A Cunning Pervert in the Cultivation World Chapter 378: Looming Omen.

"Hmm?"

A flicker of confusion crossed the man's face as he observed a Divine Blood Sect disciple hurrying towards him.

"Haa... Haa... Finally!"

The disciple, winded from his arduous journey, gasped for breath.

"Care for some wine?" the man inquired with a smile, extending a cup. The disciple, however, promptly declined.

"N-No, Lord Emissary, I appreciate the gesture, but I've only come to deliver an urgent dispatch."

The disciple maintained a wary distance, wisely choosing not to accept anything.

He was not so foolish as to risk being drugged, given the man's notorious reputation.

His arrival here was solely due to a lack of alternatives.

"I see~"

Unoffended, the man took a leisurely sip of his wine before reclining lazily in his wooden chair.

"So, what urgent matter brings a disciple of the 'Fool' to my doorstep in such a state?"

The disciple's expression tightened at the derisive nickname but he quickly regained his composure.

He then retrieved a small jade tablet from his robes.

"I am here to report that the life jade of the Eleventh Emissary, the Blood Moon, has shattered. We have reason to believe he is—"

"Dead," the man interjected smoothly, swirling the crimson liquid in his cup.

He exhibited no outward concern. "I was already aware. We can sense the life and death of our brethren."

The Emissaries of the Divine Blood Sect possessed a unique bond enabling them to ascertain the status of their fellows.

This connection was intended for retribution, to ensure vengeance for fallen comrades.

Yet, in practice, such avengement never materialized.

For the Emissaries, their peers were not allies, but rather competitors.

Each loss merely reduced the number of rivals vying for the coveted position.

The disciple was unsurprised by this callous response, having long been aware of the Emissaries' cold-hearted nature.

His sole purpose was to deliver the report, and so he proceeded.

"Furthermore, the Eleventh Emissary apparently caused a disturbance within the territory of the Righteous Sects. The Sword Saint has consequently issued a decree for his apprehension, deploying the Demon Slaying Squad. The Devil Yin Sect, situated nearest to the border of the Lawless Land, was the first to be affected. One of their Nascent Soul Elders suffered severe injuries during the confrontation, prompting an urgent plea for our intervention—"

"Let them be~" the man responded with a languid smile. "The Sword Saint's decree poses little threat to us. In fact, it will prove advantageous, accelerating the subjugation of neutral demonic sects under our banner."

He parted his lips, allowing one of his consorts to place a piece of fruit within, savoring the taste with evident satisfaction.

"I even have a few handsome prospects in mind whom I wish to claim as consorts from these very sects. So, the Sword Saint had best be diligent in his hunt this time, hmm?"

The disciple gave a slight nod before turning to the subsequent page of his report.

"Regarding the sects that have recently fallen under the Divine Blood Sect's influence, our intelligence indicates—"

"...Hold a moment."

The man abruptly interrupted, his posture shifting as he straightened in his chair.

He regarded the disciple with an unfamiliar, questioning gaze.

"Why are you burdening me with all this information?"

Though a high-ranking Emissary, no mandate obligated him to assume leadership responsibilities or dictate the sect's course of action.

At the query, the disciple's face contorted.

The cumulative exhaustion and hardship of the preceding days resurfaced, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Because I could find no one else..." he confessed with bitterness. "I have already scoured fifty-two of your estates, and it was only today that I located you."

"Eh?"

Noticing the man's bewildered expression, the disciple offered a weary, resigned smile.

"You may be unaware, Lord Emissary, but the Sect Leader has entered a period of seclusion. There is currently no one available to sanction major initiatives or decisions."

Upon hearing this, the man regarded him with yet another peculiar look.

"Then what of the Grand Elders? Surely they are not all in seclusion as well?"

The disciple released a tired exhalation.

"No, but the situation is perhaps more dire. Venerable Centipede adamantly refuses to emerge from his dwelling, and Venerable Realmwalker is... missing, as is his custom. As for the remaining Venerables, they are all engaged in distant affairs, making it impossible for me to reach them in a timely manner."

The man nodded slowly, a realization dawning.

With the Sect Leader in seclusion and the Grand Elders unavailable, the onus of managing the sect's affairs apparently now rested upon the shoulders of the Emissaries.

Yet, he was not the most senior among them, so why was this task falling to him?

As if perceiving his unspoken query, the disciple continued.

", has been unaccounted for for nearly thirty years. His whereabouts remain a mystery."

Meanwhile, is currently hunting down a remnant immortal. It would be disastrous to interrupt him... And is busy preparing for an expedition to hunt a Divine Beast. Besides... none of them seem interested in handling ordinary sect affairs.

The man rolled his eyes.

’Heh, I don’t care either~’

Still, he asked, "What about your master? ?"

The moment the question left his mouth, he realized how foolish it was.

...After all, no one had ever truly seen that person’s real appearance.

The disciple smiled bitterly.

"...I don’t even know what my master looks like."

Probably only the Sect Leader knew the true identity of the Fourth Emissary.

After considering everything, it really seemed the burden of making decisions had fallen onto him.

He could understand why the Second and Third Emissaries were unavailable, and he had long since given up trying to make sense of the mysterious Fourth... but the First Emissary was different.

That one....

He had never truly understood his thoughts or his actions.

The man cupped his forehead, clearly annoyed by the sudden influx of responsibility.

But then the disciple continued his report.

"And the , along with the , have already set out toward the Golden Light Monastery."

Hearing this, the man paused slightly, his brows knitting together.

Of the Five Major Sects of the righteous path, the Golden Light Monastery was the most secluded and, according to the Sect Master's words... also the most troublesome.

From what he knew, the monastery possessed a deep heritage, along with ties to a powerful faction in the Central Continent.

