The small victory of tempering his skin was quickly overshadowed by a familiar, gnawing emptiness. The hunger in his dantian, silent after its small meal, had returned. It was a hollow ache that reminded him his newfound strength was fleeting, entirely dependent on his next meal. His power was a fire that required constant fuel, and the fuel was death.
He was contemplating this grim reality when his senses, still heightened from his breakthrough, screamed a warning.
Voices.
He scrambled to the mouth of the cave, pressing himself flat against the rock behind the curtain of vines. He peered through a small gap. Two figures were moving through the forest below, their steps light and purposeful. They wore the elegant green and white robes of a major sect, embroidered with the symbol of a jade sword.
Jade Sword Sect.
They were the cultivators from the day the Spirit Fox died. Wei An's blood ran cold.
"The trail went cold here three days ago, Senior Brother," the younger of the two said, his voice laced with frustration. "The beast's essence has completely dissipated. We'll never find it now."
The senior disciple, a stern-faced man with a sword strapped to his back, scanned the area with a sharp gaze. "The beast is secondary, Junior Brother. Its core would have been valuable, but what matters is that a powerful demonic beast will no longer threaten the mortal villages. Our duty is done."
"But the energy fluctuation we felt..." the junior persisted. "It was chaotic. Vile. Not like the beast's."
The senior brother stopped, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the very hillock where Wei An's cave was hidden. "I felt it too. A brief, but foul presence. Some scavenger, perhaps. A demonic cultivator drawn to the scent of death. If you find any such filth, kill them on sight. They are a plague upon the world."
Wei An held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. Filth. Plague. That's what he was to them. They weren't just searching for a beast; they were cleansing the area. He was the filth they were looking to purge.
He backed away from the entrance, his mind racing. The cave was a trap. If they decided to investigate this hill, he would be cornered. He had to leave. Now.
He looked at his arm, at the skin that could now turn a sharp stone. It gave him a sliver of confidence, but he was no fool. He was a fledgling Soul Weaver who had just learned to flap his wings. They were disciples of a major sect, likely in the Foundation Establishment realm or higher. The gap was as wide as the sky.
He gathered his only possession—the Corpse Qi Manual—and tucked it securely into his clothes. There was a small, secondary exit at the back of the cave, a narrow fissure barely wide enough for him to squeeze through. It would be his only chance.
He was no longer just a hunter. He was now the hunted.