A solitary figure, draped in flowing obsidian robes, moved silently through the winding tunnels beneath Mount Yai-Ho. The flickering torchlight cast long, shifting shadows against the jagged stone walls, illuminating only the faintest outline of his form. His features remained concealed beneath a deep hood, but had any observer dared to look closer, they would have glimpsed a face of unnatural pallor—skin like bleached bone, with eyes that burned a deep, unsettling crimson. These were the marks of prolonged exposure to demonic qi, a testament to the dark arts he wielded.

  This man was Ryousuke Kyo, a High Realm demonic cultivator and a notorious merchant of the black market, operating under the banner of the Obsidian Pavilion—the shadowed syndicate that served as the primary supplier of forbidden goods to the Demonic Coalition. Skilled in both commerce and carnage, Kyo was a man who thrived in the spaces where others feared to tread.

  Tonight, he had been dispatched on a mission of rare significance: to parlay with the demonic beasts that ruled the depths of Yai-Ho.

  Leading him through the labyrinthine passages was his guide—a towering bull demonic beast, standing at an imposing ten feet tall. Its massive, corded muscles flexed beneath a thick coat of coarse fur, and its humanoid torso tapered into powerful, cloven-hoofed legs. In one hand, it carried a crude but brutal-looking axe, its edge notched from countless battles, resting casually over one broad shoulder. The creature wore a patchwork of scavenged armor—a haphazard imitation of the battle-worn plates favored by demonic cultivators, as if the beast had pieced together its own regalia from the corpses of fallen foes.

  Fascinating, Kyo mused, his crimson gaze tracing the beast’s form. Neither fully beast nor fully human—something caught between.

  This was the first time he had encountered a demonic beast up close alive. Typically, their kind were either slain on sight by righteous cultivators, who saw them as little more than mindless scourges to be purged, or hunted by demonic cultivators, who valued their bones, hides, and cores as precious alchemical ingredients. For the two factions to meet not in battle, but in negotiation, was nearly unheard of.

  Yet here they were.

  The bull beast snorted, its hot breath forming mist in the damp underground air, before turning its massive head to regard Kyo with an unsettlingly shrewd gaze.

  "We approach the sanctum, human," it rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural growl that reverberated through the stone. "The Chieftain does not suffer fools. Speak wisely… or not at all."

  Kyo’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

  As they stepped into the vast, torch-lit sanctum, Kyo’s senses were immediately assaulted by the thick, musky scent of fur, scales, and iron—the unmistakable reek of a predator’s den. The chamber stretched wide, its walls carved with crude yet imposing reliefs of ancient battles between beasts and men.

  And lining the chamber, standing in disciplined rows, were the demonic beasts.

  Dozens of them—some avian, their feathers sharp as blades, others reptilian with jagged spines running down their backs, and still more mammalian, their hulking forms bristling with muscle and malice. Unlike the mindless fiends that roamed the demonic territory, these creatures stood upright, clad in scavenged armor and gripping weapons with unnerving familiarity. Their eyes—yellow, red, black—locked onto Kyo with a mixture of curiosity, disdain, and, most unsettlingly, hunger. He could almost taste their desire—the way their jaws twitched, their claws flexed. Many here would rip him apart without hesitation if given the chance.

  And at the far end of the chamber, seated upon a jagged throne of black stone, was their ruler.

  A monstrous tiger, his fur a swirling pattern of black and burnt orange, his massive frame crisscrossed with scars—each one a story of bloodshed. His eyes burned like twin embers, glowing with the intensity of concentrated demonic qi. He had been lounging lazily, his great head propped up on one clawed hand, but the moment Kyo entered, the beast-king stirred.

  Slowly, deliberately, the tiger leaned forward, his muscles coiling like springs beneath his striped hide. His nostrils flared as he drank in Kyo’s scent, his gaze unblinking—calculating. Was it interest that flickered in those hellish eyes? Or merely the appraisal of a predator sizing up his next meal?

  Kyo remained unfazed by the tiger's look.

  He took one last glance around the chamber, assessing the beasts that surrounded him. If these negotiations turned sour, if a single word was misspoken—he would have to fight his way out. And against so many? Even as a High Realm cultivator, the odds were grim.

  But fear was a luxury he could not afford.

