"Out of the question! Absolutely out of the question."
In momentary shock, Inayat waved his hands frantically. "B-Boss, with your precious life and miraculous power of creation, how can you put yourself in harm's way so lightly? If anything were to happen to you... No, no, absolutely not!"
So stunned was he that his head rattled back and forth like a pellet drum, nearly stirring up a gust of wind.
Never mind Ji Jue's persistent invitations or his classic excuses like "we're already here," "we've got nothing else to do anyway," and "it's basically New Year's..."
No!
No meant no!
Setting aside how preposterous it was for an artisan to seek out a brawl with a Wolf, Ni Lin's PTSD was practically flaring up!
Back when he had served loyally as a royal guard, the Priest-King's dying decree had been for Ni Lin to assassinate him again once he was resurrected. Now that he had tucked in his fangs and become an obedient Wolf, the fucking Wolf Lord was actually demanding that they cross blades too!
What kind of dogshit life was this?
Could a guy catch a break or what?
Whether it was just a test or a friendly spar, the sheer psychological pressure was enough to blow a blood vessel.
Besides, the Wolf Lord was already used to running wild out in the world. If Ni Lin struck without proper restraint and actually injured him, the only way left to apologize would be by slitting his own throat. How could they possibly fight?
The arts of the White Stag lineage were designed for mutual annihilation; to unleash their true power, they required killing intent and malice as fuel.
Take Hunting Finger's Flying Light, for example: fail to parry it, and you died. There was simply no room to pull a punch. While the techniques he practiced weren't quite that extreme, most were ruthlessly indifferent to consequences. How could such moves be used in an exhibition match?
Even if he were beaten to death today, even if he jumped straight off this cliff, he would never—
"If you don't fight, I'm cutting your sponsorship."
"..."
With just that one sentence from Ji Jue, Inayat's eyes grew distinctly aggrieved. "Why not ask Mr. Tom?"
Ji Jue shook his head resolutely. "How could he ever be as reassuring as you?"
In a sense, that was completely true.
For starters, Old Tom was hard to find, and even if you did track him down, there was no telling what you'd get.
After all, Master Tom's wild unpredictability was well known—ancestral spirits took turns possessing him, making his combat prowess swing erratically between divine brilliance and absolute disaster. The gap between his peaks and valleys was just too vast.
When he was off, he was an absolute trainwreck, completely embarrassing. But when he actually peaked, he could somehow summon Lord Tianlu to fight in his place. And when that old bastard saw Ji Jue wielding Pan Ying, he'd probably throw another fit.
Forget it.
Ji Jue was looking for a sparring partner, not a death wish.
Inayat, on the other hand, was someone he knew inside and out, which made him completely reliable. More importantly, he was highly controllable and didn't ask for extra pay. A classically trained White Stag converted into a Crucible Wolf—even setting aside whether corruption made him three times stronger, he was still tougher than an ordinary Exaltation.
Familiar, dependable, and just the right archetype—he suited Ji Jue's needs perfectly.
"It doesn't have to be life-or-death, and you don't need to worry about anything spiraling out of control. Just treat it as being a sparring partner, how about that?" Ji Jue pondered for a moment and suggested, "I came here to hone my skills anyway. Let's make first blood the limit. Break the skin, and we stop."
"Are you sure?"
Ni Lin couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't see what there was to hone under such conditions.
Still, since the Wolf Lord had insisted...
The burly, bearded man in the tattered robe stepped into the clearing after all. Ten paces away, he studied the Wolf Lord, who stood utterly relaxed as if out on a picnic.
From head to toe, he was nothing but openings!
After a split second of hesitation, Ni Lin wavered no longer.
Whether to fulfill his duty as a subordinate or to admonish the Wolf Lord for his reckless complacency, he decided to take this seriously!
Walk along the riverbank long enough, and your shoes were bound to get wet.
You are an artisan of noble status; no matter how capable you are in a brawl, why go out of your way to match savagery and peril against a Wolf?
A clumsy-tongued fellow like himself never knew how to offer eloquent counsel. If this could instill even the slightest sliver of vigilance and clarity in the Wolf Lord, wouldn't that be for the best?
"Understood. Please be careful."
He stepped forward, advancing slowly.
Yet as he moved, vague silhouettes trailed behind him like afterimages—not frozen snapshots, but distinct figures shifting in different motions and directions.
A distance of ten paces was ample for him to focus his spirit and stoke his fighting will.
To the White Stag lineage, such a short distance was already point-blank range, which was precisely why the ensuing pressure felt so suffocating.
It was like plunging into an icy ocean. Stared down by those faintly crimson eyes, a chill seeped into the marrow of Ji Jue's bones.
His body and instincts involuntarily experienced the phantom sensation of stiffening and trembling.
Breathing grew difficult.
The Sin Fiend reflection stirred rapidly, surging like rising flames as it sought to shift into combat form, yet Ji Jue held it down, allowing it no reaction.
He deliberately suppressed his own reflexes, feeling that pervasive threat—a razor-sharp aura like needles against his back.
The world seemed to dim gradually. Out in the periphery of his vision, something seemed to slink, peek, and watch with cold, soundless vigilance.
Though Ji Jue maintained sharp vigilance, the presence was in no rush to strike. It merely watched with cold mockery, lurking in wait for a lapse in his concentration.
Ni Lin did not move. He stood three paces away, staring blankly, both hands hanging empty within his robe.
Yet in the realm of hallucinatory perception, it felt as though sharp claws already rested on Ji Jue's shoulders, while a beast's savage breath blew against the back of his neck.
He was in no hurry to strike, instead letting time drag on as he radiated undisguised malice, corroding everything it touched.
The cruelty of a Wolf lay not in the kill, but in the stalking that preceded it and the torment it inflicted.
