Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Trio from Valley Shadow Sect

Wei Zhen released his spiritual sense, searching twice throughout the sect, but failed to find even a trace of Shen Wan’s presence.

He even scoured Shen Wan’s grand residence inside and out.

He went so far as to thoroughly investigate the latrine, fearing the fellow might have drowned in a cesspit.

With no other option left, he finally sent a message to the elders’ group using a voice-transmitting jade slip.

It wasn’t until Hong Zhichu finished his own tasks that he told Wei Zhen his junior brother had come looking for him.

He recounted the matter succinctly: in his haste to deliver a Thunderhoof colt, he’d forgotten that before cultivating at Listening Cloud Ravine, one was supposed to gather at Immortal Cloud Terrace.

On hearing this, Wei Zhen smacked his own forehead.

His junior, apart from knowing the Ten Hells Tower and the Council Hall, hardly knew his way around the sect—if not for his disciple guiding him, he wouldn’t even know where the Beast Garden was, let alone anywhere else.

“But I gave him his identity jade badge…” he thought.

At this, Wei Zhen stomped his foot.

“Old fool, old fool, my junior brother hasn’t even entered the Dao yet—how could he possibly release his spiritual sense? Let alone infuse it into the badge!”

A wave of regret washed over him, and he felt all the more unworthy as a senior brother.

Yet, he couldn’t help but marvel at his junior’s talent—managing to get himself lost within the very sect.

In the end, all the elders gathered and began a massive search for Shen Wan within the sect.

Meanwhile—

Gentle ripples spread across the vast sea.

The sea breeze was slightly brisk, raising goosebumps on Shen Wan’s arms.

He stood, bewildered, on a desolate stretch of sand where not even birds would bother to stop.

“Could I… really have gone the wrong way?”

Just from the name, Listening Cloud Ravine sounded like a mountain place with streams.

But here he was, by the ocean—any fool could see he’d lost his way.

Silently, Shen Wan revoked the mental praise he’d given his own intelligence earlier, sighed quietly, and prepared to head back.

But at that moment, he vaguely noticed something flying toward him across the sea.

Instinctively, he wanted to find a place to hide.

But whatever it was, it moved too fast; in the blink of an eye, it hovered above his head.

It was, in fact, an enormous cloud, more than ten meters across.

The cloud rushed past, then abruptly stopped and drifted back toward him.

Shen Wan stood dumbfounded, not knowing what to do.

As the massive cloud floated overhead once more, a head poked out from its midst.

“Are you from the Debt Mysterium Sect?”

At first, Shen Wan was startled. Looking at the man’s fierce brow and brutish features, he could tell at a glance this was no good person.

So Shen Wan hurriedly waved his hands.

“No, I’m just passing by.”

The head on the cloud frowned, clearly noticing the words “Arcane Arts” on Shen Wan’s robe.

“Are you playing games with me?” the man said, displeased.

With that, the cloud contracted, and three men leapt down from it.

One of them was the very brute who’d poked his head out to question him.

The cloud shrank until it was merely palm-sized and was put away by its owner.

At that moment, a tall, skinny fellow among the three stepped forward and spoke coldly:

“Boy, our Valley Nether Sect is the foremost sect in the region, respected wherever we go. How dare a mere disciple of the Debt Mysterium Sect mock us? Just what do you mean by this?”

It was obvious from his bearing that this was their leader.

Shen Wan blinked.

Seeing the man glance at his chest, he realized where the problem lay.

He stabbed his black demonic blade into the ground, took off his robe, and turned the black garment inside out.

After inspecting it and finding no writing on the lining, he was satisfied and wore it with the inner side out.

“See? I told you, I’m not.”

The three were dumbstruck.

“Damn it…”

Blue veins bulged on Zhao Lei’s forehead. After declaring their identity, for this guy to still openly toy with them—was the Valley Nether Sect’s name no longer intimidating?

He jerked his chin at his two companions, face twisted with rage.

“San-Tiao, teach this reckless fool a lesson. Leave him breathing—we’ll pay a visit to Debt Mysterium Sect and ask who gave their disciples the guts to act out in front of our Valley Nether Sect!”

San-Tiao, one of his lackeys—the one who’d poked his head out from the cloud—cracked his knuckles, a cold smile twitching at his lips. The smile looked more like a grimace than anything else.

