Chapter 172: Valuable Alive than Dead

Chapter 172: Valuable Alive than Dead "Wait!!!" Lordi’s voice sliced through the suffocating tension, sharp yet measured—a desperate plea wrapped in forced deference. The sword’s aura pulsed with malice, its hunger for blood almost palpable, but he refused to let it act without thought. "Esteemed Sword Born," he continued, each word carefully weighted, "please, grant me a moment of your attention." Fuck this mindless, blood-drunk piece of retard metal. His thoughts seethed with contempt, though none of it reached his expression. This devil sword was a blunt instrument, a relic of slaughter too intellectual disable to grasp nuance. But then again, so were most things in this wretched demonic world. Krogh Hanz—whether the real one or the monstrous Ju-On wearing his face—was no different. None of them had ever dealt with him or his sect comrades in good faith. Every promise was a trap, every reward a prelude to betrayal. Under such circumstances, even if he succeeded now, even if he convinced the devil sword to kill Donovan instead and delivered it to the true Krogh Hanz’s hand, what after? Receive a swift execution from Krogh Hanz, most likely. If Lordi was fortunate enough, his corpse might remain intact—a small mercy from a man who saw human lives as expendable tools. No, blind obedience would only lead to an early grave. And then there was Donovan Valdez. The man was a tempest of violence, a peak Ninth Layer Qi Refinement cultivator mere steps from Foundation Establishment. Their earlier clash had been fierce, but Lordi had noticed something crucial—none of Donovan’s strikes in front of this devil sword had carried true killing intent. The wounds were superficial, the force restrained. No martial spells, no lethal techniques. Just a performance. This man was reckless on the surface, meticulous beneath. Donovan was no brute. He was calculating and acting all the time, his every move laced with purpose. And more importantly, he held nearly all the alchemy ingredients for the Foundation Establishment Pill—everything except the Crimson Whisker Vine, which now sat securely in his storage pouch from looting the Hanz Clan Treasury House. Judging from Emma Dawson’s successful intervention in the vault to stop the fight had already demonstrated one crucial truth: Donovan Valdez was not entirely beyond reason. When tempers had flared between the Mister First Dominator and Lordi, when the air had thickened with the promise of violence, she had stepped between them—not with force, but with words, sharp and deliberate. And to Lordi’s surprise, Donovan had listened. He had lowered his fist, if only for a moment, if only for the sake of the riches that lay accessible before them. That moment had been enough. It had proven that beneath the hardened exterior, beneath the simmering hatred and the bloodstained killing instinct, there was still a man who could be swayed by pragmatism. If treasures had been enough to stay his hand then, perhaps survival would be enough now. The estate around them was alive with malice, its mountain paths whispering threats, its very stones and woods seeming to breathe with a hunger for their suffering. They could die here, picked apart one by one by the unseen horrors. Or they could work together. Lordi’s gaze lingered on Donovan, assessing. He was dangerous, yes. But he was also calculating. And if he had been willing to postpone vengeance for the sake of plunder, then perhaps—just perhaps—he could be convinced to delay it once more. For the sake of making it out alive. Convincing the devil sword to kill him now would be a mistake. A fatal one. Even if Lordi couldn’t fully manipulate Donovan’s strength, even if their alliance remained fragile, losing him would strip away a vital piece in this deadly game. Abandoning this potential companion by the evil sword’s thirst for blood was short-sighted act. Survival demanded more than mindless slaughter—it required patience, cunning, and the right allies. And right now, Donovan Valdez was far more valuable alive than dead. Measuring his words, Lordi’s tone deliberate, as if he were laying out pieces on a chessboard rather than speaking. His voice carried the weight of careful reasoning. "Esteemed Sword Born," he began, inclining his head slightly in deference, "your wisdom must have already discerned that Senior Brother Valdez and I have each encountered only one Krogh Hanz. Such limited exposure leaves room for error—first impressions can be deceiving, and in matters as grave as this, a single misjudgment could prove fatal." He paused, letting the implication settle. "Why not allow us to exchange destinations? I shall investigate the Ancestral Shrine, while Senior Brother Valdez examines the Ancient Stone Well. By comparing our findings, we can determine with certainty which of the two is the true Krogh Hanz." The suggestion was a gamble, a thin veil over the true intent—buying time, keeping themselves alive long enough to find another way. But it was a gamble wrapped in logic, one that even the devil sword might find difficult to dismiss outright. Donovan, sharp as ever, recognized the play immediately. His