Chapter 106: The Ancestral Shrine

Chapter 106 - The Ancestral Shrine Faint dark purple thunderbolts split the sky, their eerie violet light illuminating the dark clouds as their deafening roar echoed between the twin hills. The strikes had come from the direction of the Twin Peak's top., pinpointing the Hanz Clan Chief's royal study library—Dominator Squad's assigned zone. Drake Riggs tensed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Violet Noir Lightning Fulu," he said, voice hushed. "Donovan Valdez and his men should've arrived by now—why are they resorting to such powerful Dao Fulu already?" He turned to Garrick Blackthorn, "Captain Blackthorn, should we go there check it out?" The Thorn Squad Captain considered for a moment before shaking his head. "No. Stick to the plan. We head stright to the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine." His voice was steady, deliberate. "If Donovan was forced to activate a Violet Noir Lightning Fulu, then the Royal Study is a death trap. But if Hughie Wing—a mere Eighth-Layer Qi Refinement cultivator—escaped a similar setup from there, then logically, the treasury house isn't inside." Drake frowned, unconvinced. "Your words make sense, Captain. But what if the defenses wasn't active when Hughie WIng sneaked in? Maybe the ambush or threat wasn't there at the time?" "Easy, Junior Brother Riggs," Garrick said, calm but firm. "Patience is a noble manner. We've sworn to watch each other's backs. And we swore the Alchemy Formula of Foundation Establishment Pill and Cultivation Insights will be shared among every squad member, but the Crimson Whisker Vine? That's a different matter." His gaze sharpened, "Finding it first doesn't mean keeping it. Claiming it too early paints a target on your back—rival battle squads will come for us. Rushing in now could be a fatal mistake." Drake Riggs's face hardened, chastened. He bowed. "You're right, Senior Brother Blackthorn. Thank you for the guidance to this humble junior." Meanwhile, Lordi Payne watched as the Thorn Squad efficiently sealed the remaining resentment girls with practiced precision—their translucent ghostly forms bound in Dao Fulu containers or stored in special Dao Artifact pouches. With the pots cleared, they trekked downhill through the narrow mountain valley, consulting the estate map to ascend a winding ridge path toward the rear mountain of the Twin Peak. After another dozen minutes, they reached the alley's end. Before them rose a small hill, dozens of meters high, crowned by an exquisite courtyard. A floral path of stone steps led to its gate. Entering, they stepped beneath a sprawling wisteria canopy, its blossoms casting dappled shadows, the air thick with sweet scent. In the courtyard's center stood a small stone pond, its dry fountain long silent. Beside it sat a single clay pot, identical to those in the mountain alley before, etched with Fulu characters. Unlike the others they encountered before, it held no resentment girl within. Instead, a handful of vibrant koi fish swam inside. Remarkably, despite years of neglect, the fish were still alive. As Thorn Squad approached, the koi sensed their presence, rising to the surface, heads shaking and tails flicking, as if begging for food. Alena Newman, intrigued by the koi fish flicking their tails in the clay pot, pulled a piece of dry ration from her storage pouch and crumbled it into the water. However, the fish ignored the offering entirely. Suddenly, one koi, swift and aggressive, leapt from the pot, its jaws snapping at her wrist with unnatural ferocity. CRUNCH. Alena's brow furrowed in disgust. With a quick flick, she grabbed the fish with her free hand, and—Squelch. Its body burst into pulp between her fingers. She tossed the remains back into the pot, and the other koi swarmed, tearing into their kin's flesh with savage hunger, their vibrant scales flashing in the frenzy. Wiping her hand with a silk handkerchief, Alena scowled. "What the hell is wrong with this place? Since when do spirit koi eat meat? They're supposed to be gentle—vegetarian. Why are these so vicious?" Carl Murphy offered a chuckled smile, glancing back at the alley they'd traversed. "Look around. An entire path lined with pots of resentment ghosts, steeped in years of hatred and negative energy. Even the fish have turned vicious." Beyond the wisteria canopy and the swimming koi, the courtyard held little else. Thick moss cushioned a winding stone path leading to a moon-shaped back gate. Beyond it lay the rear mountain, where manicured trails snaked through lush greenery and fragrant grasses, weaving among low hills dotted with pavilions, courtyards and residence compounds. The Hanz Clan Estate's design maximized the twin peaks' scenic beauty, its paths twisting sinuously to savor the view. As Thorn Squad trekked a ridge path, the grass and trees rustled softly, the breeze carrying a serene calm. Through gaps in the foliage, Lordi Payne glimpsed a water lily pond in the far southeast—Suicide Squad's zone. Willow trees swayed at its banks, and lotus blossoms floated like scattered jewels. The breeze carried their faint perfume, an eerie contrast to the estate's quietness To the squad's surprise and unease, their ascent was uneventful, free of the expected horrors. At the hill's summit, the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine loomed, its ornate facade weathered yet proud, echoing the decayed torii at the estate's entrance. Despite its exquisite craftsmanship, time's scars were evident in its faded gilding and cracked stone. "Something's