Chapter 162: A Twisted Sick Game

Chapter 162: A Twisted Sick Game The trio stood rigid beneath the oppressive gaze of the Sword of Red Run, its crimson eyes boring into them like twin embers in the twilight. The air was thick with tension, the weight of their predicament pressing down like an invisible shroud. Emma Dawson and Rodney Luther’s voices rang out in unison, each declaring, "I’ll stay!" Their words overlapped, a desperate bid to protect the other, revealing the depth of their bond even amidst the terror. Rodney turned to Emma, his eyes softening with concern, but before he could speak, she pressed forward, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Esteemed Sword Born. Please, let me stay. Senior Brother Luther’s cultivation is stronger; he’ll find the mighty Senior Brother Krogh Hanz and finish your task faster." Her plea was earnest, driven by both love and logic, though her heart ached at the thought of separation. Rodney shook his head, his expression torn. "No, Emma, you should go. Your keen senses as a female cultivator will uncover clues we male cultivators might miss." His voice carried a quiet resolve, masking the fear that gnawed at him, the fear of losing her to the estate’s lurking horrors. Jorge Blue stepped forward, his voice measured and deferential, though a quiet dread coiled in his chest. "Esteemed Sword Born," he began, choosing each word with care. "Your Highness must have seen by now that the two lovebirds are deeply devoted, their hearts entwined. To part them would be... a cruelty beyond necessity. If it pleases you, allow me to go in their stead." His tone remained polished, respectful—yet beneath the surface, unease lingered, unspoken. The crimson sword hovered motionless in the thick air, its crimson eyes pulsing like dying embers in a slaughterhouse. The silence stretched just a heartbeat too long—the terrible pause of a predator deciding whether to play with its food or simply devour it whole. Then it erupted into a fit of wet, gurgling giggles, the sound bubbling up from its blade like blood from a fresh throat wound. "Ooooh yes! You use such pretty words! Makes sooo much sense, doesn’t it?" The sword executed a slow, predatory circle around the trio, its tip leaving faint red trails in the air that smelled faintly of copper and burned flesh. "The two male cultivators will remain, and the female will search alone." Its voice was cold, final, cutting through the air like a blade. Jorge’s expression shattered like thin ice, his usual cold control splintering into raw disbelief. His lips parted, then twisted as if the Sword’s words were a physical blow. "What?" The word tore from his throat, ragged and unguarded—a sound he’d never allowed himself before. Beside him, Rodney stood frozen, his silence louder than any protest. Emma took a half-step back, her breath hitching. The Sword’s choice settled over her like a spider’s legs skittering down her spine. "Why... me?" Her voice wavered, thin as a frayed thread, betraying the dread pooling in her stomach. The Sword let out a tinkling laugh, like wind chimes in a graveyard. "Ooooh, looooveeeers?" it cooed, its voice saccharine and singsong, as if delighted by some private joke. "Awwww, how sweeeeet! You think you’re special? You think your little hearts are the first to go pitty-pat in the dark?" The blade swayed playfully, its crimson eyes blinking with exaggerated innocence. "But silly mortals always follow the same rrrrules!" it chirped, dragging out the ’r’ like a child teasing a pet. "Boys say pretty, pretty words—’Oh, I’ll die for you, oh, I’ll never leave!’—but their feet? Soooo fast when the door opens! And girls? Ohhh, girls are funnnn~ They cling and cry and beg, like little birds with broken wings. Soooo predictable! I’ve seen countless pairs like you." It spun in a lazy circle, humming to itself before suddenly stopping, its edge glinting like a predator’s smile. "But yooouuu~" It sing-songed, drifting closer to Jorge. "No lovey-dovey for you, huh? Just cold, cold logic. So if I let you waltz away... would you really come baaack? Or would you tiptoe off into the shadows to vanish, leaving my poor, poor Master all alooone?" Its voice dropped to a whisper, sticky and wet—"I wonder... would you lie to me?" The air grew thick, the Sword’s playful tone curdling into something far worse—the giddy malice of a child pulling wings off flies. Jorge’s face flushed with suppressed frustration, his mind racing for a counterargument. "Esteemed Sword Born. Look, my bro Rodney isn’t like that," he protested, forcing a strained smile. "All along this journey, he’s protected Emma, putting her safety above his own." Emma nodded faintly, her eyes fixed on Rodney, her heart swelling with both love and fear for his fate. The Sword let out a high, tittering giggle—like a child delighted by a cruel