[Your avatar: Liu Liu, has perished]
[While investigating the prince's manor, Liu Liu's identity was exposed. She was slain by a cultivator of Blood Banquet Valley. At the final moment, her master decisively triggered the soul imprint, forcing her self-destruction, ensuring no information was leaked.]
[You have obtained the talent "Tight-Lipped": So long as you do not willingly reveal your secrets, no outsider may uncover them.]
Inside the secluded chamber of his cave-dwelling, Liu Ming slowly opened his eyes. A glint of coldness flickered within.
Another of his avatars was gone.
Though Liu Liu had been forced to self-destruct at the last moment, escaping refinement into a soul and preserving his secrets, it still meant the needless loss of a third-layer Qi Refining avatar. How could he not seethe with anger?
It was intolerable! If Liu Liu had not been an avatar—if he had personally gone in her place—he might have fallen to that man himself.
This grudge… he carved into memory.
That nameless gray-robed cultivator, and the one who called himself the Ninth Prince—if chance arose, he would see both pay in blood.
But for now, Qin Yi was the priority.
He already knew the manor's location. All that remained was to guide Qin Yi there, and he could slip inside to take part in Blood Banquet Valley's entry trial.
Unfortunately, Qin Yi was still a mortal. Even rushing without pause, the journey to the manor would take time.
For now, there was nothing to do but wait.
Just then, a token within the cave lit up of its own accord.
Liu Meng turned her head. It was the wooden tablet she had retrieved from the Scripture Pavilion.
In the next instant, the tablet flew out of her storage pouch of its own will, spinning in midair like a living thing before drifting steadily toward the mouth of the cave.
Recognizing it as a sect method, Liu Meng followed without hesitation.
Before long, she reached the cave entrance, where a sect envoy stood silently, clad in black and white robes.
The tablet floated into his hand. After a brief inspection, he confirmed its authenticity, then casually drew a cloth pouch from his own bag and tossed it to Liu Meng.
"Yours."
He spoke no more. Task complete, his figure blurred and vanished on the spot.
Liu Meng hefted the pouch, feeling its weight. Intuition told her it contained the complete cultivation manual of the Bloodline Substitution Art.
Hurrying back inside, she opened it eagerly.
Within lay not only an ancient beast-hide tome, but also several palm-sized crystal bottles, each filled with a thick, crimson liquid, glistening like blood.
Alongside these were ten spirit stones and a hundred medicinal pills—the first stipend issued to her as a full disciple.
The stones and pills were trifles, worth less than two Three-Talent Coins together.
The real treasure was the tome.
Opening it, she discovered that the strange liquid—called Blood Paste—was essential to practicing the art.
Blood Paste resembled blood in essence, yet held strange properties. By adding a single drop of one's essence blood and nurturing it day and night with spiritual power, the paste would grow as though alive. In just a few days, a small vial could swell into a full vat.
But this was only a preliminary step.
Once the vat was ready, the cultivator required a candidate to forge into a Blood Slave. Using the secret art, the entire vat of Blood Paste would replace the slave's blood.
The process was agonizing, testing the limits of the slave's body. Only those with vigorous life force could hope to survive without instant death.
In other words, the prospective Blood Slave had to first cultivate the Blood Feast Art to strengthen their vitality.
Yet if their vitality grew too strong, they might instead devour and assimilate the Blood Paste, turning it into their own blood.
Should that occur, the art would fail, and its master would suffer fierce backlash—minor injury at best, utter soul annihilation at worst.
Thus, during refinement, the Blood Slave had to be fed constantly, sustaining them as they endured the torment of blood substitution—yet never so much as to let them overpower and consume the paste.
The balance was perilous. One misstep, and the master was ruined.
And of course, few would ever willingly submit to becoming a Blood Slave. Successful refinement was therefore vanishingly rare.
But if it succeeded, the master became a Blood Lord.
Any harm that befell the Blood Lord would instead be borne by the Blood Slave. So long as the slave lived, the master would be, in the truest sense, immortal.
Liu Meng shut the tome with a heavy breath. The conditions were harsh beyond measure. No wonder the manual warned ordinary disciples away.
Yet she also realized—someone with avatars could attempt it.
If Liu Ming succeeded, his safety would soar to an entirely new level.
So long as he could endlessly summon avatars to forge into Blood Slaves, he would truly stand unkillable. Injury would mean nothing—he would have endless shields to intercept death.
His chances of survival within the Demonic Sect would rise immeasurably.
But still—he would not risk himself just yet.
Better to test the art with an avatar first. Demonic sect techniques bristled with traps. If hidden side effects lurked, he would know beforehand and prepare.
The pity was, he had no avatar left to use.
Liu Liu had perished, body shattered.
Qin Yi had only just set out, racing toward the prince's manor.
And Liu Ba… waited patiently at the gates of Luofeng City, watching as midnight drew near.
When "he" entered once more, the sight before him was entirely changed.
No longer did his feet tread upon bluestone. Instead, he stood upon a carpet of decayed, crumbling bones.
Above, no starless night sky loomed, but a vast curtain of fluttering soul banners, swaying endlessly in a phantom wind.
This time, however, when midnight arrived, he remained alone. No second figure appeared.
Seeing this, Liu Ba did not hesitate. From his robes, he drew forth the Guiding Talisman Liu Meng had painted.
Channeling his spiritual power, he ignited it.