not right," Garrick Blackthorn muttered, his eyes narrowing, unease etching his face. He studied the shrine, its beauty unable to mask an eerie stillness. Instead of entering, he gestured to Drake Riggs. "Junior Brother Riggs, test the entrance. Stay sharp, everyone." Drake Riggs nodded at Garrick's command. With a flick of his wrists, two palm-sized wooden spheres tumbled from his sleeves. They hit the ground rolling, then transformed. Joints clicked into place as the spheres unfolded into lively wooden puppets, their forms swelling rapidly. Within two breaths, they stood knee-high, mimicking the playful clumsiness of human toddlers. "One! and... Two! and... Three!" Giggling in high, eerie voices, they chanted in shrill, childlike voices as they scampered toward the shrine's massive gate. Their tiny hands pressed against the three-meter-tall doors, pushing against it with tiny hands—and with surprising force, the steel hinges groaned. BANG! Despite their apparent solidity, the heavy gate resisted only briefly before collapsing with a thunderous bang, dust billowing in its wake. The wooden puppet children giggled, danced happily over the fallen doors, hopping into the shrine's courtyard with playful steps. Thorn Squad advanced to the threshold, peering inside. A wide courtyard stretched before them, its view of the main hall obscured by a tall entrance wall emblazoned with four bold characters: "Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine." Dozens of crimson-painted torii gates lined a stone path from the entrance to the wall, flanked by overgrown flowers and grasses. Untended for years, the wild plants choked the path, leaving only a narrow gap, their tendrils rustling as the puppets passed. Then abruptly, before reaching the entrance wall, the puppets collapsed, shrinking back into lifeless palm-sized wooden balls. Drake's face darkened. "The spiritual energy in my puppets was drained," he said. "Spirit-Draining Grass along the path sapped them dry." Garrick Blackthorn's eyes hardened. "Alright, Thorn Squad, let's do this." He drew a long jet-black spear from his storage pouch, its edge glinting coldly. His weapon became a blur of destruction. Steel shrieked through the air as he carved a path of devastation—shredding grass, splintering stone, reducing the courtyard's front half to ruin. When the dust settled, only broken stems and cracked flagstones remained. Crossing the entrance wall along the cleared path, the Thorn Squad entered a spacious ceremonial ground. Behind the entrance wall stood a traditional purification fountain, its bamboo pipe meant to guide water into a stone basin below, creating a gentle, rhythmic flow. Like the pond in the entrance courtyard of rear mountain, it should have housed vibrant spirit koi fish. But the water had long dried, the bamboo piping brittle with age, and the koi were dead, their bloated corpses floating atop stagnant remnants, exuding a foul stench. In each of the courtyard's four corners grew a luxuriant tree, their branches laden with wooden ema plates, red prayer ribbons, and paper fortune sticks for blessings. They swayed in the breeze, their whispers carrying the weight of forgotten prayers and abandoned hopes. The ancestral shrine's three-story main hall loomed ahead, its heavy doors slightly ajar, a faint scent of ceremonial incense lingered in the air—too fresh for an abandoned shrine. Without waiting for orders, Drake Riggs acted, releasing two palm-sized wooden balls from his sleeves. They transformed into child-sized puppets, wobbling lively as before. With a flick of his fingers, the childlike constructs scampered forward, shoving the doors wide with an echoing creak. A vast hall unfolded within. At its heart stood an altar, shrouded by a shimmering pearl-bead curtain that obscured the deity statue behind it. Rows of Hanz Clan memorial tablets lined the space before the curtain, their polished surfaces gleaming under the soft glow of candlelit lanterns. No dust. No decay. The hall was pristine, as if meticulously tended daily, an unsettling contrast to the estate's decay. The Thorn Squad exchanged wary glances, tension tightening their faces. "Check the altar," Garrick Blackthorn commanded, his voice steady but sharp. Drake nodded, willing his wooden puppets to dart toward the pearl curtain. But the moment they neared the wall of bead, their limbs locked. With a hollow clack, they collapsed into lifeless wood, rolling uselessly across the floor. "Must be some spirit-repelling array," Drake said, frowning. "It severed my control by expelling the puppets' spiritual energy. Standard defense against remote scouting." "Then we go in ourselves," Garrick declared. He thrust his black spear forward, hurling it through an unopened window panel. It crashed into the hall, stabbing diagonally into the wooden floor with a shower of sparks. Silence followed—no traps triggered, no movement stirred. Garrick waved a hand, recalling the spear to fly back into his grip, and strode inside. The squad followed, weapons drawn, senses razor-sharp, their wary expressions scanning the pristine emptiness. They tapped bricks and walls, scouring every inch, but found nothing. All eyes turned to the pearl curtain—the altar behind it the only place a secret might hide. "Junior Sister Ruru," Garrick said softly, "send your Crimson Thread Goldwing Centipede to scout." "Aye, Captain." Ruru Rosa nodded, patting an embroidered pouch at her waist. A four-winged centipede, its crimson body shimmering with golden streaks, burst forth, its wings buzzing faintly.