CHAPTER 32: CHAPTER 32

Who had really tried to kill him?

Ethan let the question roll through his mind, but didn’t waste too much energy dwelling on it.

In the world of cultivation, enemies appeared as naturally as rain in storm season. Mistakes were made, plots spun and unraveled, and life moved on. If trouble came seeking him, well—it would find him ready, every single time.

Let them come. Whoever wanted to reach into the shadows to pull his strings, he would cut those hands without remorse.

He was just starting to brush corpse dust off his hands when a surge of powerful spiritual energy swept toward him, cutting through the grave fog like a sudden wind. In only a few breaths, a streak of cold light sliced through the mist and condensed itself into a man upon landing.

The figure was imposing and tall in deep azure robes, his brows sharp, voice measured.

Elder Azel, the same man Ethan had met a decade ago, when he’d first been exiled to Serene Mirror Lake.

Azel’s gaze swept over the carnage, his eyes narrowing as the scene came into focus—bones and blackened mummy fragments littered the earth; blood and grave soil churned together in morbid patterns.

Grave silence clung to them both.

"What happened here?" Azel’s tone was wary but not suspicious, the voice of a man used to confronting messes with no clear owner.

Ethan offered a respectful bow, struggling to suppress a flinch of laziness.

"Elder, there was a corpse transformation loose in the tombs. In order to survive, I had no choice but to fight my way out." To add to the illusion, he gave a few coughs, swayed on his feet, and loosened his shoulders, feigning the fragility of a man who barely dodged death.

Azel regarded him with a flicker of concern.

"Are you all right, Ethan? That’s not something just anyone walks away from."

"Thank you for your concern, Elder Azel. I over-exerted myself, suffered some internal injuries, but I’ll recover. Just need a bit of rest."

Azel nodded.

"Good. Still, this is no small matter—the timing is odd. Corpse transformations in the Ancestral Tomb... these events, they don’t occur easily, let alone at such a controlled scale or with a focused target." He ran his fingers along his chin, lost momentarily in thought.

Normally, the Ancestral Tomb might see some random undead howl free in a fit of lingering resentment—one corpse, maybe two, driven mad by soul rot. But to have dozens of risen corpses, all attacking together, and focusing on one target? It spoke of a deliberate hand behind the curtain.

Azel’s voice deepened, concern shading his words.

"Was this transformation coming after you deliberately?"

Ethan shook his head, keeping his eyes low.

"This disciple cannot say for certain if I was the intended target. But what I can say, Elder, is that this was no natural occurrence—someone was orchestrating the dead."

Azel’s focus shifted immediately.

"Who? Did you find the controller?"

"There," Ethan replied, pointing to the shattered trunk of a pine tree, beneath which the mangled, headless corpse of the would-be puppeteer slumped in a puddle of blood and brain matter.

Azel moved closer to examine the ruin, his lips tightening as he pieced together the violence. Only the body remained, the skull nothing more than clinging scraps.

This kid... how ruthless. Seems calm on the outside, but when it’s life and death... he’s as decisive and merciless as any old killer.

He turned to Ethan, voice probing,

"How can you be sure this was the one controlling the undead?"

Ethan bowed slightly, turning the matter over deferentially.

"This man is dead, so my words would mean little. Elder Azel’s strength and wisdom are surely enough to determine whether he was the cause."

Azel watched him for a moment, then extended a hand. His aura flared, shimmering with cleansing force. For a few seconds, black mist seeped from the corpse and the broken grounds—thick and malignant, swirling in oily patterns. But under Azel’s spiritual energy, the mist shuddered, twisted in agony, and then dissolved completely.

"The residual corpse qi matches the energy on this body," Azel pronounced.

"This man was, without a doubt, the one who triggered this event."

He reached down, removed a simple storage ring from the corpse’s shattered hand, and rifled through its contents. There, buried beneath mundane treasures, was a single book—worn and ink-stained.

"The Art of Corpse Controlling... of course." Azel flipped through the yellowed pages.

"No wonder he managed to control that many... This art, even at a basic level, can mobilize an entire tomb’s dead and surround, even kill, most Nascent Soul cultivators. If a man practices it right, and catches you by surprise..." He trailed off, glancing at Ethan with open curiosity.

He regarded Ethan again, and the full force of his suspicion and interest returned.

"You, boy—not only did you weather the onslaught of all these walking corpses, but you immediately uncovered and hunted down the mastermind. Tell me honestly, what is your true cultivation? I would say, at minimum, you’ve stepped into the Soul Formation realm, haven’t you?"

Ethan slowly shook his head, wearing the tired humility of a well-trained actor.

"Elder Azel, this disciple was born without spiritual roots—I cannot walk the path of spiritual cultivation. I am merely a pure physical cultivator. As to my true realm... I honestly can no longer judge my precise strength."

Azel blinked, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as understanding flashed in his eyes.

"Ah, yes. I nearly forgot... You’re a physical path practitioner alone. Even I can’t clearly quantify your power by ordinary standards."

He looked back out at the desecrated corpses. The silence deepened between them. In the chill, grave wind, Ethan simply waited, every sense keen on any trace of further danger, his heart steady as stone.

And so, another shadow in the endless web of the sect’s schemes had been burned away. But Ethan was under no illusions—where one puppeteer fell, others slipped in behind.

He watched Azel carefully, his mind already moving ahead.