prank. "Ooooh, he protected her, did he? And look at that, not a single scratch! How convenient!" Its voice dripped with false sweetness, each word sticky like poisoned honey. "My master used to play that trick tooooo~ Big, brave hero one moment... Pamper them, pet them, tell them exactly what their widdle hearts wanna hear..." The blade made a playful slicing motion in the air, humming as if recalling a fond memory. The sword scoffed, its voice laced with cynicism. "Eighty, ninty girls? A hundred? So many pretty ladies believed and fell for his grand gestures," it continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But master discard them when it suited him—or slaughter them to feed me. They’d sigh and swoon~ Mmm, their blood tasted like hope and love!" A wet, slurping sound echoed unnaturally from its steel as the temperature plummeted. A pause. Then, with a sudden, ear-splitting screech of steel— "Don’t the FUCK think you can deceive me. I fucking know the hearts of men too well." Then, with sudden, eerie cheerfulness, it pivoted toward Emma. "But youuuu~" it sang, bobbing excitedly. "Still stuck in widdle eighth layer Qi Refinement Stage while these Ninth layer men lap you! And your silly heart’s all knotted up with loooove~" It mock-swooned, then snapped upright with a metallic ping. "Which means you’ll actually try to save them! Unlike these two... Her heart is tangled in love, not cultivation. She’s the least likely to betray me. Leave her to search, and she’ll do so with purpose." The Sword’s glow pulsed, casting jagged shadows across the men’s faces. "Oh yes, I know how that story ends. But you? You’ll scramble like a good little mouse!" Rodney’s mouth opened, then closed without sound, his fingers twitching toward Emma’s sleeve as if to pull her back—but the Sword’s twisted words had already slithered between them, turning his muscles to stone. Emma’s lips parted in mute horror, her wide eyes reflecting the blade’s cruel gleam as its weird logic coiled around her throat like a garrote. Jorge stepped forward, the only one still fighting, his voice sandpaper-rough with forced conviction. "Esteemed Sword Born. You’re right, but not completely true—love isn’t the only chain that binds." He clapped a hand on Rodney’s shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "We’re sworn brothers. Battle-forged. Rodney’s life is mine to protect." The word tasted like rust on his tongue, but he bared his teeth in something almost like a smile. "There’s more to loyalty than romantic love. Let me go find mighty Senior Brother Korgh Hanz. I won’t run. Bound by a bond stronger than blood." The Sword’s laughter bubbled up like blood from a slit throat—high, wet, and wrong. "Brotherhood? Oh-ho-ho!" It giggled, spinning in dizzy circles, its edge glinting with manic glee. "Brothers stab faster than enemies! They know just where the blade fits between your ribs!" It halted abruptly, tip hovering an inch from Jorge’s left eye. "But you’re soooo clever, aren’t you? Wrapping your lies in logic like a present for meee~ Spare me your tales of loyalty!" Jorge’s breath hitched as the blade’s presence thickened the air, pressing against his skin like a corpse’s rotten claw. "Emma’s weak, Emma’s just at Eighth layer cultivation realm." he forced out, the words ash in his mouth. "And this Hanz Estate is full of death traps. If she goes alone and falls, won’t that delay your righteous search for mighty Senior Brother Krogh Hanz? But me—" He bared his teeth, "I’ll swear the Inner Demon Oath on my Dao Heart to prove my sincerity." The Sword’s crimson eyes slithered into amused crescents, its voice dripping with the sticky-sweet malice of a hell child explaining why it had to drown a kitten. "Silly, silly human man~" it cooed, the blade tilting playfully. "Do you think you’re my only toys? The Hanz Estate is full of new faced humans—wandering, whimpering, just begging to be useful! If your precious Emma doesn’t come back..." It shuddered with delight, metal singing as it drifted closer to Rodney’s throat. "I’ll have such fun peeling you both apart! And then? I’ll pick a new girl, and a new boy, and we’ll play this exact game all over again!" The voice slithered from the blade like a serpent uncoiling in the dark—cold, precise, each syllable dripping with a predator’s patience. Jorge’s blood turned to chilling ice as understanding crashed over him. The sword’s twist logic words about Emma’s reliability had been nothing but a venomous lie. FUCK?! The sword had never really thought of searching for his master. It had only ever wanted a twisted sick game to toy its prey. Rodney and him—their bodies honed to the Ninth Layer of Qi Refinement, their souls ripe with cultivated power—were the feast it truly craved. Emma’s success would grant it to back to its wielder, yes, but her failure? That would grant it a meal.