Chapter Forty-Nine: The Price

Lu Chenyuan’s words, “It’s only natural that I should devour you,” though spoken in a calm tone, sounded utterly shocking in Wei Zhuo’s ears.

Yet amidst his terror, a desperate will to survive surged with unprecedented intensity.

“What a fiend—coming straight out and saying he’ll eat me, without even asking for my opinion!”

With this thought, a fierce resolve flashed in Wei Zhuo’s eyes.

He reversed the bone pen in his hand, and without hesitation, plunged it brutally into his still intact right eye!

A sickening squelch, blood and ink splattering together.

His face contorted in agony, and with a guttural scream, he twisted the pen’s tip viciously inside his eye socket.

“With my soul as ink, with my blood as guide, let all the wonders of heaven and earth enter my painting!”

He wrenched the bone pen free, its tip now soaked in the most corrupt and vile essence of his blood and soul.

His wrist snapped with lightning speed, and he traced several intersecting lines of ink in midair toward where Lu Chenyuan stood.

This was the essence of his painting technique—“Prison of Ink.” Though the ink marks hung in empty air, their power penetrated to the soul, locking the joints and sealing movement.

Yet the move he was certain would succeed fell utterly flat.

The ink-black chains, upon forming, passed straight through Lu Chenyuan’s figure, as if his body were no more than a mirage reflected in water.

Wei Zhuo’s heart pounded with shock and confusion. As he reeled, a calm yet faintly bewildered voice drifted from behind him.

“Were you trying to trap me?”

The voice was like a ghost’s whisper in the night, making Wei Zhuo’s hair stand on end.

He spun around urgently, only to see Lu Chenyuan standing three feet behind him, his blue eyes fixed quietly upon him.

The boy who had been in the original spot was now dispersing like a drop of ink in clear water, melting away into nothingness.

“What a sinister art—changing forms and shadows!”

Though startled, Wei Zhuo did not lose his composure. As the Keeper of the Fire Realm’s lamp, his adaptability was swift.

He swept his hand back, and the bone pen, saturated with soul-ink, arced through the air, unleashing a jet-black sword of ink, cold as midnight and carrying a biting chill, which swept toward Lu Chenyuan!

This sword was forged from his own blood—utterly malignant, confident that even the hardest body would be corroded if touched by it.

---

Seeing the ink sword about to strike, Lu Chenyuan did not attempt to dodge.

His right arm, now transformed into a monstrous limb, twisted as dozens of crimson eyes turned and locked onto the incoming ink blade.

A bizarre sight unfolded.

The fierce sword of ink, mere inches from his body, suddenly fizzled; its spiritual energy and killing aura vanished in an instant, leaving only ordinary ink, which splashed down, staining the stone floor black.

“What… What kind of technique is this?” Wei Zhuo stared in disbelief, mind shaken. “Is it a distortion of reality, or a method of overcoming strength with skill?”

He gritted his teeth, his resolve hardening, and swung the bone pen again—another ink sword.

Lu Chenyuan repeated the feat; the myriad monstrous eyes blinked, and the ink sword was again stripped of its power.

But this was the moment Wei Zhuo had been waiting for!

As the ink lost its strength, a mad decisiveness flashed in his eyes. He reversed the bone pen and plunged it into his own chest, right at the heart!

A sickening crunch; pain surged like a tide, but it kept his mind razor-sharp, staving off the encroaching terror.

He stared fixedly at the powerless ink splashing toward Lu Chenyuan, his mind clinging to a single thought:

“This is the essence of my heart’s blood—my life wagered; it cannot fail! Strike true!”

Suddenly, the inert ink ignited with a ghostly green fire, fiercer than before, and at last struck Lu Chenyuan’s chest with full force!

“It worked!”

Wei Zhuo’s joy barely reached his lips when a wave of indescribable pain erupted from his own chest, where the pen had pierced him.

He looked down in horror to find a wound matching the one caused by the ink’s corrosive touch—a pitch-black, smoldering gash eating into his flesh.

“How… can this be…”

He raised his eyes, overwhelmed by disbelief.

Lu Chenyuan stood unmoved, gazing at him. From his blue eye, a tear of the same hue began to trickle down, blood-red and cold.

The chill and madness in his gaze deepened, yet a trace of pity curved his lips.

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“You’re very clever—perhaps you understand me better than I do myself,” Lu Chenyuan said. “But… if this truth could be so easily unraveled, I wouldn’t be called a monster.”

Shangguan Chuci, watching from the side, felt a cold jolt in her heart.

Even after Lu Chenyuan had stepped forward, her lamp of logic burned on, carefully observing the shifting battle.

By its illumination, she saw clearly: each time Lu Chenyuan unleashed his uncanny powers, the aura within him—akin to but far more sinister than the foul current—increased in intensity.

His humanity was steadily receding, and the non-human aura was deepening, threatening to consume him entirely.

“This is bad!” Shangguan Chuci thought.

“The longer this struggle drags on, the further he slips from being human! I can’t just stand by—I must help him and swiftly dispatch this demon!”

Though her arms and shoulders were blood-soaked and she bore many wounds, her bright eyes showed not the slightest retreat, but instead shone even clearer.

She watched the bizarre contest, thoughts racing, long since disregarding her own safety.

“Lu Chenyuan’s liberation of his monstrous powers is astonishing—truly beyond belief—but without a strong spiritual force to support it, he cannot decide the outcome in a single move.”

“The demon eyes on his arm seem able to pierce illusions, returning all magic to its source. Those paper ghosts, shaped by ink, are mere phantoms—one glance from him, and they revert to nothing. This skill is less about killing and more about discerning the true nature of things.”

“But Wei Zhuo himself is not entirely an illusion. Half paper, half human—intertwined, forming a single entity. Lu Chenyuan’s powers can nullify his techniques, but cannot destroy his half-human, half-ghost body in one stroke.”

Shangguan Chuci took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and integrate all the information, seeking a true way to break the impasse.

“He can restore order, but lacks the force of a thunderous blow. If I am to aid him, I must not follow his path, but find another way—fill in what he lacks!”

Her gaze sharpened, fixing on Wei Zhuo’s half-paper, half-human face. In that instant, a sudden inspiration flashed through her mind.

“That’s it—this is the way!”