Chapter 97: Blood Puppet Floats
Before Lordi Payne could conjure a plausible excuse to abandon the Hanz Clan Estate task, a soft rustle of fluttering robes sliced through the air outside the gazebo, heralding the arrival of two Eighth Layer Qi Refinement cultivators. They descended gracefully, one after the other. The man, in his early thirties, had a stern, unremarkable face framed by sharp, short brown hair and dark skin. A massive, gold-hued round bronze shield, broad as his shoulders, was strapped to his back, glinting faintly. The woman, draped in a flowing white gown that trailed across the ground, was a vision of elegance. Her skirt bloomed with embroidered pink flowers, and a wide Non-la hat crowned her head, its dense white veil obscuring her face, leaving her age and features a mystery.
Garrick Blackthorn and the others rose to greet them, warmth in Garrick's voice. "Junior Brother Riggs, Junior Sister Newman, it's been a while. Good to have you two here."
"Greetings, Senior Brother Blackthorn," the pair replied, nodding respectfully to the leader before offering apologies to the group. "We're so sorry for keeping you guys waiting."
Garrick scanned the assembled squad, his gaze steady. "Now that everyone's here, shall we depart?" From his storage pouch, he produced a palm-sized sedan chair, its surface gleaming with dark lacquer. "My fellow brothers and sisters, the Hanz Clan Estate lies far from our Holy Sect, and our Mounts Artifacts vary in speed. If you have no objections, we'll travel together on my Blood Puppet Floats."
No one protested. With a flick of his wrist, Garrick tossed the sedan chair into the air. It expanded mid-flight, transforming into a massive matsuri festival float that hovered ominously. Its craftsmanship was both exquisite and grotesque—polished wooden panels coated in crystal lacquer depicted parades of ghosts and snarling monsters. Skull lanterns, strung on long cords, dangled from the corners, swaying with an eerie rhythm. The entrance was shrouded by curtains of tattooed human skin, rippling softly. Atop the tallest central flagpole stood a ferocious dragon statue, its fanged maw frozen in a snarl, pinned through its eyes by massive nails, writhing in eternal agony. Most chilling were the pavilion's four ceiling panels, each adorned with lifelike human heads—men, women, young, old—their eyes weeping endless streams of blood, silent in their torment.
Garrick lifted the human skin curtain and stepped inside, the others following in his wake. Lordi Payne, lingering at the rear, leaned toward Ruru Rosa, his voice a hushed plea. "Ahem, Senior Sister Ruru, my cultivation's too low—I'll only drag the squad down. Perhaps I should back out now, and you find a proper Eighth Layer senior cultivator to replace me?"
Ruru Rosa, poised to enter, froze and shot him a withering glare. "What is your problem? We're here, ready to depart, and now you want to quit at this stage? Where are we supposed to find a replacement at this hour?" Her voice dropped, sharp with warning. "Besides, if you don't go, who's delivering the Foundation Establishment Pills Junior Sister Kim promised? Back out now, and you'll incur Senior Brother Blackthorn's wrath, and not even I can shield you. Move your ass."
With no choice, Lordi sighed, defeated. "Understood."
The interior defied the float's modest exterior, revealing a lavish chamber spanning forty feet, furnished with crimson silks and ornate screens. Despite the luxurious accommodations, the decor carried an unsettling edge: the cushions' embroidery depicted screaming souls, and the lanterns flickered with ghostfire hues.