I Am Your Natural Enemy

Chapter 477: Chapter 195: Turn-based, Can’t Afford the Price (5k)_2

It’s just death, that’s all.

At least when I dissipate, it won’t be with hatred, not dying under discrimination and strange looks.

There will be people who cry for him, there will be people who worry about him.

That’s good enough.

The Red Skirt Ghost turned to look back, sensing the other’s yang energy growing stronger and exploding exponentially, and he was a little in awe.

No wonder he could charge directly into the domain; there really are masters in the Scorching Sun Department.

It seems that my outburst earlier made the Scorching Sun Department raise the priority a lot—or else a master wouldn’t have arrived so soon.

He gazed into the distance, drew a deep breath, and shouted loudly.

”Anything done here comes with a price.

And you must pay the price first, before you can do what you want to do.

You can bargain with him; if he thinks it’s acceptable, he’ll agree.

But as long as the price is heavy enough, no matter what you ask, he must agree.

He can devour nether souls, devour people’s souls.

But each devouring has its limit; unless it’s a nether soul about to dissipate, otherwise he can’t swallow it all at once.”

The Red Skirt Ghost screamed loudly, and with every word he spoke, the enraged Big Head Ghost would gnaw away a part of his body.

Wen Yan strode forward.

He simply looked at that mangled, barely human figure of the Red Skirt Ghost still standing there stubbornly, and then at Chen Qimo, whose face beneath the stage was now streaked with tears.

He felt like there was nothing left to ask; with a look, he already understood most of what was happening.

”That’s enough.”

He sensed a powerful compulsion here, an energy that would force him to line up and wait his turn.

But, there was one part that wasn’t compulsory—you could cut in line.

He walked in front of Chen Qimo, who stared blankly at Wen Yan, stunned and in disbelief.

”Big Brother Su?!”

”We’ll talk later.”

Wen Yan walked up onto the stage, placed a hand on the Red Skirt Ghost, and as he did, blessed him with a little yang energy before tossing him to the back.

He stood in front of the Big Head Ghost, bearing his teeth in a grin as he stared at him.

He could feel it—after standing here, whatever he wanted to say, he couldn’t, and whatever he tried to do, he was unable; the compulsion here was at its absolute maximum.

The Big Head Ghost’s compound eyes were like a jumble of eyes forcibly squeezed together, rolling constantly.

He opened his massive mouth, biting at Wen Yan—but just as his mouth opened, the yang energy radiating off Wen Yan reached right to his lips.

He chomped down, but all he bit off was a huge chunk of yang energy.

Having paid the price, Wen Yan now felt he could speak, could move again.

Without a word, he poured as much yang energy as possible into the Chunjun Mace.

Just this one action, and his turn was over.

The Big Head Ghost, feeling the colossal yang energy on Wen Yan, hesitated for a long while before making another move.

He could be certain: as long as he collected the price, Wen Yan’s weapon would make close, intimate contact with his head.

He wasn’t sure if he could withstand that blow.

Besides, Wen Yan could afford to drag this out—he couldn’t.

If he stalled any longer, dawn would break.

The Big Head Ghost slowly got to his feet, eyes flickering—he didn’t dare to gamble now.

This time, instead of gnawing on the price, he reached out a hand towards the Chunjun Mace in Wen Yan’s grip.

Using the rules here as payment, enduring the yang energy’s harm, he took the Chunjun Mace from Wen Yan and hurled it off the other side of the stage.

The moment it left his hand, the Chunjun Mace vanished from the domain.

This was the price he took this time.

But in the next second, Wen Yan’s big hand smacked him hard across the face.

The Big Head Ghost’s entire head started to warp—immense power, charged with pre-loaded yang energy, all packed in that slap. Half his face turned charred and blackened on the spot.

With just one slap, his head was nearly blown to pieces.

As this round ended, the Big Head Ghost’s head kept changing shape, balloon-like, and slowly began to recover.

His compound eyes were brimming with poisonous hatred. This time, he reached out a hand, endured the yang energy by leveraging the rules here, and plunged his hand into Wen Yan’s body, grabbing inside.

He yanked out a handful, but all he found was a mass of yang energy—nothing else.

Wen Yan’s smile grew even brighter.

Melon Peel, you want to go straight for my soul?

What a coincidence: I don’t have a soul.

The Big Head Ghost clutched the dense ball of yang energy, and in the next instant, Wen Yan rammed a hand forward, forcing a surge of yang energy directly down the Big Head Ghost’s throat.

With a muffled bang, the Big Head Ghost’s head couldn’t withstand all that yang energy and exploded on the spot.

Beams of radiant energy burst forth like a raging torrent.

The halo of light enveloped Wen Yan, and in an instant, everything around him changed.

In the black-and-white world, an ordinary village appeared. Most of the surroundings were blurry and dim, only a single house was lit from within.

Wen Yan looked up and saw a man in rough linen ancient clothes, hair tied up, throwing a blood-soaked bundle of cloth into a water jar.

The scene shifted; now, amidst darkness and blur, only one house was lit. A tattered straw mat, wrapping something inside, was thrown into a dry well—on the edge of the straw mat, you could just make out a shriveled little hand.

The images kept shifting, with a little light flaring now and then in the gloom.

Soon, the Big Head Ghost appeared before Wen Yan, his compound eyes locked on Wen Yan, hatred etched across his face.