Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 117: Foreigners

Chapter 117: Foreigners

Kael didn’t retreat—he dashed into it, his feet striking the surface with condensed qi, each step a ripple of spiritual force that defied the wave’s pull.

His Crescent Requiem Dao guided his movements, Abyssal Fang cutting downward, splitting the water to reveal the beast’s glowing eye beneath.

The blade stabbed deep, the Silver Lotus Flame surging into the wound, its light boiling the creature’s ichor from within. The beast thrashed, its howl a cacophony of pain, its massive head crashing into the cave wall, shattering stone and shaking the roots above.

Kael held fast, his hands twisting the blade, channeling a torrent of Lotus Flame that burned through the creature’s spirit core, its thrashing slowing, its aura collapsing.

He leaped off just before the beast slammed into the wall again, landing on the broken stone floor, his breath ragged, his robes soaked, blood dripping from a new gash on his thigh where a stray claw had grazed him.

The leviathan slumped, its body steaming, the water around it bubbling as the Silver Lotus Flame’s residue purified the marsh’s corruption.

Kael sheathed Abyssal Fang, his body trembling—not from exhaustion but from the thrill of battle, a primal pulse that tempered his spirit with each clash.

The Forbidden Lotus was reacting, its crimson mark throbbing—warm, then cold, a second heartbeat that felt foreign yet intrinsic.

The Silver Lotus Flame within his dantian flickered, its silver hue streaked with deep violet, a new resonance that felt heavier, wilder, a reflection of the Lotus’s untamed nature stirring within him.

He dragged himself to a dry ledge at the cave’s rear, blood staining his leg, his meridians aching from the strain of channeling the Lotus Flame. Opening his satchel, he retrieved a binding cloth and a handful of swamp herbs, their faint spiritual essence glowing under the Lotus Flame’s light.

He ground them into a paste, applying it to the gash with practiced precision, his silver eyes never leaving the cave’s entrance, his spiritual senses probing the fog for further threats.

More would come—not just beasts, but cultivators, drawn by the Lotus’s call, their greed a flame that burned brighter than fear.

These creatures had been driven by instinct, territorial guardians roused by the shard’s presence, but the next could be sentient, their hunger sharpened by ambition.

"Even the wild senses it," Kael murmured, his hand resting over the crimson mark. "You’re waking the marsh."

The mark pulsed once, not in warning but in confirmation, its rhythm syncing with his dantian, the Silver Lotus Flame stirring as if in contemplation.

Kael cycled his qi, drawing it through his meridians to cleanse his inner wounds, the Silent Eclipse Dao guiding the flow with surgical precision. The fight had strained his spiritual reserves, but his meridians held firm, tempered by the pagoda’s trials.

Amara, the assassins, now the beasts—each battle stacked against him, and he knew he had one, perhaps two, more before rest became a necessity, not a choice.

A vision flashed unbidden in his mind, not his own but born of the shard—a still lake, its surface mirror-like, broken by a colossal root rising from its center.

Not a tree, but something older, its vines spiraling like a lotus blooming in reverse, their qi radiating an ancient, primal force. Kael’s eyes snapped open, his breath exhaling in a slow, steady stream, his dantian resonating with the vision’s weight.

The shard was guiding him, its intent clear yet enigmatic, a beacon leading him deeper into the marsh. "So that’s where I’m heading," he said, his voice resolute, his gaze sharpening toward the east, where the marsh’s heart pulsed with a quiet, foreboding power.

He tied the final knot on his bandage, gritting his teeth against the pain, and packed his satchel, wiping the blood from Abyssal Fang’s edge, its spiritual essence humming in approval.

The Silver Lotus Flame flared briefly, illuminating the cave’s walls, revealing faded runes just above the waterline—ancient warding sigils, their qi long dissipated but their intent still legible. Another cultivator had once sought refuge here, perhaps a warden like Kael, or a victim of the Lotus’s curse.

Kael carved his own mark beside them—a crescent moon intersecting a blooming lotus, its lines infused with a trace of Silver Lotus Flame, a ward, and a warning to those who followed.

He stepped back into the swamp, the water clinging to his boots, thick and cold, but his resolve burned like a celestial furnace. The marsh’s fog parted before him, a path forged by his will, and Kael walked on, his crimson mark pulsing, a heartbeat that echoed through the wilds.

