265: Chapter 265 Blood Slaughter Escapes, Vowing to Avenge This Enmity

Whoosh—!

The bloody figure crashed heavily into a deep mine tunnel from a torn spatial rift, like a kite with a broken string.

With a boom, he slammed against the rock wall; rubble fell in showers as dust and smoke filled the air.

The figure twitched and rolled twice before finally coming to a stop. It was Blood Butcher.

His left shoulder struck a protruding rock hard. He spat out a mouthful of black blood, which splattered onto the scorched ground, emitting a faint white smoke.

Blood was still seeping from the empty stump of his right arm. With every drop that fell, a twitching pain shot through his body, as if countless fine needles were stabbing along his Meridians toward his heart.

The spatial rift closed rapidly behind him. Before the last trace of distorted light vanished, he heard a faint hum in the distant wind—like the lingering sound of a Mecha Core cooling down.

He didn't look back.

He couldn't look back.

His right hand... was gone.

Severed at the shoulder, not even a shred of flesh remained.

He looked down at his left hand pressed against the stump; his fingers were trembling, and dried blood was caked under his fingernails.

That sword strike just now had been too fast, too precise, giving him no chance to react at all.

It wasn't a matter of suppressing him with a higher Realm, but rather calculating every inch of distance and every rhythm of breath, forcing him into a corner before hacking his arm off with a single strike.

"Chen family..." Two words squeezed out of his throat, his voice as raspy as a whetstone scraping against an iron plate.

It wasn't Chen Wuwang who had struck.

It was that youth—Chen Xiaodao.

Back then, he was just an orphan hiding in the ruins; now, he could actually sever one of his arms?

He clenched his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead. Cold sweat mixed with blood slid into the corners of his eyes, stinging sharply.

He raised his hand to wipe them away; his palm was a mess of crimson, and his vision blurred for a moment.

He couldn't fall.

He was the Sect Master of the Blood Demon Sect, the third most wanted Devil Head in the Cultivation World. Three hundred years ago, he fought seven Righteous Path Elders alone without being defeated. How could he be forced to flee with a severed arm by a wet-behind-the-ears junior today?

"I... am the Sect Master of the Blood Demon Sect..." he muttered to himself, his voice low but deliberate, "How can I kneel before an ant?"

Before he finished speaking, his insides suddenly churned.

The Origin of his Blood River Demonic Art was damaged, his essence blood was draining, and the circulation of his Cultivation Technique had become fragmented.

Several main Meridians felt as if they were forcibly blocked by something; his spiritual energy ran wild, showing signs of an impending backlash.

He groaned, curling up as his left hand gripped his chest tightly.

He couldn't delay any longer.

He forced himself to sit up, leaning against the rock wall, and pulled a dark red jade bottle from his robes.

The bottle was covered in dense runes, and the seal was wrapped three times with a blood thread that had long since dried and turned black.

This was the "Life-Sustaining Blood Pill" he had refined in his early years, using the spirits of a hundred Cultivators as a catalyst, supplemented by Thousand-Year Blood Ginseng and Underground Yin Marrow.

Taking it could stabilize the heart Meridians and stimulate potential for a short time, but the price was immense—every use accelerated the technique's backlash by thirty percent and shaved ten years off his Lifespan.

He unscrewed the stopper, and a pungent, sweet scent of blood filled his nostrils.

Without hesitation, he tilted his head back and swallowed it.

The pill entered his stomach and instantly turned into a scalding torrent that rushed toward his limbs and bones.

His severed Meridians were forcibly reconnected, and his scattered spiritual energy began to flow back into his Dantian.

His whole body trembled as spiderweb-like blood vessels surfaced under his skin, as if countless small insects were crawling beneath it.

Pain.

It was even more painful than losing his arm.

But he grinned, his lips twisting into a hideous arc.

He had survived.

As long as he was alive, there was still a chance.

He slowly raised his left hand, staring at the remaining blood on his palm. His gaze shifted from unfocused to solid, and then from solid to icy cold.

"Chen family..." he spoke softly, his voice not loud, but every word was like a knife, "You severed my arm; I want your entire clan buried with it."

