The fox remained standing for a long moment, studying the empty vessel that had once been the cultivator.
No soul.
No lingering trace.
Someone had removed it the instant she mentioned searching.
Clean.
Deliberate.
That told her something important.
She exhaled slowly.
"…At least we have an idea."
Her gaze swept across the ruined village once more.
Death energy.
Corpse puppets.
Ghost banners.
Yin cultivation.
It all fit a pattern.
This was not random bandit activity.
Not isolated experimentation.
These were demonic methods.
Her turquoise eyes narrowed slightly.
"…We're in demonic territory."
Not necessarily deep within it.
But close.
The regime of the demon lands.
Outskirts.
Border zones where orthodox and demonic influences clashed and bled into one another.
This village had been harvested.
Used.
The corpse puppet had once been a demonic cultivator.
That explained the death aspects.
The refinement.
The control seals.
She crossed her arms.
"If he was demonic at Foundation Establishment," she continued softly, "then he belonged to a sect."
Demonic sects valued power.
Hierarchy.
Puppet networks.
A seventh-layer puppet meant something significant.
Fourth-layer refinement for the corpse itself.
Seventh-layer combat capability implied the controller's own strength.
The fox's expression cooled.
"…At minimum, peak Foundation Establishment."
Her eyes flicked toward the empty vessel again.
"More likely Golden Core."
Seventh-layer puppets were not cheap tools.
They required resources.
Control arrays.
Soul-binding techniques.
And oversight.
Someone capable of maintaining such a puppet would not be weak.
She turned slightly, looking toward the distant treeline where the settlement ended.
"If the sect is nearby…"
Her voice tightened.
"…the one controlling him may come."
Retribution.
Investigation.
Silencing.
Demonic organizations did not tolerate loose ends.
They would want to know who destroyed their asset.
The fox glanced at the lizard.
"We don't want to be here when that happens."
Her tone left no room for argument.
One seventh-layer puppet had already been dangerous.
Its controller would be worse.
And if that controller arrived—
A night of minor conflict would become a battle of survival.
The massive earth constructs dissolved back into the ground, leaving only fractured stone and disturbed soil behind.
The body of the puppet slumped completely.
No threat.
No movement.
The fox stepped closer and crouched beside it.
She examined the control seals one final time.
Complex.
Layered.
Designed for long-term operation.
Not improvisation.
Someone had invested in this.
Her expression darkened slightly.
"…Peak Foundation or Golden Core."
Either possibility was bad.
Peak Foundation Establishment meant dangerous but manageable combat.
Golden Core meant death.
She straightened and looked toward the lizard.
The lizard's wings spread briefly, catching the faint night air before it landed gently beside the corpse. Its golden eyes remained fixed on the still body.
So it was also a puppet like the other one, it thought.
Not mindless.
This one had moved with technique.
Had fought.
Had been controlled.
Different from the first.
Able to act.
To use power.
To think.
But still a vessel.
No soul remained.
Only structure.
A tool.
The fox watched from a short distance, her turquoise eyes narrowing slightly as she observed the lizard's stillness.
"You're not thinking of eating it, are you?" she asked.
Her tone was dry, but faintly wary.
"That's a corpse puppet."
The lizard tilted its head, ears twitching as it mapped the faint spiritual echoes lingering around the body.
I was not going to do anything. It is just a puppet. I would gain nothing even if I did, it thought.
The fox stepped closer, studying its expression carefully.
"If you want to," she said, "you could test it. Just a little. See how it feels. If you like it, you can stop. If you don't, you can knock yourself out afterward."
The lizard's ears twitched again.
It considered the suggestion.
No.
No interest.
No desire to taste death or whatever remnants of corpse energy remained.
"I don't want it," it thought simply.
Direct.
Without hesitation.
The fox raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Alright," she muttered.
Her gaze returned to the corpse.
The lizard remained where it was, wings folded neatly against its body, golden eyes unmoving.
There was no need to experiment.
