Renegade Immortal Chapters 40-42: The Xuan Dao Sect's Arrival and a Poisonous Task

The air above the Heng Yue Sect, usually filled with the serene sounds of cultivation and distant waterfalls, was torn apart by a deep, resonant hum. A shadow, vast and sinuous, fell across the mountain peaks, darkening the courtyards where disciples trained. Looking up, the inner disciples saw a sight that made their blood run cold and their pride wither: a thousand-foot centipede, its segmented body gleaming like polished black iron, cutting through the clouds. Each segment bore rings of sword-like thorns, and at its head, two massive pincers clicked together with a sound that promised violence. This was the grand entrance of the Xuan Dao Sect, a display of power meant to intimidate before a single word was exchanged.

Among the recoiling disciples, whispers of anger and humiliation spread. "The Xuan Dao Sect is always like this," one elder muttered, his voice a low growl of resentment. "Trying to bully my Heng Yue Sect because we don't have a spirit beast. If there is a chance, we must kill that thing." But such chances were not easily seized. The centipede, a spirit beast of formidable power, circled above, its very presence a challenge.

Sect Head Huang Long, standing firm before the main hall, watched the spectacle with a face of carved stone. His expression betrayed no fear, only a cold calculation. With a mere thought, a purple sword materialized before him. It shot into the sky, its form blurring and expanding until it transformed into a majestic purple dragon that coiled protectively over the Heng Yue Sect. The dragon roared, a sound of pure spiritual authority, and the advancing centipede halted its descent, sensing a peer.

From the back of the great beast, a loud, mocking laugh echoed down. "Huang Long! It is rumored that this purple sword contains the soul of a dragon. It seems that rumor is not fake." The speaker, Elder Ouyang of the Xuan Dao Sect, made his presence known. "Friend, I'm here now. If we win again, the Heng Yue Sect must keep their promise: return the 137 treasures you stole from us and give us 200 flying swords as compensation."

Huang Long's demeanor remained unshaken. The purple dragon slowly dissipated, returning to its sword form which flew back to his hand. "Friend Ouyang," he said, his voice indifferent yet carrying immense weight, "if the Xuan Dao Sect wins this time, the Heng Yue Sect will naturally do as promised. But if you lose, then you must hold back on your technique to control spirit beasts." The terms were set, the unspoken history of conflicts and stolen artifacts hanging between them.

With the formal challenge issued, the thousand-foot centipede resumed its descent, finally landing in the main courtyard with a tremor that shook the ground. Disciples scrambled to make room, their disorganized retreat drawing frowns from the Heng Yue elders. From the centipede's back, dozens of figures disembarked. Three elders led the group, but it was the young disciples who followed that captured everyone's attention. They were all dressed in purple, a deliberate mockery of the Heng Yue Sect's own elite, and every single one possessed striking, almost unnatural, beauty. The males were handsome and poised; the females, enchanting.

At the forefront were two who stood out even among such a group. The young man was extraordinarily handsome, radiating a clean, masculine aura. His long sleeves and hair fluttered in an unseen breeze, and the flying sword on his back completed an image of effortless grace. Several Heng Yue female disciples found themselves staring, their hearts fluttering without reason. Beside him, a young woman in pristine purple robes had hair like a black waterfall, bright red lips, and eyes that seemed to hold deep, moving waters. Her mere presence tugged at the soul, a passive allure that was both captivating and unsettling.

Wang Lin, standing among the crowd of red-clad inner disciples, felt his own heart skip a beat when his gaze met hers. The reaction startled him. He was not one to be easily swayed by appearances. He focused, pushing past the initial charm, and a sense of caution solidified within him. This was not normal. Around him, many of his fellow disciples wore dazed, memorized expressions, lost in the passive allure of the Xuan Dao visitors.

One Heng Yue elder, unable to bear the sight, shouted, "When did the Xuan Dao Sect start practicing charm arts? It is simply too despicable!" His voice, infused with spiritual energy, acted like a splash of cold water, jolting many disciples from their stupor. They blinked, looking around in confusion and embarrassment.

