Chapter 3

From the scene on my sister’s side, I can tell that the cliff she fell from is called Death’s End Cliff, deep in the Misty Frostwood. For some unknown reason, the Demon Lord is badly wounded and his spiritual root has shattered.

The Demon Lord is at his weakest. What a perfect opportunity!

I’m itching to go finish him off.

But on second thought, he is still the Demon Lord. Even if all his cultivation is gone, someone who once stood at his level is bound to have plenty of ways to save his own life.

I’m only a little Golden Core cultivator. I should strengthen myself first instead of charging in like an idiot to serve myself up on a platter.

So over the next few days, I beat up every demonic beast in the vicinity. With all my experience from strong-female-lead missions, fighting above my realm is as routine as eating and drinking.

My middle-stage Golden Core cultivation gradually stabilizes as well.

One day, the sky abruptly darkens. Lightning tears across it and thunder rumbles nearby.

Crap. A downpour is coming!

There happens to be a cave close by, so I dash inside through the first drops of rain. The rain instantly thickens and drums against the ground. Beyond the cave mouth, enormous transparent curtains descend through the gloom, blurring the world outside.

Before I can breathe a sigh of relief, a dense stench of blood wafts to my nose from deeper inside the cave.

Me: “…”

Then I meet a pair of seductive, sinister eyes.

The instant our gazes lock, a dazzling light flares in those eyes. He looks like a predator that has spotted its prey, suppressing its excitement as it crouches silently in the undergrowth, ready to deliver a killing blow.

He murmurs in admiration, “A supreme ice spiritual root…”

Then his tall, slender figure emerges from the darkness.

Red robes. Bewitching features. Peerless splendor.

Who could he be but this plane’s Demon Lord?

My expression changes, and I retreat at once.

He watches me with a beaming smile, his gaze full of mockery and contempt. He is clearly certain that I can’t escape his grasp.

Then appreciation appears on his face, although a note of regret runs beneath his words. “Your bones are only fourteen years old, yet you’ve already reached the middle Golden Core stage?”

He chuckles. “A middle-stage Golden Core cultivator at fourteen would be rarer than a phoenix feather even across the entire cultivation world. What a pity.”

I say nothing. What do you even call this?

I don’t go looking for trouble, so trouble comes looking for me?

The cave reeks of blood. Although the Demon Lord betrays no weakness in his expression, his face is deathly pale.

His worst injury is his shattered spiritual root, which is the foundation of his cultivation and strength.

In the cultivation world, the weak are prey and the strong reign supreme.

He can either seek a rare treasure capable of repairing his spiritual root, or rip out another cultivator’s root and transplant it into himself.

And right in front of him is a living, breathing supreme ice spiritual root.

Faced with that choice, what would a ruthless Demon Lord who regards human lives as ants do?

The answer is obvious!

Didn’t I just see what happened to my sister?

He walks slowly toward me, each step carrying crushing pressure.

I sigh inwardly. It seems only one of us is leaving this cave alive.