Chapter 23
The mark on his back was no longer faint or incomplete. It had settled into his skin as if it had always belonged there, a perfectly formed black circle layered with intricate lines and symbols that seemed to breathe with a life of their own. It did not flicker or fade—it simply existed, silently radiating something ominous.
Wuming rose slowly from the bath, water slipping down his body in quiet streams, the steam-filled room wrapping around him like a veil. The heat should have been comforting, but something in the air felt wrong—too still, too heavy, as if the silence itself was watching him. His fingers lifted slightly out of habit, instinctively beginning to form a spell, but before he could complete even half the motion, a sharp hiss tore through the quiet.
The sound was sudden, unnatural, and far too close.
He turned his head, scanning the room, his gaze moving from the front to the right, his senses sharpening—but just as his eyes began to shift toward the left, the snake struck.
It appeared almost instantly, its movement so fast it blurred into a streak of dark scales and shadow. In the next moment, it was already upon him. Its body coiled tightly around his waist, the cold pressure of its scales locking him in place with frightening strength. The force of it made him stagger, but he didn't fall. His reaction was immediate—his hand shot forward, catching the snake by its neck before its fangs could sink into him.
They stopped just inches from his face.
Up close, the creature was wrong in every sense. Its eyes were pitch black—completely void of iris or pupil, as if they were not eyes at all but empty holes swallowing light. Its scales carried a faint, unnatural sheen, the kind that spoke not just of venom, but something far worse. This was no ordinary snake—it was something cultivated, something sent.
Its mouth opened slowly, unnaturally wide, stretching beyond what it should have been capable of. Inside, something began to form.
A circle.
Dark. Rotating. Alive.
The lines carved themselves into existence within its mouth, twisting and aligning into a structured pattern, forming a complete spell in mere seconds. From within it, a thick black fog began to pour out, heavy and unnatural, sinking rather than rising. It carried a presence that made the air feel suffocating.
Before Wuming could fully process what he was seeing, the spell activated.
A sharp burst of black light shot forward, striking directly into his chest.
His body jerked violently, his grip tightening instinctively around the snake's neck. For a moment, his mind went blank, as if something had reached into him and disrupted the very flow of his thoughts. He tried to move, to step back, to push the creature away—but his body didn't respond the way it should have. His limbs felt delayed, heavy, as if something invisible was interfering with his control.
The snake tightened its coils around him, constricting harder, pressing against his ribs and abdomen, while the black energy continued to force its way into him. Wuming's jaw clenched, his muscles straining as he tried to break free. His fingers dug deeper into the snake's neck, attempting to crush it, but the creature showed no sign of stopping.
That's when he spoke.
His voice came out low, steady, carrying a tone that did not belong to a child.
"Wu Morghlis… Men Manfish."
The words were ancient, heavy with meaning, echoing faintly in the enclosed space.
For a brief moment, the snake paused.
Its movement stilled, its grip loosening just slightly, as if something in those words had reached it.
Wuming's eyes darkened, his gaze sharpening as he looked directly at it. "If you try to kill me, it will backfire," he said quietly, his tone calm but firm. "I am a demon too… by soul. And you're aiming for my body?"
There was a moment—just a second—where it felt like the creature understood.
But it didn't stop.
The circle inside its mouth flared again, the black fog thickening, the energy surging with greater intensity. The spell activated once more, and this time the force behind it was far stronger.
The impact hit him like a shockwave.
For a split second, everything blurred—his vision, his thoughts, even the sensation of his own body. It was overwhelming, disorienting, something he couldn't fully comprehend. But instinct took over before anything else could.
With all the strength he could gather, Wuming tightened his grip and tore the snake away from his body. The coils loosened under the sudden force, and in one swift motion, he threw it across the room.
The snake slammed into the wall with a heavy impact before dropping to the ground.
Silence followed.
The steam drifted lazily through the room again, as if nothing had happened.
Wuming stood there, breathing unevenly, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. There was no blood, no visible injury, nothing to show that he had just been attacked.
Because the snake had never been aiming for his body.
It had been aiming for something far deeper.
His soul.
Wuming's chest rose and fell sharply, his breath uneven as a sudden, crushing pain bloomed from deep within his chest. It wasn't on the surface—it wasn't something flesh or bone could explain. His hand instinctively moved to his heart, fingers pressing hard against it as if he could physically hold it together.
He slid back, breath uneven.
The attack hadn't just been fast—it had been heavy.
Too heavy.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he steadied himself, water still dripping from his body, towel loosely tied around his waist.
He had underestimated it.
That strike…
It wasn't something a normal demonic creature could produce.
Wuming exhaled sharply, his hand instinctively pressing against his chest as a dull, crushing pain spread from deep within. It wasn't external damage—no blood, no wound—but something inside felt disturbed, shaken, like his very core had been struck.
"…Sixth level," he muttered under his breath, voice low.
Just one exchange.
That was enough.
This wasn't some random summoned beast.
It was trained.
Refined.
An assassination-type demonic snake.
Its body moved again—but this time, slower.
More deliberate.
