Chapter 147: A Lie From the Start

Chapter 147: A Lie From the Start Ruru Rosa and Cade Barret, their Eighth Layer auras dimmed by their own desperate use of the Blood Burning Technique in the shrine, struggled to rise, their bodies battered, blood seeping from their lips. Ruru’s hair clung to her pale face, her voice a weak, defiant hiss. "You’re... falling apart, Quinn!" Cade, gripping his shield, coughed violently, his gruff tone raw. "You’re done for!" But their weakened states posed no real threat, their Blood Burning Technique having sapped their strength, leaving them vulnerable. Lordi Payne, however, stood firm, his Blade of Life Hater gleaming under the moonlight, his Seventh Layer aura thrumming at near-full strength. His feigned injuries—staged with theatrical coughs and blood—had fooled them all, a cunning ruse that kept him unscathed while Shirley’s calculations crumbled. In fact, even back in the Martial Arts Arena, Rodney Luther, a peak Ninth Layer cultivator, couldn’t fell Lordi swiftly. Now, Shirley, her soul half-devoured by the Ancient Stone Well’s horrors, her body crippled and decaying, faced a foe she’d underestimated. Her initial strike, meant to kill in one blow, had lacked the force to end him, costing her the initiative. Regret and hatred churned in Shirley’s gut, her lone right eye narrowing to a venomous slit, the empty socket on her left oozing dark ichor. "Fucking sinister brat!" she snarled, her voice a discordant rasp, half-melodic, half-guttural. If she’d known Lordi was faking his injuries, she’d have played her hand differently—slipped poison into his restoration pills or struck from the shadows with a stealthy dagger. Anything would’ve been cleaner than this messy confrontation. Her crimson blood aura flared, the Blood Burning Technique pushing her diminished Ninth Layer strength to its limits, cherry blossoms scattering like ash in her wake. "Hmph!" she hissed inwardly, her mind racing with cold calculation. "I’m free of the Hanz Clan estate now. That cursed thing from the rear mountain can’t chase me to devour the rest of my soul." Her killing intent surged, a tidal wave of malice flooding the forest. "... I can risk everything to survive!" —— The Water Lily Lake, nestled in the southeast of the Hanz Clan estate’s rear mountain, lay hushed under the twilight’s embrace, its surface a shimmering mirror of molten gold and dusky violet. Water lilies drifted like scattered dreams, their petals—some tender pink, others ghostly white—unfurled to catch the fading light, their glowing centers pulsing faintly, as if cradling the sun’s last whispers. The air carried their sweet perfume, mingling with the damp earth and the soft, green breath of willow branches trailing languidly in the water, their tips stirring delicate ripples. Beyond the shore, the twin peaks of the hill rose in a graceful arc, silhouetted against a sky bleeding lavender and indigo, their curves like the brow of a slumbering beauty, mysterious and serene. The lake trembled with their colors, each ripple a fleeting stroke of dusk’s fading palette. Jorge Blue led his Thirst Bull Squad to the central pavilion with swift, practiced leaps, their movements cutting through the tranquil scene. The squad, diminished since the chaos at the Martial Arts Arena, now numbered only six. Jorge, his Ninth Layer aura steady but strained, was the first to land on the pavilion’s lacquered wood, his human skin fan slung across his belt, blood staining his white sect robe. Rodney Luther followed, his bone chain whip coiled at his waist, his face grim, his Ninth Layer aura flickering with fatigue. Emma Dawson came next, her lithe form wrapped in Rodney’s tattered cloak, her curves barely concealed as she moved with fluid grace, her serpent dagger glinting at her side, her Eighth Layer aura sharp with lingering fury. Ann Marlph, her face pale, trailed close, her sect dress spattered with blood. Two male cultivators, their faces etched with shock, brought up the rear, their steps unsteady, their eyes haunted by whatever horrors had claimed their comrades. Jorge halted at the pavilion’s edge, his brow furrowing as he scanned the lake’s glassy surface. His voice, low and edged with frustration, broke the silence. "We’re one step too late. The array’s breach has closed. If we want out, we wait until tomorrow." His dark eyes lingered on the water, where no trace of the shimmering portal remained, the Gloomwater Phantom Lily Array sealing them in once more. Moments earlier, as the squad had rushed toward the lake, disaster had struck. Two of their squad members had turned feral without warning, their eyes clouding to an ashen gray, their qi twisting into madness. They’d lashed out at their companions, blades and fists flying in a frenzied betrayal, forcing the squad to fight their own. The delay had cost them dearly, their chance to escape the Hanz Clan estate’s grand array slipping away. The Water Lily Lake’s central pavilion stood silent, its lacquered wood gleaming under the twilight’s fading hues, the air thick with the sweet scent of water lilies. Jorge Blue’s Thirst Bull Squad, bloodied and diminished, gathered tightly, their breaths uneven. Ann Marlph, her black hair streaked with silver and bound in an elegant knot by a single jade hairpin, stepped forward, her fair