Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 945: Ancient Teleportation Formation

The sky above the borderlands of the State of Yue had ceased to look like a sky. It was a bruised, heaving canvas of violet and crimson, torn apart by energies so vast they made the very mountains below tremble in fear. The arrival of the five Great Demonic Sects from the State of Qin had shattered the grinding stalemate between the Mystic Peak Sect and the Azure Sword Clan, replacing a war of attrition with an apocalypse.

High above the clouds, far beyond the perception of ordinary disciples, the Nascent Soul Ancestors clashed. Every few seconds, a shockwave would roll down from the heavens, flattening forests and vaporizing entire companies of cultivators who were unlucky enough to be underneath. The air tasted of copper, sulfur, and the cloying, rotting sweetness of demonic qi.

Deep within the concealed safety of the Iron-Root Hollow, the atmosphere was grim but controlled. The exterior defensive arrays, bolstered by the loot from the Crimson Pill Sect, hummed with a reassuring stability, filtering out the worst of the chaotic spiritual pressure outside.

Wang Jian stood in the center of the main hall, his expression calm, a stark contrast to the panic gripping the rest of the cultivation world. Around him, his inner circle was gathered. It was a collection of beauty and power that would make emperors weep with envy.

Yue Lingshan stood to his right, her face pale with worry as she reviewed the crumbling defensive lines on a projection map. To his left, maintaining a respectful distance but radiating a powerful aura, was Sect Mistress Mu Lianhua. Further back were Chen Ying, leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed, and Liu Ruyan, who was organizing a set of emergency pills. The three Shadow Flowers—Qiu Yun, Su Ning, and Bai Xue—knelt in attendance, while the five married maids, led by Li Mei, stood ready to serve tea or weapons as needed.

”Husband,” Yue Lingshan said, her voice trembling slightly as she pointed to a collapsing sector on the map. ”The northern defensive line... it’s gone. The Blood Soul Pavilion has broken through. Deacon Zhang just sent a final transmission. They are slaughtering everyone. Should we... should we move to assist the retreat? There are thousands of Mystic Peak disciples trapped in that valley.”

Wang Jian looked at the map, then at his wife. His eyes were soft when they met hers, but his voice was firm.

”No, Lingshan. We cannot.”

”But—”

”Look at the energy readings,” Wang Jian interrupted gently, pointing to the ceiling where the shockwaves from the sky were registering on the array monitors. ”The scale of this war has shifted. It is no longer a conflict of armies; it is a clash of gods. Those Nascent Soul shockwaves... even a stray blast could wipe out everyone in this room who isn’t at the Core Formation realm. If we go out there to play hero, we die. And if we die, we cannot rebuild.”

He turned to address the whole group, his demeanor shifting to that of a decisive leader. ”Our priority is survival. And to survive, we need a path that doesn’t lead into the meat grinder.”

He waved his hand over the map, dismissing the battle lines. He pulled out a smaller, more specific tracking talisman. It glowed with a faint, golden hue.

”We have a new target,” Wang Jian announced. ”We are not hunting Demons today. We are tracking a person.”

He pointed to a solitary blip moving erratically near the edge of the Azure Sword Clan’s territory.

”A disciple of the Azure Sword Clan. His name is Ye Fan.”

Chen Ying frowned. ”The ’Undefeatable Monster’? Why him? He is a magnet for trouble.”

Wang Jian nodded, crafting his lie with the ease of a master manipulator. ”Precisely. I have been observing this Ye Fan for some time. His luck... it is unnatural. He walks into death traps and emerges with ancient legacies. He stumbles into caves and finds spirit veins. In times of great calamity, when the heavens themselves are falling, following a man with such defying destiny is often the only path to survival.”

He looked at them seriously. ”He finds treasures where there are none. He finds paths where there are walls. He is our compass out of this chaos.”

Yue Lingshan looked doubtful, but she trusted her husband’s judgment. ”If you think he can lead us to safety...”

”I do,” Wang Jian affirmed.

He turned his gaze to Mu Lianhua. The former Sect Mistress stood tall and elegant, wearing the high-collared, modest robes Wang Jian insisted she wear in front of his wife. But Wang Jian knew what lay beneath those robes—the marks of his teeth, the bruises of his grip, and the Slave Seal that bound her soul to his.

”Elder Mu,” Wang Jian said, his tone respectful. ”Your spiritual sense is the strongest among us, far surpassing my own. The battlefield is flooded with chaotic energies that mask ordinary searches. Can you lock onto him? Can you track this single disciple amidst the chaos of a million combatants without alerting the Demonic experts?”