A breath caught in his chest, and he suddenly coughed up a large mouthful of black blood, mixed with a few dark red crystalline grains—those were the fragments of the Blood River Demonic Art's Origin, dissipating along with his essence blood.

He didn't care.

The only thing he cared about was one thing: revenge.

If this debt is not repaid, I swear I am not human!

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.

Images of the battle just now flashed through his mind: the hum of Chen Wuwang's Mecha Core, Chen Xiaodao's Laser Sword as fast as lightning, Bai Ling's Purification Magic burning the Blood River Barrier, and that damned Psionic Code, burrowing into his Meridians like a virus and disrupting his Cultivation Technique...

He couldn't win in a direct confrontation.

Fighting head-on was equivalent to seeking death.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about taking a few down with him, but Chen Wuwang's Mechanical Prosthetic Eye was too sharp; he had seen through his intentions long ago.

When that punch shattered the Blood River, it wasn't just a crushing force, but a precise prediction of rhythm and blood flow.

He couldn't make the same mistake again.

He opened his eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade.

Since he couldn't do it from the front, he would strike from the shadows.

If he couldn't destroy their people, he would destroy their roots.

Spiritual Veins, Medicinal Fields, Artifact Refining Workshops... not a single one would be left!

He began to sketch a route map in his mind: To the west of the Eastern Wasteland Main City was a branch of the Chen family's Spiritual Veins, with three main formation lines buried there;

At the border of the Nangu Lin Family, there was a Medicinal Field growing hundred-year-old Purple Sun Grass, the core of their Medicinal Pill supply;

The Artifact Refining Workshop rebuilt on the former site of the Beipo Liu Clan was producing new mecha components day and night...

As long as he blew up one location, he could paralyze the entire Chen Family Technology system for over half a month.

Half a month was enough for him to recover some of his strength, gather his old subordinates, and even... contact those forces unwilling to see the Chen family rise.

He licked his dry lips, a hint of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes.

This time, he wouldn't give the Chen family another chance to react. He would bring even more ruthless methods and more poisonous schemes, uniting with other Devil Heads or even foreign races to let them taste the flavor of eternal damnation when the Chen family was at its most lax.

Deep in the mine tunnel, it was silent.

Only his heavy breathing and the light sound of blood dripping from the stump remained.

Drip... drip... drip...

Like a countdown.

He sat cross-legged, his left hand pressed against the stump, pushing his remaining spiritual energy bit by bit toward the edge of the wound.

The mixture of dirt and blood foam had dried, temporarily sealing the leak of essence blood, but the toxins were still penetrating, and his entire left arm had begun to go numb.

He knew this body wouldn't last long.

Although the art of Possession could save his life, every transfer would weaken his Divine Soul. If he couldn't find a suitable vessel, he would eventually become nothing more than a walking corpse.

But he couldn't worry about that now.

He slowly closed his eyes and began to reverse the Eight Extraordinary Meridians, gathering his scattered spiritual energy into his Dantian.

The medicinal power of the blood pill rampaged through his body, clashing violently with his remaining Demonic Technique. His head throbbed with a splitting pain, as if a thousand needles were piercing his brain.

He gritted his teeth and endured, the veins on his temples bulging.

How majestic had he been when he raided the village eight years ago?

Wherever the Blood Vines passed, flesh and blood turned to mud, and wails echoed everywhere.

At that time, he stood atop the ruins, looking down on all living beings like a god.

And now?

Fleeing with a severed arm, hiding in a mine tunnel like a stray dog.

Humiliation.

Immense humiliation.

But the more humiliated he felt, the more intense his hatred became.

He wasn't afraid of pain, nor was he afraid of death.

He was only afraid... of not being able to personally trample everyone in the Chen family into the mud, one by one.

"Just you wait," he whispered, his voice raspy yet firm. "I will repay the debt of this sword strike a hundredfold."

The wind blew in from the tunnel entrance, swirling ashes past the hem of his clothes.

He remained motionless, like a frozen statue.

In the distance, the direction of the Eastern Wasteland Main City, cheers could be heard faintly, as if someone was celebrating a victory.

He heard it.

The corners of his mouth slowly curled up, revealing a cold smile.

What are you celebrating?

Your good days... have only just begun.