complexion glowing like polished moonstone despite the faint lines of age. Her voice, soft but clear, carried the deference of tradition as she addressed her Ninth Layer captain. "Senior Brother Jorge, why the rush to leave the Hanz Clan estate?" Her eyes, sharp with quiet wisdom, searched his face, noting the fleeting frustration on his handsome features. "Senior Sister Shirley Quinn said the Treasury House is likely in the Ancestral Shrine. Why not check there first?" In the Abyss Pit Sect, strength carved hierarchy into bone, and Ann, though older, bowed to Jorge’s and Shirley’s higher cultivation realms, each "Senior" a nod to the sect’s unyielding law. Jorge’s eyes narrowed, his folding fan snapping open with a soft click as he sighed, his voice low and edged with suspicion. "There’s a flaw in what Senior Sister Quinn claimed." He paced the pavilion. "Think back to when we drew lots before entering this estate. Garrick Blackthorn’s squad won the right to scout the Ancestral Shrine. If the Treasury House was truly there, why were Cade Barret, Ruru Rosa, and Lordi Payne trailing Shirley Quinn instead of staying with their own Thorn Squad?" He scoffed, his handsome face icing over with wary disdain. "We saw it ourselves—three Thorn Squad members followed Shirley, not Garrick. And where was Shirley’s Suicide Squad? Not a single one of her men was with her at the Martial Arts Arena." His tone sharpened, his fan slicing the air. "If my guess is right, the Ancestral Shrine and the Ancient Stone Well are the deadliest traps in this haunted estate." The squad froze, stunned by Jorge’s words. Rodney Luther, seated cross-legged on the pavilion’s edge, his bone chain whip coiled beside him, spoke up, his voice cold as frost. "Captain’s right. That bitch Shirley Quinn showed up alone at the arena. She might’ve hidden her spirit worms, but her Ninth Layer Enlightenment Stage Twin-Tail Fox? That livestock never leaves her side—unless it’s dead." He sneered, flicking his blood-stained robe. "If that fox fell, her entire Suicide Squad’s likely been wiped out, just like the other sect batches that took this Outer Sect task." The man’s Ninth Layer aura pulsed, his eyes glinting with grim certainty. "Quinn claimed she scouted the Ancient Stone Well. Whatever lurks inside is lethally dangerous—likely a ninth-layer strength trap or guardian golem. No... it must be something even worse." His fingers tightened around his knee. "She herself is a peak Ninth Layer Qi Refinement Stage cultivator, plus her ninth layer Enlightenment Stage demon monster, and a group of peak eighth layer sect elites—none of them could overcome it. That place holds something... unnatural." Jorge nodded slowly at Rodney’s words, his gaze sweeping over the squad. "As for the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine..." His voice was measured, edged with suspicion. "I don’t know what befell Thorn Squad, but consider this—Cade Barret and Ruru Rosa didn’t just follow Shirley Quinn to the martial arena. They clung to her, obeyed her every command, moved under her protection." His jaw tightened. "That tells me something must have happened to Garrick Blackthorn." A cold silence settled over the group. "Think about it," Jorge continued, his tone grim. "In all five battle squads, Senior Brother Garrick Blackthorn’s strength is renowned—second only to Donovan Valdez. Why would Cade and Ruru abandon his leadership and throw their lot in with Shirley Quinn instead?" His eyes darkened. "Only one explanation fits: Garrick Blackthorn met his end in that shrine. And if even he fell there..." He let the implication hang, heavy and inevitable. "—Then that so-called ’Treasury House’? It’s a death trap. No way it’s deployed there." Ann nodded at his words, but a frown soon creased her brow. She hesitated, then spoke. "The captain’s reasoning is sound—your wisdom enlightens me. But, Senior Brother..." She gestured around them. "We’ve scoured every chamber and hall in the Hanz Stronghold. We dug deep beneath the Martial Arts Arena, and we combed through the ruins of the Chief Royal Study, and now this Water Lily Lake. Nothing. If both the Ancestral Shrine and the Ancient Stone Well are dead ends... then where is the Hanz Clan’s Treasury House?" A moment of silence stretched before a voice cut through—soft, yet resolute. "There are two possibilities." All eyes turned to Emma Dawson. Once, she would have remained silent, content to follow Jorge and Rodney’s lead. But the recent incident had sharpened her instincts and her will. No longer did she rely blindly on others; now, she thought for herself, her mind honed by necessity. Clad in the borrowed cloak from Ann and Rodney, her delicate features belied the steel in her words. "First option," she said, "the Treasury was never placed in any of the six natural energy hubs. Second—it is in one of them, but like the Gloomwater Phantom Lily Array, access is time-locked. If the moment isn’t right, no amount of searching will reveal it." Jorge studied Emma, impressed by her logic. After a beat, he agreed. "Junior Sister Dawson’s analysis is sound. The second possibility with time-lock theory holds weight. But I’d argue the third option is even likelier." He paused, his voice dropping. "What if Hughie Wing’s report to the Holy Sect was a lie from the start?"