Chapter LXXXVIII: Neck

The chamber lay in chaos.

Fragments of stone and shattered pillars littered the ground, scattered like forgotten remnants of some ancient war. Jagged cracks ran across the walls, stretching wide like the wounds of a dying beast. Dust hung thick in the air, swirling in the dim light, as though the very atmosphere was still caught in the tremors of battle. The air smelled of scorched earth, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.

The floor was pitted, cracked in places where the sheer force of the battle had torn it apart. Deep gouges marred the once-smooth surface, as if the land itself had been clawed by unseen talons. In some corners, pieces of broken stone were half-buried, a testament to the violence that had rocked this chamber.

Silence had settled, but it was not a peaceful stillness. It was a heavy silence, thick with the aftermath of destruction. The faint, echoing drip of blood was the only sound that dared break the quiet, its rhythm slow and steady as it pooled beneath the lifeless form of the creature.

The walls, once so imposing, now seemed weakened—sagging in places where the force of the impact had driven them inward. Where there had once been unyielding stone, now there were cracks, vast and spreading, like the dark veins of the earth. A few sections had even crumbled entirely, their remains scattered across the floor like forgotten remnants of an old world.

The creature's body lay still, sprawled across the ground. Its massive form was bent at an unnatural angle, its chest no longer rising and falling with the steady rhythm of life. The blood pooling around it seemed almost to breathe, a quiet pulse in the dead air. Its eyes, wide in eternal shock, stared blankly toward the ceiling, its once-ferocious presence now reduced to an empty shell.

Even in death, there was a certain menace lingering in the stillness—an energy that clung to the room like a ghost, unwilling to fully fade. The broken walls, the shattered stones, the blood-slicked floor—everything in the chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something more. Something yet to come.

….

Yanwei stood amidst the shattered remnants of the battlefield, his body aching with the aftermath of the fight. His right shoulder throbbed from the injury, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. The strain of the battle was heavy on his limbs, but he had endured far worse. With a slow, steadying breath, he attempted to calm himself, feeling the tension in his muscles begin to ebb. His body, honed through years of cultivation, was more resilient than most. Even with the wounds, he could endure.

But just as he thought to rest, an unfamiliar pressure suddenly surged through him.

At first, it was subtle—a tightness in his chest that quickly grew more intense. It felt like an invisible hand was pressing down on him, the weight of it unrelenting, far beyond what his body had ever experienced. His breath caught in his throat as his muscles involuntarily stiffened, the pressure pushing down on him from all sides, as though his very bones were being bent under the strain.

His body cultivation, which had always made him feel invincible at the same rank, seemed almost insignificant in the face of this force. The pain that accompanied the pressure was harsh, but what was more disorienting was how it felt—how it almost seemed to disregard the strength he had built over years of rigorous training. His body groaned beneath the pressure, his internal energy reacting, but it wasn't enough to dispel it.

"Is this the payment for that?" Yanwei muttered under his breath, the words more a bitter realization than a question. His mind quickly darted back to the last fight, to Zhang's body, the necklace now hanging loose in his grasp. "So Zhang also paid to use this twice? It seems like his body is innately strong, huh."

He chuckled softly, though the sound was dark, almost amused. "Too bad he's dead."

The pressure didn't relent, but Yanwei, his expression cold with focus, steadied himself. His cultivation could withstand pain—he had trained to endure it, but this? This was a different beast entirely. Still, he wasn't about to buckle under it. With a calculated breath, he forced his body to remain steady, his focus sharpening.

Yanwei took a moment to steady himself, his right shoulder still aching, the pressure in his chest beginning to ebb away. He knew his body well—he'd trained it relentlessly. But even he couldn't ignore the toll of the battle. To recover quickly, he needed something more than his own internal cultivation.

With a swift motion, he retrieved a small jade vial from his belt, the container holding a single blood-red pill. It was a rare alchemical concoction, one he'd acquired from an alchemist he'd crossed paths with. This particular pill, crafted with a blend of healing herbs and spiritual essences, was meant to accelerate the body's natural healing process and restore energy, especially after sustaining injuries in battle.

He uncorked the vial, and the pill inside glowed faintly in the dim light of the chamber. Without hesitation, Yanwei popped the pill into his mouth. The moment it dissolved on his tongue, he felt a surge of warmth spread through his body, beginning at his chest and radiating outward.

The pain in his right shoulder eased almost immediately, the sharpness dulling as his internal energy surged in response to the pill's effects. The blood-red pill not only restored his vitality but helped to fortify his body against further injury. It accelerated his blood circulation, replenishing the energy he had spent during the fight and allowing his body to recover far faster than it normally could.

Within moments, the excruciating soreness began to subside, and his breathing steadied. His body still felt the weight of the battle, but the pill had done its work.

"Better," Yanwei muttered to himself, flexing his fingers and testing his right arm. It was still sore, but he could move it without the same level of strain. The healing process wasn't instantaneous, but the alchemical pill had certainly made things much easier. Now, he was ready to continue.

Yanwei stood over the creature's body, breathing heavily, his injuries still sending jolts of pain through his form. He looked down at the corpse, observing the twisted body in silence. Despite the pain coursing through him, his mind was already shifting into its habitual analysis mode. It had become second nature by now—replaying the fight, dissecting every moment. He didn't think of himself as perfect, and every fight was a chance to improve, to learn something new. He'd made it this far because of that mindset, and he wasn't about to stop now.

The creature had been powerful, relying heavily on its bones for both offense and defense. Its strikes had been fast and brutal, and its defense was formidable. But there had been something about its neck that caught Yanwei's eye. Despite the creature's overwhelming strength, the neck lacked the bone density that the rest of its body possessed. There was less protection there, fewer bones, making it an easy target.

He had gambled on that. Even though he wasn't sure the strike would land, he had known that if it didn't work, he could just retreat. There was no need to push for the kill if the odds weren't in his favor. But the neck—it was the only spot where he could strike with any chance of success.

If the creature had been Rank 2, though, he wouldn't have even considered this. After the first exchange, he would've immediately retreated. A Rank 2 opponent would have been too much for him to handle with the same tactics, and he knew that.

Yanwei's gaze flicked over to the creature's still body. He had taken a risk, and it had paid off. But even now, his mind was already moving on, thinking about what he could do better next time.