Chapter 58: Young Master He, Did I Do Good~♡?

He Yimo really wasn’t the noble hero Yun Jin imagined him to be. Not even close.

After saving Yun Jin, his decision to jump back into the fray boiled down to two simple reasons:

1. He wanted to test drive the Blood Bone Tempering benefit he’d just received from sacrificing to the Life Mother God. Gotta see what this baby can do!

2. He knew Mo Yuyan had mentioned heading to Northfall Snow Mountain back on Ranmo Peak. With the battle escalating and blood flowing freely at the campsite, the thick, coppery scent hanging in the air was bound to act like a beacon, drawing the nearby Mo Yuyan straight to them. Tick tock…

So, by timing his intervention just right—as Mo Yuyan was likely closing in—He Yimo could safely test his new powers in the chaos and have a powerful escape hatch (or cleanup crew) arriving shortly. No real risk involved. Perfect calculation.

That was precisely why he’d swooped in to save Yun Jin earlier. If he hadn’t, and she’d gotten hurt, triggering the pendant’s protective ward… Mo Yuyan would have teleported onto the scene within three breaths. Poof! Game over for the cultists, sure, but also game over for He Yimo’s chance to experiment with his shiny new Blood Bone Tempering. Can’t have that!

And honestly? He Yimo’s plan worked flawlessly.

During the chaos, bouncing around the battlefield, he’d managed to successfully take down two lower-level cultists. Using their corpses, he even tested a few Miyue Sect dark arts he remembered from the original game’s strategy guides. The experiments were a smashing success! He’d efficiently drained the life force from the cultists and used quick mini-sacrifices to further enhance his Blood Bone Tempering.

Right now, He Yimo felt fantastic!

He already had a solid mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivation base. Add in the bloodline awakening from his auntie’s pills, the Life Mother God’s Blood Bone Tempering, plus the Resonance Blessings from both Wangxue and Yun Jin… He Yimo felt like he was stacked with so many buffs, he could probably take on a Core Formation cultivator and stand a decent chance! Yeah! Bring it!

Not only that, but those grueling daily training sessions back on Ranmo Peak had ingrained Mo Yuyan’s techniques into his muscle memory. Now, in the heat of battle, He Yimo barely needed to think; his body just instinctively reacted, dodging and countering according to her teachings. The combination of refined sword skills and multiple buffs didn’t just make his attacks deadlier; it even made his opponents’ movements seem slower when he dodged! Matrix time!

In just a short time, He Yimo had single-handedly intercepted the cultists pursuing at least seven or eight Wuji Sect disciples, allowing them to escape.

“Go! Get out of here!” he’d yelled, fending off a flurry of attacks. “I’ll hold them off! Go find Senior Sister Yun Jin for healing!”

Even mid-fight, He Yimo never missed a chance to casually boost his own 【Reputation】. Gotta look good, right?

Seeing the cultists momentarily stalled, the rescued disciples shot He Yimo grateful nods before scrambling away frantically towards the rear.

He Yimo’s Profound Iron Sword was already dull beyond belief. Tch. No matter. The ground was littered with Wuji Sect disciple corpses. A quick bend and grab, and boom—weapon freedom achieved. Instant re-arm!

On the other side, the few cultists who’d caught up stopped in front of He Yimo, cracking their knuckles dismissively.

“Oi, brat!” one sneered. “That Chen kid just got his ass handed to him! Now it’s your turn to hog the spotlight, huh?!”

More cultists started surrounding him. He Yimo didn’t answer, just casually picked up a fresh Profound Iron Sword from the snow near his feet. He flicked back the long sleeve of his sword hand, revealing the bulging veins over the spirit meridians beneath his bicep. Throb.

A tense silence hung in the air for a beat. Then, faint blood-red patterns began to snake up his arm, emanating a dangerous, almost palpable life force.

“Wh-What the…? That’s—?!” The surrounding cultists stared, wide-eyed, their brains struggling to process what they were seeing.

Krik… krik… krak…

In moments, as the blood patterns spread, the youth’s forearm became encased in overlapping, dark-red scales, morphing into something resembling a vicious eagle’s talon, capable of crushing steel. The patterns continued extending, flowing down his fingers and onto the previously ordinary Profound Iron Sword, warping its blade, making it look sinister and unnervingly demonic.

“Recognize this smell~?” He Yimo smirked coldly, letting his transformed arm hang loosely by his side, partially concealed again by his robes. “Freshly forged at the Life Offering Altar.”

“Took me hours, you know,” he continued conversationally, “Painstakingly extracting and refining these Life Scales from those Breeding Worms back then…” A predatory, crimson glint flickered deep within his eyes as he looked at the cultists, his gaze filled with unconcealed greed, like a chef eyeing prime ingredients.