  With practiced grace, Kyo pressed his hands together in a gesture of respect and bowed deeply.

  "This lowly one greets the great and fearsome Cutter," he intoned, his voice smooth as silk yet laced with just the right amount of deference. "The Beast Who Devours Thousands, whose name shakes the earth and whose claws carve destiny itself."

  A low, rumbling purr emanated from the tiger’s throat—a sound that was neither entirely pleasure nor threat, but something in between. The beast-king’s lips curled, revealing fangs as long as daggers, glistening with saliva.

  He enjoys the flattery, Kyo noted. Good.

  Cutter’s molten gaze burned into Kyo, the tiger’s massive chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. "I’m surprised you came alone," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. "But I will honor our agreement… for now. Speak, little merchant. Let us hear this ‘offer’ of yours."

  Kyo barely suppressed a derisive smirk at the mention of honor. The notion was laughable. Demonic beasts were no different from demonic cultivators—both were predators in a world where strength dictated everything, where alliances lasted only as long as the benefits outweighed the bloodshed. If Cutter believed he stood to gain more by ripping out Kyo’s spine and slurping the marrow from its shattered remains, he would do so without hesitation.

  But Kyo had danced this dance before.

  "This one comes bearing a proposition from the Obsidian Pavilion," he said smoothly, his voice a masterful blend of deference and cunning. "We were hoping that you would launch an attack against the Drifting Leaf Sect territories."

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  A dangerous stillness settled over the chamber.

  Cutter’s claws flexed, gouging deep furrows into the stone arms of his throne. "You dare command us?" he snarled, his voice thick with menace. The air itself seemed to curdle with violence as the surrounding beasts shifted, their weapons tightening in grip, their eyes gleaming with barely restrained bloodlust.

  Kyo did not flinch.

  "Not a command," he corrected, his tone almost conversational. "A request. You are, of course, free to refuse." He let the words linger, allowing the tension to coil tighter—then, with deliberate slowness, reached into his spatial ring.

  A massive chest materialized before him, its dark wood banded with veins of black iron. With a flick of his wrist, the lid groaned open, revealing its contents.

  Blood pearls.

  Hundreds of them, each a pulsating sphere of crimson, glowing like dying embers in the dim light. The moment the chest opened, the very air in the sanctum thickened—heavy with the scent of iron and something deeper, something wrong.

  The demonic beasts stirred, their nostrils flaring, their pupils dilating with undisguised hunger. Even Cutter’s burning gaze flickered, his massive frame tensing as he inhaled the intoxicating aura of demonic qi.

  Kyo knew what they sensed.

  Blood pearls were not mere trinkets—they were condensed torment. Each orb was refined from the blood essence of a human in agony, their anguish distilled into pure, potent energy. For demonic beings, they were ambrosia—a feast of power, a shortcut to greater strength.

  And the chest before them held hundreds. Each pearl representing the suffering of a single human being.

  Any normal man might have recoiled at the horror of it all. So many people suffered to create this vile treasure. But Kyo only watched, his expression unreadable, as the beasts around him salivated at the promise of such spoils.

  "Consider this," he murmured, "a gesture of goodwill. Should you choose to act against the Drifting Leaf Sect, the Obsidian Pavilion is prepared to offer… more."

  Cutter’s tail lashed once, his muscles coiling like steel springs. The hunger in his eyes was no longer just for flesh—it was for power.

  Cutter's massive chest rose and fell in a slow, deliberate rhythm as he wrestled back his instincts. The scent of the blood pearls still hung thick in the air, their intoxicating promise of power making his claws twitch with barely restrained desire. Yet something primal in the beast-king's mind whispered caution—this offer reeked of hidden thorns.

  With deliberate control, the demonic tiger leaned back on his throne, the stone groaning under his shifting weight. His burning gaze narrowed, scrutinizing Kyo like a predator assessing a trap.

  "What's the catch?" Cutter rumbled, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "You don't offer treasures like these just to have us maul some sect. The Obsidian Pavilion has claws of its own—if you wanted the Drifting Leaf Sect broken, you could do it yourselves."

  Kyo's lips curled into a thin, knowing smile.

