Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 112: Evil Intentions II

Chapter 112: Evil Intentions II

The crowd had no time to register their motion—one moment, they stood yards away; the next, their ivory-masked gazes were locked on Kael, their spiritual pressure probing the edges of his aura.

Their expressions remained unreadable, hidden behind masks carved with intricate sigils, but their stances had shifted, the calm poise of impartial judges giving way to a subtle tension, a wariness that betrayed their unease.

The taller figure raised a hand, palm open, and a flicker of white essence coalesced within it, forming a delicate sigil that pulsed with the resonance of a high-grade spiritual array. The sigil hummed, its energy threading through the air, seeking to bind and suppress, its intent as clear as a blade pressed to the throat.

Kael stopped walking, his silver eyes narrowing, his fingers tightening around the sheathed Abyssal Fang. The blade, still dormant, hummed faintly, its spiritual essence resonating with his will, a warning to those who would challenge him.

His dantian stirred, the Silver Lotus Flame above his shoulder flaring slightly, its light casting long shadows across the cracked stone beneath his feet.

"You carry it," the first white-robed figure said, its voice soft yet laced with an authority that reverberated through the spiritual plane. "The Forbidden Lotus, the bloom that should never awaken."

The second figure’s voice followed, colder, sharper, cutting through the air like a frost-laden wind. "Surrender it, cultivator. You have survived its trial, but you cannot contain its hunger. It will devour your spirit, corrode your meridians, and twist your fate until you are nothing but its vessel."

Kael’s voice was hoarse, raw from battles fought within the pagoda, but steady as tempered steel. "No."

The taller figure tilted its head, the sigil in its palm pulsing brighter, its energy coiling like a serpent preparing to strike. "Then you will perish," it intoned, its words a verdict delivered with the weight of divine judgment.

It moved—a blur of motion, faster than the eye could follow, the sigil exploding forward like a whip of pure spiritual essence, its arc crackling with the force of a collapsing star. Kael slid to the side, his body flowing with the grace of the Crescent Requiem, unsheathing Abyssal Fang in a single, fluid motion.

The dagger’s edge met the whip’s energy, slicing through its core, the clash sending a shockwave that fractured the stone beneath their feet, shards of rock spiraling into the air.

Before Kael could press his advantage, the second white-robed figure attacked, twin daggers materializing in its hands, their blades imbued with a qi so refined it warped the air around them.

The strikes aimed for Kael’s ribs, their speed defying even the senses of a Primal Warrior. Kael parried the first, Abyssal Fang singing as it met the dagger, but the second grazed his shoulder, drawing a spray of blood that stained the ground crimson.

Pain flared, but Kael didn’t retreat—he stepped forward, his aura surging, the Silver Lotus Flame at his shoulder erupting into a radiant wall that forced the figures back, if only by a half-step.

The crowd gasped, their spiritual senses reeling from the display. The flame was no mere elemental energy—it was a manifestation of a Dao, a spiritual force that resonated with the heavens themselves. Cedric’s voice trembled, barely a whisper, his qi fluctuating wildly. "What... was that? That’s not normal energy... not even elemental."

Taryn’s eyes widened, his usual bravado crumbling under the weight of realization. "That’s a Lotus Flame," he muttered, his voice tinged with awe and fear. "A purified Lotus Flame. How...?"

Lysara’s gaze sharpened, her Royal Path aura flaring briefly as she pieced together the impossible. "That’s why the pagoda lit up," she said, her voice low but resolute. "He awakened something on the 18th Floor—something tied to the Black Lotus itself."

The word spread like wildfire through the crowd, igniting whispers that grew into a roar of speculation and greed. "Lotus Flame," they murmured, the term carrying the weight of legend. "He’s carrying a Black Lotus, isn’t he? That’s what it is—that’s why the pagoda trembled."

A rogue cultivator, his eyes gleaming with avarice, shouted, "That relic’s worth more than a sect’s treasury! It could elevate a mortal to the Divine Realm!"

The air shifted, the spiritual currents of the plain twisting under the weight of collective desire. Dozens of cultivators now stared at Kael, their awe giving way to a hunger that burned brighter than their fear.

They edged closer, their steps hesitant, each waiting for another to make the first move, their qi coiling in anticipation.

