Chapter Three: Farewell on the Journey

“Dali, the village chief is calling us over again.”

“Alright, I got it.”

By now, the sun was well up in the sky, and the group of farm laborers had been gathered together once more.

“Listen up, all of you. If you spot a suspicious snake—well, a snake demon—you must report it to me immediately. If anyone dares to conceal it, I might spare you, but my cane won’t.”

With those words, the chief waved his vine whip, the crackling sound slicing through the air with a menacing force. He wasn’t just making threats; a few laborers had been beaten so badly by him in the past that they died at home, and he’d suffered no punishment for it.

After all, in the eyes of the upper echelons of the Serpent Kingdom, the lives of these laborers were worthless. As long as the harvest was good, a few accidental deaths were entirely acceptable.

Having finished his admonition, the chief led his men into the fields, inspecting the growth of the Beast Grass. Seeing how well it had flourished these past days, he stroked his sparse beard with a satisfied smile.

“Good, this month’s yield is decent. An extra ten percent seems too low—let’s make it thirty.”

The farmhands nearby, overhearing his words, ground their teeth in silent fury, but dared not utter a word.

Ji Xun felt resigned. According to his memories, it was always like this every year. The chief ensured the laborers never had enough to eat—hungry but never starved.

This way, they would work themselves to the bone, yielding more crops, and the chief could pocket more kickbacks.

As for those who died young from malnutrition or overwork, new slaves would always replace them. They were mere expendables.

Resistance was impossible for these laborers.

In the Serpent Kingdom, where advanced cultivation techniques and resources were tightly monopolized, even those with status—if lacking connections—would be ruthlessly squeezed dry.

Of course, snake demons lived far better than the laborers.

Take Beast Blood, for instance. It contained snake blood, sourced from snakes without spiritual intelligence and slain snake demons. Yet the lower ranks of snakes never objected to eating Beast Grass.

There was no human blood in the Beast Grass, simply because human blood was incompatible with the other beast bloods, too hard to refine, and not cost-effective.

Making humans slaves and laborers maximized profits.

Ji Xun squatted in the field, bored, pulling out weeds. Over the past few nights, he had caught more than a dozen Beast Bugs—the ones nearby were almost all gone.

Having reached the ninth-tier, the effects of Beast Blood were weakening; perhaps he should venture into the forest, though he worried about encountering beasts he couldn’t handle.

“I need to prepare...”

...

That night, after a day’s toil, Ji Xun felt uneasy, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, when a faint scent of blood reached his nose.

“What’s this...?”

He tensed immediately, quickly rolling out of bed, sleeves rolled up, and drew a hatchet from beneath the bed. He searched the room carefully, but found nothing.

Could it be outside?

With that thought, Ji Xun opened the door and stepped out.

Moonlight, like flowing water, spilled across the fields.

Alert, Ji Xun scanned his surroundings. Everything seemed as usual.

Yet that elusive scent of blood—there was trouble, serious trouble.

He remembered last year: a wild boar beast had charged down from the mountain, killing over ten laborers. The boar rampaged through the fields, and it took until noon for the workers to summon a half-blooded serpentkin who, with great effort, finally dealt with it.

“If it’s just a common beast, that’s manageable. But if it’s a ferocious one...”

Ji Xun looked around, finding nothing out of the ordinary—until he glanced up at the roof.

Beneath the moonlight, a black-green python lay atop the roof, its body as thick as a grown man’s arm, snake skin covered in wounds, revealing bright red flesh.

The serpent’s eyes gazed down at him, its mouth occasionally flicking out a half-cut tongue.

Danger. The pressure from this python was immense.

“Damn it, could this be the snake demon the chief mentioned...?”

Sweat began to bead on Ji Xun’s forehead. He tightened his grip on the hatchet, staring at the python, wary of a sudden attack.

“Quick, someone! There’s a snake demon here...!”

As he shouted, the python spat out a red talisman from its mouth.

The talisman moved faster than his cry, and no sound came from his attempted call for help.

The sensation was eerie—everything nearby seemed to fall into utter silence.

He swung the hatchet, but it made no sound.

“This is bad, the snake demon can use talismans.”

Ji Xun dared not turn and run. The snake demon’s cultivation was certainly above his own; if he showed his back, he would expose a fatal weakness.

Bathed in moonlight, the black-green python coiled, then sprang forward, its foul jaws snapping toward Ji Xun’s neck.

Fast—too fast.

Unable to dodge, Ji Xun could only thrust the hatchet in front of him.

With a crack, the hatchet shattered from the serpent’s demonic Qi, and the python bit down on his left arm.

Ji Xun tensed his muscles, avoiding broken bones, but the demonic Qi invaded, making his arm ache unbearable.

The python seized its chance, its tail whipping around Ji Xun, wrapping with demonic energy and constricting his chest.

“Don’t struggle, wretched human. Obediently become my blood food, and your pain will be less. Who would have thought such a small place would yield a ninth-tier blood meal.”

“If I eat you, most of my wounds will heal, and I can shake off those mongrels.”

Though man and serpent stood in a place of silence, the snake spoke in human tongue—likely a trick left by a talisman user.

With death looming, Ji Xun wasted no more thought. His right hand surged with strength, grabbing a wound at the python’s seven-inch mark.

Although there was no snake skin at the wound, demonic Qi guarded it, preventing his hand from penetrating.

“It’s useless. You’re poisoned and infected with my demonic Qi. Soon you’ll lose all strength. Let me swallow you, or the entire village will die.”

Threatened thus by the snake demon, Ji Xun felt strangely relieved. The serpent seemed strong on the outside but weak within.

It must be at the end of its rope—otherwise, it would have killed him outright, not wasted so many words.

Trying to talk me into submission? Impossible.

Poison and demonic Qi assailed him, and Ji Xun grew drowsy.

“Demon-refining vessel, refine for me.”

In an instant, the snake poison and demonic Qi in Ji Xun’s body were sucked into the refining vessel, and he himself fell into a “faint” state.

“Heh, looks like my poison has grown stronger after all.”

At this moment, the black-green python could no longer maintain its protective demonic Qi. It flicked its tongue, crawled over Ji Xun’s head, and opened its jaws wide, ready to swallow him whole.

But in the next instant, it froze.

“Don’t—don’t kill me, I have treasures...”

Ji Xun’s right hand had sprouted five razor-sharp nails, which he thrust into the python’s wound at the seven-inch mark, gripping a small lump of flesh.

The “seven-inch” was not a literal measurement, but referred to the spot near the snake’s heart.

The area was shrouded by the silence talisman; only the caster could produce sound.

Ji Xun merely moved his lips.

The snake demon watched intently, finally realizing Ji Xun was saying, “May you rest in peace.”

With a pop, the serpent felt something inside it burst, and all vitality vanished instantly.