Chapter 600 - Manipulation of Yet Another MILF
The mountain path to the Plum Blossom Sect wound through clouds that tasted of iron and old incense. Tianlong walked at the fore, his bare feet silent on the ancient stone, his loose robe open at the chest to show the carved, dense muscle beneath. Between his legs, his cock hung thick and heavy, swaying with each stride, still wet from the morning’s ruin of two village women. Behind him, Meihua and Lihua followed like ghosts transformed into flesh—Meihua with her crimson demon eyes and her small tits marked by his teeth, Lihua with her empty womb now refilled and her enormous, milk-laden tits dragging against the thin silk cloak that barely covered her shame.
Elder Fanxue waited at the inner gate.
She stood in the formal posture of greeting, her robes arranged with perfect correctness, her face a mask of sect propriety. But her eyes betrayed her. They flicked to Lihua’s swollen belly, to the dark, corrupting qi that clung to Meihua’s skin like perfume, to the smell of sex and blood and divine seed that wafted from all three of them in a cloud that made the junior disciples behind her blush and look away.
"Ancestor," Elder Fanxue said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "The quarters once held by the Sect Leader have been prepared for your... companions. The formations have been adjusted to accommodate their... altered states."
Tianlong stopped.
His gold-crimson eyes swept over her, reading the flush on her neck, the erect nipples beneath her inner robe, the way her thighs pressed together beneath her formal skirts. He said nothing of it. He merely nodded, once, and asked: "The competition?"
"The battle royale," Elder Fanxue replied, straightening. "Twenty-five outer disciples entered the platform at dawn. Twenty-two have been eliminated. Three remain. The elders have held the final judgment in abeyance, awaiting your presence to conclude the rite."
"Then I will attend," he said.
He walked past her, the wind of his passage lifting her hair and making her robes flutter around her knees. Meihua and Lihua were led away by trembling junior disciples, their naked bodies visible through the thin cloaks, their holes still leaking the evidence of their claiming. Tianlong did not look back. He moved toward the central arena, his cock stirring beneath his robe with the heavy, anticipatory blood-flow of a man who had not yet finished his day’s work.
The arena was a wide disc of white stone, carved with formations that glowed faintly beneath the noon sun. The spectator stands rose in tiers around it, packed with the families of disciples, minor merchants, local cultivators who had paid for the privilege of watching their children fight for inner sect placement. The air stank of sweat, cheap spiritual incense, and the metallic tang of spilled blood.
On the platform, three figures remained.
Two men stood on the eastern edge, their robes torn, their chests heaving. One was broad and heavy-shouldered, his arms thick with the muscle of a clan-trained fighter, his hands wrapped in golden qi that shimmered like the claws of a beast. The other was slighter, wiry, his movements twitchy and too fast, his eyes bright with a feverish light that spoke of secrets and stolen techniques.
Between them and the west, a woman stood alone.
She was blind. Her eyes were white, utterly white, the pupils vanished or rolled away into the back of her skull, leaving only the pale, milk-colored orbs that tracked sound and qi rather than light. Her body was lean, hard, marked with scars—old ritual cuts across her collarbones, a burn pattern on her left thigh, whip tracks on her back that were visible through the torn remains of her disciple robe. She moved with the low, fluid grace of a predator that had never needed sight to kill, her bare feet gripping the stone, her hands raised in a fighting posture that was all killing intent.
Tianlong stopped at the arena’s edge.
His gaze fixed on the blind woman, and something dark and hot uncoiled in his lower dantian. Kaira. The memory rose like a tide of blood and seed—the tribal leader from the northern wastes, blind from a ritual sacrifice, her body hard and scarred and magnificent, her cunt gripping his cock like a war trophy, her screams like battle hymns. His cock thickened beneath his robe, the broad head pressing against the silk as he remembered the sound of her muscular ass slapping against his pelvis, the way her scarred back arched when he drove into her womb.
This woman was not Kaira. But she carried the same marks. The same blindness. The same lethal, arousing strength that made him want to break her on his shaft.
"Continue the judgment," an elder called out, his voice thin in the vast space. "The final three—"
"Wait," Tianlong said.
The word cut through the noise like a blade through silk. Every head turned. The broad-shouldered man froze mid-breath. The wiry man’s eyes snapped toward the sound. The blind woman tilted her head, her white orbs tracking the vibration of Tianlong’s voice across the stone.
Tianlong stepped onto the platform.
He walked toward the two men, his bare feet leaving faint impressions on the white stone, his robe open and swinging, the outline of his thick cock visible to anyone who dared look. He stopped before the wiry man and inhaled once, slow and deep, tasting the spiritual air.
The scent was wrong.
Beneath the sweat and the cheap cultivation pills, beneath the righteous qi the boy wore like a mask, there was an acrid, corrupt note. Black. Hungry. The smell of demonic cultivation, of meridians fed by stolen life force, of a core that had been seeded with darkness.
"Demonic cultivator," Tianlong said.
The words fell into the arena with the weight of a death sentence.
The wiry man’s face went pale, then flushed with desperate denial. "What? No—this is a mistake, I am from the Liu clan, I have trained in righteous arts—"
"Capture him," Tianlong said.
Elder Fanxue moved instantly, her hands flashing through seals. Two more elders flanked her, their cultivation bases blazing as golden chains erupted from their palms. The wiry man tried to run, his body exploding in black, corrupt qi that twisted the air around him, but the sealing chains were faster. They wrapped his wrists, his ankles, his throat, dragging him to his knees with a crash that echoed across the stone. He screamed, thrashing, the black qi sizzling against the righteous formations like fat in a fire.
"NO~!!"
The scream came from the guest stands.
A woman stood.
She was not young. Her body was thick, lush, the well-proportioned fullness of a woman who had carried children and wielded power in equal measure. She wore a dress of deep azure silk, the fabric expensive and cut to cling to her heavy tits and wide, child-bearing hips with the elegant drape of aristocratic wealth. A family insignia—two crossed swords beneath a merchant’s scale—was embroidered in gold thread at her left breast, marking her as a matron of the Cai trading house. Her dark hair was pinned in a severe, composed arrangement that spoke of discipline, and her right hand rested on the hilt of a sword at her hip with the easy grip of a woman who knew how to use it.
But her face was shattering.
"Leave my son alone~!!" she cried, her voice cracking with a fury that was all maternal terror. "He is not a demonic cultivator~!! He is my son~!!"