The Steward Demonic Emperor Chapter 4, Heart Demon

A sudden fit of terror caused Zhuo Fan to clutch his chest tightly. Agonizing pain forced him to his knees, and he stammered, “What is happening? Have I suffered a Qi deviation?”

Panic surged within him. Should he fall into a deviation while attempting to build his Dantian, the consequences would be far worse than merely losing his cultivation progress. He would be rendered a cripple, forever unable to practice any form of Cultivation.

However, the pain dissipated as quickly as it had arrived.

Zhuo Fan pulled himself up, inhaling sharply. He found the situation entirely baffling.

Yet, the very next step he took triggered that same heartache once more!

“This is not a deviation, but rather... a heart demon!”

Realizing this, he began to search for the origin of the malaise. A cultivator who ignored such disturbances was merely one step away from deviating and becoming a mindless demon.

Zhuo Fan quickly uncovered the source, yet the revelation left him feeling thoroughly displeased.

Before he had been possessed by this body, Zhuo Fan was a loyal servant. The Luo clan’s Young Master’s sister—the young miss—had treated him with great kindness, leading him to swear his life to the protection of the clan. The resentment lurking in this body at the moment of death stemmed from the deep regret of failing to preserve the Luo clan.

It was upon this foundation that the Demonic Emperor’s soul merged with that lingering bitterness, breathing life into the vessel. Consequently, that resentment became a contract with the Demonic Emperor, manifesting as his current shackles.

Simply put, the Demonic Emperor had to survive to fulfill the duty of protecting the Luo clan, or else the heart demon would haunt him relentlessly.

“Damn it! This brat is truly the worst. He expects me to serve as a lackey?” Zhuo Fan grit his teeth, lamenting his fate with silent, internal curses.

How could the glorious, unmatched Demonic Emperor Zhuo Yifan, the Eighth Emperor of the Sacred Domain, be shackled to some insignificant, nameless clan?

And yet, he could not afford to overlook the heart demon.

With a sigh of resignation, he rubbed his temple, “If a punk like you had only thirsted for revenge, I could have handled it. It would have taken me but a few years to slaughter your enemies. But you... you have completely ruined my existence.”

“Who is there? Reveal yourself!”

A raspy, elderly voice boomed, and Zhuo Fan immediately sensed a wave of intense hostility focused on his position.

Shaking his head, he let out a long sigh and stepped out into the open.

Since they had already discovered his presence, he might as well deal with that treacherous Steward Sun once and for all.

Upon catching sight of him, Steward Sun sneered with disdain, “Humph, I wondered who might be lurking, only to find it is nothing but a little brat.”

Steward Sun quickly dismissed him, turning his gaze back to Luo Yunchang.

“Young miss, I suggest you hand over the Returning Dragon Palm martial art and save us all the trouble of unnecessary bloodshed. I am sure you would prefer to avoid such a messy outcome.”

“Nonsense, you elderly traitor! So long as we breathe, we will not allow you to harm a hair on the heads of the young miss or the young master.” The captain of the Luo clan’s guards stepped forward defiantly.

Luo Yunchang glared at him, her beautiful face hardened with resolve, “Steward Sun, the Returning Dragon Palm is a spirit ranked martial art inherited through generations of the Luo clan. We will never surrender it to you.”

Zhuo Fan let out a cynical snort in his mind.

He had wondered why mountain bandits would bother raiding the Luo clan. It was all for the sake of a mere spirit ranked martial art.

Across the Martial Emperor Continent, all techniques were categorized into five tiers: spirit, profound, earth, and heaven. Each was further divided into low, mid, and high levels. Back in the Sacred Domain, spirit ranked martial arts were as common as dirt, regarded as absolute trash by a Demonic Emperor such as him. He already possessed thousands.

It was a truly pathetic reason to trade one's life.

Zhuo Fan sighed with boredom and called out, “Young miss, it is only a spirit ranked martial art. Just toss it to him; I will replace it with a better one for you.”

The observers blinked in shock, staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Zhuo Fan, your tongue is dangerously loose. You, handing out a spirit ranked martial art? On what authority can a fifteen-year-old Luo clan slave make such claims? Ha-ha-ha...”

Steward Sun threw his head back in a mocking roar of laughter, and soon, the bandits joined in with their own jeers of ridicule.

Meanwhile, the guards looked at him with skepticism. Even those who had once considered him a peer gazed at him with strange expressions.

[This kid is usually honest. Why is he blathering such nonsense all of a sudden? Have the mountain bandits frightened him out of his wits?]

[Ah, that must be it!]

With that conclusion reached, the expressions of the guards shifted to ones of pity.

Zhuo Fan sensed their thoughts and merely shrugged. His repertoire consisted of far more than spirit ranked arts—it included the legendary Nine Serenities Secret Records of the Demonic Emperor—but they would never believe him.

“Zhuo Fan, enough of this drivel. Get back and protect the young master.”

Zhuo Fan turned toward the sharp reprimand to find Luo Yunchang masking her face with anger, though a flicker of sympathy remained in her eyes.