Chapter 52: The Pursuit

In the cavern where the duel between Nighteye and a Vampire First-Class Viscount was engaged, though the Vampire held a superiority in rank and faced an injured Nighteye, surviving her relentless onslaught and injuring her meant only one truth—he must be a battle prodigy surpassing his station.

A few seconds later, the dazed Vampire Viscount rose, surveyed the scene with an icy sneer, and sped into a tunnel without hesitation. Clearly gifted with tracking sorcery, he followed his prey’s trail with certainty, making unswerving choices at every branching path.

Yet just as he charged past rock spires trickling condensation, an unseen foreboding struck—a sudden pause saved him death, a halt mere inches from a monstrous sword. Dongyue had materialised as though grown from the abyssal stone itself, barring his escape. Had he delayed an eye-blink longer, its weighty edge would’ve welcomed his chest in a grave he could never exit.

Drenched in cold sweat, his gaze rose. It was there and then that his widened eyes finally perceived—the steely fingers clamping Dongyue’s hilt were none but a seemingly frail young man of Human blood. Not daring to breathe without care, his heart rancied with realization: a foe cloaked so completely in presence that one so near should go unmarked meant power far beyond.

Qian Ye regarded the blood-soaked Vampire Viscount. Eyes stopped briefly on the crest over his breastplate’s blood-splattered linen, he spoke: * “Clan Pasi emissary—what motive bears you haling after Monrow’s lineage?”

The Vampire’s laugh dripped in disdain. * “So deeply steeped in the knowledge of the Sacred Blood Kin, one might expect… yet understand this, whosoever you are: mortals do not meddle in divine affairs destined for Her Eternal Majesty, the Night’s sovereign! Let me pass… forget the quarrel, I shall.” The Viscount boasted.

Qian Ye merely grinned. * “Your house quarrels don’t trouble my conscience, rest assured…”

Relaxed breath escaped the bloodborn—this strange youth gave chill unseen, the sort that quells rebellion mid-thought.

Yet his reprieve broke with finality.

* “…But killing you? Very much interest me.”

Then came a weight unseen—a presence of crushing force like an infinite ocean’s depth. The battered Vampire staggered—ears rang faint echoes like sea’s surge. Down onto his knees he collapsed before this unseen tyranny.

A whistling scream from above—he recognized: Dongyue.

Clasping both hands to steel he met the falling blade. No mere sword he bore. For an instant, his might endured. But the force of its strike… the weapon, the wielder: crushed to the floor. Steel bent; cranium split asunder.

Qian Ye drew his bloodthirsty blade. Struck true—to destroy what pulsed within his defeated quarry. Another enemy erased. On the corpse he pried. From tatter pockets fell power-core bullets, luminous coins—and something rarer: A droplet of Origin-blood—one ordinary, though to possess it spoke treasure in itself—and he pocketed all. Trailing Nighteye’s fading presence deeper still.

Great though Nighteye’s fleetness was—still Qian Ye found scent weakened, almost evoked. Save for a Vision-eyes open, the path would’ve long evaded. Lucky swiftness of end met not time squandered.

After miles, a frown took Qian Ye—prints fresher told a worsening truth: blood-drained swiftness slowed, injury’s mark in her footfalls.

Yet to catch her still—no guarantee.

Repeatedly she threaded her way through Beasts’ domain—one with blood potent to remain hidden. Had he not too walked the bloodline hushed beneath their notice, ambush from local predator or tribesman would’ve halted him long mid-step.

A dance along edges so fine as razors.

She faced a terrible bestiality: plated colossus, armored as bastions. A flicker, sudden long tongues spat from its jaw in darting lashes—a beast quick, unnatural agility for mass its breadth.

Twisting positions as though shadow’s own whim, Nighteye struck, bullets aimed…only to be drawn off by warp—a defense forcefield as near a domain. Her shots, still finding mark, sheared loose plates; futile against meter after meter’s iron-thick hide.

Fangs darted; lashed like living spears—Nighteye, struck full upon spine, sailed back—a bolt of fury into cavernous spine. Half-body sunk—she lay embedded.

Qian Ye knew without breath: Even whole, she matched no true equal before the monstrosity’s might. His strength met its forte—an art that countered armoured hulks. And even so… a level divide yawned like void between them.

The tongue flew—and turned! No spear’s straight path, now coiling—struck not pierce but whip.

No warning.