One of the Xuan Dao elders, a man named Qin Gu Lei, laughed heartily. "This must be Elder Dao Xu. You should take a closer look. My two disciples here didn't practice any charm arts. They were born with pure water spirit roots." He swept a condescending gaze over the Heng Yue disciples. "I can see that among all of your disciples, none possess such purity. All are a mixture of all five elements. No wonder you can't tell the difference."

The barb struck home. The faces of the Heng Yue elders darkened. Pure single-element spirit roots were legendary talents, accelerating cultivation exponentially. For the Xuan Dao Sect to have not one, but two, was a devastating blow to morale and a clear sign of their rising strength. Sect Head Huang Long's expression remained placid, but a deep worry had taken root in his heart. Has the Heng Yue Sect fallen so far in 500 years? He thought of the disciples in secluded training—the core, purple-clad elites. Perhaps it was time.

"Friends of the Xuan Dao Sect," Huang Long said, smoothly changing the subject, "first, rest at our sect. The competition will begin in three days."

Elder Ouyang nodded, his smile diplomatic. "Very good. Our sects have had these exchanges for many years. While there are disputes, there is no need to hurt our relationship."

The formal hostility momentarily melted away as elders from both sides found old acquaintances. An ancient-looking Heng Yue elder, Song Dao You, shuffled forward. "Good friend Ouyang. It's been 20 years. Do you still remember me?"

Ouyang's laugh was genuine this time. "Old friend Song! This time, you must let me have more of your homemade wine. You were too stingy last time, only one jar!"

As the elders conversed, sharing news of the wider cultivation world of the Zhao Kingdom—scandals of seduction between major sects, disciples defecting to the pleasure-seeking He Huan Sect, the upcoming birthday of a Core Formation expert—the younger disciples were left to their own devices. The atmosphere shifted from tense to cautiously social.

Wang Lin listened to the elders' tales, piecing together a blurred but fascinating map of power, rivalry, and drama beyond Heng Yue's mountains. His attention, however, was divided. He observed the Xuan Dao disciples. A mysterious fog seemed to cling to them, obscuring their cultivation levels—a technique far more advanced than the simple disguise pill he knew. He also noticed a subtle but telling detail: among the proud Xuan Dao juniors, their eyes frequently flickered with respect toward a middle-aged man who lingered at the very back of their group, saying nothing. The man was unremarkable in appearance, but the deference shown to him was unmistakable. Wang Lin filed the observation away, lowering his head to avoid attention.

His attempt at anonymity was partially successful. The Xuan Dao disciples were busy evaluating their counterparts, their focus on those at the 6th layer of Qi Condensation and above. Wang Zhuo, with his handsome features and peak 5th-layer cultivation, naturally drew their scrutiny. Wang Lin, openly at the 3rd layer, was dismissed by most as irrelevant. Only one person seemed to hold a flicker of interest: the water-rooted young woman, Liu Mei. She had noted that Wang Lin was the first among the Heng Yue disciples to shake off her innate, spirit-root-induced allure. Her gaze found him several times, but each inspection confirmed the same thing: 3rd layer, ordinary features, nothing special. Yet, the initial resistance nagged at her.

As the elders finally moved into the main hall for private discussions, Elder Xu left final instructions. "Wang Zhuo, you're in charge of taking care of the Xuan Dao Sect's disciples. If there are any issues, I won't forgive you!"

Wang Zhuo bowed, the picture of reliable seniority. "Teacher does not have to worry. I will properly take care of our guests."

The moment the elders disappeared behind the grand doors, the courtyard relaxed into a loud hum of conversation. Heng Yue female disciples flocked around the handsome Xuan Dao male, Liu, their voices bright with admiration. Other disciples mingled, discussing techniques and experiences, while many simply stared in awe at the dormant thousand-foot centipede, a living monument to the Xuan Dao Sect's resources.

Wanting no part of the crowd, Wang Lin retreated to the side of the courtyard and sat on a set of sun-warmed stone steps. He looked up at the sky, now clear of the monstrous centipede, and let the comfortable silence wash over him.