Somewhere along the line, the predator had become the prey.

He Yimo took a step forward. The cultists instinctively took a step back.

“N-No way… Could you be… the one Milady mentioned earlier…?!” One of the cultists gasped, realization dawning. The human youth the fox demoness had asked about!

Now it made sense! No wonder they hadn’t spotted him! Who the hell would imagine a righteous disciple from the Wuji Sect knew how to perform sacrifices?! And not only knew how, but was apparently better at it than they were, earning more favor from the Life Mother God?! Even generously (and freely!) giving them tips on how to please the Mother God!

It defied all logic! This kid understood the Mother God’s tastes better than the devotees who studied sacrifice day and night!

And looking at the unfathomable darkness swirling in the youth’s now black-and-red demonic eyes… this seemingly refined kid was probably a high-ranking Miyue Priest who’d slaughtered thousands in secret! Holy crap!

“Damn him! Brothers, don’t panic!” the tall cultist leader roared, trying to rally his shaken troops. “There’s more of us! So what if he’s tough?! He doesn’t have three heads and six arms, does he?! Charge!” He swung his blood scythe and rushed forward. Spurred by his lead, the other cultists surged after him.

Clang! Shiiing! Splatter! The battle reignited instantly. Scythes and blood blades flew wildly through the melee. He Yimo moved like a phantom, weaving through the chaos. The cultists swung their scythes frantically, chasing his flickering shadow, until—

“STOP! HOLD YOUR FIRE! YOU IDIOTS, STOP SWINGING!” yelled a sharp-eyed cultist, finally noticing something was wrong.

The fighting sputtered to a halt. Everyone stared. There, kneeling in the center of the carnage, was the tall cultist leader, drenched in blood, gasping raggedly for breath. And embedded deep in both his shoulders… were two wicked-looking blood scythes, their chains trailing back… to two other cultists in the crowd. Dark blood flowed freely down his arms, pooling on the snow.

Gasp! Everyone followed the chains with their eyes, meeting the stunned gazes of the two culprits.

“Uh… S-Sorry…”

“M-My bad… Friendly fire…” The two cultists stammered, quickly retracting their scythes.

Rrrrrrip! But as the chains pulled back, the sharp barbs on the blades tore gruesomely at the leader’s shoulders, ripping open even wider, bloodier wounds.

“AAAAAAAAARRRGHHH!!!” The big guy howled again, collapsing fully onto his knees in agony.

As more blood gushed out, the others finally noticed: besides the ‘friendly fire’ wounds, his body was covered in dozens of fine, precise sword cuts. Like incisions from a scalpel, strategically placed on muscles and tendons, completely crippling him, leaving him kneeling helplessly amidst the flailing scythes of his own allies.

Suddenly, it clicked. The chaotic fight had lasted a while, but aside from the grievously wounded leader… none of the other cultists had a scratch on them.

Which meant… the big guy had been targeted. Intentionally!

He Yimo had been deliberately maneuvering the fight, redirecting all their attacks onto the leader!

“Damn it! That kid’s treacherous! Using our own guy as a shield!”

“Wait… where’d he go now?!”

“Hold on! I remember! That kid smells like the Mother God too! Our instincts can’t track him!”

“He… He could be hiding among us right now! Ready to strike again!”

As one cultist voiced their fear, the others scrambled back, eyeing each other with growing terror and suspicion. No one cared about the leader’s injuries; seeing his horrific state, they were only terrified of being the next unlucky target singled out for the group beatdown.

But just as paranoia peaked, while everyone eyed each other warily—

SCHLICK!

—a sickening, wet tearing sound ripped through the air from the front of the crowd.

Everyone snapped their heads around. There stood the already mutilated leader… with an arm covered in sharp, dark-red scales punched straight through his chest.

“You know, buddy…” A black-clad youth peeked out from behind the impaled cultist, his voice laced with mock pity, his eyes cold and dark. “…You’re actually not a bad guy. Your only mistake was having too much faith in the ‘professional ethics’ of evil cultists.” He sighed dramatically. “See? You led the charge, right? But now look at you, all messed up… and are they helping? Nope! Still suspecting each other, squabbling amongst themselves. Not a single one even thought about protecting their wounded comrade! Tsk tsk.”

The youth’s scaled left hand, buried deep in the big guy’s chest, pulsed faintly as it absorbed the remaining life force. He almost seemed nostalgic, perhaps recalling how, just half an hour ago, they’d all been laughing and chatting together back at the altar.

“S-Save… me…” the leader choked out, feeling his life drain away. He weakly raised a trembling hand, pleading for help from his ‘brothers’.