“Wait a minute!” Shen Wan quickly raised a hand to interrupt, as if he had something to say.

San-Tiao stopped, glancing at Zhao Lei.

Zhao Lei snorted.

“Thinking of begging for mercy? Too late!”

Shen Wan shrugged, signaling he was misunderstood.

Then, with a look one reserves for fools, he slung his long blade over his back, sidestepped, and sprinted off like a hare.

From behind, it looked as though he’d grown a tail, leaving sparks and lightning in his wake.

The trio gaped again.

After all these years of brawling, they’d never seen someone so shameless.

With a trembling finger, Zhao Lei pointed in the direction Shen Wan fled.

“After him! Don’t leave him breathing—kill him for me!”

Zhao Lei was beside himself with rage, his voice hoarse with fury.

His two henchmen had long lost patience as well. At their leader’s command, they summoned gusts beneath their feet and charged after Shen Wan.

Shen Wan didn’t dare look back. Eyes squeezed shut, he ran up the mountain for dear life.

“Damn it, even at my own front door I run into troublemakers. If you weren’t three to one, I wouldn’t be afraid of you!” he muttered as he ran. The sect wasn’t far; if he was quick, he could call for help.

It was a comforting thought, but reality had other plans.

Confident in his speed, he forgot he was no longer on Earth.

In the blink of an eye, San-Tiao was already at his back.

Channeling spiritual power, his palm muscles swelled, and a paw like a bear’s swung straight for Shen Wan’s back.

“Rending Palm!”

With a loud crack, the palm landed squarely.

Shen Wan felt a surge of force from behind, pitched forward, and performed a spectacular face-plant in the sand.

He slid several meters, mouth full of grit.

San-Tiao paused, surprised Shen Wan wasn’t dead from that blow.

“Is this kid Foundation Establishment level too? Why didn’t my palm have any effect?”

Before he could puzzle it out, another lackey, Er-Tong, had already leaped overhead.

He raised his foot high, arcs of lightning flickering around his calf.

“Thunder Shadow Kick!”

The kick landed squarely on Shen Wan’s back.

Shen Wan, just beginning to rise, was caught completely off guard and slammed into the sand yet again.

Another mouthful of sand.

He coughed and spat, mouth gritty with sand.

“What the hell is wrong with you people? Pah, pah!”

Now Shen Wan was truly angry. Two mouthfuls of sand had left his tongue numb.

Er-Tong was equally stunned.

“My Thunder Shadow Kick is an Earth-rank arcane art—already at the third form—how come it didn’t even scratch him?”

Seeing that both his subordinates had struck and the Debt Mysterium Sect’s little ant was unharmed, Zhao Lei, as an inner disciple of Valley Nether Sect, felt his pride slipping.

He roared, his fist shrouded in a black ripple. With a burst of speed, he charged at Shen Wan, who was still sprawled on the ground.

Nether Rift Fist—an Earth-rank top-tier arcane art.

Zhao Lei fancied himself the master of this technique in his entire sect.

He’d once dueled with his senior brother and with this very fist seriously wounded him.

Though he lost that match, his title as “First Rift Fist Zhao Lei” spread through the sect.

With a trace of pride, he glanced at his surging fist.

This punch, he swore, would take Shen Wan’s life!

Shen Wan spat out more sand, some grains stubbornly stuck between his teeth, frustrating him further.

Hearing another furious roar behind, he ignored the grit and turned, just in time to see Zhao Lei, like a hungry tiger, raising his fist in a deadly charge.

“Haven’t you had enough?!”

Finally, Shen Wan snapped. He didn’t care who was attacking; snatching up the massive black blade beside him, he swung it in a wide arc straight at Zhao Lei’s head.

Shen Wan had no desire to kill—after all, he was a model youth from Earth’s new generation.

So, even as he wielded the massive blade, he subconsciously twisted it, intending only to strike with the flat.

Zhao Lei was fast. Seeing Shen Wan finally fight back, he didn’t dodge, his gaze full of disdain.

He sensed no spiritual power in Shen Wan’s attack.

Even if he stuck his own head in the way, he was sure he’d come to no harm.

Arrogant and self-assured, he saw nothing in Shen Wan worth fearing. He only wanted his fist to smash the man’s skull.

And then—

He felt a peculiar buzzing in his head.

Something… was wrong…