"Pardon the interruption," A-Niu said calmly.
"Would you gentlemen kindly release that woman?"
He looked at the men indulging in their vile acts, their leering faces and crude gestures turning his stomach. He paused a moment, letting the tension linger. Politeness before violence—this was not naïveté. Nor was he soft-hearted. A necromancer felt nothing extraordinary toward killing; it was as natural as breathing, merely a tool toward cultivation. Yet five years of quiet, peaceful life had subtly changed him. Unless absolutely necessary, he no longer wished to act. The blood-soaked life of Falami and the endless carnage he had endured had left him weary.
The men merely sneered, as if looking at a fool. After probing him with their cultivation techniques and discovering that this boy had no discernible power, their laughter grew unrestrained, echoing cruelly through the clearing. The sun's rays pierced through the dense foliage above, scattering light on their smug faces, only emphasizing their arrogance. Dust swirled in the air, and the faint scent of damp earth and sweat filled the clearing.
The woman on the ground shivered violently. Her eyes were wide with terror, vacant, lost. Bruises marked her tender skin in dark, angry patterns. The sight twisted A-Niu's gut, and he turned his face away, unable to bear it any longer. He could feel her fear, almost as if it was a tangible thing pressing against him, squeezing his chest.
Pa!
Without warning, one man lunged, striking with brutal force. A-Niu flew through the air, crashing into a massive rock. Pain shot through his body, and he crumpled to the ground, appearing unconscious. The men erupted in laughter again. The sound rang hollow in the forest, swallowed by the thick trees, yet it carried the venom of arrogance and cruelty.
"A mere mortal wants to play hero?!" the man mocked. "Look at yourself! A mantis trying to stop a chariot—don't even know your own limits!"
He spun around arrogantly, satisfied with what he believed was the boy's inevitable death. Mortals were ants to cultivators—insignificant, disposable, unworthy of concern.
But the laughter from the others faded. Something had caught their attention behind him. One of the men, Lin Fan, sneered, pointing at him. "Xiao Yan, you're a Qi Refining Seventh Layer cultivator, and you can't even kill a mortal? Truly shameful."
Xiao Yan paused, momentarily confused. He had used only half his strength; surely, this boy should be dead. Yet here he lay, slowly rising from the ground. Anger rose in Xiao Yan's chest, but social hierarchy and Lin Fan's status forced him to endure silently.
A-Niu groaned and spat a torrent of blood onto the ground. Bones ached, ribs screamed, and pain tore through every joint. Yet in the chaos, his mind was uncommonly clear. He had lived through worse, after all.
"So this world's cultivators are truly not to be underestimated," he thought. "The village chief was not exaggerating. Without my necromancer constitution and techniques, I would already be nothing more than a servant of the Dark God."
His trembling hand wiped the blood from his lips, and he stared at Xiao Yan with cold calculation. Memories of his life, both past and in the previous world, flooded back—the betrayal, the endless battles, the lessons learned through pain. He had been a Twelfth-Ring Necromancer, one of the pinnacle existences in his world. Yet here, even a Seventh Layer cultivator had nearly destroyed him. Humility, he realized bitterly, had finally been thrust upon him.
Before he could react—
Pa! Pu! Pa!
Xiao Yan moved with blinding speed, fists striking with a rhythm that left no space for thought. Each blow landed, sending vibrations through A-Niu's battered frame. The final backfist smashed into his face, sending him tumbling through the air, colliding against a tree. Pain flared, bones creaked, ribs fractured. He collapsed to the ground, yet his thoughts remained startlingly lucid. A murmured chant began on his lips.
The clearing fell silent except for the ragged breaths of A-Niu and the distant rustling of leaves. Birds, long silent, began to chirp nervously, sensing the rising tension. The sunlight flickered through the branches, casting uneven shadows across the battlefield. The men, once confident, now felt a twinge of unease, though they dared not show it.
Xiao Yan sneered, his expression twisted with malice.
"This mortal dares to humiliate me? Today, you will die unworthy of a grave."
Lin Fan's mocking laughter from behind only intensified the rage burning in Xiao Yan. He advanced, eager to tear A-Niu limb from limb. But he was unaware of the subtle shift in the air—the invisible threads of necromantic power slowly weaving, gathering unseen energy around A-Niu's body.
Then his eyes widened in disbelief.
On either side of A-Niu's body were black holes. Small, dark, and expanding—unnatural. Doubt flickered across Xiao Yan's mind. He rubbed his eyes, sure he had imagined them. Yet they were real, widening, moving… alive. Unease slowed his advance.
Then, the black holes stopped. Silence. An ominous calm.
From the darkness emerged skeletal creatures, stripped of flesh, only bones. Their forms resembled low-tier wind wolves—but larger, more menacing. Xiao Yan froze. His heartbeat thundered in his chest. He had never seen such things in all his years of cultivation. A cold, unnatural wind swept the clearing, carrying the scent of old blood and decay.
Thud!
The ground shook as Xiao Yan fell backward. Blood erupted from his throat like a fountain, spraying the dirt and leaves around him. The skeletal wind wolves vanished into the shadows, leaving only chaos in their wake.
The remaining men froze in terror. One by one, they fell. The strongest among them—a Qi Refining Ninth Layer cultivator—was gone in a single strike. Those weaker than him fled, their courage shattered, hearts pounding like drums. The forest seemed to swallow their screams, leaving a silence heavier than death.
Crack!
The sound of breaking wood rang out in the distance. Lin Fan stopped in his tracks, knees hitting the ground. Terror paralyzed him. He pounded the earth, murmuring frantic pleas. "Senior! Please spare me! I was wrong!"
From the bushes, other cultivators appeared—members of the same sect as Lin Fan. Salvation at last.
After the skeletal wind wolves had slaughtered most of the attackers, A-Niu forced himself upright. His face was deathly pale, his body still trembling from the injuries, but he could not allow the attackers to know he survived. He moved like a shadow, silently approaching the fallen Xiao Yan.
Raising his right hand, he reached toward the corpse.
The body stirred.
As if responding to his call, Xiao Yan's corpse rose from the ground.
A-Niu pressed his fingers into Xiao Yan's skull, gripping tightly.
Szzzzz—
Blood and flesh twisted violently, torn free, and flowed into A-Niu's palm like rivers into a hungry ocean. Every sinew, every ounce of flesh, was drawn toward him.
Moments later, only a skeleton remained.
And yet, A-Niu's once pallid face gradually regained color. His body absorbed the essence of the fallen, life returning to him in waves.
The Silent One was no longer silent.