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

Just as Bai Ren had anticipated, the duel did not result in the swift dominance over the Half-Qilin that many Righteous Cultivators had prayed for.

Instead, the conflict stretched on.

It became a grueling, savage war of attrition where any lapse in judgment could prove fatal for either side.

The Half-Qilin lunged once more.

Its physical prowess remained staggering—the earth shattered with every stride and mountain-leveling force accompanied every swing—yet it no longer charged with its previous reckless abandon.

Its gaze remained fixed on Bai Ren’s blade.

Every strike it threw was now tempered by caution, a desperate attempt to avoid the bite of Bai Ren’s sword.

The creature refused to overextend, terrified of leaving an opening for the Saint-Grade weapon to strike true again.

After all, its previous wounds showed no signs of healing.

Though the beast couldn't comprehend the logic, it knew the blade possessed a mysterious power that nullified its natural regeneration.

Even so, the Half-Qilin still managed to suppress the trio.

The weight of the battle was crushing.

Even with a Saint-Grade Sword and several Heaven-Grade Artifacts protecting him, merely parrying the indirect shockwaves sent agonizing tremors through Bai Ren’s meridians and arms.

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

Behind him, the condition of Zhao Wujin and Yu Xuande was just as dire.

Their auras flickered erratically, and their injuries grew more severe with every passing second.

Having exhausted his Qi on numerous Heaven-Grade techniques, Zhao Wujin’s complexion was as pale as a corpse; he could do little more than desperately reinforce suppression arrays to momentarily hinder the beast.

Yu Xuande was also unable to take the initiative as he had before, most of his Heaven-Grade defensive treasures having been reduced to scrap.

A single direct blow would likely end his life. Nevertheless, he did not waver in his support for Bai Ren.

They were clearly at their breaking point.

And yet—the Half-Qilin failed to deliver the finishing blow it should have been capable of.

Whenever it tried to press its advantage, Bai Ren rose to meet it.

The Saint-Grade Sword danced through the air, delivering a relentless series of surgical strikes.

Not every blow found its mark perfectly.

However, whenever the steel carved into the creature's hide—

The injury persisted.

Minor wounds began to pile up.

Shallow cuts refused to mend.

Even when the Half-Qilin forced its Qi to circulate for healing, the lingering traces of the sword's power resisted, causing its internal energy flow to stumble.

The beast’s breath turned ragged.

Its once vast and suffocating aura began to flicker.

The decline was gradual—

But it was undeniable.

The Half-Qilin realized the danger as well.

Its expression grew more grim with every failed attempt to regenerate.

Each new wound chipped away at its monstrous strength, bit by bit.

Simultaneously, Bai Ren was approaching his absolute limit.

His reactions grew sluggish.

He gripped his hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white.

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

He had no choice.

As long as he wielded that blade—

The Half-Qilin was denied its freedom to slaughter.

It was a balance of power.

An incredibly fragile one.

The conflict had transformed into a brutal race against time.

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

But the Half-Qilin’s aura of invincibility had shattered.

Its power was fading steadily.

And for the first time—

The clock was ticking against the beast.

***

While Bai Ren’s group struggled against the Half-Qilin, another pivotal and high-stakes battle was unfolding elsewhere.

CLANG! CLANG!

“It seems your Bai Clan has come into possession of a rather troublesome tool,” Mó Zūn remarked.

What he had envisioned as a simple slaughter was proving to be unexpectedly difficult.

First, there was the inexplicable surge in the overall strength of the Bai Clan.

Now, they even brandished a Saint-Grade Sword—a weapon capable of inflicting permanent harm upon the Half-Qilin.

The situation was no longer as favorable as he had originally planned.

Bai Chu let out a laugh.

The sound was composed and firm, radiating a quiet sense of certainty.

“You might say the heavens have smiled upon the Bai Clan,” Bai Chu replied, casting a side-long glance at Mó Zūn.

He paused briefly, then continued,

“However, what truly piques my interest is something else,” he said, shifting his full attention toward his opponent.

“How did you manage to strike a bargain with a Half-Qilin?”

Silence followed his question.

The distant echoes of the battlefield filled the void between them.

“Consider this,” he added, his tone calm but cutting, “even if you somehow emerge victorious today—if you actually manage to wipe us out—what comes next?”

He made a subtle motion toward the rampaging Half-Qilin.

“Demonic Beasts are not interested in statecraft. They do not share their lands with anyone.”

His gaze pierced through Mó Zūn.

“In the end, you Demonic Cultivators will be the next ones on the chopping block!”

The atmosphere grew heavy with tension.

Yet, Mó Zūn remained tight-lipped.

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

“I truly fail to see the logic,” he mused.

“Why bother assisting Demonic Beasts at all?”

“…”

Mó Zūn stayed quiet for a heartbeat before a smirk played on his lips.

“Bai Chu,” he spoke slowly, his voice carrying a chilling sense of absolute certainty, “you are utterly ignorant.”

Bai Chu’s eyes narrowed slightly at the remark.

Mó Zūn continued, his stare cold and fixed.

“You are going to die here,” he stated flatly.

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

The declaration carried an immense weight.

It wasn't spoken in anger.

Nor was it born of desperation.

It was simple conviction.

Mó Zūn then looked toward the far-off struggle, where the Half-Qilin roared in pain as Bai Ren’s Saint-Grade Sword carved another permanent mark into its hide.

