I Only Wanted to Stay Unseen, Until...

At the thought of maybe , Pay Ling turned to Chen Mave, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with curiosity. "Senior Sister Chen, how much would a jar of this mead cost in spirit stones?"

Chen Mave smiled gently, her voice soothing as if she sensed his underlying concern. "Don't worry, Junior Brother Pay. My brother thinks our cultivation levels are too low to finish both jars now—it'd be a waste of their potency. It's better to save one for later. When the time comes, you'll definitely get your share."

Pay Ling nodded outwardly, but inwardly, he shook his head. He had a sneaking suspicion that Chen Haunt had taken on this letter-delivery task primarily for the spirit wine. Now that the prize was in hand, the idea of sharing it seemed unlikely. Still, Chen Haunt was a sixth-layer Qi Refinement cultivator—far beyond Pay Ling's current strength. He wasn't about to make a scene over a jar of wine, no matter how valuable.

"No worries, I was just curious," Pay Ling replied smoothly, seizing the opportunity to pour himself a few more cups. 

Taking another sip, he savored the warmth spreading through his body, the faint hum of energy settling into his core. Spirit wine that could boost cultivation? He wasn't going to let a single drop go to waste.

After finishing his share, Pay Ling grew quiet, focusing on the lavish spread of food before him. The banquet continued late into the night, but his mind was already elsewhere, calculating and planning.

When the feast finally concluded, the steward led Pay Ling, Chen Haunt, and the others to the guest courtyard to rest. The residence area occupied the southeast corner of the mansion's sprawling garden, a serene oasis of artificial hills, winding ponds, and elegant pavilions. The "guest rooms" were actually beautifully crafted courtyard scattered throughout the landscape, each one a testament to the jarl's wealth and taste.

The steward began assigning rooms based on cultivation rank, a clear hierarchy that no one questioned—until it came to Pay Ling. Just as the steward was about to direct him to a modest courtyard, Hwong Hyen suddenly spoke up. "Junior Brother Pay is new to the sect and still inexperienced in many ways. He should stay closer to me and Senior Brother Chen—it'll be easier for us to guide him."

The steward looked momentarily puzzled but didn't argue. "If that's the case, then Master Pay Ling, please take this courtyard between their residences."

Pay Ling found Hwong Hyen's suggestion odd. Throughout the trip, Hwong Hyen had been lukewarm at best—distant but not outright hostile. Chen Mave, on the other hand, had been all warmth and chatter, sticking to Pay Ling like glue. If Chen Haunt had suggested that Pay Ling stay nearby, it would have made sense—but why Hwong Hyen?

Then it hit him: perhaps Chen Mave's constant attention toward Pay Ling had rubbed Hwong Hyen the wrong way, and he didn't want Pay Ling staying too close to her. The thought almost made Pay Ling chuckle. Jealousy? Really? But he quickly dismissed it. He had bigger concerns than interpersonal drama.

Obsessed with earning spirit stones and clearing his debt, Pay Ling craved peace and quiet anyway. He decided to let the matter slide without comment.

Exhausted from days of travel on the Corpse Cloud with little real rest, Pay Ling was more than ready to collapse. When a maid approached, offering "company" for the night, he politely but firmly declined. Alone at last, he stripped off his outer robes and collapsed onto the soft bed, his mind still buzzing with plans and calculations even as sleep claimed him.

Barely asleep when a bone-chilling aura clawed its way into Pay Ling's room, yanking him from the edge of sleep. His eyes snapped open, and his hand shot to the Blade of Life Hater resting beside the bed before he could even process what was happening. The weapon's cold hilt felt reassuring in his grip, but the air around him was anything but comforting.

He scanned the room, his eyes darting through the dim shadows cast by the faint moonlight filtering through the window. The outlines of furniture loomed like silent sentinels, but nothing seemed out of place. Yet, the icy chill in the air grew heavier, pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

The silence was unnatural. The courtyard, nestled amidst lush greenery, should have been alive with the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves. Instead, it was dead quiet—so quiet that Pay Ling could hear the rapid thud of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

A creeping sensation crawled up his spine, jolting him fully awake. The last remnants of sleepiness vanished, replaced by a sharp, primal alertness. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

Without wasting another second, Pay Ling leaped from the bed, crashing toward the nearest window. He didn't bother with the door. Whatever was out there, he didn't want to meet it head-on. As he tumbled through the window, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Senior Brother Chen! Senior Brother Hwong!"

