Who are you?

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“Hiss!” Several of them drew sharp breaths, unable to relax for a long time, their eyes filled with astonishment. Even Shanglu’s gaze was tinged with disbelief, and even a hint of dread. “Who… what exactly are you?”

The mist shrouding this giant before them was even more solid than his own—only a hair’s breadth away from becoming pure black.

Qin Chuan paused in thought for a moment before answering, “Just a trifling trick, something I’ve dabbled in.”

This non sequitur drew odd glances from those behind him. In contrast, Shanglu’s eyes filled with shock and fury; his previous indifference evaporated, veins bulging on his brow as he bellowed and lunged at Qin Chuan. “You’re only at the first stage of Qi Refinement—what do you have to fight me with?”

Perhaps even he was unaware that the cursed bloodline within him granted a peculiar power capable of intoxicating others; thus, only when his secret art was stolen did he become truly enraged.

The giant’s movements were ponderous, yet his hands moved with astonishing speed. In the blink of an eye, they had already exchanged dozens of blows.

The cramped corner left little room; most of Shanglu’s giant form was still buried in shadowy mist. Their faces were nearly pressed together, making every clash all the more intense.

Within a single breath, Shanglu regained his composure, drawing back a little, slightly out of breath. The black mist enveloping Qin Chuan’s giant was oppressively dense, exerting a crushing pressure. With every impact, it was he who suffered; and the mist cloaking his own giant, less solid, thinned further with each exchange.

“You’re just at Qi Refinement’s first layer! I don’t know how your secret art could be so much denser than mine, but I can outlast you if nothing else!”

As soon as he finished speaking, he abruptly pointed into the dark mist. Instantly, a three-headed tiger-shaped beast of vapor materialized, snarling as it lunged for Qin Chuan’s face.

But Qin Chuan’s eyes flashed with even stranger light. He too pointed into the mist; after a ripple, a three-headed wolf of vapor emerged, its jaws dripping with saliva, brimming with vitality.

Among all beasts, the wolf was not the mightiest, but Qin Chuan had seen no others—so he summoned the one most familiar to him.

Shanglu’s eyes widened further in surprise. “You—you remembered it after watching me do it just once?” Disbelief colored every word.

“Enough talk. If you have more tricks, use them all!”

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“Even if it takes everything, I’ll wear you down!” His eyes flickered, unease gnawing at his heart.

The two fought, each with their own weaknesses, locked in a stalemate for a time. Yet among the six vapor beasts, the contest was clear.

When Shanglu first summoned the tiger-headed beast, he never imagined Qin Chuan would learn the technique. This art had a flaw: if the conjurer didn’t maintain mental control, the beasts would act independently.

By contrast, Qin Chuan’s mind handled many things at once; his summoned wolves acted in perfect unison, gaining the upper hand over the tigers again and again.

In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the tiger-headed beasts’ mist had already grown tenuous, on the verge of dissipating altogether. Suddenly, Shanglu slapped his storage pouch, bringing out a wooden cup and prying open a slit.

Shang Qi’s dantian had been taken as the core of the Rebirth Sacrificial Array, even his soul-blood stripped away—he could not be more dead. Yet his spirit beast, Ghost Seven, had been preserved as a keepsake and unexpectedly proved useful now.

Ghost Seven drifted from the cup’s slit, taking on a roughly human shape, standing before Shanglu. Shanglu chanted incantations, stumbling over the words but managing to spur Ghost Seven into action.

A vicious glint appeared in Shanglu’s eyes. The vapor beasts were clearly losing, but could hold out a while longer—long enough for him to defeat Qin Chuan and end all troubles at once.

In his mind, it was uncanny but possible that Qin Chuan could learn any technique involving shadowy energy in an instant, but he had managed it. Yet Ghost Seven, being a spirit beast, cared nothing for the mist; killing a mere first-stage Qi Refiner should pose no problem.

With this thought, his attacks grew fiercer, heedless of the cost as his giant’s mist dissipated all the faster. The rumbling shook even the earth-veins beneath, making it hard to stand.

An onlooker sees most clearly; Wan Tong and the others took in the situation, anxiety tightening their chests. Some, only half-recovered, forced themselves to stop circulating their energy, desperate to summon their treasures and drive Ghost Seven away.

But Qin Chuan felt no worry at all; in fact, a flicker of anticipation shone in his eyes. Back in the Shadowy Domain, he had refined three strands of gray thread as his core treasures.

Within these treasures lay his spiritual power and will, yet they could not endure forever and required periodic replenishment. So the thread within Ghost Seven’s brow had lost its hold, and did not strike at Shanglu the instant it appeared.

Qin Chuan had long since mastered shadowy energy—controlling it was as easy as breathing, and so too with the ghostly creatures it spawned.

As Ghost Seven drifted closer, the malice in its eyes faded, replaced by confusion, then gentleness, and when it touched Qin Chuan’s outstretched hand, even joy.

Before Ghost Seven, Qin Chuan was like a father-king—like a long-lost child returning home and seeing a beloved elder after ages apart.

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When Ghost Seven turned back, its gaze toward Shanglu was icy, sending a chill through his heart.

“Who are you, really?” Shanglu’s eyes bulged, his face drained of color, cold sweat pouring down as he seemed to lose all composure.

“The one who’s here to end your miserable life!” Qin Chuan stepped forward—though in giant form, he moved with an unearthly grace, as if he had always been thus.

Before him, Shanglu seemed soulless, deathly pale, muttering incessantly, “Who are you…?” Oblivious to Qin Chuan’s incoming punch.

Yet the instant Qin Chuan’s fist struck, Shanglu’s eyes suddenly gleamed with cunning. “You’ve fallen for it!”

His hands moved with practiced speed, as if this moment had been rehearsed countless times. As soon as Qin Chuan touched him, Shanglu snatched a jeweled bead from his waist, one he’d hidden in advance, and crushed it without hesitation, heedless of the shards slicing into his palm.

Crack!

With a crisp snap, a ripple shimmered before Shanglu, like water disturbed by a stone, turning transparent.

Qin Chuan’s punch met no resistance, passing straight through Shanglu and plunging into the black mist.

The giant barreled into the swirling darkness; excitement flickered in Shanglu’s eyes.

“Hahaha! No matter how strong you are, you’re not of the Shang clan—once you’re inside that black mist, the Dust Burial will ignite, and you’ll be blown apart from head to toe!”

He stared fixedly at the churning darkness, his grin growing ever more twisted, illuminated by flashes of lightning. Unconsciously, he held his breath, straining to hear the scream he imagined must come next.

But the sound he awaited never came. Instead, a cold drop of sweat traced his cheek and dripped to the floor with a faint plink.