The taller white-robed figure raised its voice, its words laced with a subtle venom that fanned the flames of greed. "He carries the Forbidden Lotus, the scourge that hollowed thousands during the Lotus Massacre! It devours the spirit, corrodes the mind, and twists fate itself! To let it remain in his hands is to invite calamity!"

The words were not a warning—they were bait, a calculated provocation that snapped the fragile tension holding the crowd at bay. The spell of greed took root, sinking into the dantians of the cultivators, their spiritual senses clouded by visions of power and glory.

A blade flew from the left, launched by a mid-tier warrior whose qi burned with reckless ambition. Kael turned, Abyssal Fang flashing in a precise arc, shattering the weapon mid-flight.

The attacker crumpled with a scream, his meridians disrupted by the backlash of Kael’s strike, but the act was a spark that ignited the mob.

Kael’s foot slid back, his silver eyes scanning the mob forming around him—half a dozen cultivators drawing weapons, their qi flaring with intent.

Some hesitated, their expressions torn, but the hunger in their eyes betrayed their resolve. He could feel it—the Silver Lotus Flame pulsing within his dantian, not with rage or fear but with a quiet warning, its spiritual resonance urging him to act.

Kael gritted his teeth, his voice low and resolute. "So that’s how it is..."

The taller white-robed figure’s masked smile widened, its aura remaining aloof, observing. "Let them take it from you, cultivator," it said, its voice dripping with mockery. "If it kills you, it was never yours to bear."

Another cultivator leaped from the crowd; a blade raised high, its edge imbued with a low-grade Fire Dao.

Kael didn’t dodge—he spun through the blow, his elbow slamming into the man’s chest with a force that cracked ribs and disrupted qi flow.

A pulse of Silver Lotus Flame surged outward, its spiritual essence sapping the strength of two more attackers, sending them sprawling with groans of pain.

A barrage of spells followed—fireballs infused with Yang essence, wind blades sharp with Yin qi, and shadow tendrils laced with corrosive intent.

Kael grunted, diving low, Abyssal Fang flicking upward to slice the ground open.

Black mist erupted from the cut, a manifestation of his Silent Eclipse Dao, absorbing the spells midair, the backlash shaking the attackers’ meridians and forcing them to stagger back.

"Back off!" Kael roared, his voice carrying the weight of his Primal Aura, a spiritual pressure that made lesser cultivators flinch.

It didn’t matter. The spell of greed had settled into their bones, their dantians burning with a desire that drowned out the reason. The Arveth team lingered at the back, their auras wavering, neither joining the fray nor intervening, their eyes weighing Kael’s fate with cold calculation.

Even Lysara’s expression flickered with uncertainty, her Royal Path aura restrained as if she were balancing duty against instinct.

Kael spat blood, his qi reserves straining under the onslaught, his meridians aching from the constant flow of the Silver Lotus Flame.

He couldn’t survive this as he was—not against a mob driven by madness, not with the white-robed figures waiting to exploit his weakness. He needed space and time to channel his new power, to stabilize the shard within his dantian.

His gaze shifted to the white-robed figures, standing aloof, their masked smiles betraying their strategy. They were waiting, biding their time, letting the mob wear him down before striking. Smart, Kael thought, his jaw clenching. Cowardly.

His grip on Abyssal Fang tightened, its spiritual essence resonating with his resolve. "Then I’ll carve a path," he muttered, his voice a vow to himself and the heavens.

He moved, a comet of silver fire and shadow, his body blurring as he surged forward. Abyssal Fang wove through flesh and weapon alike, each strike a harmony of precision and power, guided by the Crescent Requiem Dao.

A scream pierced the air as a cultivator fell, his qi disrupted. Another collapsed, his meridians sealed by a pulse of Lotus Flame.

The flame didn’t burn their bodies—it burned their spirits, sapping their will, feeding on the greed that drove them, a manifestation of the Black Lotus’s legacy purified by Kael’s resolve.

A spear grazed his leg, its qi-infused tip drawing blood and disrupting his balance. Kael stumbled, pain flaring, but he caught himself, rolling to avoid a hammer that slammed into his side, the impact rattling his meridians.

More attackers closed in—three, five, ten—their auras a chaotic storm of conflicting Daos, their eyes wild with hunger.