No need to prove anything.
The puppet was dead.
That was enough.
The fox smiled faintly as she crouched beside the corpse once more.
"I will be taking it," she said calmly.
Her turquoise eyes gleamed with calculation as she examined the remains.
Refinement.
Corpse materials.
Control seals.
With proper processing, the body could be turned into a puppet of her own.
Not mindless.
Not weak.
Foundation Establishment.
Two of them.
Bound and refined.
Puppets that listened.
Puppets that followed commands.
If she possessed such assets—
Late-stage cultivators would no longer be unreachable threats.
They could be killed.
Controlled.
Neutralized.
Her fingers traced one of the embedded talismans along the corpse's spine. Then she opened her storage pouch.
The spatial space within swallowed items silently.
Both bodies were placed inside.
No waste.
Resources were resources.
Even death could be shaped into something useful.
She rose slowly and turned toward the ghost banner.
The dark fabric still hung where it had been planted, stitched with distorted faces that seemed to watch from within the material itself.
Yin energy pulsed faintly.
Alive.
Waiting.
Her smile returned.
Not warm.
Not friendly.
Interested.
"Now this," she murmured, "is useful."
If the corpse puppets could be refined—
If the banner could command spirits—
She would have tools.
Puppets that obeyed.
Assets that fought.
Late-stage cultivators would no longer be untouchable.
The fox lifted the ghost banner carefully, studying the dark fabric in her hands.
Her turquoise eyes gleamed faintly.
"If the corpse puppet was useful," she said, turning the banner slowly, "then this is even more useful."
She traced the stitched faces woven along the material, sensing the faint spiritual residue embedded within it.
It was not merely a banner.
It was a vessel.
A storage medium for souls.
A tool capable of observing the dead, capturing lingering fragments, and holding them.
If it could absorb souls—
Then in battle it could release them.
Use them.
Channel their power.
Multiple Foundation Establishment souls bound within a single artifact would grant overwhelming strength.
Not permanent cultivation.
Not a direct breakthrough.
But resources.
Battle assets.
Puppets of spirit instead of flesh.
She smiled slightly.
"If it can absorb the souls of those it kills," she continued, "and store them… then it can deploy them in combat."
Her gaze sharpened.
"That makes it stronger than the corpse puppets."
A corpse puppet was limited.
A shell.
No true growth.
But this—
This artifact could scale.
Souls of Foundation cultivators.
Souls of demonic practitioners.
Each one adding to its capacity.
Each one becoming a weapon.
"With enough souls," she murmured, "it could challenge late-stage cultivators."
The implications were clear.
Such an artifact would shift the balance of power.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the banner's pole.
"And I would be stronger."
No hesitation.
No moral conflict.
Power was survival.
Tools were means.
If the artifact could be refined—
It would become hers.
She opened her storage pouch and prepared to place the banner inside.
But paused.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"A tool like this should have limits."
Artifacts rarely operated without restrictions.
Soul capacity.
Energy thresholds.
Structural decay.
Backlash.
She lifted the banner closer, examining the weave carefully with her divine sense.
If there was a soul imprint—an ownership seal—it would need to be removed.
Otherwise the artifact might resist her control.
Might call to its original master.
Might reveal her location.
Her divine sense washed over the fabric slowly, layer by layer.
Thread.
Yin binding lines.
Internal formations.
Soul channels.
She searched for a mark.
A signature.
A controlling imprint.
But—
She froze.
No imprint.
No residual ownership.
Nothing binding it to a controller.
The artifact was free.
Unclaimed.
Her expression shifted slightly.
"…Interesting."
Artifacts of this caliber were rarely abandoned.
Someone had created it.
Someone had used it.
Yet no soul mark remained.
Either it had been deliberately cleansed—
Or its creator was dead.
The fox exhaled slowly.
"This is better."
No external master.
No hidden commands.
No remote trigger.
The banner could be studied.
Refined.
Controlled.
And made entirely her own.