Qi Yuan watched Ji Chan’er vanish into the distance, then leisurely straightened his robes. It was time to get back to business: hunting down the true culprit behind the Qi family massacre.

He had to admit, the imposter had some skills. To withstand a Soul Search from a Nascent Soul cultivator and earn the label of “tough guy” from a ruthless demoness like Ji Chan’er was no small feat.

But to Qi Yuan, it didn’t matter.

According to the System’s mission parameters, he had to personally slay the murderer to claim the reward.

So, regardless of the imposter’s background or hidden cards, in Qi Yuan’s eyes, he was just a mob to be farmed. The guy hadn’t even reached Foundation Building. He was trash.

There was no need to overthink it. Just find him, kill him, and loot the XP. Simple.

“Hmm?”

Qi Yuan had barely taken a few steps when he froze.

He sensed a disturbance in his personal storage space. The Mystic Heaven Sword—his primary weapon—was trembling violently, shivering like a frightened dog in a thunderstorm.

What’s going on?

Frowning, Qi Yuan summoned the Mystic Heaven Sword with a thought.

The moment it appeared in his hand, the sword calmed down, returning to its usual dormant state.

Qi Yuan narrowed his eyes. A thought struck him. He reached into his storage space and pulled out the cyan longsword Ji Chan’er had given him.

Whoosh!

The instant the cyan blade materialized, the Mystic Heaven Sword in his other hand began to shudder again—this time even more violently than before.

This new sword is a monster.

Qi Yuan understood immediately. The Mystic Heaven Sword was a top-tier Dharma Treasure. While not a true Spirit Treasure, it possessed a faint, rudimentary sentience.

For it to feel such primal fear meant the sword Ji Chan’er had handed over was no ordinary piece of scrap metal. Its grade was vastly superior, exerting a natural suppression over lesser weapons.

Having confirmed his suspicion, Qi Yuan stowed the shivering Mystic Heaven Sword away and focused his attention on the mysterious cyan blade.

“Right. Ji Chan’er mentioned this thing drinks blood. How about…”

He raised his hand, intending to force a drop of essence blood from his fingertip to test the reaction.

But he hesitated.

As the ancients said: One drop of ‘essence’ is worth ten drops of blood.

He had just finished a marathon session with a demoness and was currently in a state of severe deficit. He hadn’t even had time to recover his vitality. Wasting precious essence blood on a rusty, unproven sword? That felt like a bad investment.

What if it didn’t react? He’d be losing money.

After a split second of hesitation, he retracted his finger. Instead, he slipped into the inn’s kitchen and snatched two live chickens.

A few moments later.

Squawk—Snap.

Two unfortunate hens met their maker.

As the bright red chicken blood splashed onto the blade, it vanished instantly. The absorption was terrifyingly fast. In the blink of an eye, the two plump, free-range chickens were reduced to dried husks of skin and bone.

It really is an evil artifact.

Qi Yuan’s eyes widened with interest.

This thing isn’t picky at all. It doesn’t even disdain chicken blood. Seems like a cheap date.

Curious, he poured a bowl of tea over the blade.

The clear liquid flowed over the steel without effect.

He tried sprinkling a few drops of Spirit Water. Still no reaction.

Only blood?

Qi Yuan rubbed his chin. He decided to up the stakes. He forced a tiny, hair-thin wisp of his own essence blood to the tip of his finger and held it near the blade.

Hummmm—

The sword began to vibrate violently. It was like a shark smelling chum in the water, radiating an intense, desperate craving for the energy within his blood.

“Damn. So you are sentient. You were just playing dead to scam me, huh?”

Qi Yuan snorted coldly. He unceremoniously sucked the drop of essence blood back into his body.

“Stop pretending,” he said, tapping the flat of the blade. “I know you’re awake.”

“And another thing—the legend says you feed energy back to the wielder after drinking. You just inhaled two whole chickens. Where’s my kickback? Did you skim it off the top?”

He slammed the sword onto the table. “Spit out those chickens right now, or don’t blame me for getting rough.”

The sword lay on the table, motionless. Its luster dimmed, projecting an aura of stubborn silence and faint disdain.

Heh.

Qi Yuan’s expression darkened.

“Refusing a toast only to drink a forfeit? Fine. Have it your way.”

He stepped forward, planted his foot firmly on the blade to pin it down, and reached for his belt buckle.

“Listen up. I don’t have blood to spare, but if you’re thirsty, I’ve got a bladder full of warm ‘tea’ right here. Want a taste?”

Before he could even finish the sentence, the sword panicked.

It bucked wildly under his foot, trying to launch itself into the air to escape.

But Qi Yuan was faster. As he loosened his waistband, the sword could no longer maintain its silence. A roar, filled with ancient fury, exploded from the steel.

“Insolent beast! Stop! This Seat is the Abyssal Condensation Sword, Ning Yuan! If you dare desecrate This Seat, I will shred you into a thousand pieces! I will grind your bones to ash!”

The voice was low and raspy, like an ancient patriarch who had weathered eons of time. But right now, that voice was trembling with humiliation and murderous rage.

Abyssal Condensation Sword? Ning Yuan?

Qi Yuan paused for a second, then sneered.

“So you can talk! I knew you were playing me!”

“Threatening me? Good. Let’s see who has the harder bones.”

The next moment.

Hiss—

A golden arc of liquid cut through the air, raining down mercilessly upon the legendary demonic blade.

The sword shrieked—a high-pitched metallic hum—before wilting like a frost-bitten eggplant. It lay flat on the ground, completely motionless. The sharp, terrifying aura it had emitted just seconds ago vanished without a trace.

A moment later, Qi Yuan calmly adjusted his trousers, his expression cool.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Take me to your master. Or I’ll suppress you at the bottom of the inn’s cesspit. You can eat and drink your fill down there for the next hundred years.”

The sword shuddered violently. It seemed to be struggling with its pride. After a long silence, a weak, mental ripple drifted out.

“Since my birth, This Seat has slaughtered millions. I have slain Gods and Buddhas. Every master who wielded me bowed in reverence, trembling in fear. You… you are the first to treat This Seat with such disrespect.”

“If I hadn’t gone ten thousand years without a proper blood sacrifice, I would have slain an ant like you with a single thought.”

Qi Yuan laughed, full of disdain.

“Save the resume. You’re just a sinful, vampiric piece of scrap metal. I, on the other hand, am a beacon of righteousness. I hate evil like I hate cold soup. Consider meeting me your good fortune.”

The sword fell silent again, then spoke in a gloomy, resentful tone.

“Han Lie was merely This Seat’s eighth sword servant. He is unworthy of being my Master.”

“I observe that you act without restraint, reckless and lawless. You are clearly a man of deep demonic nature.”

“If you take me and slaughter this city—use the blood of a million souls to fuel my resurrection—I will forgive your insolence.”

The sword’s tone grew seductive. “At that time, betraying Han Lie for you would be a trivial matter.”

Qi Yuan raised an eyebrow. He grinned, revealing white teeth.

“You still don’t get the situation, do you? Cut the crap. You have two choices.”

“One: Obediently take me to find Han Lie.”

“Two: The public latrine out back sees a lot of traffic. It’s very deep, very dark, and very wet. I think you’ll fit right in.”

The sword went dead silent.

Just as Qi Yuan was about to grab the hilt and march toward the bathroom, a tiny, pitiful voice drifted up.

“Beast… uh, no… Young Hero. Please. Wash me first. This Seat… I will take you to him immediately.”

Qi Yuan smiled.

Demonic sword? Evil artifact?

A little piss is all it takes to make them behave.