She ducked under a spectral blade, swinging her spatula to sever the legs of a Yin-Demon. The iron seared through the ghostly flesh, but the demon simply reford seconds later.
"They don’t die!" Ji’an grunted, dodging a barrage of toxic green spirit-fireballs launched by the Cultivator.
"Ahhhh! Look out!" Wuchen scread from behind a crumbling stone pillar. He threw a chunk of broken masonry in a blind panic.
The rock sailed through the air, completely missing the Yin-Demons. Instead, it struck a seemingly random, unremarkable flagstone on the edge of the courtyard.
CRACK!
The flagstone shattered, breaking a hidden warding rune. The defensive array shielding the Cultivator’s altar flickered and dropped by fifty percent.
’Lucky throw,’ Ji’an thought wildly, seizing the opening.
She activated her Shadow Step, blurring past the hulking Yin-Demons and launching herself directly at the altar. Her spatula blazed with the heat of a thousand stoves.
"Dao of the Cleaver: teor Drop!"
She brought the heavy iron down with all her might, aiming directly for the Cultivator’s skull.
The corpse didn’t even flinch. Instead, he raised his already rotten, skeleton left hand.
CLANG!!
Ji’an’s eyes widened in horror. Her heavily enchanted, Yang-infused Black Iron Spatula was stopped dead in its tracks, caught barehanded by the Ghost Cultivator.
The golden fire hissed violently against the pure, concentrated death Qi coating the corpse’s bones, but it couldn’t penetrate.
"Foolish child!" the Cultivator mocked, his jaw unhinging into a terrifying, skeletal grin. "Your fire is but a candle against the abyss!"
He raised his right hand, his rotting fingers shaping into a claw that dripped with necrotic, black poison. He thrust it forward, aiming directly for Ji’an’s heart.
Ji’an was stuck. Her montum was fully committed to the downward strike; her weapon caught in an iron grip.
She couldn’t dodge.
The Frost-Soul Barrier on her wrist pulsed a frantic blue, but Ji’an knew instinctively that an artifact ant to block physical blows wouldn’t fully stop a Golden Core soul-piercing strike.
Ti seed to slow down. Mo Wuchen, watching from behind the pillar, finally dropped his innocent act.
His amber eyes narrowed to pinpricks, his hand moving to his waist to draw a lethal, shadow-forged dagger. He was about to break his cover and sever the Cultivator’s arm.
But he didn’t have to.
.
.
.
From the pitch-black sky above the courtyard, a streak of crimson and black lightning descended.
It moved with a speed that defied logic.
SHING!
A pair of wickedly curved, blood-red crescent blades crossed the space between Ji’an and the Cultivator.
The blades didn’t just block the rotting claw; they sheared cleanly through the dense Yin energy and sliced the Cultivator’s right arm off at the elbow.
The corpse shrieked, stumbling backward and releasing Ji’an’s spatula.
Ji’an fell back, landing hard on the cobblestones, gasping for air. She looked up at her savior.
Standing in front of her, his back rigid and straight, was a young man clad in dark, practical combat leathers.
He wielded the twin crescent blades with lethal grace.
His hair was tied tightly back, and his eyes were a cold, piercing gray, which were fixed on the Ghost Cultivator with absolute contempt.
Ji’an’s heart perford a complex, terrifying gymnastic routine.
She didn’t know this guy personally, but anyone who had read the original BL novel "The Saint’s Harem" knew exactly who this was.
Chi Yun.
The loyal, violently overprotective, incredibly jealous right-hand man of the Demon Lord, Yan Xuanye. In the novel, Chi Yun was a major thorn in Gu Zhiwei’s side.
He hated the Holy Son because he believed the Protagonist was distracting his Lord from his demonic conquests.
Chi Yun’s entire personality was built around two things: killing efficiently and seeking Yan Lie’s approval.
"Tch. Weak," Chi Yun spat, glaring at the shrieking Ghost Cultivator. He didn’t look back at Ji’an. "How pathetic must you be to struggle against a rotting bag of bones?"
Ji’an scrambled to her feet, her mind racing. ’If Chi Yun is here, stepping in to save a random cook...’
She slowly, deliberately turned her head, her eyes scanning the dilapidated rooftops surrounding the courtyard.
There.
Sitting casually on the peak of a crumbling roof, one leg dangling over the edge, was the massive, dark figure of Yan Lie.
The Blood Sovereign. The Demon Lord of the North Territories.
He wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t helping. He was simply sitting there, his chin resting in his hand, a look of profound, lazy amusent on his aggressively handso face. He held a bright red spirit-apple in his other hand, taking a loud, crunching bite as he watched the chaos unfold below.
He caught Ji’an looking at him.
Yan Lie grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. He raised the half-eaten apple in a mocking, cheerful toast.
’Did he order his servant to save ?’ Ji’an realized, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. ’He isn’t just an arrogant disciple nad Yan Lie. He is fully Yan Xuanye right now. He thinks this is a theater production, and I am his favorite jester.’
And worse, Ji’an realized the implications of Chi Yun’s presence.
She looked back at Chi Yun, who was currently engaging the one-ard Ghost Cultivator in a blindingly fast flurry of crimson blades.
The servant was ruthless, but as he dodged a spell, Chi Yun shot a quick, absolutely venomous glare over his shoulder at Ji’an.
It was a glare filled with pure, unadulterated hatred.
’Oh, absolutely not,’ Ji’an groaned internally, rubbing her temples. ’Gu Zhiwei isn’t even here, so Chi Yun’s jealousy programming has locked onto ! He thinks I’m trying to seduce his boss just because Yan Lie is sitting on a roof eating an apple while watching fight! This is a disaster! An absolute dogshit! I am inheriting the Protagonist’s aggro!’
"Are you going to stand there and stare, chef guy?!" Chi Yun barked, crossing his blades to block a massive sweep of the Soul Banner. "Or are you going to make yourself useful?!"
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