The seventh-rank beast was dead, but the thunder did not cease. Instead of collapsing the grand formation, Lei Yingjie signaled for one final surge. He redirected the array’s lingering essence, channeling it into a single, massive bolt of divine thunder that lanced toward the shadows behind the spirit milk pool.

The pillar of light shrieked through the air, slamming into what appeared to be empty space.

Boom!

An invisible barrier shimmered into existence, groaning under the impact. Fine, spiderweb cracks spidered across the translucent shield. The cultivators watched in hushed surprise; they hadn’t expected a hidden restriction to be tucked away in the rear of the cavern.

Eyes gleamed with newfound greed. A restriction usually meant one thing: a treasure far more valuable than the bait used to lure them here.

Lei Yingjie offered no explanation. He descended slowly, landing beside the mountain-sized corpse of the flood dragon. With a thin smile, he addressed the survivors. “Everyone, the beast is slain. It is time to discuss the distribution of our spoils.”

The air instantly grew heavy. The celebratory mood vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.

The dragon’s corpse still pulsed with a fading golden luminescence, and the mist above the pool swirled like thick incense. Only forty portions of the Ten-Thousand-Year Spirit Milk remained—enough for everyone present to claim at least one share.

“Per our agreement,” Lei Yingjie said, flicking his sleeve. Thirty droplets of the pristine milk rose from his [Purple-Gold Gourd], hovering in the air like pearls of liquid light. “Those who bore the brunt of the combat shall receive extra, as well as the rights to the beast’s remains.”

Shen Xing let out a dry, melodic laugh. With a flick of his wrist, a golden sword shadow carved a graceful arc through the air, snatching three portions of the milk.

“I will take three shares—and the Rank 7 beast core,” he stated. His voice was flat, but the jade pendant at his waist flared with an intimidating, pressurized light that dared anyone to speak.

Silence followed. No one was foolish enough to contest the Azure Province’s top prodigy, especially after seeing him suppress the dragon.

Qiu Ruoli was next. She beckoned with a slender hand, drawing two portions into a glazed bottle. A white lotus phantom bloomed beneath her feet, its petals shimmering with a warning: dissent would be met with cold steel. Despite her earlier embarrassments, she was still the Holy Maiden of the Heavenly Yao Sect; her status and the pressure she had endured at the Heaven trigram eye earned her that much.

However, when it was Shen Xian’s turn, the peace shattered.

“A demonic cultivator taking two shares? Ridiculous.” The black-robed elder, Liu Wanduo, stepped forward, his voice a sinister rasp. “You spent the entire fight hiding behind the Xun trigram. You barely lifted a finger!”

In the eyes of the crowd, Shen Xian had played it safe. He hadn’t performed any flashy, world-shaking techniques like the others. Now that the danger had passed, his identity as an “unorthodox” practitioner made him an easy target for their resentment.

Nods of agreement rippled through the group. The math was simple: one less share for the “evil” cultivator meant more for the “righteous” ones.

Qiu Ruoli watched with a cold, satisfied sneer. She had been waiting for the crowd to turn on him.

Sss—

Without warning, a translucent blood thread lashed out, coiling tightly around Liu Wanduo’s throat.

Shen Xian’s eyes were like chips of black ice. “Say one more word, and you can go keep the dragon company.”

The old man went rigid, his face turning a sickly shade of ash. He hadn’t even seen the attack move. More terrifying, however, was the aura radiating from the thread—it was thick with the essence of the Rank 7 dragon. The [Blood God Scripture], fueled by the beast’s fresh vitality, sent a primal shiver down the Golden Core Perfection cultivator’s spine.

Lei Yingjie watched the standoff, his mind racing. He had planned to discard Shen Xian once the beast fell, but the man looked entirely too fresh. While the rest of them were battered and drained, this demonic cultivator seemed to have grown stronger.

I cannot risk a ‘face-breaking’ conflict here, Lei Yingjie realized. Not with the Treasure Pavilion still locked.

“The Heaven trigram eye did indeed bear the most pressure,” Lei Yingjie said, stepping in to smooth things over with a practiced smile. “Fellow Daoist Wang taking two shares is perfectly fair.”

With the leader’s backing, the murmurs died down, though the resentment remained.

But the peace lasted only until the matter of the dragon’s flesh arose.

“Your demonic art has already gorged itself on the beast’s essence,” Qiu Ruoli snapped, her finger pointing accusingly at Shen Xian. “You still want more?”

Her words were the spark that lit the powder keg. Hostility flared in the eyes of the survivors.

“The demonic cultivator has had his fill of the milk. Does he intend to skin the beast as well?”

“Without the array, he’d be nothing but a snack for that dragon…”

Lei Yingjie stood back, arms crossed, a faint, mocking curve to his lips. He was more than happy to let Qiu Ruoli test the man’s bottom line.

Shen Xian didn’t flinch. He raised his hand, and a purple-black thread of gore hissed from his fingertip. It slithered through the air like a venomous viper, emitting a pressure that made the surrounding air feel heavy.

“I did indeed absorb a bit of essence,” Shen Xian said, his voice slow and deliberate. “However…”

He flicked his finger. The blood thread struck a nearby boulder.

Boom!

The massive rock disintegrated into fine dust.

“If I hadn’t used my art to drain that essence at the critical moment,” Shen Xian’s gaze swept over the wounded, “do you truly believe the beast would have died so easily? Or would some of you be missing more than just a little Qi?”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the cavern. Even Shen Xing’s eyes narrowed; he knew the boy wasn’t lying.

“Besides,” Shen Xian continued, “the true fated chance lies ahead. Do we really want to waste our strength on internal strife?” He gestured vaguely toward the cracked barrier.

The logic held. The “righteous” crowd valued their lives and future gains more than a few slabs of meat. Even Qiu Ruoli realized the “general sentiment” she tried to wield had evaporated. She bit her lip and fell silent.

Shen Xian didn’t wait for a formal invitation. He flicked his wrist, and a blood thread acted like a surgical scalpel, carving a specific slab of meat from the dragon’s spine. It looked ordinary until the light hit it, revealing a prismatic, seven-colored halo.

Dragon Marrow Meat. The crown jewel of the beast’s vitality.

“I’ll take just this small piece,” Shen Xian said, his gaze challenging them. “No objections, I assume?”

The knowledgeable cultivators nearly choked. That wasn’t just a piece; it was the most precious material on the beast’s body, worth tens of thousands of High Grade Spirit Stones.

Lei Yingjie’s kill intent flared for a split second. That was the one item he had truly coveted.

Just you wait, Lei Yingjie thought, crushing his anger. Once we are inside the Treasure Pavilion, I’ll see how long you can keep jumping.

With the spoils divided, the group turned their attention to the looming barrier. Zhou Fengxing, the talisman master, broke the silence.

“Fellow Daoist Lei,” he asked, staring at the cracked restriction. “What exactly is waiting for us behind that pool?”