His voice echoed through the courtyard, but the sound was hollow, almost mournful, as if swallowed by the oppressive silence. Landing in the yard, Pay Ling froze, his breath catching in his throat. The vibrant garden he had seen earlier was gone. In its place was a desolate, crumbling ruin.

The ground was thick with dust, untouched for years. The once-lush flowerbeds were now overrun with gnarled black vines, their twisted forms writhing faintly as if alive, urging him to stay away. The shimmering pond had turned into a murky black abyss, its surface disturbed by swift, unseen creatures slicing through the water with jagged fins. 

Pay Ling's grip tightened on the Blade of Life Hater as he slowly turned, his eyes scanning the eerie landscape. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a deafening drum in the suffocating silence.

Then, he heard it—faint footsteps, unhurried and deliberate. He spun around, searching for the source, but the courtyard was empty. Just as he began to doubt his senses, his gaze dropped to the ground. His blood ran cold.

A trail of tiny footprints, no larger than an infant's, snaked toward him through the thick dust. Each print was small, almost adorable in its innocence, but the sight filled Pay Ling with a dread that clawed at his very soul.

He tightened his grip on the blade, his knuckles white. As the footprints drew closer, he swung the Blade of Life Hater in a wide arc, slashing at the empty air.

Arh! Ah! Ah! Arh!

Piercing, pitiful screams tore through the courtyard, shrill and grating. It sounded like a child in agony, but there was nothing childlike about the malice that seemed to radiate from the sound. Pay Ling's heart raced. The scream should have woken the entire mansion—Chen Haunt, Hwong Hyen, even Chen Mave in her distant courtyard. But the surrounding buildings remained silent, as if abandoned for centuries.

Pay Ling's mind raced, his unease growing with every passing second. His hair stood on end, and a cold sweat dripped down his back. He hadn't felt the blade hit anything, but whatever he had struck, it had clearly felt the blow.

Then in a sudden, the footsteps returned—this time, they came from all directions. The sound grew louder, more frantic, until the entire courtyard seemed to pulse with the rhythm of pattering feet. Pay Ling's eyes widened in horror as the dusty ground erupted with countless child-sized footprints. Even infant crawl marks appeared, snaking toward him like a tide.

"Ghosts? Invisible monsters?" Pay Ling's heart hammered in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the suffocating silence. He didn't have time to think—only to act. Unleashing the Blood Fiend Sword Art, he felt his blood surge, a faint red glow rising around him in the desolate courtyard. The Blade of Life Hater carved wide arcs through the air, a gauzy blood mist cloaking the blade and faintly illuminating the scene. Again, he didn't feel hit nothing—but now he saw.

Where the blood mist swept, dozens of translucent figures materialized—toddlers, none older than five. But there was no trace of childish innocence in their faces. Instead, they grinned with unnatural malice, their blank white eyes locking onto Pay Ling with a venomous hatred that made his skin crawl.

It was as if Pay Ling had personally wronged them, as if he had butchered them himself.

Even as the blood mist sliced through their ghostly forms, melting them like snow under a scorching sun, they offered no resistance. But their malice only deepened, their smiles widening into grotesque, twisted grins.

"Senior Brother Chen! Senior Brother Hwong!" Pay Ling hacked wildly around him, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Senior Brother Cheung! Senior Sister Sil! Senior Sister Chen! Something's wrong with this mansion!"

But the residency remained dead silent. In his courtyard alone, the screams of the child-things rang out nonstop, their eerie wails filling the air. They kept coming—fearless, relentless, their numbers seemingly endless.

What the hell was going on?!

Repeated cries for help went unanswered. Pay Ling abandoned hope of rescue, his mind racing as he focused on breaking free alone. But the question gnawed at him: why was the guest courtyard—specifically arranged for Abyss Pit Sect disciples—suddenly rife with danger?

Chen Haunt and the others aside, this was his first meeting with Jarl Drainwood. There were no grudges between them, no reason for the jarl to target him.

Did Lee Sagwon's family bribe the jarl? Did they want him dead?

No—Pay Ling dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it formed. Jarl Drainwood was a Foundation Stage cultivator. If he wanted Pay Ling dead, there was no need for such elaborate tricks. A single strike would have sufficed.

But if Jarl Drainwood wasn't the issue, who dared to mess around in a Foundation Stage cultivator's mansion? Who had the power—or the audacity—to unleash such horrors within these walls?