It didn't attack immediately.
Instead, it coiled.
Its long, scaled body looped over itself, forming layered circles in the air as it lifted its upper half, rising to meet Wuming's gaze. Its pitch-black eyes—void of pupil or iris—locked onto him.
Then—
It bowed.
Wuming's expression didn't change, but his thoughts sharpened instantly.
Respect.
Not submission.
The difference was clear.
It recognized him.
Recognized what he was.
But it wasn't stopping.
"…A contract," he murmured, eyes darkening slightly.
That meant only one thing.
Even if it knew he was superior…
Even if instinct told it to withdraw…
It couldn't.
Because someone else owned its will.
A name surfaced in his mind without effort.
Meihua.
His stepmother.
A faint, cold understanding settled in his chest.
"So it's you…"
The snake hissed again—louder this time—and the moment ended.
It struck.
Fast.
Closer than before.
This time, there was no hesitation in Wuming's response.
"Mox morieris."
The words slipped from his lips in a low, controlled tone—the ancient demonic language vibrating faintly in the air itself.
At the same time, he moved.
His teeth sank into his thumb without pause, breaking skin.
Blood welled instantly.
He didn't waste a second.
With one hand, he dragged that blood across the air—
And a circle began to form.
Dark.
Sharp.
Alive.
The pattern unfolded exactly like the one etched into his back—a precise, intricate spell circle, lines connecting, symbols igniting one after another as if remembering their place.
The snake collided with it.
A burst of force erupted.
The impact threw it back mid-air, its body twisting violently before it hit the ground with a dull, heavy sound. It recoiled, injured—but not defeated.
Wuming didn't relax.
He couldn't.
Not against something like this.
His breathing remained controlled, but his mind moved faster than ever.
Soul magic…
Not an option.
Not now.
His gaze flickered for a fraction of a second.
Wei Zhi could have handled this effortlessly.
But her soul…
Too young.
Too unrefined.
Using that path too early would destroy her. And I can't afford to lose her. She's too precious …..now.
A friend. An ally. A Soul Reaper.
His focus snapped back instantly.
The snake moved again.
This time—
It vanished.
Not physically.
It dissolved.
Its body blurred into a thin layer of black fog, scattering into the air like smoke before disappearing completely.
Silence filled the room.
Wuming stilled.
His senses sharpened.
He didn't move immediately.
Instead, he closed his eyes halfway, breathing slowly, letting the faint traces of energy guide him.
Feel it.
Don't look for it.
Find it.
And then—He felt it.
Right behind him.
Without turning—He moved.
A sharp step forward.
The snake reappeared exactly where he had been a second ago, striking nothing but air.
It missed.
Wuming spun.
The half-formed spell in his hand surged forward, completing itself in motion as he thrust it toward the snake's exposed form.
The impact hit clean.
The snake froze mid-air—
Then dropped.
Hard.
Its body slammed against the ground, twitching violently.
Wuming didn't hesitate.
He walked forward, calm.
Cold.
Precise.
His eyes fell on the nearby glass flower pot—the flowers inside already withered, their life drained simply by the snake's presence.
He picked it up.
Without care.
Without pause.
He threw the contents aside—flowers, water, everything scattering across the floor—
Then smashed the pot.
The sharp crack echoed.
Glass shattered.
He bent down, picking up one of the larger shards.
The snake was still moving.
Weak.
But alive.
Its body twitched, coiling slightly.
Its head lifted—Wuming stepped in.
And in one clean motion—He cut.
The glass sliced through the neck.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
A precise, practiced action.
The snake's body jerked once.
Twice.
Then—
It stopped.
Wuming's gaze didn't shift as he watched.
Because he knew.
This was the only way.
Every demonic snake had a core.
Hidden in the neck.
Destroy that—
And regeneration becomes impossible.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
The body began to fade.
Slowly dissolving into black fog, just like before—except this time, it didn't return.
It vanished completely.
Silence settled once again.
The room was still.
Only the faint sound of dripping water remained.
Wuming stood there, glass shard still in his hand, expression unreadable.
Not relief.
Not fear.
Just quiet understanding.
Wuming thought,Meihua won't stay still until I die or she dies. Even better, if I take her heir away. Problem solved: the thorns were removed.
He coughed, his hand was still on his chest. The pain was excruciating, the piercing pain, he groaned and he frowned.
He wanted to see Wei Zhi.
His lips moved, voice barely holding together under the weight of the pain tearing through him.
"Wei… zhi… damn… I need you right now."
His legs felt weak.
Unsteady.
Like the strength inside them was draining out with every second.
Still, he forced himself forward.
Step by step.
Stumbling.
Wobbling.
But moving.
He reached the door and pushed it open, stepping out into the quiet night. The air outside felt colder, emptier—but it didn't help. It didn't ease anything.
His eyes lifted.
There was no one.
Except—
A man.
About ten feet away.
Pacing.
Walking here and there.
Waiting.
Wuming's gaze sharpened slightly.
His breathing slowed.
Even in this condition, his instincts didn't fail.
End of 23