  "Of course, there is more to this arrangement," he conceded smoothly. "Should you accept, your kind must swear not to attack any cult within the Demonic Coalition. In return, they will extend the same courtesy—no more hunting parties will be sent to cull the beasts of Yai-Ho." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "And when you strike the Drifting Leaf Sect, anything you claim from their territory—corpses, slaves, resources, even land—will be yours to keep. No disputes. No reprisals."

  Cutter's tail lashed once, but his expression remained unreadable. "I still don't see how this serves you."

  Kyo exhaled through his nose, as if weighing how much to reveal.

  "We are currently… occupied," he admitted. "The Coalition is locked in a war, and while we could assault the Drifting Leaf Sect ourselves, the Righteous Alliance would retaliate in force. We’d be stretched thin—forced to divert troops from other fronts, risking losses elsewhere." His crimson eyes gleamed. "But if a rogue horde of demonic beasts were to ravage their lands? The Righteous Alliance would hesitate, as they would be too busy dealing with us. By the time they muster a response, the damage will already be done."

  A slow, understanding glint flickered in Cutter's hellish gaze.

  "Ah," the tiger purred, baring his fangs. "So we are to be your claws in the shadows."

  "Think of it as… mutually beneficial chaos," Kyo countered. "And should you prove effective, the Obsidian Pavilion will pay additional blood pearls for any other Righteous Alliance territories you assault—so long as our own forces aren’t already engaged there."

  The chamber fell silent. The gathered beasts shifted, their hungry stares flickering between the chest of blood pearls and their chieftain. The offer hung in the air, ripe with possibility—and danger.

  Cutter's muzzle wrinkled in a silent snarl, his claws kneading the arms of his throne.

  “Well then, are there any other questions? If not, let's finalize the deal.” Kyo said with a smile.

  ?????

  The pale moonlight cast long shadows as Kyo emerged from the tunnel's gaping maw, the cool night air washing over him like a balm after hours spent in the cloying darkness of the underground. Behind him, the passage to Yai-Ho loomed like a fanged throat, silent and foreboding.

  Ahead, a contingent of Obsidian Pavilion operatives stood at rigid attention, their black cloaks fluttering in the night breeze. Several of them stiffened in surprise at the sight of Kyo—alive, unharmed, and carrying himself with the same unshakable composure he had entered with. Clearly, they had not expected his return.

  The second-in-command—a wiry, sharp-eyed man swathed in a cloak lined with silver sigils—hurried forward, relief etched into his features.

  "Lord Kyo!" he exclaimed, bowing deeply. "You’re alive! You were gone for hours—we feared the worst."

  Kyo flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve, his expression neutral. "The tunnels were… labyrinthine. It took some time to navigate without getting lost."

  The subordinate swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "And the meeting? Did they agree?"

  Kyo’s lips curled into a thin, satisfied smile. "They did. Every term accepted, without modification. The demonic beasts of Yai-Ho will assault the Drifting Leaf Sect before next year’s end."

  The man’s face split into a grin. "Most excellent, my lord! Truly, none can barter like you. The Obsidian Pavilion is fortunate to have—"

  "Enough flattery," Kyo cut him off, his tone edged with impatience. "We return at once. The leadership must be informed of our success."

  The subordinate hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Ah—about that, my lord. A message arrived while you were parlaying with the beasts. Our orders have changed. We are to divert to Tengyuan immediately."

  Kyo’s crimson eyes narrowed. "Tengyuan?"

  "A slave rebellion has erupted in the mines there. The overseers are struggling to contain it. Our presence has been… requested."

  For a long moment, Kyo was silent. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening imperceptibly around the hilt of the dagger hidden in his sleeve.

  Of course.

  They had just secured a pivotal alliance—one that would greatly help in their war against the Righteous Alliance—only to be dragged into suppressing some upstart slaves at the worst possible moment. The timing was either laughably poor or suspiciously convenient.

  "One step forward," Kyo muttered under his breath, "one step back."

  The subordinate shifted uncomfortably. "My lord?"

  Kyo’s gaze sharpened, the embers in his eyes flaring briefly. "Gather the men. We ride for Tengyuan at once."

  As the group mobilized, Kyo cast one last glance back at the tunnel’s entrance, his mind already turning over the implications.

  The war was far from over.

  And now, it seemed, so were their distractions.

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