Chapter LXXXVI: Superiority

The scream cracked through the secret realm like thunder splitting stone.

Even Yun, who sat in perfect stillness moments before, startled—her breath catching in her throat before she could will it steady again.

Her eyes opened sharply. Her gaze, normally calm as glass, rippled with something darker. She turned her head, scanning the clearing.

Yanwei was gone.

Her chest tightened. A flash of fear tried to claw its way up, but she crushed it before it could reach her face. Her gaze swept again, more thorough, more desperate beneath the surface.

Still, no trace. No sound. Only the faint stirrings of a world still recoiling from that awful, bone-deep scream.

For a heartbeat, Yun's legs tensed, ready to spring toward the source of the noise. Toward where the danger now festered.

But she stopped herself.

No.

If Yanwei had gone to face whatever stirred in the depths of the realm, then her chasing after him would do nothing but drag him down.

He wasn't someone who needed saving. He was someone who carved his own path through the dark—and she trusted that. Trusted him.

Yun exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from her body.

Still, she could not still the worry gnawing at her ribs like a silent parasite.

Trust did not erase fear. It only forced her to carry it more quietly.

So she stayed.

Rooted to the ground he had left behind. Watching. Waiting.

Trusting that he would return—because if he didn't, then no scream in the world could measure the ruin she would bring.

…

Far from Yun's sight, back in the darkened chamber—

Yanwei's lips tugged into a faint smirk, sharp with curiosity.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his body loose, fluid—then he drove a punch straight toward the creature's chest.

He wasn't reckless; he wasn't aiming to kill. Just to measure. To provoke. To test.

But the moment his fist closed the distance—

—the creature moved.

Fast. Too fast.

Its own arm lashed out in a blur, the punch colliding with Yanwei's mid-swing.

The force was immediate. Catastrophic.

The instant their fists collided, Yanwei's body was sent flying.

No wall caught him.

The chamber was vast—wide enough for his figure to soar through the dim air before crashing hard onto the stone floor, the impact rattling through his bones.

Pain bloomed sharp and hot along his right arm; he could feel it—fractured, maybe worse. His body cultivation had dulled the damage just enough to stay conscious, but not enough to shrug it off.

He pushed himself up onto one knee, breath steady but shallow, right arm hanging loosely at his side.

And then—

—he smiled.

Not a grimace. Not a snarl.

A sharp, knowing curve of his lips.

Cunning. Calculating.

The kind of smile that suggested he'd just confirmed something important, even if it cost him pain to do it.

But before a thought could fully form behind his glinting eyes—

—the creature moved.

It exploded toward him again, swift and merciless, its hollow gaze locked onto him with predatory instinct.

There was no time to think. No time to breathe.

Only reaction.

The next blow came faster, heavier—a blur of motion that would give even the most hardened fighter no room to recover.

Yanwei's mind raced, his body reacting before he even had time to think. The creature's every movement was a blur, its speed and strength far beyond what Yanwei had anticipated. It wasn't just power—it was a response forged from raw instinct, honed by countless years of survival.

The creature lunged, its limbs moving with the ferocity of a predator. Without hesitation, Yanwei's body responded, sidestepping just in time. His foot slid across the ground, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow that would have shattered his ribs. The shift in his weight was effortless, automatic—a response formed by countless hours of training and the sharp instincts of an assassin.

The moment Yanwei's hand brushed his dagger's hilt, he knew exactly what he had to do. The throw was instinctive, the trajectory of the blade calculated in the same heartbeat. But the creature—without hesitation—snapped its arm up, deflecting the dagger with ease. The motion was fluid, natural, like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

Yanwei's eyes hardened. The creature wasn't just powerful—it fought on pure instinct. Its response was immediate, its reaction faster than anything he had anticipated. It wasn't calculating—it was survival, honed over years of battle.

Yanwei's gaze sharpened, and a surge of desire rose within him. This creature's body—its physicality—was an entirely new challenge. It was a mountain of power, a form Yanwei had never encountered before. There was something intoxicating about it, something that pushed him to want to dominate it, to break through its superiority and make it his own. The thought of bending this raw, untamed power to his will flickered through his mind like a spark. He wanted to defeat it—not just for the victory—but for the satisfaction of overcoming a challenge that felt truly insurmountable.

He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. He was fighting to own the strength the creature wielded.

Yanwei's gaze flickered to the dagger lying discarded on the ground, easily deflected by the creature. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, his mind calculating every possibility. His movements were deliberate, grounded in years of experience. The creature's raw power wasn't something he could match with simple force or speed—it fought with pure instinct, honed over years of survival and battle.

If the dagger won't work…

His thoughts sharpened, each one cutting through the haze of battle. If my body isn't enough to withstand its strength…

The creature's movements were a blur of precision and lethal intent, faster than anything he had anticipated. Poison… Yanwei's fingers brushed against the vials tucked in his sleeve. But it wouldn't work. The creature's body was impervious, its defenses near unbreakable. Even if he could apply the venom, it wouldn't matter if he couldn't pierce the skin. The poison would never reach its target.

Then what?

His eyes scanned the surroundings, his mind calculating, strategizing. The direct approach wouldn't work. This was no longer about overpowering the creature—it was about outthinking it, outlasting it. He couldn't defeat it with force, nor could he use poison. So, what else was left?

His thoughts raced. I need to fight smarter, not harder.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, steadying his breath. He'd survived far worse than this before, and he would survive this too—by using the one advantage he had left: his mind.

He straightened, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. Let's see how long it takes before this creature makes a mistake.