Chapter 136: Torn Between Pride and Vengeance
Atop the Twin Peak Hill, Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine.
The once sacred main hall loomed in desolate ruin. Under the flickering glow of shattered spirit lamps, devastation reigned. Cast-iron carved wooden doors and priceless Mpingo wood windows lay in splinters, their fragments strewn across the floor, while colored glaze tiles gaped like festering wounds in the walls and ceiling. The Hanz Clan’s ancestral tablets, revered for generations, lay scattered and trampled, their jade nameplates cracked under careless boots, a desecration that seemed to fuel the shrine’s oppressive aura.
Moments ago, a tide of countless resentful wraiths had swarmed to attack the Dominator Squad, their ghostly forms surging from every angle in the vast two-story hall, their screams a cacophony of vengeful malice. Yet the squad, led by Donovan Valdez, the well known powerful peak Ninth Layer Qi Refinement cultivator of the Abyss Pit Sect, had repelled the assault with ruthless power, obliterating most of the wraiths into ashes, their pitch-black ghost blood spilling like tar across the hall, coating the walls, ceiling, and ground in a viscous, chilling stain. Only a few potent wraiths, radiating near-peak Ninth Layer strength, still writhed and screamed.
Donovan, his chiseled frame radiating authority, grasped the neck of a muscular werewolf wraith, its ninth-layer ghost aura shivering in futile resistance, yet his calm expression betrayed no effort, as if appraising a mere alchemy ingredient. With a satisfied nod, he cast the Sealing Soul Technique, binding the ghost being into a glowing Dao Fulu that he tucked into his storage pouch.
The Mister First Dominator dusted the ghost aura from his hands, his white robes rippling with latent power, his Ninth Layer aura a beacon of dominance amidst the shrine’s chaos. Surveying the riddled hall, his gaze lingered on the innermost altar, where the pearl curtain hung pristine, its beads untouched by the battle’s fury, an eerie anomaly in the devastation.
"You sure Garrick’s scent ends behind this thing?" he asked a nearby cultivator, who nodded, their face pale with unease. Donovan halted a few paces from the curtain, his eyes narrowing as he studied its unnatural stillness, the crimson pulse in his sclera betraying his bloodthirsty resolve tempered by caution.
"Dominators, recover on the spot," he ordered, his voice a low growl that brooked no dissent. Despite his burning desire to avenge his squad brother, whose trail led to the curtain, Donovan was no reckless fool.
Sitting cross-legged, he replayed the battle in his mind, each martial technique and Dao Fulu his squad had unleashed flashing vividly: the Bone Eroding Fist Art, the Mountain Splitting Fist, the Crimson Dragon Fulu, the Cloud Shatter Palm. Their attacks had battered the hall, striking the bead curtain countless times, yet it hadn’t swayed, let alone shattered—a resilience that defied mortal craftsmanship and screamed of demonic arrays. Such eerie durability in this perilous shrine demanded caution, and Donovan resolved to let his squad restore their strength before probing the curtain’s secrets.
As the Dominator Squad settled to recover, consuming Spirit Restoration Elixirs that glowed with faint azure light, their meridians humming with renewed energy, Zoe Wright, a tattooed female cultivator, froze mid-motion, her eyes flickered as spotting something strange.