Chapter 27 Crimson Blood Poison Scorpion

• "Zi zi zi—" The fire crackled in the ancient forest's clearing, spitting embers that vanished into the mossy dark. Tan Xuan rotated a spit of tender meat over the flames, its juices sizzling into the fire—while three paces away, Feng Lingzi levitated a slab of beast meat the size of a wine barrel. Mana flared beneath it, turning the flesh a succulent gold, but the old spirit's translucent form gave off a petulant huff. "Still can't believe you nearly fed me to that three-headed abomination," Tan Xuan muttered, jabbing the meat with his sword. Blood-red juices oozed onto the coals, sending up a plume of smoke laced with iron. Feng Lingzi sniffed the air, ectoplasmic nostrils flaring. "Bah, that wyvern had the manners of a starving ghoul." With a flick of his wrist, he sucked the meat's spiritual essence into his form, leaving behind a charred husk. "Now *that* had flavor—unlike your overcooked scrap." Tan Xuan's eye twitched. The old spirit's habit of wasting perfectly good meat grated on him, but he bit back a retort. Instead, he wiped his blade on a mossy rock, eyeing the three severed heads that littered the clearing. Their glazed eyes still held the fury of the chase, their tongues lolling from mouths lined with dagger-like teeth. "North," Feng Lingzi said suddenly, his form rippling like water. "True Spirit First Stratum—smells like scorpion." Tan Xuan didn't need to be told twice. Sheathing his sword, he vanished into the underbrush, moving with the silent grace of a hunting cat. The forest floor was spongy with decaying leaves, dotted with luminescent fungi that cast an otherworldly glow. As he closed in, a sickly-sweet stench hit his nostrils—the telltale scent of Crimson Blood Poison Scorpion. There, in a sun-dappled glade, the beast tore into a deer carcass. Its obsidian carapace rippled with greenish veins, two barbed tails twitching behind it like living whips. Each step left a trail of smoking footprints, as if the creature's very touch corrupted the earth. "Two tails... perfect," Tan Xuan murmured, recalling the bestiary entries. *Ventral scales unhardened; venom sacs at tail tips glow when agitated.* He drew his longsword, the blade singing as it cleared the sheath. Channeling mana, he executed the first form of *Dragon-Taming Cloud-Somersault Art*, his shadow blurring into nine overlapping phantoms. The air around him condensed into a vortex, lifting fallen leaves into a swirling tempest. "Now!" The scorpion's pincers snapped shut on empty air as Tan Xuan's blade slashed across its carapace. The impact sent a shower of sparks flying, but the beast only roared, its twin tails arcing toward him like cobras. Tan Xuan twisted mid-air, using the momentum to drive his sword into a crevice between its leg joints. "Got you!" The scorpion thrashed, sending up a shower of dirt. Tan Xuan somersaulted clear, already summoning the Water Thunder Pearl. The artifact hummed in his palm, its surface rippling with azure light. As the scorpion charged, he aimed for the one vulnerable spot— "Boom!" Lightning exploded from the pearl, tearing through the beast's abdomen. Black ichor sprayed the trees, hissing as it hit the ground. The scorpion staggered, its tails spasming, then collapsed with a final, gurgling roar. Tan Xuan didn't pause. He sliced off the venom sacs and pried free the glowing core from its head, shoving them into his storage pouch. Already, the forest was alive with the scuttling of countless legs—hundreds of pairs of glowing eyes emerged from the underbrush, each one fixed on him. "Time to go," he muttered, leaping into the trees. Below, the scorpion horde converged on the corpse, their pincers clicking in fury. Perched on a branch a mile away, Tan Xuan watched the scene with bated breath. His heart hammered in his chest, but there was no fear—only a cold, focused clarity. Feng Lingzi materialized beside him, shaking his head. "One down, nine million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to go," the old spirit said, grinning. "Better pick up the pace, boy. At this rate, you'll be an old man before you're a 'true hero'." Tan Xuan snorted, but didn't反驳 (retort). He closed his eyes, recalling the feel of the sword in his hand, the thunder in his veins. The path ahead was long, but for the first time, he didn't doubt he'd walk it to the end.