blurring. As Zhao Mang advanced, his triumphant grin seemed to grow larger and more distorted. Was this it? Would I really lose like this? I could not accept it!

At that exact moment, a faint, ice-cold, and all-too-familiar aura appeared at the edge of the training grounds. It was like a stone thrown into a still pond, stirring up a storm in my heart. It was Black Jade! Why was it here? I instinctively darted my eyes toward the source. In the shadows beneath the stone steps of the arena, a small, gray shape was crouched, almost blending entirely into the dark. Only its eyes, catching the dim light, glowed with an unsettling intensity. It was staring at me—or rather, it was fixed on Zhao Mang. There was no emotion in those eyes, only an infinite, bottomless black. Cold and indifferent. In the split second I was distracted, Zhao Mang’s massive axe descended with the force of a thunderclap.

Watch out! someone screamed from the stands. I snapped back to reality and desperately raised my sword to block, but with a deafening crack, the iron blade shattered instantly. A massive, unstoppable force tore through the broken metal and slammed into my chest. I spat out a mouthful of blood, my body flying backward like a kite with a broken string, until I crashed heavily against the cold blue stone at the edge of the stage.