But the other cultists, witnessing this horrifying scene firsthand? Pure terror. They remembered the drained husks of innocent humans from past sacrifices… looked at their leader suffering the exact same fate… and instinctively recoiled further, paralyzed by fear. No one dared move forward.

“You… You cowardly, spineless… BASTAAAAARDS! AAAAAHHHHH—!!!” Realizing he was utterly abandoned by his comrades, the leader let out a final, desperate roar of fury and despair. In an instant, eerie blood-red veins bulged on his forehead, and his body began to swell rapidly, preparing to self-destruct and take everyone with him.

Seeing this, the remaining cultists scattered like frightened rats.

“Heh. Gotta give it to ya, you’ve got guts,” He Yimo grunted, impressed despite himself. He yanked his scaled arm free—SCHLORP!—and slammed his palm hard against the big guy’s back just as he was about to explode.

BOOM! A shockwave of terrifying spiritual energy erupted. The swelling cultist, stopped mid-detonation, was launched like a cannonball, flying hundreds of meters away before crashing deep into the dark pine forest.

He Yimo narrowed his cold eyes, watching the trajectory, instinctively covering his ears, bracing for the delayed explosion.

But… seconds ticked by… then a minute… No boom. Silence from the woods.

“…Seriously? He was faking?” He Yimo lowered his hands, looking genuinely perplexed. “Come on! I just complimented your straightforwardness, and you pull this?” He muttered to himself, feeling slightly betrayed. “Man, and I actually thought of you as a brother… even gave you some genuinely useful sacrifice tips…” The youth sighed, shaking his head.

He glanced around. All the other cultists were keeping their distance, staring at him with undisguised fear. Clearly, no one else felt like challenging him. With a shrug, He Yimo started walking alone towards the dark pine forest where the ‘exploding’ cultist had landed.

(Deep within the snowy pine forest…)

“That thing… wasn’t human… H-He’s a monster… He’s the real evil one!”

The fox girl stood frozen, listening silently to the tall cultist’s dying gasps, a flicker of unseen nervousness in her enchanting eyes.

“D-Demoness… Milad— Urk! Gack!” The cultist struggled to say more, but hearing the youth’s footsteps approaching steadily from the nearby path, the fox girl acted instantly. STOMP! She slammed her foot down hard on the back of the cultist’s head. With a swift, practiced motion, she reversed her grip on the dagger, aimed the point at the base of his skull—SHUNK!—and drove it down cleanly. Just before the boy arrived, the cultist’s rambling last words were permanently silenced.

At the edge of the snowy clearing, youth and girl stood facing each other. A knowing, dangerous glint flashed in both their cold eyes.

“Senior Sister Jiang…” He Yimo began, his voice low, his expression unreadable. He glanced first at the definitively dead corpse at her feet, then looked up at the girl’s expertly crafted expression of wide-eyed innocence and pity. However, his gaze, supposedly cold, couldn’t help but be drawn downwards by the moonlight glinting off her distractingly shiny white silk stockings… lingering for just a fraction of a second too long on the soft flesh squeezed above the stocking tops, the ‘absolute territory’.

Ahem.

A moment of charged silence hung between them. He sheathed his Profound Iron Sword, speaking casually, as if this were completely normal. “This despicable, cunning cultist… I bet he said a lot of nasty things about me right before he died, didn’t he?”

“N-No, no~! Not at all~♡!” Jiang Jinyue chirped immediately, shaking her head vehemently, flashing a sweet, innocent smile. She quickly tucked her left hand, still gripping the bloody dagger, behind her back, pretending nothing was amiss.

But, as He Yimo’s gaze inevitably drifted back to her legs (purely observationally, of course), he noticed several thick, dark droplets of blackish blood sliding down from between her thighs, concealed behind her back.

Drip…

The sound of blood hitting the pristine snow seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet night.

They stood under the moon, unspoken understanding hanging heavy in the air. Both forced awkward smiles, trying to diffuse the tension.

“So, you see~,” Jiang Jinyue continued brightly, shrugging as if the dripping sound was nothing, “This cultist was so full of sin… I saw he still had a breath left in him… so I decisively stepped in and finished the job for Young Master He! Just helping out~!” She explained smoothly.

He Yimo looked at her, then looked at the corpse’s outstretched hand, frozen in a final plea for help, and managed a strained, acknowledging nod. Riiiight.

“Young Master He~♡,” the fox girl chirped, clasping her hands behind her back, tilting her head with wide-eyed, innocent perfection. “Did I do goooood~?”

He Yimo also shifted, subtly hiding his scaled left arm completely behind his back. He stepped closer, reaching out with his right hand to gently, almost tenderly, stroke her cheek.

“Yes,” he said softly, his eyes unreadable. “You did great.”