Turns Out, I’m In A Villain Clan! Chapter 398 War of Attrition, War of Schemes

Just as Bai Ren had anticipated, the confrontation did not transform into a one-sided slaughter where he easily crushed the Half-Qilin, despite the fervent hopes of many Righteous Cultivators.

Instead, the battle slowed into a grueling stalemate.

It became a savage, exhausting war of attrition where neither combatant dared to make a reckless move.

The Half-Qilin launched another assault.

Its physical prowess remained terrifying—every stride shattered the earth and every blow carried the weight to level mountain ranges—yet it no longer charged with the same reckless abandon as before.

Its gaze remained fixed on the blade in Bai Ren's hand.

Every strike it threw was tempered with caution, desperately trying to avoid any contact with Bai Ren's sword.

It refused to overextend, terrified of leaving an opening for another direct hit from that Saint-Grade blade.

After all, its previous wounds had failed to mend.

Though it couldn't comprehend the reason, it sensed the weapon possessed a mystical power that nullified its natural healing.

Even so, the Half-Qilin still managed to suppress the three of them through sheer force.

The weight of the pressure was suffocating.

Simply parrying the indirect shockwaves caused agony to flare through Bai Ren's arms and Meridians, even with a Saint-Grade Sword and several Heaven-Grade Artifacts protecting him.

Blood trickled from his mouth repeatedly as he struggled to maintain his footing.

Behind him, Zhao Wujin and Yu Xuande were in equally dire straits.

Their auras were flickering erratically, their conditions deteriorating with every passing second.

Zhao Wujin's Qi was nearly depleted from the constant use of Heaven-Grade techniques; his face was as pale as a corpse as he desperately poured his remaining strength into suppression techniques to momentarily hinder the Half-Qilin.

Yu Xuande was no longer able to take the initiative as he had earlier, most of his Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts having been reduced to scrap.

A single direct impact would likely result in his death. Nevertheless, he did not cease his support for Bai Ren.

They were clearly at their breaking point.

However—the Half-Qilin was not dominating them as easily as its rank suggested it should.

Whenever it tried to close in for the kill, Bai Ren was there to meet it.

The Saint-Grade Sword hummed, delivering a relentless barrage of precise slashes.

Not every strike found its mark perfectly.

But whenever the edge bit into the creature's hide—

The injury remained.

Minor wounds began to stack up.

Shallow cuts stubbornly refused to knit back together.

Even when the Half-Qilin desperately circulated its Qi to stimulate regeneration, the marks left by the sword fought back, causing the energy flow within its body to stumble.

Its breath became labored.

Its aura, once an endless and suffocating tide, started to flicker.

The weakening was gradual—

But it was undeniable.

The Half-Qilin realized the danger as well.

With every failed attempt to heal, its expression grew more ominous.

Each wound sapped its vitality, bit by agonizing bit.

Meanwhile, Bai Ren was nearing his absolute limit.

His reactions were slowing down.

His fingers gripped the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Every swing of the sword sent agonizing vibrations through his limbs, yet he refused to yield.

He couldn't afford to.

As long as he brandished that sword—

The Half-Qilin was prevented from acting without restraint.

That was the balance of the fight.

A precarious, fragile balance.

The battlefield had devolved into a contest of endurance.

Bai Ren’s party was broken and bloodied, barely clinging to consciousness.

But the Half-Qilin was no longer an invincible force.

Its power was steadily bleeding away.

And for the first time—

Time was working against it.

***

While Bai Ren and his companions dealt with the Half-Qilin, another equally critical and high-stakes battle was unfolding elsewhere.

CLANG! CLANG!

"It appears your Bai Clan has come into possession of a rather troublesome tool," Mó Zún remarked.

What he had envisioned as a swift triumph was proving to be significantly more complicated.

First, there was the inexplicable surge in the Bai Clan’s overall power.

Now, they even held a Saint-Grade Sword—one that could inflict permanent harm on the Half-Qilin.

The situation was no longer as one-sided as he had first thought.

Bai Chu let out a laugh.

It was a sound of calm, steady, and quiet assurance.

"You might say that the heavens have smiled upon the Bai Clan," Bai Chu replied, casting a glance at Mó Zún.

He continued,

"However, there is something I find far more intriguing," he said, turning his full attention toward Mó Zún.

"How did you manage to strike a deal with the Half-Qilin?"

Silence followed.

The distant echoes of the ongoing battle filled the gap.

"Think about it," Bai Chu said, his voice level but piercing,

"even if you prevail here—if you actually succeed in wiping us out—what happens next?"

He made a subtle motion toward the Half-Qilin.

"Demonic Beasts do not establish civilizations. They do not negotiate borders."

His eyes locked with Mó Zún's.

"In the end, you Demonic Cultivators would simply be the next ones slaughtered!"

The atmosphere grew heavy with tension.

Mó Zún remained tight-lipped.

Bai Chu let out a soft breath, looking almost entertained.

"I truly fail to see the logic," he said.

"Why provide aid to Demonic Beasts at all?"

Mó Zún was silent for a beat, then a smirk played on his lips.

"Bai Chu," he said deliberately, his voice calm yet saturated with absolute certainty,

"You are completely in the dark."

Bai Chu’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Mó Zún went on, his gaze icy and unwavering.

"You are going to die here," he stated flatly.

"And once you are gone—I shall resurrect the Desolate Heaven Empire."

The statement carried immense weight.

It wasn't spoken in anger.