Facing powerhouses from the Central Continent this early was... too risky as their plans were still in the initial phase.

Yet even so, the deployment of those two Emissaries suggested this was not meant to be a direct confrontation, as he understood their abilities well enough.

’They must have gone to free the then~’

Once that existence was released, the strongest pillar of the righteous path would collapse from within.

He leaned back slightly, only half-listening as the report continued on—

"Oh, and apparently, a mysterious plague has appeared in one of the dynasties under the Azure Moon Sect’s territory."

This time, the disciple hesitated.

"...Judging from the intelligence we’ve gathered, it seems similar to one of Venerable Desireless’s creations."

Those words made him pause, as a flicker of interest surfaced in his eyes because Venerable Desireless...

was... dead.

And he just so happened to know... who had killed him.

A slow smile crept across his lips.

"Hahaha... this is getting interesting~"

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At the same time, inside the capital of the Fen Dynasty...

Thick, choking smoke hung low over the city like a funeral shroud.

The sky, once a clear blue, had now turned a sickly gray... as if even the heavens had turned their face away.

The air reeked of burnt flesh and decay... a heavy rot stench that clung to the back of the throat and refused to leave.

Along the wide stone streets, commoners could be seen moving like ghosts.

Many had tied ragged cloths around their lower faces, their eyes hollow and red from smoke and exhaustion as they currently carried corpses.... victims of the strange plague that had appeared only a week ago.

"Move! We need to burn these cursed bodies before it spreads further!" a burly guard roared, his voice hoarse from days of shouting.

His armor was smeared with ash, his face tired and sleepless.

He stood beside a large wooden cargo cart already overflowing with corpses, stacked carelessly atop one another.

Limbs pressed at unnatural angles beneath the cloth, some hanging loosely off the edge as the cart creaked under the weight.

Suddenly, one of the people carrying a corpse stumbled on the uneven road.

He went down hard, and the corpse slipped from their grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy, wet thud as the cloth unraveled on impact.

For a moment, everything seemed to pause because the body exposed beneath was... wrong.

The corpse’s skin had turned completely black, not bruised, not burned... but something deeper, like the color had been drained and replaced with rot.

His lips had shriveled back, revealing teeth stained dark as ink... as they parted in a silent, agonized scream.

Even the whites of his eyes were gone, replaced by a murky, lifeless black.

Thin red cracks spread across his entire body, branching like fractures in dry earth.

Some of them oozed slowly, thick and dark, as if whatever was inside him had begun to leak out.

A sharp breath rippled through the nearby workers.

"Damn it!" the guard snapped, immediately stepping forward. "Don’t just stand there! Pick it up!"

He grabbed one end of the corpse without hesitation, though his jaw tightened the moment his hand made contact through the cloth.

Even through the fabric, the body felt unnaturally stiff in certain areas and disconcertingly soft in others.

The others promptly scrambled to assist, their initial hesitation vanishing in a wave of urgency. Nobody wished to remain near it a moment longer than absolutely necessary. They re-wrapped it and heaved it back onto the cart, the pile shifting slightly to accommodate the additional weight. A hand slipped out from beneath another corpse, dangling limply over the edge, but no one bothered to reposition it. “Move!” the guard barked again, stepping back and gesturing for them to proceed. The wooden wheels began to creak, turning slowly and laboring under the burden of the overloaded cart. Each ponderous rotation resounded against the stone streets like a somber countdown. It joined a lengthy procession of similar carts ahead, all proceeding in the same mournful direction… toward the pyres situated beyond the capital’s walls. These were no ordinary pyres. They were vast trenches, hastily excavated in desperation, now blazing day and night as furious flames devoured everything thrust into them: oil, wood… and bodies. Massive columns of black smoke ascended incessantly, spreading across the heavens until they obscured the very sun. The entire capital emanated the foul odor of a gargantuan furnace… the nauseating stench of burning flesh and death lingered heavily in the air. The guard remained stationary, observing the cart vanish into the oppressive haze. His expression was unchanged. There was no disgust, no fury… merely a vacant, wearisome numbness. A week. It had been merely a week. And he had already witnessed an excessive number of fatalities. He briefly pulled down his cloth mask, spat onto the ground, then raised his gaze toward the darkened sky. Nothing but smoke greeted him. “…Is this some kind of ill omen…” he murmured beneath his breath, his voice nearly swallowed by the distant crackling of flames. No one offered a response. Only the grinding of wheels, the roar of the conflagration, and the faint, distant sound of weeping filled the air. Viewed from a distance, the once-magnificent capital appeared as though it were aflame… fueled by the corpses of its own people.

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Meanwhile, within the opulent Imperial Palace of the Fen Dynasty, nestled in the capital’s core… Guards and attendants scurried through the corridors, each with pieces of cloth tightly bound around their faces. The atmosphere within the palace, thanks to myriad protective formations and formidable experts stationed therein, was substantially more tranquil than the surrounding chaos. However… a lurking tension persisted beneath the surface, as their Emperor had succumbed to the very same cursed affliction. Though outwardly all seemed normal, a clandestine struggle was silently unfolding within the palace’s confines. Inside the expansive Grand Vermillion Hall, where the Emperor typically presided over court and deliberated matters of state with his officials, all ministers and high-ranking officers had already assembled. Solely the imposing Dragon Throne at the hall’s far end remained vacant. “What do you mean you still haven’t found a cure yet?!” Prime Minister Mu struck the table with his hand, bellowing in anger at the assembly of aged palace physicians, who wore expressions of utter helplessness. “Such incompetent charlatans! His Majesty’s life hangs in the balance, and you old fools can accomplish nothing? Why do we even retain your services?!”

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