The middle-aged player was taken aback for a moment, then a surge of humiliated fury rushed straight to his head.
They were all veteran players who’d survived to high-level instances—who among them didn’t have a few trump cards up their sleeve?
What gave some madman who’d popped out of nowhere the right to threaten him with a sword at his nose?!
“Don’t be so arrogant!” The middle-aged man laughed in extreme anger. He suddenly stepped forward—advancing instead of retreating.
He raised his right hand, fingers hooked into a claw, and reached without hesitation straight for the greatsword blade pressed at his throat.
The instant his skin touched the black blade, a grating screech of metal rang out.
The middle-aged man’s entire right arm—from fingertips to shoulder—instantly shed its human flesh tone, transforming into a layer of hard metal gleaming with a grayish-green luster.
Clang!
The metalized palm clamped dead onto the greatsword’s edge, actually pushing the heavy blade aside by some margin.
“Not listening to reason, huh.”
Yu Huaiting raised an eyebrow. For Fu Songcheng’s sake, his not taking this man’s life from the start had already been very well-behaved. Since the man didn’t know when to quit, he couldn’t blame Yu Huaiting for killing.
His wrist flipped violently. The greatsword, with the force of ten thousand catties, broke free of the man’s grip, and he backhanded a heavy, powerful horizontal sweep straight at the player’s waist and abdomen.
Bang!
A deafening muffled impact.
The village chief player crossed his arms before him in defense.
The greatsword slammed viciously into his metalized forearms. The massive impact sent him sliding uncontrollably backward several meters until his back crashed heavily into the wall, barely stopping.
Wall plaster crumbled down in a shower.
“Madman…”
The middle-aged man gritted his teeth, feeling his arms go numb from the shock.
No time to catch his breath—Yu Huaiting’s figure had already closed in like a phantom. He was the relentless type; he fought anyone this way, never giving the opponent any leeway.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The greatsword crashed down again and again like a violent storm, every strike carrying the momentum of crushing decay.
The village chief player could only awkwardly raise both arms to keep blocking, the heavy impacts echoing through the room, shaking the eardrums.
Fu Songcheng, possessing the cloth doll, felt that Yu Huaiting was truly good at stirring up trouble. Before he could stop him, he’d already started fighting the player who’d come to negotiate—all because the man had asked Yu Huaiting to perform the sacrifice early, and Yu Huaiting felt he was being taught how to do things.
Fu Songcheng: 6.
Having a teammate like this—who was also a believer, also a Bitter Couple, also a boyfriend—was truly a blessing.
Yu Huaiting’s attacks indeed couldn’t cut through the man’s metal skin, but the terrifying kinetic energy carried by the greatsword could penetrate the metal defense and directly concuss the man’s internal organs.
At this rate, within three minutes, even if the “village chief” looked unharmed on the outside, his internal organs would be concussed into injury.
While the two fought, Fu Songcheng keenly sensed someone spying on them.
A faint, hidden energy fluctuation, yet carrying an obvious sense of prying.
In the gap between Yu Huaiting’s frenzied greatsword swings, Fu Songcheng, through a gap in the window, locked onto a branch of a withered tree outside the courtyard wall.
There sat a flying insect that looked no different from an ordinary bug, yet flickered with an extremely faint red light.
“A surveillance item.” Fu Songcheng instantly made the judgment.
It should be the player who’d drawn the “Spy” identity.
At this moment, the mechanical insect stared motionless at the room—its master was clearly deeply captivated by the fight between Yu Huaiting and the village chief player.
Fu Songcheng smiled faintly.
While Yu Huaiting was wholly absorbed in the fun of “smashing sheet metal,” Fu Songcheng detached his soul body from the doll.
Transforming into a formless, traceless yin wind, he followed the signal emitted by the mechanical insect, silently drifting outward.
High-level players usually had high vigilance—but they were often also the group most prone to fatal mistakes.
For instance, right now, this spy player, hundreds of meters away, hiding in his own room, was staring transfixed at the holographic projection of the battle.
He was watching too intently.
Watching Yu Huaiting’s monstrous physical qualities, watching the village chief beaten without the ability to fight back, his brain raced madly, calculating the two’s combat power, scheming how to exploit the conflict between them.
He didn’t notice at all that a cold, bone-piercing yin wind had already slipped through his door crack, silently into his room.
Fu Songcheng’s soul body coalesced into form in this cramped room.