Nor was it born of desperation.

It was pure conviction.

Mó Zún then looked toward the distant fray, where the Half-Qilin let out a roar as Bai Ren’s Saint-Grade Sword carved another permanent mark into its body.

"Hmph!"

He snorted in derision.

"As for those creatures," Mó Zún said dismissively, "you needn't concern yourself."

Mó Zún’s eyes flashed with a faint light.

"Once they have finished exterminating your lot," he said, "I will deal with them myself."

Bai Chu stared at him, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes.

(Deal with them... alone?)

His attention instinctively drifted back to the Half-Qilin.

A peak Demonic Beast.

A monster whose hide was more durable than even Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts.

A creature with a regenerative ability so absurd it could bounce back from the brink of death in heartbeats.

Even now, only the Saint-Grade Sword was capable of leaving a lasting mark. Without such a weapon—slaying the Half-Qilin was a near-impossible feat.

Bai Chu’s mind raced through the possibilities.

Even if it were himself or Mó Zún facing the Half-Qilin on that field, the probability of winning was pathetic.

Less than twenty percent.

And that was being optimistic.

Without a Saint-Grade Weapon to suppress its healing—

The odds were practically zero.

So where did Mó Zún find such confidence?

Bai Chu studied him intently.

Mó Zún stood there relaxed, his hands joined behind his back, his demeanor completely unruffled by the carnage surrounding them.

There was no hint of a bluff in his gaze.

(He is concealing a trump card.)

Bai Chu thought grimly.

Bai Chu gave a slight shake of his head.

"Well," he said, his voice suddenly turning firm and confident, "it matters not."

Mó Zún’s intentions for the Half-Qilin were irrelevant.

Because Bai Chu had no intention of allowing Mó Zún to walk away from this encounter alive.

"You won't be the victor regardless," Bai Chu proclaimed.

Mó Zún suddenly erupted into laughter.

It was a loud sound, dripping with contempt.

"Won't win?"

He echoed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Bai Chu... your ego truly hasn't faded one bit."

SLASH! SLASH!

Corrosive black demonic light sliced through the air as Mó Zún resumed his assault, his saber moving with lethal accuracy.

Each swing was packed with a killing intent so thick it could freeze the soul, forcing Bai Chu to react instantly.

Bai Chu’s features set into a grim mask.

His sword swept out, meeting the attacks head-on as shockwaves exploded outward, shredding the clouds above.

"Ego?"

Bai Chu snorted coldly.

"You're the one living in a fantasy if you think this ends in your favor."

Mó Zún smirked as their blades collided once more, sparks showering between them.

"You've got it wrong," he said calmly. "I never claimed I could kill you."

Mó Zún’s grin grew wider.

"But simply because I cannot kill you..." he continued, his voice dropping into a sharp, cruel whisper, "doesn't mean the same applies to the rest of your Bai Clan."

Bai Chu’s heart faltered for a second, though his expression remained stoic.

"Hmph! Mó Zún, do you believe my Bai Clan is so easily slaughtered? You should be more concerned about your Demonic Cultivators falling at their hands!"

In that moment—

Boom!

A massive, terrifying explosion of energy erupted in the distance.

The very heavens shook.

Qi surged in a violent torrent as an unfamiliar yet staggering aura burst forth, exerting a pressure that momentarily distracted even Immortals.

Bai Chu snapped his head toward the source of the disturbance.

"That technique...!"

It was the same move Bai Zihan had performed earlier.

Yet this time—it was far more potent.

And Bai Zihan was still only at the Spirit Severing Realm.

Opposite him, Mó Zún also halted his movements.

His saber slowed mid-arc as he looked toward the distant battlefield, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"Another nuisance," Mó Zún muttered softly.

Then—

Mó Zún retreated half a step, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Bai Chu, I have to wonder," he said casually, "if you will still be able to maintain that composure—"

His smile became predatory.

"—after Bai Zihan is dead."

Bai Chu’s pupils contracted sharply.

He spun his head around instantly.

In Bai Zihan's direction—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

One after another, monstrous auras exploded into existence.

Demonic Qi surged into the heavens like pillars of pure shadow.

One.

Two.

No.

There were more.

The crushing pressure of several Great Ascension-level Demonic Cultivators saturated the battlefield from Bai Zihan's location.

Bai Chu’s blood turned to ice. It appeared the Demonic Cultivators were hell-bent on ending Bai Zihan today.

His eyes stretched wide, a mix of shock and fury boiling over.

"You dare!"

Bai Chu bellowed, his killing intent exploding without restraint as he whipped his gaze back to Mó Zún.

"If Bai Zihan falls," he growled, his voice vibrating with barely contained rage, "I swear upon my Dao—"

"I will hunt down every single Demonic Cultivator in existence!"

"We will wipe out your sects and erase your bloodlines until nothing remains!"

The malice in his words was so dense that the space around them began to distort.

Mó Zún let out a roar of laughter.

"Hahaha!"

His laughter rang out across the field, dripping with mockery.

"Be my guest," he challenged. "You are welcome to try."

He leaned forward, his eyes sharp and pitiless.

"But if you embark on that path," Mó Zún added coldly,

"do you honestly think the Bai Clan will be left standing?"

Bai Chu stood paralyzed, his chest heaving as he stared toward Bai Zihan's position once more.

Multiple Great Ascension auras.

Even for someone like Bai Zihan, who had successfully slain Grade-10 Demonic Beasts, surviving this would be nearly impossible.