Mu Lianhua bowed gracefully. ”I can, Deacon Wang,” she replied, her voice smooth and professional. ”This Ye Fan... his aura is distinct. It burns with a strange, golden flame. It is vibrant, almost aggressive. While he hides it well from those of his own level, to a Core Formation cultivator looking specifically for it, he shines like a beacon in the dark.”

”Excellent,” Wang Jian said. ”Then it is decided.”

He clapped his hands. ”Pack everything. Leave nothing behind. We are abandoning Iron-Root Hollow. We move mobile. We follow Ye Fan.”

The order spurred the women into action. The maids began packing the cooking utensils and bedding into storage bags. The Shadow Flowers gathered the weapons.

In the commotion, Wang Jian stepped close to Liu Ruyan, who was packing a crate of herbs. Yue Lingshan was distracted, talking to Chen Ying about defensive formations for the journey.

Wang Jian reached out, his hand sliding intimately down Liu Ruyan’s back, coming to rest firmly on her buttocks. He squeezed, hard.

”Are you ready for a trip, little alchemist?” he whispered, his voice pitching low so only she could hear.

Liu Ruyan flushed, leaning back into his touch, her eyes darting to ensure Lingshan wasn’t watching. ”I am always ready for you, Jian,” she whispered back. ”Where are we really going?”

”To a new world,” he smirked, his thumb rubbing the cleft of her ass through her robes. ”Somewhere with new resources. And new beds.”

He released her before Lingshan turned around, his face instantly composing itself into a mask of serious contemplation.

Minutes later, the group was assembled outside the cave.

”Formation,” Wang Jian ordered.

”Elder Mu, you take the point with me,” he said. ”Senior Sister Chen, Junior Sister Ruyan, you guard the flanks. Lingshan, you protect the rear and the maids. Shadow Flowers, scout ahead but stay within visual range.”

They moved out, leaving the safety of the hollow behind, plunging into the wilderness that bordered the apocalypse.

They moved to a high vantage point, a jagged ridge overlooking the scorched plains where the Azure Sword Clan was fighting a desperate rearguard action against the Ten Thousand Poison Valley.

Mu Lianhua activated a technique, her eyes glowing with azure light. She shared her spiritual vision with Wang Jian via a linked jade slip.

Through her senses, Wang Jian saw him.

Ye Fan.

The protagonist was fighting in a canyon below. He wielded a massive, black heavy sword that looked like a slab of iron. He swung it with terrifying speed, cleaving through the poisonous constructs of the enemy. Golden flames wreathed his body, burning away the toxic fog that choked other cultivators.

”He fights well,” Chen Ying noted, observing from the flank. ”He is saving his sect members.”

Indeed, Ye Fan seemed to be everywhere at once, blocking lethal blows meant for junior disciples, rallying the morale of the Azure Sword defenders. He looked like a true hero, a beacon of light in the darkness.

”Watch,” Wang Jian said simply.

They tracked him for three days. They moved parallel to the battle, staying hidden in the rugged terrain, sleeping in shifts, always keeping the golden flame of Ye Fan’s aura on the edge of their perception.

During these three days, Wang Jian found ways to entertain himself. The stress of the pursuit, the constant thunder of the distant war, it all served as a backdrop for his secret indulgences.

One night, while they camped in a dense thicket of spirit-bamboo, Yue Lingshan took the first watch. Wang Jian slipped into the tent shared by Mu Lianhua and Liu Ruyan.

He found Mu Lianhua meditating. Without a word, he pushed her down onto the bedroll. He didn’t strip her; there wasn’t time. He just hiked up her robes, silencing her protests with a rough kiss. He took her quickly, brutally, his hands muffling her moans as he drove into her from behind, taking out the tension of the command on her yielding body. Liu Ruyan watched from the corner, her eyes shining in the dark, touching herself as she watched her Master use her Teacher.

It was these stolen moments of depravity that kept Wang Jian focused. It reminded him that no matter how chaotic the world got, he was in control.

By the third day, a shift occurred.

”He’s changing direction,” Mu Lianhua reported, her brow furrowing. ”He... he stopped engaging.”

Wang Jian looked through the spiritual link. Ye Fan was no longer rushing to save disciples. He was skirting the edges of the conflict. He ignored a cry for help from a group of Azure Sword disciples being surrounded by Blood Soul puppets. Instead of charging in, he used the distraction to slip away into a side canyon.

”He’s abandoning them,” Chen Ying whispered, surprised.

”He’s smart,” Wang Jian corrected. ”He knows the battle is lost. He’s cutting his losses.”