“Hmph!”

He let out a dismissive snort.

“As for those animals,” Mó Zūn said with a wave of his hand, “you needn't concern yourself.”

A faint glint flickered in Mó Zūn’s eyes.

“Once they have finished slaughtering your people,” he said, “I will deal with them personally.”

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

(Deal with them… himself?)

His attention instinctively drifted back to the Half-Qilin.

It was a peak Demonic Beast.

A creature with a hide more durable than Heaven-Grade defensive treasures.

An entity whose regenerative powers were legendary—able to bounce back from the brink of death in an eye-blink.

Even now, only a Saint-Grade Sword could leave a scratch that actually mattered.

Without such a specialized weapon, killing the Half-Qilin was an impossible feat.

Bai Chu’s mind raced with calculations.

Even if he or Mó Zūn were to face the Half-Qilin in a direct confrontation, the odds of winning were pathetic.

Less than twenty percent, at best.

And that was an optimistic estimate.

Without a Saint-Grade Weapon to suppress its healing—

The chance of victory dropped to zero.

So where did Mó Zūn find this level of confidence?

Bai Chu observed his rival carefully.

Mó Zūn stood with a relaxed posture, hands behind his back, seemingly unmoved by the carnage surrounding them.

There was no hint of a bluff in his eyes.

(He is concealing a trump card.)

Bai Chu thought grimly.

Bai Chu gave a small shake of his head.

“Regardless,” he said, his voice regaining its firm, unmistakable confidence, “it is irrelevant.”

Whatever schemes Mó Zūn had for the Half-Qilin were of no consequence.

Because Bai Chu had no intention of allowing Mó Zūn to leave this battlefield alive.

“You won't be winning either way,” Bai Chu proclaimed.

Mó Zūn suddenly erupted into laughter.

It was a loud, mocking sound.

“Won’t win?”

He repeated the words, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Bai Chu… your vanity really hasn’t faded in the slightest.”

SLASH! SLASH!

Ebon demonic light sliced through the air as Mó Zūn resumed his assault, his saber moving with lethal accuracy.

Every strike was saturated with a killing intent so thick it could freeze the soul, forcing Bai Chu to react instantly.

Bai Chu’s face hardened.

His sword swept out to meet the attacks, the resulting shockwaves tearing through the clouds above.

“Vanity?”

Bai Chu snorted with disdain.

“You’re the one hallucinating if you think this ends in your favor.”

Mó Zūn grinned as their blades clashed once more, sparks cascading between them.

“You’ve got it wrong,” he said smoothly. “I never claimed I could kill you.”

Mó Zūn’s grin grew wider.

“But just because I cannot take your life…” he continued, his voice dropping to a sharp, cruel whisper, “it does not mean the same holds true for the rest of the Bai Clan.”

Bai Chu’s heart jolted, though his expression remained a mask of stone.

“Hmph! Mó Zūn, do you honestly believe my Bai Clan is so easily slaughtered? You should be more worried about your own Demonic Cultivators being wiped out!”

Right then—

Boom!

A violent, terrifying surge of energy erupted from the distance.

The very sky seemed to shudder.

Qi boiled over as an unfamiliar, overwhelming aura exploded outward, exerting a pressure that momentarily distracted even the Immortals.

Bai Chu snapped his head toward the source.

“That technique…!”

It was the same power Bai Zihan had displayed before.

But this time—it was far more potent.

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

Across from him, Mó Zūn also stopped his movement.

His saber slowed mid-arc as he turned his attention toward the distant fight, his eyes narrowing.

“Another nuisance,” Mó Zūn muttered softly.

Then—

Mó Zūn retreated half a step, a look of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Bai Chu, I have to wonder,” he continued in a conversational tone, “if you will be able to keep that calm facade—”

His smile became predatory.

“—once Bai Zihan is a corpse.”

Bai Chu’s pupils contracted sharply.

He whipped his head around instantly.

In the direction of Bai Zihan—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

One after another, terrifying auras flared up.

Demonic Qi shot into the heavens like dark pillars.

One.

Two.

No.

There were many more.

The suffocating pressure of multiple Great Ascension–level Demonic Cultivators saturated the battlefield from Bai Zihan’s position.

Bai Chu’s blood turned to ice. It was clear the Demonic Cultivators were determined to end Bai Zihan’s life today.

His eyes stretched wide, a cocktail of shock and rage washing over his face.

“How dare you!”

Bai Chu bellowed, his killing intent exploding without restraint as he turned his fury back to Mó Zūn.

“If anything happens to Bai Zihan,” he growled, his voice shaking with fury, “I swear upon my Dao—”

“I will hunt every single Demonic Cultivator to the ends of the earth!”

“We will raze your sects and wipe your bloodlines from existence until nothing remains!”

The sheer malice in his vow was so potent that the space around them began to warp.

Mó Zūn simply burst into a fit of laughter.

“Hahaha!”

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

“By all means,” he mocked. “Give it your best shot.”

He leaned in closer, his gaze sharp and merciless.

“But if you choose that path,” Mó Zūn added coldly,

“do you truly believe the Bai Clan will even be around to see it?”

Bai Chu stood paralyzed, his chest heaving as he stared once more toward where Bai Zihan fought.

Multiple Great Ascension auras.

Even for someone like Bai Zihan, who had successfully slain Grade-10 Demonic Beasts, surviving such an onslaught seemed impossible.