He was not alone in his desire for quiet. The female disciple named Zhou, who had always been kind to him, noticed his retreat and walked over with a soft smile. "Junior brother Wang, I want to congratulate you on reaching the 3rd layer. There aren't many inner disciples as hardworking as you." She sat beside him, unconcerned about the dust on her robes.

Wang Lin chuckled softly. "It's not like what you said at all. I see that most are painstakingly cultivating."

Zhou looked at the drifting clouds, her smile fading into a sigh. "Cultivation is a very boring thing. To reach the 3rd layer in four years takes a lot of perseverance. I admire you for it."

"Senior Sister Zhou, didn't you also reach the 3rd layer?" Wang Lin asked.

Her expression turned gloomy. "I reached it three years ago. Now, all the disciples who were weaker than me back then have surpassed me. Maybe it's because I can't cut off my mortal ties."

Wang Lin was quiet for a moment, thinking of his own parents in the distant village. "The road is ruthless. If senior sister wants to advance, you must understand this phrase."

She looked at him, her beautiful eyes reflecting a deep melancholy. "I can see you have reached the peak of the 3rd layer. You will soon surpass me, too."

Wang Lin met her gaze and offered a wry smile. "I won't be able to break through any time soon. These mortal ties... aren't something I can cut easily either."

Before Zhou could ask what he meant, Wang Lin felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He turned his head and met the cold, venomous gaze of Wang Zhuo from across the courtyard. Wang Zhuo had been watching their quiet conversation, and a cruel idea had evidently taken root.

At that moment, Wang Zhuo's voice rang out, loud and artificially pleasant, directed at the Xuan Dao disciples. "Brothers and sisters of the Xuan Dao Sect, you mentioned this centipede likes to eat live animals. Let us, the Heng Yue Sect, take care of it for you during your stay." He paused, his eyes sliding back to Wang Lin. "I have a junior brother, you see. Cultivation is just a waste of time for him. Making him catch live animals to feed this centipede is a much more fitting job for him."

The Xuan Dao disciple named Liu frowned slightly, a hint of decency in his hesitation. "Brother Wang Zhuo, this is a bit improper. The centipede's nature is wild. If a stranger were to feed it, that person might be in danger."

Wang Zhuo's smile was gentle, but his eyes were hard. "Don't worry, brother Liu. How could a cultivator back down because of danger? You are our guests. These chores should be left to us." His tone brooked no argument, and several of his loyal companions quickly voiced their agreement.

The Xuan Dao disciples exchanged looks. The disciple named Liu glanced toward the silent middle-aged man at the back of their group. The man gave an almost imperceptible cough. Liu's face twitched, and he nodded in acquiescence. "If that's the case, then we will trouble the Heng Yue Sect."

Satisfaction gleamed in Wang Zhuo's eyes. He turned and raised his voice, pointing directly at Wang Lin. "Junior brother Wang Lin! The job of feeding the centipede will be left to you. You need to be careful."

The declaration acted like a spotlight. All conversation died as dozens of eyes turned toward the steps. The Xuan Dao Sect's disciples understood immediately—this was internal bullying, a public humiliation. Their expressions shifted to a mix of pity and disdain. In their world, the weak were naturally trampled.

Among the Heng Yue disciples, sneers and laughter broke out. "I was wondering who brother Wang Zhuo was talking about. As expected, it's junior brother Wang Lin!" "This job is really fitting for him. With his lack of talent, it's a waste of time for him to cultivate." "There really is no one more fitting for these chores. Do your job properly and don't lose the Heng Yue Sect any face!"

The female disciple Zhou shot Wang Zhuo a look of pure disgust. She leaned closer to Wang Lin, her voice a whisper of apology. "Junior brother, if I hadn't come over, he wouldn't have targeted you. I'm sorry…"

Wang Lin shook his head slowly. This targeting was not new; it was a constant thread since his arrival, born from jealousy, perceived favoritism, and his own deliberately low profile. Power was everything, and at the 3rd layer, he was at the bottom. He simply stood up, his face an impassive mask, and pretended not to hear the taunts.