Ye Fan began to move with a specific, driving purpose. He wasn’t retreating with the main army; he was breaking away entirely, heading into the desolate, rocky badlands known as the ”Dead Zone”—an area depleted of spiritual energy, shunned by both sects.

”He is running,” Wang Jian said, a predator’s grin spreading across his face as he watched the golden dot on his map move away from the war. ”And he isn’t running blindly. He knows exactly where he is going.”

”Follow him,” Wang Jian commanded. ”Close the distance. But stay hidden. If he sees us, he might change course.”

The Dead Zone lived up to its name. The earth here was grey and cracked, devoid of vegetation. The wind howled through hollow rock formations, sounding like the wailing of ghosts.

They tracked Ye Fan for half a day into this wasteland. Mu Lianhua had to constantly adjust their concealment array, weaving the ambient dust and shadows around them to ensure Ye Fan’s heightened, protagonist-level senses didn’t detect the large group trailing him.

”He stopped,” Mu Lianhua signaled.

They crept to the edge of a ridge. Below them lay the entrance to an abandoned Spirit Stone mine. The wooden supports were rotted, the entrance half-collapsed. A sign, faded by centuries of wind, warned of instability and hauntings.

Ye Fan stood before the entrance. He looked left, then right, his posture screaming paranoia. He didn’t enter the main shaft. He climbed up a pile of scree and slipped into a narrow, collapsed ventilation fissure that was almost invisible from the ground.

”He’s gone inside,” Liu Ruyan whispered.

”We follow,” Wang Jian ordered. ”Stealth protocols active. Lingshan, cast a sound-dampening barrier around us. Footsteps must be silent.”

They slipped into the fissure one by one.

The air inside was stale, cold, and smelled heavily of sulfur and old dust. It was pitch black.

Wang Jian took the lead, holding a glow-stone that emitted only a faint, dull light. He held his hand up, signaling for a halt.

”Look at the floor,” he whispered to Chen Ying.

In the thick dust, there were faint footprints. But there were other marks too—scratches on the walls, signs of traps that had been disarmed long ago.

”He’s been here before,” Wang Jian deduced. ”Or he has a map.”

They navigated the labyrinthine tunnels. It was a maze designed to confuse and kill. Dead ends dropped into pits; false corridors led to unstable ceilings. But Ye Fan moved ahead of them with uncanny precision. He bypassed natural traps, stepped over hidden pressure plates, and avoided the nesting grounds of sleeping subterranean beasts.

”How does he know?” Yue Lingshan marveled, stepping carefully where Wang Jian pointed.

”Luck,” Wang Jian sneered softly. ”And destiny.”

As they went deeper, the air grew warmer. The smell of sulfur intensified.

They came across a large tunnel section that was scarred with black scorch marks and deep gouges in the stone.

”Combat,” Chen Ying noted, running a hand over a slash in the rock. ”Sword marks. Heavy sword.”

”Recent?” Wang Jian asked.

”Very,” she nodded. ”Within the hour. He fought something here. But he cleaned up the corpse.”

”He’s clearing the path,” Wang Jian said. ”Whatever is at the end of this... he wants to reach it fast.”

Finally, the tunnel opened up.

They emerged onto a ledge overlooking a massive, natural cavern. The ceiling was lost in shadows high above. The spiritual energy here was strange—chaotic, sharp, and metallic.

In the center of the cavern floor, surrounded by stalagmites, stood a structure that didn’t belong in a mine.

It was a stone platform, circular and wide, raised on a dais. It was covered in layers of dust and grime, but beneath the filth, complex, faded runes glowed with a dull, dormant light.

Yue Lingshan gasped softly, her array-master instincts flaring. She grabbed Wang Jian’s arm.

”Husband,” she whispered urgently. ”That... that is an Ancient Teleportation Formation!”

She squinted, analyzing the geometry of the runes even from this distance. ”The design... it’s archaic. Pre-dating the Mystic Peak Sect. And the complexity... it’s not a local transport array. It is a Continental-Grade Array.”

”Continental?” Wang Jian asked.

”It can traverse millions of miles,” she said, awe in her voice. ”It could take you to the other side of the world.”

Below them, Ye Fan stepped onto the platform. He didn’t look confused. He looked relieved. He dropped his heavy sword with a clang and fell to his knees, panting.

Then, he began to pull things out of his storage bag. Rare ores. High-grade spirit stones. A specialized array flag.

He began to slot the materials into missing sockets on the platform. His movements were skilled, practiced. He knew exactly how to repair it.

Wang Jian watched, a cold realization dawning on him.

’He prepared for this,’ Wang Jian thought. ’He knew. He knew the State of Yue was doomed, or he planned to leave all along. While everyone else was fighting for scraps of land, the Son of Luck found the exit door to a higher map.’

