Facing an Ancient God for a Year - Chapter 1297: 1295: Fallen Sanctuary

Chapter 1297: Chapter 1295: Fallen Sanctuary

Stepping on one while elevating another—this will forever remain the quintessential practical trope of mockery.

It’s apparent that Orintel is desperately trying not to let Fu Qian’s words provoke his emotions.

But unfortunately, the very act of reacting signifies that those emotions have already been stirred.

It seems my earlier impression was accurate: within The Sect, the Hunters’ status appears rather… delicate.

Even amongst their own ranks, the feelings toward them seem rather complex.

“Regarding your earlier statement, am I to understand that, compared to The Sect, the Bloodline Clan is a group more favored by the Stars Association?”

Having exerted great effort to calm himself, Orintel finally speaks.

“The glory and blessings we pride ourselves on—are they, in your view, merely childish and laughable?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

Fu Qian displays a remarkably laid-back demeanor.

“Heh… It’s a shame that, aside from you—a self-important anomaly—I can’t see any of this supposed transcendence you speak of.”

Orintel is visibly reluctant to accept this, his chilling laughter spilling over.

“That’s right, you can’t see it.”

Fu Qian remains calm and poised.

…

“Are you implying that the very fact we know nothing about your inner workings is in itself evidence of our own immaturity?”

Apparently, love does foster growth, as the Orintel standing here now appears to have gained a newfound sense of enlightenment.

“No need for humility. Before I took the initiative to reveal myself, you weren’t even sure the Bloodline Clan existed, were you?”

Fu Qian confirms his deduction, generously fanning the flames of animosity toward Brother Jake’s clan without hesitation.

“It’s no fault of yours, really. After all, my kin can’t even be bothered to derive a sense of superiority from you anymore.”

“When you’re born with things others will never attain in a lifetime, envy or resentment—none of it really affects you anymore.”

This statement, however, isn’t entirely true. Yack and his clan clearly haven’t cultivated such magnanimity just yet.

Concealing their identity is one thing, but covertly chasing superiority still seems an undeniable pursuit—it’s the proverbial elegance of veiled contradictions.

But given the shared camaraderie of collaborative diagnostics, Fu Qian still opts for a touch of unreserved praise, further deepening the discord.

“For example?”

The effect is immediate. Orintel sneers coldly, as if demanding justification for his newfound insight.

“The Taboo Decree—you call it that, yes?”

This, of course, poses no challenge for Fu Qian, who effortlessly weaponizes the terminology.

“Regrettably, every member of the Bloodline Clan is born already mastering what you sanctify as the Saint’s threshold—we call it the Stars Association’s greeting gift.”

“And due to the purity of our existence, wielding it requires no cost whatsoever.”

“You think I’ll buy that—”

Orintel doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, interrupted by the sight of a spear materializing with deliberate grace—a crimson weapon etched in blood-tinged patterns, slowly forming.

“Spear of Fated Death.”

Fu Qian’s movements exude casual ease, as he boldly borrows Brother Jake’s infamous lines.

Th𝙞ѕ 𝒸hȺp𝕥𝖾r 𝒾𝘴 pՕ𝕤𝘵ɛ𝒅 bʏ 𝗞ɪṯ℮𝕟𝙤ѵ𝖾𝓁

“Its target enters an unstoppable spiral of withering, no matter the efforts made to halt it.”

“But don’t get too nervous—even for the Bloodline Clan, the percentage of members who can wield it is quite low.”

“You’re lying. I don’t sense the presence of any decree emanating from it.”

As the intended target of the spear, Orintel struggles against his discomfort, grinding his teeth in skepticism.

“Indeed, you can’t sense it.”

The other doesn’t even bother refuting him, instead echoing his words with casual agreement.

…

This brief remark, however, naturally compels Orintel to recall his earlier inability to perceive the Bloodline Clan’s alleged transcendence.

Cross-referencing these impressions, his gaze momentarily flickers with doubt, his confidence shaken.

Of course, his judgment wasn’t wrong.

Despite trying his best to replicate it, Fu Qian has only managed to mimic fifty to sixty percent of the Spear of Fated Death’s appearance.

The material, unmistakably his own flesh and blood, further undermines its supposed efficacy, which remains entirely absent.

But that hardly matters—nuclear deterrence doesn’t require actual deployment.

Fu Qian doesn’t even offer Orintel additional time to marvel at the display, swiftly dissipating the spear in his grasp.

“I chose to showcase this merely for its straightforward impact. Additionally, I can reveal one more thing: I actually walked in here myself, and your people even opened the door for me. You can verify this later if needed.”

Faced with Orintel’s less-than-pleased expression, Fu Qian grows increasingly self-assured.

“Unlike the Spear of Fated Death, however, this particular trick is almost universally grasped among the Bloodline Clan.”

“In fact, it’s part of why I find Hunters more commendable. In my view, they are, comparatively, far more akin to us.”

“Every Hunter is a Saint—they should have been members of the Coordinating Law Sanctuary by rights.”

With Fu Qian referencing the elements of recognition once again, a battered Orintel can’t help but exhibit a rare sense of shared dignity, his face half solemn.

“It’s just unfortunate that the Taboo Decree they wield is far too peculiar.”

“Its effect of perceiving corruption comes with a unique price in return.”

“Still, even so, Hunters remain, in my opinion, far nobler than you self-congratulatory lot.”

“You’re right—that’s exactly how we Bloodline Clan are. We appear lofty, and yet our essence is utterly sordid.”

Faced with accusation, Fu Qian has no qualms sinking into self-deprecation.

Degenerate Sanctuary?

Admittedly, Orintel’s contributions in this dialogue were somewhat noteworthy after all.

The Hunters’ keen senses must indeed stem from some exceptionally rare, high-ranking decree.

Their abilities even seem to be in a persistent state, incapable of being turned off.

In fact, Fu Qian’s deliberate repetition had been due to similar suspicions.

Thankfully, his indirect probing found Orintel to be especially cooperative.

It seems an opportunity is needed for an in-depth exchange with those tied to the Degenerate Sanctuary.

…

“So, are you not planning to kill me?”

Expecting his opponent to be posturing, Orintel finally loses composure upon realizing Fu Qian is genuinely in no rush.

“It’s just a follow-up consultation—why would I eliminate the patient?”

Prompted by the reminder, Fu Qian glances at the lantern Orintel instinctively shields behind him and shakes his head slightly.

Evidently, this man isn’t entirely ready to embrace death.

“Very well… but I’d like to remind you that, every so often, they still come to inspect my condition.”

“You might want to consider how you intend to handle your lantern from here on.”

“You make a good point—thank you for the reminder.”

Fu Qian listens intently, nodding in thanks.

Carefully examining the lantern in his hands, he reaches out in the next moment, uncovering its shroud to expose the light within.

What is this guy trying to do?

Watching the scene unfold, Orintel finds himself momentarily petrified.

[SAN Points -10]

Unfortunately, Fu Qian offers no explanation as he gazes at the flickering flames, then begins activating his transformation into a Pseudo-Divine Being.

As his ranking surges unexpectedly, an inexplicable sensation arises—the brief disconnection between himself and the lamp’s flame.

Whoosh—

Under Orintel’s horrified gaze, Fu Qian takes a deep breath and gently exhales toward the flickering light.