nod was subtle, but it carried the weight of agreement—an unspoken pact between two men who, moments ago, had been ready to spill each other’s blood. Before the Mister First Dominator could interject, Lordi pressed on, his voice smooth yet laced with just the right amount of concern. "To judge based on a single encounter is reckless—no better than blind guesswork. And I would hate," he added, his tone dipping into something almost regretful, "to be the reason the mighty Sword Born is led astray from his true master’s side." He let the words hang before sighing, as if burdened by the gravity of their situation. "However... our strength is limited. If we face the true Krogh Hanz, we will, of course, be safe—for the legendary Krogh Hanz is a cultivator of immense power and mercy. But if we instead encounter the Ju-On wearing his face..." He trailed off, leaving the horror unspoken. "Mighty Sword Born, would you grant us some means of self-protection? Something to ensure we may return to you alive with the truth?" As he spoke, both Donovan and Lordi’s gazes flickered—just for an instant—toward the churning vortex of the lake, where the threshold of the Treasury House lay hidden beneath the dark waters. The memory of its treasures, its golden promise, tugged at them both like an unspoken temptation. Yet neither man allowed even a flicker of greed to cross his face. Their expressions remained solemn, composed, as if their only concern was serving the Sword Born’s will. The Sword of Red Run remained motionless for a long moment, its twin blades tilting ever so slightly as if weighing their words. The crimson glow of its eyes deepened, flickering like embers in the dark, giving the eerie impression that the weapon itself was deliberating—cold, calculating, utterly devoid of mercy. The silence stretched, thick with tension, before the sword finally spoke. "Ooooh, such a tricky puzzle!" it cooed, its twin blades swaying like a child kicking their feet in thought. "If the nasty Ju-On kills to silence witnesses... but my real master would not..." Suddenly both blades SNAPPED upright, quivering with revelation. "Then why should I do all the hard work?" it shrieked, voice fracturing into a chorus of metallic screams. "When the time comes, the truth will be plain enough. Let the killies sort themselves out! The one who lives..." One blade curved lovingly toward the survivor-to-be. "...gets to lead me to master!" The other blade plunged downward, stopping a hair’s breadth from the Lordi’s heart. "And the one who dies..." The sword erupted in hysterical giggles, ichor dripping from its edges. "Well! They were obviously just snack material all along!" The logic was brutal in its simplicity, stripped of nuance, as though the estate’s creeping malice had eroded whatever humanity might once have birthed in the blade’s spirit. There was no room for negotiation, no allowance for doubt—just the stark arithmetic of survival, as indifferent as the haunted estate itself. "Oh damn it..." The sword’s logic burned through Lordi’s mind like a spark to dry tinder. "This fucking rusted scrap of idiocy—this brain-dead, half-sentient hunk of metal!" His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he fought to keep his face neutral. "Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Of course this overgrown butcher’s knife would rather play executioner than think for two goddamn seconds!" He could already feel the death closing around them, the sword’s warped reasoning leaving no room for escape. If they walked into this blind, one of them—maybe both—wouldn’t walk out. But before he could voice the dread coiling in his chest, Donovan cleared his throat, his tone deceptively calm. "And what if the Ju-On kills us both?" he asked, the question slicing through the tension like a knife. "If neither of us returns... esteemed Sword Born, what truth will you have then?" The words hung in the air, sharp and unavoidable. The lake’s vortex churned sluggishly behind them, its dark waters whispering secrets of drowned fortunes, as if even the estate itself held its breath, waiting for the sword’s answer. The Sword of Red Run trembled violently, its twin blades clattering together like the chattering teeth of a madman. Its glowing crimson eyes rolled wildly in its hilt, unable to focus on either cultivator for more than a second at a time. "Hnnnng... head hurt..." it whined, the words slurred and simple. "Too much talky-talk! Stupid meat-things make Red Run confused!" With a sudden jerk, the blades spasmed outward, releasing two jagged shards of crimson energy that stabbed into Donovan and Lordi’s chests. Two men gasped as the fragments burrowed deep, settling like frozen worms coiling around their hearts. "There!" the sword screeched, its voice bouncing between shrill and guttural. "Now no die-die before answer-time! If bad Ju-On threats to kill..." It made a crude stabbing motion with one blade. "POKE! Like that!" The first rays of dawn crept across the clearing. The sword’s glow dimmed, its form growing sluggish. "Sun come... sleepy time..." it mumbled, already drifting toward the shadows. "Come back dark-time. Bring right answer..."