”Do we stop him?” Liu Ruyan whispered, a dagger appearing in her hand. ”If he activates it, he’s gone.”

”No,” Wang Jian replied, holding up a hand. ”Let him finish the repairs. He has the materials; we don’t. Why should we do the work when the Son of Luck is doing it for us?”

He smiled, a vulture watching a dying animal. ”We wait until it hums. We wait until the door opens.”

While Ye Fan worked feverishly below, Wang Jian and Mu Lianhua scanned the rest of the cavern.

”This place...” Mu Lianhua murmured, her eyes fixed on a dark corner of the cavern. ”It wasn’t just an array room. It was a nest.”

In the corner, there was a massive pile of crushed rocks, metallic secretions, and shed exoskeleton fragments. It looked like the bedding area for a creature of nightmare.

Mu Lianhua silently flew down to a ledge closer to the nest to inspect a large, shed carapace fragment. She returned a moment later.

”I have identified the previous tenant,” she reported. ”The aura... Sharp Metal Qi. Extremely aggressive. This was the lair of a Dark Gold-Scythe Mantis.”

”A Dark Gold-Scythe Mantis?” Yue Lingshan paled. ”A peak Foundation Establishment beast? Bordering on Core Formation?”

”Yes,” Mu Lianhua confirmed. ”Its blades can cut through high-grade defensive artifacts like paper. It is extremely territorial. Nothing enters its lair and lives.”

Wang Jian looked at the empty nest, then at the pile of ash near the array that Ye Fan was working on. He narrowed his eyes.

”The beast is gone,” he noted. ”And look at that ash pile. And the scorch marks on the floor near it.”

He focused his vision. The scorch marks were old. Very old.

”Ye Fan didn’t kill it today,” Wang Jian realized. ”He killed it... years ago. Look at the dust settled on the battle scars.”

Chen Ying eyed the ash pile with a warrior’s appraisal. ”He must have harvested its scythes and beast core back then. Those would be valuable materials for forging a heavy sword or enhancing a metal-attribute physique.”

Wang Jian nodded slowly. ”This confirms it. He found this place a long time ago. He killed the guardian beast when he was weaker—probably using some trap or hidden trump card. He’s been keeping this escape route in his back pocket for years.”

It was a chilling testament to the protagonist’s foresight and hidden depth.

Below, the cavern suddenly began to hum.

VRMMMMMM.

The dust on the floor vibrated, dancing in little patterns. The faded runes on the stone platform flared to life, burning away the grime of centuries with a blinding silver light. The air in the cavern twisted, space itself groaning as the ancient mechanism woke up.

Ye Fan stood up. He wiped sweat and grime from his forehead, a look of profound relief washing over his face. He pulled out a handful of High-Grade Spirit Stones—a fortune for a rogue cultivator—and placed them into the central power groove.

The space above the platform began to distort, a swirling vortex of white light forming in the air.

Wang Jian’s eyes flashed.

”Now!” he commanded.

”Go!”

Wang Jian’s group burst from the shadows of the ledge. They didn’t attack with killing intent; that might destabilize the array. They rushed the platform.

Ye Fan spun around, sensing the sudden rush of wind. His heavy sword appeared in his hand instantly, his reaction time supernatural.

”Who?!” he roared, his golden flame flaring.

He saw them. A group of cultivators descending on him. He saw Wang Jian, the ’righteous’ Senior Brother. He saw Yue Lingshan.

But then his gaze locked onto the woman in the purple dress.

Mu Lianhua.

Even though she was veiled, she unleashed a fraction of her pressure to suppress him.

”Core... Formation?!” Ye Fan gasped, his knees buckling under the sudden weight.

He froze. His mind raced. He could fight Wang Jian. He could maybe fight the others. But he could not fight a Core Formation expert while simultaneously maintaining the delicate activation sequence of a Continental Teleportation Array. If he disrupted the Qi flow now, the spatial tunnel would collapse and kill them all.

He was checkmated.

Wang Jian landed on the platform with a heavy thud, right next to the control pillar. His harem landed around him, securing the perimeter of the array.

The vortex overhead widened, a beam of light descending to engulf the platform.

Wang Jian looked at the shocked, furious protagonist. He grinned, a wide, friendly, utterly infuriating smile.

”Going somewhere, Junior Brother Ye?” Wang Jian asked pleasantly, placing a hand on Ye Fan’s shoulder as if they were old friends. ”It’s dangerous to travel alone. Thanks for the ride.”

Ye Fan grit his teeth, his eyes burning with fury, but the light engulfed them.

The world dissolved into white.