He looked around, a mocking curve tugging at the corner of his lips.
This room was absurdly clean.
Not a single formation defending against yin and evil things.
Fu Songcheng entering here felt as familiar as going home.
People who pry into secrets are always negligent about guarding their own.
Compared to the “Sacrifice” Lu Xiao, who’d set up a soul-scattering formation, this “Spy” player had spent all his vigilance on others—leaving his own rear wide open.
Fu Songcheng drifted silently behind the spy player.
He watched the other’s shoulders tremble slightly with excitement, watched the calculation and greed flickering in his eyes.
As the “Evil God,” Fu Songcheng had actually been feeling out the boundaries of his abilities in this instance all along.
Beyond being unable to physically attack and being able to pass through terrain to investigate, what other privileges did he have as a “god”?
The moment he drew close to this spy, a wondrous sense arose in his mind.
He could “hear.”
Not hear sounds—but sense the fluctuations radiating from the other’s soul. The player before him was full of scheming, excitement, and an extreme thirst for survival and profit.
Fu Songcheng slowly raised his transparent hand, hovering it vaguely above the spy player’s head.
He tried to let his cold, gloomy, “Evil God” aura seep like spider silk, bit by bit, into the mental fluctuations the other emitted.
At first, he was only testing.
He discovered that when his aura touched the “greed” emotion in the other’s mind, that emotion was like dry wood meeting a blazing fire, swelling uncontrollably.
“So that’s how it is…”
Fu Songcheng understood.
He could amplify a certain emotion in the other’s heart, guide the other’s line of thought, catalyze a tiny notion into an obsession the other believed in without doubt.
Like a drop of ink falling into clear water, silently changing the color of the entire glass.
Fu Songcheng slowly leaned close to the spy player’s ear.
His cold breath lingered at the spy’s nape.
The spy suddenly shivered and reached back to touch his neck, thinking there was a draft—yet his gaze stayed fixed dead on the holographic screen.
Fu Songcheng’s thin lips parted slightly, but the player before him could hear no sound.
“The priest is too strong… the village chief can’t beat him…”
Fu Songcheng mimicked the tone of the other’s inner deduction, whispering deep in the spy’s mind.
The spy’s brows knitted slightly, and he subconsciously agreed inwardly: Yeah, this priest really seems able to fight.
“They’re wearing each other down here—that’s a good opportunity for you…”
The cold, greasy whisper continued seeping in, like a venomous snake’s forked tongue—gentle yet lethal.
The snipe and the clam fight, and the fisherman profits!
“Is there a clue you want on them?”
Fu Songcheng’s voice began a subtle shift, carrying doubt and guidance, his mental power domineeringly wrapping around the spy’s thoughts.
A moment of confusion appeared in the spy’s eyes.
He asked himself inwardly: Right, what’s the use of me watching them fight here?
Seeing the initial guidance take effect, Fu Songcheng continued, using an alluring voice as if risen from the abyss of hell, bewitching this player:
“Aren’t you curious about the ‘Sacrifice’s’ secret?”
“The Sacrifice player is alone, behaving strangely. Her dwelling isn’t far from yours.”
“Only the player who most needs to hide would carry the most core clear-clues on their person.”
“There seem to be some strange things hidden in her home.”
“Go investigate her. While the strongest are tied up fighting, go see the Sacrifice’s secrets.”
Every sentence, every character, accompanied by the Evil God’s cold, greasy mental contamination, was deeply branded into the spy’s subconscious.
Fu Songcheng didn’t forcibly command him.
He merely placed the option “investigate the Sacrifice Lu Xiao” before the spy, making it what the spy most wanted to do right now—and believed was the most correct thing to do.
The Evil God’s evil was suppressed by the warding talisman; the Evil God’s divinity bewitched hearts and toyed with all beings.
Fu Songcheng’s soul body slowly drew back, hovering in midair, quietly admiring his handiwork.
The spy player was utterly unaware he’d just undergone a mental baptism from the Evil God.
He completely took the thoughts that had just surfaced in his mind as his own flash of insight.
Smack!
The spy muttered excitedly under his breath: “What’s the use of watching these two idiots fight here? The nearby ‘Sacrifice’ player must be hiding more information.”
“Secrets that can’t see the light—those have the most flavor.”
The spy recalled his mechanical insect, directing it toward Lu Xiao’s broken hut.
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