Chapter 136: Demonization!
“Captain Zhao, didn’t I say Tianfu District produced a real talent?”
In the mission hall, The Bearded Guy sat beside a short-haired woman. They both puffed on cigarettes, eyes on the massive screen displaying countless mission listings.
“He’s something, alright,” the woman—Zhao Ying—exhaled a smoke ring. “You might’ve missed it, but he’s already got Spiritual Qi in him.”
“No way…” The Bearded Guy froze mid-puff. “I swear, I didn’t teach him Breath Cultivation. I like the kid, sure, but I’d never break the bureau’s rules.”
Breath Cultivation was the Demon Slayer Bureau’s core technique—its key to breaking the monopoly of ancient cultivation families.
If Chen Huai’an joined the bureau, The Bearded Guy could authorize him for the first three volumes of the technique on the spot.
But if he stayed out—
Zhao Ying flicked ash. “Your understanding of Spiritual Qi Revival is still shallow. Awakened types come in many forms—Ability-types, Beast-bound types, Spirit-bound types, Ghost-bound types, and Ancient Martial types. Not every Awakened needs Breath Cultivation to store Spiritual Qi.
But it could be one-time Qi, not something he can regenerate.”
The Bearded Guy grunted thoughtfully.
Chen Huai’an’s Companion Spirit had already granted him powerful Talisman abilities.
If it could produce Spiritual Qi items too…
Then that Companion Spirit was straight-up broken.
“If Xiaoyuan cures his cancer,” The Bearded Guy asked, “Will his combat rating go up?”
Zhao Ying gave a half-nod. “Depends. His talismans burn lifespan—who knows what price his sword techniques demand.
If his Companion Spirit can prolong his lifespan, maintaining a cycle of power and recovery…
He could easily reach B-Class Soldier Rank, maybe even A-Class.
But if he can’t offset the lifespan cost…
He’s just a powerful flash-in-the-pan. A shooting star—bright, but short-lived.”
The Bearded Guy cracked a grin. “He doesn’t feel like the short-lived type. His Qi’s got a kick to it.”
Just as the words left his mouth—
A wave of malevolent aura exploded from the treatment room.
Zhao Ying’s expression turned razor-sharp.
She shot to her feet—
And from the wreckage, Xiang Xiaoyuan came flying out—
Her petite frame slammed into the front desk of the mission hall, rolling lifelessly to a stop.
“Shit! What the hell—?”
The Bearded Guy bolted to check her pulse.
And at the broken wall—
A colossal, tumor-ridden claw emerged—locked in brutal combat with a thunder-clad Tang Dao—
The monstrous claw moved with inhuman speed, exchanging fierce blows.
Zhao Ying’s eyes narrowed—
She drew into a battōjutsu stance—
“Raikiri—Thunder Cut!”
The air screamed as her lightning-wreathed blade flashed—
The stump bubbled and writhed—meat tendrils stitching it back together instantly.
And the severed half—
Into a wolf-shaped monstrosity—
Zhao Ying’s blade sang again—
The wolf was shredded—a burst of charred flesh and black blood.
Yet—her gaze stayed fixed on the source.
The tumorous claw—still extending—
To Chen Huai’an’s chest.
Zhao Ying’s eyes flashed with grim understanding—
“This isn’t just cancer.”
She had seen it before.
When diseases—twisted by Spiritual Qi Revival—became monstrous entities.
But usually—those victims—
They lost themselves—
Their bodies hijacked—
And the bureau’s response was always—
The creature hadn’t consumed him—
It was feeding off him.
This was the real threat.
“If this thing’s willing to hide—” Zhao Ying thought, “—then it was waiting. Feeding. Growing. Biding its time—”
And it fully emerged.
“But you showed yourself early—” Zhao Ying’s eyes turned cold.
“I’ll slaughter you.”
Her palm crackled—electric arcs snapping along her Tang Dao—
Encased in lightning—
Sheathed in destruction.
The giant clawdescended, an avalanche of raw flesh and death—
Her draw—was absolute.
Blinding arcs of lightning wove a net—
Into a storm of burnt flesh and ash.
A foul stench of scorched protein.
Zhao Ying stood firm—
A sonic crack—behind her.
A black tendril—like a whip—
Slammed into her abdomen.
Crashing through the opposite wall.
Zhao Ying coughed blood, one hand stabbing the floor to stay upright—
A tendril—black, writhing—
A flesh and tumorDragon.
Walls split and groaned—forced outward by its massive bulk.
A cancerous labyrinth of pulsing meat.
Broad.Fanged.Eastern.
The grace of an Eastern dragon—
Twisted into something vile.
Its claws—like pillar-thick talons.
Red.Malicious.Mocking.
Cradled in its chest cavity—
Zhao Ying’s knuckles whitened.
Was a gap she could not cross.
Revealing rows of jagged fangs.
Of thousands of screams—
You might have succeeded.”
With seven-tenths of this vessel’s bloodline.”
Ripped clean from the structure—