Time seemed stretched to infinity. Every second dragged with unbearable slowness. Phantom pangs tore through Ji Jue's throat, heart, and lungs—a bizarre sensation of flesh being shredded, bones splintered, and internal organs chewed and swallowed by a monster.
The attack had already begun—the very moment Ni Lin made up his mind!
This was no standoff at all. It was an art passed down through the White Stag lineage: a psychological torment tailored to interrogate enemies through the shifting pressure and corrosion of one's aura.
The greatest practitioner of this art was Elder Dabit, who currently oversaw the encampment's dungeons. Any tough guy or spy who fell into his hands would turn into a puddle of mush inside the interrogation room. Over the past few months, he had used this very technique to supply an untold number of model workers to the industrial park.
Now, it was being turned on Ji Jue, the factory owner. Talk about falling into one's own trap.
To this, Ji Jue offered a critique.
"Not bad."
Savoring this rare bout of hesitation and dread, he murmured with genuine admiration, "To think it could actually make my mind wander like that... Is this damage dealt directly to the soul and psyche? It works, but barely. Clearly you're holding back—Inayat, if you don't pour genuine malice into it, it would take a week or two to shake me."
Ji Jue suggested, "You'd better just make your move."
"It's already over, Wolf Lord."
Inayat sighed softly. His hand had been raised all along; only just before it struck did Ji Jue realize that the hand his instincts had subconsciously overlooked was already inches from his throat!
His razor-sharp fingertips, like fangs and claws, would sweep across Ji Jue's throat, measured with such precision that they would merely nick the outer layer of skin.
This way, the Wolf Lord should understand the fundamental divide between an artisan and a Wolf, right?
That was indeed what he had assumed.
Unfortunately, he was mistaken.
*Smack!*
Inayat froze, staring down in bewilderment.
He hadn't felt the subtle sensation of breaking skin. In fact, before he could even execute the strike... his hand had been swatted away?
He had missed!
Just when victory was within his grasp and he had decided to end it all, Ji Jue casually flicked his arm and batted aside the hand about to tear into his skin.
Like swatting away a roommate's thieving hand reaching for his snacks in the dorm.
*Bro, knock it off!*
In the dead silence, Inayat stared in stunned disbelief at his trembling index finger. Even though he had exercised restraint and pulled his punch, a strike was still a strike, and a duel was still a duel—just as Ji Jue, no matter how casually he worked, would never botch the simplest, most basic alchemical refinement.
And yet here, in his own area of expertise, a focused strike had actually missed?
He looked up at Ji Jue, utterly baffled.
*How did you do that?!*
"Truly formidable. You gave me quite a fright—I almost failed to dodge it," Ji Jue comforted him with genuine feeling. "It's not your fault, Inayat. I am simply far too familiar with Wolves, while you know nothing about me."
He added, "Let's continue."
"...Understood."
Inayat remained silent for a long moment before nodding slowly.
In truth, he didn't understand in the slightest, nor had he any clue what had just transpired—but he did realize that he needed to get much more serious!
Right before Ji Jue's eyes, he deliberately raised his hand, curling his five fingers into a claw. For an instant, the hand blurred, and a scalp-numbing hiss resonated between his fingers, sounding like the snarl of a beast.
It was blood. The blood within his hand surged and boiled, turning his flesh a purplish black in an instant. Imbued with boundless ferocity, the roiling blood morphed, forging the hand into an indestructible blade.
The White Stag technique adapted to his lupine transformation: Blood Quiver!
This was by no means an extraordinarily rare secret art. Quite the opposite, it was remarkably easy to learn and widely circulated throughout the Wild Gathering. Virtually any White Stag could pick it up and master it. Yet for that very reason, through centuries of refinement and daily exploration, it had been honed to its current terrifying heights.
And so, directly before Ji Jue, his hand extended inch by inch, reaching for Ji Jue's shoulder blade with agonizing slowness, causing Ji Jue's body to jolt and shiver slightly.
During this deliberate progression, Ji Jue raised his hand several times, only to freeze mid-motion.
At times, Ji Jue looked ready to deflect the trajectory of the blow; at other times, he seemed poised to meet it head-on; at others still, he seemed to attempt a parry or evasion. Yet through it all, the steadily advancing claw did not waver in the least, inching closer and closer.
Across a mere span of ten centimeters, Ji Jue could already feel the phantom agony of a torn shoulder blade. But at that exact moment, the Blood Quiver claw ground to an abrupt halt.
Ji Jue's hand had lifted, seemingly cupping under his arm, while his other hand pointed from a slight distance toward Inayat's left armpit—directly at his heart.
A counter.
"That wouldn't work, Wolf Lord," Ni Lin said, shaking his head with regret.
Ji Jue replied, "No harm in trying."
Ni Lin nodded and withdrew his hand. An instant later, a bloody gust erupted, and the Blood Quiver claw ripped through the air without warning, hurtling straight toward Ji Jue's shoulder.
No matter what guard he took, Ji Jue could not match such speed—by the time he perceived it, it should have been too late. Yet just as the hand was about to strike Ji Jue's shoulder, it sprang upward without warning, grazing past his shoulder by a fraction of an inch.
Exactly as Ji Jue had demonstrated during their rehearsal.
Inayat's elbow had been seized. The form of Blood Quiver, forged through countless trials and relentless refinement, had actually been shattered by an artisan.
Shoved aside!
And in that split-second opening, a palm wreathed in the radiant glow of Jingzhen had come to a halt before Ni Lin's chest, separated by a hair's breadth.
Attacking where the enemy must defend, forcing him either to pull back in self-preservation or choose mutual destruction.
In the dead silence, Ni Lin broke into a cold sweat.
Something was very wrong!
Chapter 831