Since the night of the [Emperor’s Sap], Wu Yuan hadn’t seen the Cat King. This was a source of deep regret for him—not out of sentimentality, but because he coveted the old cat’s stash.

That mysterious feline surely hid countless treasures on his person. If Wu Yuan could get his paws on them, his cultivation would undoubtedly leap to a higher level.

“Forget it,” Wu Yuan grumbled, shaking off the greedy thoughts. “First, I need to deal with this Wild Boar Spirit. I can’t let him ruin my Peach Grove.”

His eyes sharpened, cold resolve settling over his features. He made a prompt decision: the pig dies today.

The next morning, Wu Yuan arrived early at the Peach Grove, with Big Old Black trailing behind.

The ground trembled. From the depths of the orchard, a massive, bristling shape tore through the trees, snapping trunks like twigs. The Wild Boar Spirit, eyes burning with arrogance and rage, charged straight at the intruders.

Wu Yuan stood rooted to the spot, watching the mountain of muscle thunder toward him. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he calmly clenched his right fist.

Boom.

Blood Qi erupted from his body, thick and viscous. His fist began to glow with a crimson light, coating his skin in a layer of energy that looked exactly like fresh, oxygenated blood.

With a ferocious grimace, Wu Yuan punched forward.

The blow left a trailing red smear in the air, slamming squarely into the charging boar’s forehead.

SPLAT.

The Wild Boar Spirit’s massive head exploded like a ripe watermelon struck by a sledgehammer.

There was no scream, only the wet sound of destruction. Bone fragments, brain matter, and blood sprayed into the air in a gruesome mist. The headless body, still carried by its momentum, slid a few feet before collapsing into a steaming heap of meat.

Big Old Black, standing safely to the side, stared with his eyes popping out of his skull.

He looked at the corpse, then at Wu Yuan, his face twisted in disbelief.

“Wait…” he muttered, his voice trembling with doubt. “Isn’t that my innate spell, the [Blood Surge Technique]?”

He scratched his head frantically. “But… the Boss has only learned it for a few days. How can he cast it with power several times stronger than mine?”

Big Old Black swallowed hard. “Maybe I saw it wrong? This must be some kind of ancient, profound spell that just looks similar.”

“Yes, that must be it!” He comforted himself, his eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and envy.

“Boss!” Big Old Black called out. “What exactly is the name of that spell? Its power is astonishing! Do I have a chance to learn it?”

Wu Yuan flicked the gore off his hand and replied indifferently, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“[Blood Surge Art].”

Big Old Black let out a long breath of relief, secretly rejoicing. Thank the heavens. The name is different by one word. It’s not my spell.

But before he could fully relax, Wu Yuan’s next words struck him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky.

“However,” Wu Yuan added casually, “this so-called ‘powerful spell’ is actually just your [Blood Surge Technique]. I merely made a few improvements to it.”

Big Old Black felt his vision go dark. A mix of conflicting emotions—shame, awe, and confusion—swirled in his heart.

Oh no, he thought, staring at his own paws. Have I actually become the knock-off version of myself?