Somewhere in the darkness, something listened, its presence a shadow that stirred the marsh’s corrupted qi, waiting for the Warden of the Lotus to reach his destination.

Kael’s boots sank into the muddy water as he emerged from the cave, the Silver Lotus Flame casting a faint, ethereal glow that danced across the murky surface, its purified light a defiant ward against the Deadflame Marsh’s oppressive miasma.

The air was thick with corrupted qi, a sluggish current that weighed on his meridians, dulling his spiritual senses and resisting every movement.

The marsh had fallen silent, but it was not the quiet of peace—it was an unnatural stillness, a held breath as if the wilds themselves awaited the breaking of an unseen storm.

His silver eyes flicked through the mist, scanning the gnarled trees and stagnant pools for signs of movement.

No beasts stirred, no rustling betrayed a predator’s approach—just a heavy, expectant quiet that set his Crescent Requiem Dao humming, its rhythm attuned to the marsh’s subtle currents.

The crimson mark on his forearm throbbed gently, its pulse a quiet heartbeat that seemed to sense something close, a resonance that stirred his dantian with both caution and curiosity.

Kael pressed forward, each step guided by instinct, his Silent Eclipse Dao channeling faint qi beneath his soles to keep him above the deeper pools, his movements as fluid as a shadow gliding through the fog.

His injuries ached—the gash on his thigh a constant burn, his ribs protesting with each breath—but his resolve burned brighter, a celestial furnace forged in the crucible of the Ascension Pagoda.

The Forbidden Lotus’s shard, etched into his spirit, was both a burden and a guide, its call leading him deeper into the marsh’s heart, where answers—and dangers—awaited.

Snap!

The sound pierced the silence, sharp and deliberate, a dry twig breaking to his left. Kael halted, his body still, his spiritual senses flaring like a beacon in the void. It was no beast’s cry, no ripple of water—a human presence, subtle but unmistakable.

His hand hovered near Abyssal Fang, not drawing it yet, as he extended his perception through the fog, his Crescent Requiem Dao sharpening his awareness of the marsh’s qi flow.

Four auras emerged, refined and controlled, their spiritual signatures disciplined but not at the level of true masters—Mid to Late Primal Warrior Realm, their qi tempered by sect training.

They weren’t hunting him, not yet, their focus elsewhere, but their presence in this cursed land was no coincidence. Kael crouched behind a massive tree root, its surface slick with moss, peering through the mist to observe the intruders.

Four figures moved cautiously through the water, their dark indigo robes adorned with crimson cloud patterns that shimmered faintly, a sigil of a sect with renown beyond the Wolfswood.

The lead disciple, a tall youth wielding a short glaive crackling with lightning qi, exuded a steady authority, his aura pulsing with a low-grade Thunder Dao.

Behind him, a young woman with dual curved daggers moved with lethal grace, her qi sharper, honed by a Blade Intent that cut through the miasma. The other two, both sword users, trailed close, their voices low as they scanned the murky waters, their auras resonating with a cautious harmony.

"Senior Brother, are you certain the wolf came this far?" one sword user asked, his voice tinged with doubt, his qi fluctuating slightly under the marsh’s pressure.

"I saw it with my own eyes," the glaive user replied, his tone firm, his spiritual senses probing the fog. "Silverhorned fur glinted under the moonlight—it bolted east, past that ridge."

The second sword user grunted, his sword hand twitching. "Be careful, Junior Brother. We’re beyond the Endless Plain now. This marsh breeds things that defy heaven’s will."

Kael’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts racing. The Silverhorned Wolf—a spirit beast renowned for its unmatched agility, its spiritual core prized for enhancing speed-based movement techniques, its silver fur a treasure that could fund a sect’s armory.

If such a beast had ventured this deep into the Deadflame Marsh, it was either fleeing a greater predator or drawn by a force as potent as the Forbidden Lotus itself.

The coincidence set Kael’s instincts ablaze, the crimson mark pulsing faintly as if acknowledging the marsh’s stirring.

He remained hidden, his Silent Eclipse Dao cloaking his aura, his breath steady as he observed the disciples. They were young, likely no older than twenty-five, their qi refined but untested against the marsh’s true horrors.

Their presence suggested the Skycloud Sect, a regional power known for its Thunder and Blade Daos, but their pursuit of the wolf this far into the marsh spoke of ambition—or desperation.