Rise of the Wang Clan: Starting with a Portable Farm

Chapter 229: Flood Dragon

“A Xuan Yin Python. Indeed, it is just a hair’s breadth away from advancing to the Third Rank!” Wang Guang’an identified the beast instantly. His hands moved in a blur, casting a shimmering golden net that sealed the fissure, cutting off the serpent’s retreat.

This was the Demon Trapping Net, an essential tool for hunting high-value demon beasts in the open sea.

Although he was confident in his ability to kill the python, he wasn’t arrogant. A battle between a peak Second Rank beast and an early-stage Golden Core cultivator in a confined space would not be simple, especially after his earlier expenditures.

The python, realizing its escape was blocked, erupted from the water. Its massive, obsidian body coiled in the air, its tail thrashing the pool into a frenzy of whirlpools.

Seeing the two humans and the net, the beast understood instantly: it had been duped. There was no delicious food, only a trap.

Enraged, it threw itself against the net, its body glowing with dark energy.

Snap!

The Demon Trapping Net, designed for standard aquatic beasts, groaned under the strain. Several golden threads snapped. The python was stronger than expected; give it a few breaths, and it might actually tear free.

Wang Hao immediately summoned his Spirit Sword, ready to strike.

“Hao’er, stand down,” Wang Guang’an commanded, his eyes gleaming with interest. “This beast is perfect for me to practice my hand.”

In the battle against the Vine Demon, he had relied on the overwhelming power of the Three Flames Fan. He hadn’t truly tested his own melee capabilities or sword arts since his advancement. The peak Second Rank python was the perfect sparring partner.

“As you wish, Ancestor,” Wang Hao stepped back, positioning himself to guard the fissure. As long as the hole was blocked, the snake had nowhere to go.

Wang Guang’an gave a low shout. His Spirit Sword multiplied, splitting into a dazzling array of light blades that formed a miniature Sword Formation.

Unlike Wang Hao’s formations, which often relied on illusions to confuse the enemy, every single one of Wang Guang’an’s light swords was solid, condensed from massive reserves of Golden Core Qi.

He formed a seal. The swords shot forward, linking together like vertebrae to form a shimmering dragon of steel and light.

The Xuan Yin Python sensed the lethal threat. Its crimson eyes widened in genuine fear. It abandoned the net and coiled tight, hissing defensively.

Wang Guang’an waved his hand, dismissing the net to give his “sparring partner” room to fight.

The sword dragon descended.

Cornered, the python had no choice. It let out a mournful roar and spat out its Demon Core—a glowing white sphere of condensed frost energy—to intercept the attack.

BOOM!

The collision sent the python flying backward, smashing into the cavern wall. Its Demon Core dimmed significantly, its spiritual power nearly exhausted in a single clash.

“Weak. It cannot even withstand a single blow,” Wang Guang’an scoffed, disappointed.

He had expected a fight. But this python, despite its high cultivation base, had lived its entire life trapped in a hole. It had zero combat experience. Against a Golden Core veteran, it was a child fighting a soldier.

“Boring,” Wang Guang’an muttered. He raised his hand to deliver the killing strike.

Suddenly, the python uncoiled. It floated on the surface of the water and lowered its massive head, pressing its snout to the stone. The malice in its eyes vanished, replaced by a look of abject pleading.

“Hmph. You are smart, beast,” Wang Guang’an paused, the killing intent still radiating from him. “But to be my Spirit Beast, you must prove your worth. I do not collect trash.”

The python anxiously bobbed its head. Then, in a move that stunned both men, it rolled over in the water, exposing its soft, pale underbelly to them in a gesture of absolute submission.

Wang Hao laughed aloud. “Is this a snake or a dog? I’ve never seen a reptile beg like that.”

Wang Guang’an’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the exposed belly.

“Flood Dragon?” he gasped. Then he shook his head. “No. Not yet. But… it has the potential.”

“Flood Dragon?” Wang Hao asked, confused. “You mean this python?”

Snake-type demon beasts could theoretically evolve into Flood Dragons (Jiao), but the odds were one in a million. Did this pathetic creature actually possess that bloodline?

“Look at its scales,” Wang Guang’an pointed out. “They are larger and more numerous than a standard python’s. And look at its belly—do you see those four fleshy protrusions?”

Wang Hao squinted. Indeed, hidden amongst the ventral scales were four distinct bumps.

“If it advances to the Third Rank,” Wang Guang’an said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “those bumps could sprout claws. It is beginning the transformation.”

Wang Hao nodded in realization. Flood Dragons had claws; snakes did not.

Looking closer, the python did have a regal bearing that ordinary snakes lacked. Its eyes were intelligent, capable of conveying complex emotions like fear, pleading, and calculation.

Surrendering wasn’t cowardice; it was intelligence. Most beasts were too stupid or stubborn to yield, fighting to the death even when outmatched. High-ranking demon beasts were usually too proud to bow to a human.

This python, however, had likely never seen a human before. It had no ingrained hatred. In its world, the strong ruled. Submitting to a stronger predator was simply the law of the jungle.

A snake capable of becoming a Flood Dragon was a treasure beyond price. In the Southern Sea, even the top sects rarely possessed true Flood Dragon mounts.

Although the transformation was perilous—the Tribulation Lightning for a Flood Dragon evolution was deadlier than a Golden Core tribulation—the potential reward was worth the risk.

Wang Guang’an made his decision.

“If you swear a Blood Oath to serve me as your Master for life,” he announced, his voice echoing in the cavern, “I will spare you.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed the python’s eyes.

It wanted to live, yes. It also wanted to leave this prison; the Spirit Vein here was too weak to support its breakthrough. Following this powerful human was a path to advancement.

But a lifetime of servitude? For a creature used to absolute freedom, it was a bitter pill.

Sensing its hesitation, Wang Guang’an didn’t waste words. The flying sword hovered inches above the snake’s eye, humming with lethal intent.

“Death or submission. Choose now. Do not waste my time.”

The python trembled. The cold steel against its scales shattered its hesitation. It lowered its head instantly.

Life first. Pride later.

It had cultivated for a thousand years. It had a shot at becoming a glorious Flood Dragon. It couldn’t die here in a hole. It would submit now, survive, and perhaps… in the future, if it grew strong enough, it could break the chains.

Wang Guang’an knew exactly what the beast was thinking. All wild-tamed beasts harbored thoughts of rebellion. But he was confident he could suppress it. And the Blood Oath was not easily broken.

“Release a drop of your Lifeblood Essence,” he commanded.

The python obeyed instantly. It opened its mouth and spat a globule of glowing, ruby-red blood.

Wang Guang’an’s hands flew through a series of complex seals. A mysterious rune formed in the air, merging with the blood.

The blood split in two. One half flew into Wang Guang’an’s forehead; the other sank into the python’s brow.

The contract was sealed.

However, unlike a beast raised from an egg, there was no emotional bond here. It was a relationship of master and slave, held together by fear and magic. To truly control it, Wang Guang’an knew he would need to use both the stick and the carrot.