The Rat Cultivator

Chapter 115: Suicide

The Peng Bird said nothing.

The red light surrounding his body simply intensified, blazing like a wildfire consuming a forest. The gale-force winds screamed, ripping shattered stones from the mine’s surface and hurling them into the sky, where they collided with the sound of cracking bones.

Silently, the Peng Bird began to burn his own Qi and Blood.

His vast Demon Power surged like a breached dam, amplifying the destructive potential of his technique. He was sacrificing his life force for power.

Seeing this, Winged Tiger tentatively spat a few wind blades at the bird. They shimmered with cyan light, cutting through the air with lethal intent. Yet, before they could even graze the Peng Bird, they struck the wall of agitated Demon Power and dissipated instantly.

Winged Tiger smacked his lips and landed beside Bibo.

“This bird really can’t take a joke,” he muttered. “One little prank and he loses his mind. So petty!”

As the words left his mouth, the red tornado swirling around the Peng Bird exploded outward. It coalesced into the shape of a colossal avian avatar, each feather distinct and glowing with an eerie, blood-red light.

The avatar superimposed itself over the Peng Bird, expanding his size several times over. The shadow it cast swallowed the entire Geng Gold Mine Mountain, merging with the black storm clouds above. The aura of the black-and-red leviathan was apocalyptic, blotting out the sun.

At the same time, the winds converging on the peak tightened into a cage, pinning Winged Tiger and the others to the summit. The pressure was so intense that even Big Black struggled to keep his footing.

With the technique complete, the Peng Bird folded his massive wings and dropped.

He fell like a meteor, aiming to crush the demons on the peak into paste. He had no intention of fighting them individually. He wanted to pulverize them in the most violent, brutal manner possible. Only total destruction could quench the fire in his heart.

Winged Tiger’s expression turned grim.

He summoned his bone armor and raised the Tiger Head Shield, planting himself firmly in front of Bibo. A phantom tiger, woven from cloud-qi, roared to life on the shield’s surface.

Bibo stepped forward and waved a hand.

Rumble.

Streams of mud and rock, thick as ancient trees, erupted from the earth. They twisted together like raging dragons, roaring into the sky to intercept the falling bird with the weight of a mountain.

The Peng Bird didn’t dodge. He simply reached out with a massive, spectral talon and grabbed the mud-dragon.

Squelch.

With a casual squeeze, the earth magic disintegrated, splattering mud and water in all directions.

But Bibo was a veteran. The scattered mud didn’t fall; it reassembled into thousands of small snakes that coiled around the Peng Bird’s body, dragging him down. Simultaneously, a streak of cyan light—a tooth-shaped Magical Artifact—shot out from the slurry. It pierced the Peng Bird’s protective aura and slashed a deep gash across his abdomen. Blood rained down.

“Good technique!” Winged Tiger exclaimed, genuinely impressed.

Big Black stared at the old beaver, dumbfounded. “Why weren’t you this strong when we fought the Goat Demon? If you had this kind of power back then, we wouldn’t have been running for our lives!”

Bibo stroked his beard, chuckling. “I was injured back then, stuck at a bottleneck. For decades, I couldn’t advance my cultivation, so I poured all my time into studying techniques and artifacts. Now that my Qi and Blood are restored, my strength is far beyond what it used to be.”

The demons on the mountain seemed relaxed, almost dismissive of the doom plummeting toward them.

BOOM!

The Peng Bird slammed into the summit.

The impact was cataclysmic. The Tiger Head Shield’s defense shattered instantly. The shield itself was slapped out of the air, crashing into the rock with a deafening clang.

In Big Black’s horrified gaze, the massive body of the bird engulfed their vision.

Dust billowed. Geng Gold ore flew like shrapnel.

When the smoke cleared, half of the several-hundred-meter-high mountain was gone. The peak had been sheared off, exposing the glittering golden veins of the ore body within, illuminating the dim battlefield.

“SCREECH!”

The Peng Bird burst from the dust cloud, feathers disheveled, Demon Power rolling off him in erratic waves.

He looked at the shattered peak, but his eyes held no triumph. Only a deepening, maddening rage.

“A BUNCH OF RATS!”

“Hey! Didn’t you eat breakfast?”

Winged Tiger crawled out of a hole at the base of the mountain, patting the dust off his fur. He looked up and shouted, “We stood there and let you hit us, and you still missed? Useless!”

Beside him, the Pangolin poked his head out of the dirt, nodding sagely. “Useless.”

The Peng Bird froze.

“I…” he muttered, his voice trembling. “I’m being mocked by a Pangolin? A brainless Barbarian Beast thinks I’m useless?”

A sound that was half-laugh, half-sob escaped his beak.

“Father! I am not useless!”

His expression went dead. Suddenly, red blood-flames ignited across his body. The fire consumed his flesh, burning it away until only a cyan skeleton and a perfectly intact head remained.

Bibo and Big Black exchanged a glance. Both wore the exact same expression: ?

Winged Tiger was equally baffled. “Did this bird just hatch yesterday? He’s so fragile. How did he survive in the demon world with glass-heart syndrome?”

Bibo, however, looked at the Ancient Xun in his hand with suspicion. “Is the Great King’s artifact really this powerful? Or was the bird just unstable to begin with?”

Above them, the skeletal Peng Bird transformed.

He curled into a ball, becoming a sphere of cyan wind that hung in the sky like a second, sickly sun.

The wind sphere pulsed, connecting with the net of cyan feathers that had locked down the area. Heaven and Earth were sealed.

The sphere began to descend.

With every meter it fell, space seemed to distort. The remaining half of the Geng Gold Mine Mountain disintegrated layer by layer, turned to dust by the sheer pressure. Chunks of gold ore floated in the air, caught in the gravity of the technique.

The wind was laced with the sharp, metallic tang of Geng Gold, turning the cyan storm into a glittering grinder.

It would land in ten breaths. When it did, nothing living would remain.

Winged Tiger looked around the empty, leveled battlefield. He could feel fine cuts opening on his skin just from the ambient pressure.

“Is suicide really necessary?” he yelled at the sky. “I’ll apologize, okay? I’m sorry!”

The sphere didn’t stop. Winged Tiger shivered and turned to the Pangolin. “Quick! Use Earth Walk! Get us out of here!”

The Pangolin scratched his head, looking helpless. “Can’t. The wind is mixed with the bird’s blood essence. It’s sealed the earth veins. Techniques won’t work.”

Winged Tiger spun around to look at Bibo and Big Black, who were standing there with infuriating calmness.

“Brothers! Why aren’t you scared?! We’re going to die!”

Big Black looked at him strangely. “Did we finish the Boss’s mission to clear the mine?”

Winged Tiger looked at the flattened mountain. “Yes! It’s gone!”

“Did we kill the Peng Bird and the vulture flock?”

Winged Tiger pointed at the skeletal, suicidal bird. “Yes! They’re all dead! Overachieved, even!”

Big Black slapped his paws together. “Then that’s it!”

“As long as we completed the Boss’s task, we’re fine. Boss won’t let us die for no reason.”

Winged Tiger stared blankly. “That… that works?”

“Little Green Mountain has its own customs,” Big Black said proudly. “It’s different from the outside world. Boss will always have our backs.”

Winged Tiger opened his mouth to argue, but the Pangolin suddenly looked toward the horizon, his eyes lighting up.

“Boss is here!”