She took the crash—a body of thunder flung.

The flower twins awoke. Twin-barrel merged—one barrel, a gilded feather upon wings of gold extended from his back: **Primeval Halberd!**

An instant—and all life across thousands of metres went mute. No sound. No light. All existence gripped by tremor of fate’s toll, hearing gates swing wide in the realm unseen—or hymnal chorus of celestial choirs. An indescribable truth pressed upon every sentient soul.

Battles raged afar—all staggered as death itself exhaled across minds unknown.

Wilhelm—a titan wolf—staggered misstep; fangs, closing on empty. Yet they sank true in an immense pillar—twist of jaw, a crush, and thud—cleaved its bulk mid-tibia. Opponent—Imperial General—sight turned pale, awe strung his features.

At two arms stretched, this hulking monolith fell to naught against his teeth alone? No chance to perceive: was this surge mere brute strength—or something else… greater?

Veteran tactician—seized the moment of Wilhelm’s mouth stuffed to throat. Without flourish or pause—the General vanished like dust in wind. When muzzle cleared, nothing met Wilhelm’s nostrils. Dazed, he released a thunder’s rumble—offended.

Elsewhere—a blow guaranteed struck… faltered! A fist stilled… and mist-wreathed specter—Ghost Heavenly Body’s clone—at same moment delayed.

But glancing blow did not matter—its power roared as before. Tunneling—stone shattered deep within caverns—a hollow beyond vision, smooth-rimmed and bottomless.

The entity twisted—an impression of turning gaze toward the hole’s gloom.

Then: dissolution. Reformation—a sliver—escaping inside fist-hollow made, lost in distance.

Bai Aobao herself stood stunned—one who pursued this spectral menace, unyielding in rage, never yielding inch. Now it slipped away?

Yet delight found none even within heart’s chamber.

Wounded—yes—and fleeing—it was.

Then Bai Aobao looked, and one who viewed from skies might see—her gaze traced the line between here and Qian Ye.

But for that ripple in her soul, she’d sealed that spectral ghost. But a warning ripple came. Not merely warning—a chilling dread in it.

And the fearless, she—turned steps. Tracing away from tremors’ source.

Another front—clash between Zhao JunDu and another Heavenly Ghost clone—an identical halt struck them similarly.

Yet recovery—Ghost clone claimed margin. Fleethard, widening distance.

It, having tasted peril of near proximity, refused further dance with Zhao’s green-sheaved blade. The kind of blade that would harm it.

Then—retreat—and ambush struck from unseen.

From space unchanging, violet storm erupted. Flames of violet pillars behind, rising into hued emerald above—and the clone crashed into the center. Scorches shrieked into void.

Purple fire flared—as if its touch burned ghoststuff directly, incinerating the very mist it formed from. The thing shrieked, blackened vapor lashed in spearpoints outward. The domain cracked.

Just when—

A green tidal wave rose behind.

In moments… smothered. Consumed.

Another shriek—octaved—its darkened shape shrank by half—drenched in flame, fled through endless tunnels like ember fading.

Zhao JunDu stood firm, skin pale—rose-flushed flicker gone. Taken unaware when prowling the deeps. Yet even so—Zhao fought. A warrior who danced near flawlessness—his skill denied even chance to the unseen. Only the greater trouble—the willpower of Ghost in lands cursed by primal Beasts retained its terrifying strength. Even so—Zhao evaded weakness. In battle he circled—not letting breach in defense.

Still, when primal wave came…

Faster to respond than foe he fought.

Grasping fate—to deliver fatal punishment, the twin techniques *Eight-Way Seal* & *Green Canopy* combined into decisive strike.

Victory?

Unfulfilled.

No pursuit, no killing possible.

The victor’s eyes traced the pulse of unseen storm—thoughts unmarked for minutes.

Zhao turned. He selected a road. The road led not towards the unseen.

And where Nighteye fell before bestial might—it was there Qian Ye had propelled the Viscount backward; the Flower-Twin’s flare dimmed, veiled like dying ember.

Like gilded arrow, *Primordial Quill* pierced flesh titanic with grace swift as divine decree. The unyielding armor that barred all efforts—failed entirely.

It swelled. Burst. Flesh cracking in seconds to expose golden glows uncontained. Golden ripples undulating out across the cavern. The creature transformed—no longer beast—but blazing infernal presence, a radiant star fallen to underground.