Without antidotes, cultivators only had two ways of dealing with poison, which weren’t even mutually exclusive.
The first thod involved the Qi, sothing every cultivator had access to. That magical energy posed a passive opposition to threats, working as an automatic line of defense.
The second way had to do with specific techniques, even stretching to items. Cultivators could actively heal themselves, enhance their defenses, and more.
Still, neither thod was a solution. They were rely ways to survive long enough until the poison ran its course, which couldn’t happen when its source never stopped injecting it.
One rooting expert fell, another tried to jump back, while the third closed his eyes to begin reciting sothing, but Liam was still there, and the sa went for his knife.
When no techniques were involved, Liam would always move faster. His body was simply better. He had the best orthodox circulation technique, and the first layer of the Qi mastery was complete.
There was no matching that set of advantageous edges. Only soone like Lancelot might, and even that had a ti limit because Liam would eventually grow far beyond him, too.
After all, at the peak of the rooting stage, Lancelot would have sixty-four minor roots, while Liam would have a hundred. Qi reserves aside, the sheer difference between their bodies would be imnse.
But the white-wearing rooting experts weren’t Lancelot, not even close.
Liam slashed without restraint, not caring for killing nor needing to, always remaining one step ahead of his opponents, even pulling them when they risked leaving the altar’s cover.
Everything ended in less than a minute. By the ti Liam was done, he stood among three unrecognizable corpses, the white color having almost disappeared from their robes.
Three rooting experts had now beco a clump of lted flesh, leaking gore and blood everywhere, even exposing the bones underneath in multiple places.
The process wasn’t over, either. Even after death, the venom kept applying its effects, wanting to reduce those corpses to bags of bones, only to stop sowhere before that.
But Liam didn’t watch that continuation. His senses recorded everything, but he had stopped minding the three rooting experts the second they beca corpses.
That narrower battle perfectly described why poison masters were so feared. Often, one good hit could decide the outco of a fight among cultivators, but those insidious experts took things one step further.
Liam hadn’t needed the hit to be good. It had been enough for that to happen to make him victorious. There were nuances, but that remained a general, reliable advantage stemming from his expertise and preparations.
However, even sothing so fearso couldn’t overco the battle formation around the central altar. Nothing ca after Liam anymore. He was temporarily safe, but he couldn’t cling to that since the coffin’s overtaking was continuing.
The math was just impossible. Liam might have killed six cultivators, and seven were stuck keeping the inscriptions alive, but there were still ten on their feet, seemingly focusing on holding their position now.
Liam only needed sothing to hit for that stalemate to break, be it his pills, arrows, needles, knife, or techniques, but he knew nothing would. Even getting to the central altar would be a challenge.
Nevertheless, there was another way, the only one. Liam couldn’t defeat the battle formation, but he could attack the environnt, and he had exactly one trump card that could do just that.
’I didn’t want to use it so soon,’ Liam sighed internally, materializing sothing under his sleeve.
"Demon, you will pay for your cris!" One rooting expert from the battle formation shouted.
"Co out and surrender!" Another cultivator ordered.
"Once the Church claims the inheritance," A third cultivator shouted, "You’ll have nowhere left to run."
But Liam didn’t run. That wasn’t even an option at that point. He closed his eyes, taking in the environnt one last ti before Qi flowed toward his feet, unleashing a thunderous noise.
Another Lightning Step followed, and then another, and then more. The battle against the level three snake had taught Liam his physical limits, bringing a deeper understanding of what he could handle without breaking, and he needed all that strength and more now.
Liam ricocheted among the altars, a lightning storm seemingly brewing in his feet. He moved as quickly as he could, partially disregarding his safety to get closer to the battle formation.
At tis, Liam slamd violently on the altars, unable to control his speed, only for another loud acceleration to follow.
Occasionally, the golden bullets that had started flying ever since Liam had left his cover would hit his figure, burning through his cloak and the robe underneath, scorching his skin.
Burns expanded all over Liam, even starting to dig deeply, touching on his very organs, but he didn’t stop. Pain and injuries weren’t enough to do so.
And, eventually, Liam charged from behind an altar, arriving right before the battle formation, with only a ter separating him from the firing squad, when a humming shockwave flashed in his view, slamming into his defenseless figure.
Liam felt as if a hundred hamrs had slamd on his body simultaneously. His feet left the floor as his insides churned and broke. He spat blood as he flew backward, flung away by the shockwave.
Bullets were already coming, too. Multiple impossibly fast clumps of golden light hit Liam before his back could slam on the altar that stopped his uncontrollable flight, and more followed.
Liam felt as if he was being boiled alive from the inside, but his feet still kicked the altar’s vertical surface, the Lightning Step launching him to the side.
There was no control in that evasive maneuver, not even the attempt at it. Liam just crashed to the floor and slid, his knife shrieking as it failed to pierce the white tiles while slowing down his montum.
Liam eventually planted his bloodied hand on the floor, too, stopping himself behind an altar to save himself from the firing squad. Yet, his situation wasn’t good. Injuries aside, he was still close to the battle formation, too close.
But the plan had succeeded, and the Church’s mbers eventually caught up on that since they noticed the shattered circular flask at their feet, the dark liquid it had released, and the expanding black patch underneath.
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