Soon, Wang Zhuo assigned others to guide the guests to their quarters. As the Xuan Dao disciples began to disperse, the disciple named Liu walked past Wang Lin. He paused, offering a piece of genuine, if condescending, advice. "You must be brother Wang Lin. Our centipede has a wild nature. When you feed it, you mustn't get too close, or you will be injured."

Wang Lin gave a slight nod but said nothing. Wang Zhuo shot him one final cold smile before leaving with the crowd. Zhou, with a worried sigh, also departed. The grand courtyard emptied, leaving Wang Lin alone with the slumbering spirit beast and the echoes of mockery.

Silence returned, deeper now. Wang Lin approached the thousand-foot centipede, stopping a careful ten feet away. Up close, its majesty was terrifying. The body segments were like armored plates, the thorns between them sharp enough to pierce stone. Faint black spots dotted its exoskeleton. Its head, the size of a small cart, bore two enormous, serrated pincers. Most striking were the two long, red whiskers that sprouted from its head, moving lazily in the air like independent, sentient snakes.

As if sensing his scrutiny, one of the centipede's many eyes slid open. It was a cold, intelligent eye, utterly alien. It fixed on Wang Lin, and a wave of chilling spiritual pressure washed over him, seeping into his bones. Wang Lin shuddered, but the spirit energy within his dantian, far denser and stranger than any 3rd layer disciple should possess, automatically circulated, dispersing the invasive cold in an instant.

The centipede's eye seemed to widen a fraction. The cold gaze shifted, becoming thoughtful, almost surprised. It studied Wang Lin for a long, penetrating moment before closing its eye again, dismissing him. Wang Lin's own interest was piqued. It's intelligent. It knows. The spirit beast had sensed something unusual in his resistance.

Without further delay, Wang Lin headed into the surrounding mountains. Using his powerful spiritual sense, which far exceeded his apparent cultivation level, he easily located and captured several hares and a few large mountain rodents. On his return journey, his path crossed with a group being given a tour. Sun Hao, a senior disciple who had ridiculed him for years, was leading a few Xuan Dao disciples, including a delicate-looking young woman.

The woman, seeing Wang Lin with his struggling catch, giggled. "Junior brother, all those small animals won't be enough to feed the thousand-foot centipede. You should go catch a large worm. Those are its favorite."

Sun Hao seized the opportunity to ingratiate himself. "Junior sister Ouyang, this dumb kid is like a mute. No need to talk to him. He failed all the entrance tests, tried to commit suicide to force the elders to take him, and then used some lowly method to become an inner disciple. With his talent, he'll be laughed at for life."

Wang Lin walked past them, his expression unchanged, carrying the weight of their words as if they were nothing more than leaves brushing against him. He arrived back at the centipede's side and unceremoniously tossed the small animals onto the ground near its head.

The creatures, paralyzed by primal terror, could only tremble where they lay. The centipede did not move its body. A single eye opened. It ignored the live prey and simply exhaled. A jet of black gas, thin and deadly, shot from between its pincers and enveloped the small animals.

A horrific sizzling sound filled the air. Where the gas touched fur and flesh, it dissolved instantly. In the blink of an eye, the hares and rodents were gone, replaced by a bubbling, acrid pool of blood and dissolved matter. The centipede then inhaled deeply, sucking the gruesome slurry into its maw.

Wang Lin had already taken several swift steps back, his eyes not wide with fear, but sharp with analytical curiosity. The poison was incredibly potent, acting with vicious speed. A childhood memory surfaced: a book he'd read in his village spoke of centipedes, stating that their toxicity was directly related to their size. The larger the centipede, the more potent the poison.

He stared at the thousand-foot beast, now closing its eye once more, its meal concluded. This was no mere chore assigned to humiliate him. This spirit beast, and the deadly weapon it carried within, represented something far more significant. As the last of the black gas dissipated in the afternoon sun, Wang Lin stood in the quiet courtyard, the weight of the elders' conflict, the disdain of his peers, and the silent intelligence of the poisonous centipede settling around him. The exchange competition was three days away, but for Wang Lin, the real lessons were already beginning, written not in technique manuals, but in the cold gaze of a beast and the cruel politics of power.