Chapter 115: Ancient Stone Well

Chapter 115: Ancient Stone Well "Ghostclaw..." Jorge Blue murmured, recognizing the tattered insignia on the figure’s robe, his voice astonished with recognition. "One of Soren Langley’s men." Rodney Luther took a step forward. "Hey!" His voice cracked like a whip in the dead air. No response. The figure stood motionless, its sunken eyes glazed and unseeing, yet somehow locked onto them. The ghostfire’s pallid light carved hollows into its face, making the skin look stretched too tight over bone. Then— A sound. From the black maw of the tunnel behind it came a wet, skittering rustle—like a thousand chitinous legs scuttling over stone, like fingernails dragging through rotting flesh. The noise swelled, pulsing in the air, closer, louder, until it seemed to come from every direction at once. The ghostfire guttered, its glow shrinking as if strangled by the dark. Shadows twisted along the walls, forming shapes that writhed and pulsed—too many limbs, too many eyes. The stench hit them next—putrid sweetness, the reek of bodies left to bloat in stagnant water, of maggots churning in open wounds. Rodney’s throat convulsed. "What in the hells—?" The figure’s jaw unhinged. A black, viscous thread of saliva stretched from its lips as its mouth stretched wider—too wide— And from the tunnel behind it, they emerged. More of them. Hollow-eyed. Slack-jawed. Moving in jerking, puppet-like strides. Their robes were filthy, their skin gray and peeling, their fingers twisted into claws. And their mouths full of squirming, needle-toothed shadows. Jorge Blue’s voice quivered, edged with a blade of ice. "Weapons! NOW!" The horde lurched forward. And the screaming began. —— Located southeast of Twin Peak Hill’s rear mountain, nestled within the residency area, the Water Lily Lake had once been a vision of serene beauty. Now, it was a tableau of horror. The vibrant green lily pads and radiant red blooms had withered into decay, floating lifelessly in a viscous pool of blood. Severed limbs and mangled organs bobbed on the crimson surface, their grotesque forms illuminated by the pale light filtering through the gnarled trees above. The air was thick with a putrid stench, a nauseating blend of rot and death that clawed at the throat. On the lake’s muddy willow shore, the cultivators of Shirley Quinn’s Suicide Squad stood shaken, their faces pale but etched with gratitude. "Thank the Holy Abyss for having Senior Sister Quinn," one whispered, voice quivering with lingering fear. "Who could’ve imagined the entire Hanz Clan slaughtered and dumped into this lake here?" Another squad member clenched his fists, eyes blazing with fury. "Who dares commit such butchery? This massacre is a direct insult to our Abyss Pit Sect! Whoever did this cares nothing for our power." "The cursed water lily formation nearly ended us," a third added, glancing warily at the blood-soaked lake, he shuddered, recalling their close call. "If not for Senior Sister Quinn’s unmatched cultivation, those lilies would’ve torn us apart." Murmurs of agreement rose among them, awe creeping into their tone. "Indeed... Senior Sister’s cultivation has grown even greater..." Shirley Quinn dismissed the squad’s praise with a curt wave, her usual playful charm and coy smile replaced by a grim, focused scowl. "I don’t know how the Hanz Clan managed it, but this defensive formation reeks of unnatural methods," she said, her voice tight with unease. "These water lilies didn’t grow naturally—they wilt the moment they’re pulled from that blood-soaked lake." She sighed, frustration etching her features. "We’ve wasted too much time here with nothing to show for it. Let’s move to the ancient stone well in the rear mountain." A pink-skirted cultivator blinked, hesitating. "Senior Sister Quinn, wouldn’t the martial arts arena be closer? Why not scout there first?" Shirley’s gaze turned icy, pinning the woman with a look that branded her a fool. "Closer? Barely. The martial arts arena is right beside the scout zones of Donovan Valdez and Jorge Blue. The Dominator Squad or Thirst Bull Squad are likely already there or on their way." She scoffed, shook her head. "Besides, that arena is too open, too public—a place for sparring, not hiding treasures. The ancient stone well, tucked away in the secluded northwest corner of the rear mountain, was likely reserved for the Hanz Clan’s heirs and core disciples. If the Treasury House exists, it’s must be there." The Suicide Squad nodded, swayed by her logic. "We follow Senior Sister Quinn," they murmured in unison. "Move faster!" Shirley pressed, her tone sharp. "The four squads swore to share the Alchemy Formula of the Foundation Establishment Pill and the Cultivation Insights, but the Crimson Whisker Vine is unique of a kind. If another battle squad reaches the treasury house first, they could tamper with the records or hide key details. A flawed formula or misworded insights could cripple our cultivation, leaving us at their mercy." Shirley knew the truth: she’d alter the records herself if her squad claimed the treasures first, unless time forced her hand. Trust was a fool’s game in the Abyss Pit Sect—no one was a saint, least of all her. True security only came when treasures rested in her own hands. Spurred by her words, the Suicide Squad quickened their pace, hastening toward the northwest reaches of the rear mountain, the ancient stone well their grim destination. The ancient stone well, though situated on the same rear mountain range as the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine, lay in a secluded northern reach, a divergent direction. After consulting the map, Shirley Quinn led her Suicide Squad along a different path—a wide stone trail, broad enough for several to walk abreast. Flanking the path were tall, dark green bamboo fences overgrown with wildflowers and tangled vines. Untended for years, these plants sprawled chaotically, far from the manicured elegance of wealthy manors. Instead, time had let them sprawl unchecked, they grew like feral weeds, twisting and climbing in a riot of untamed growth, exuding a wild, unsettling energy. As the squad crossed a series of low hills and descended into the northern reaches of the rear mountain, the air turned frigid, the mountain’s shadowed slopes swallowing the warmth. A heavy chill settled, the atmosphere thick with an eerie weight. The vibrant flowers and bushes lining the path began to change, their petals subtly morphing. At first glance, the patterns resembled the gaunt faces of the dying, then shifted into contorted visages screaming in panic and agony, mouths gaping in silent screams, eyes wide with terror as if scorched by unseen flames. When the wind stirred, the swaying leaves and blooms made the ghostly faces writhe and grin silently, as if countless malevolent spirits lurked within the foliage, watching with vicious intent. Undeterred, the disciples of the Abyss Pit Sect pressed forward, their resolve unshaken by the sinister display. Shirley Quinn and her Suicide Squad marched on, fearless in the face of such omens. After climbing and descending several more hills, the squad reached a stone courtyard, where a colossal sycamore tree loomed, its trunk so massive that ten grownup linking hands couldn’t embrace it. Its gnarled branches clawed at the sky, casting jagged shadows across the cracked stone expanse. "The map marks the ancient stone well beside a great tree," the pink-skirted cultivator exclaimed, her voice bright with excitement as she quickened her pace. But a few steps forward, her high heel caught on something soft. She glanced down and froze. Protruding from the grass was a skeletal arm, its flesh stripped away, leaving only withered bone still clutching a blood-red Dao artifact—the Venomflame Blood Wyrm Staff. A wave of dread washed over her, as if ice water had doused her soul. Noticing her sudden stillness, Shirley Quinn’s brow furrowed. Before she could speak, her gaze followed the cultivator’s and landed on the staff. Her pupils contracted in shock. "Soren Langley was here?" she whispered, her voice laced with alarm. Her eyes flicked instinctively to the giant sycamore ahead. Through the dense foliage, the ancient well’s stone rim glinted faintly in the early dusk light, serene yet foreboding. The towering tree and the well stood in quiet stillness, their tranquil facade belying the dark secrets that seemed to pulse beneath the courtyard’s surface.