Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 887: Crimson Fiend’s Trail

The Serpent Scale Soarer descended from the heavens like a silent, dark tear in the fabric of the sky. The exhilarating freedom of the open air was swiftly replaced by a heavy, oppressive atmosphere that seemed to rise from the forest below.

The Blackwood Forest.

Even from a thousand feet up, it looked menacing. It was a vast, tangled sea of dark green and black, a primordial wilderness that seemed to swallow the light. The trees were ancient and gnarled, their branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. A faint, unnatural mist clung to the canopy, refusing to dissipate even in the bright afternoon sun.

Yue Lingshan shivered, an involuntary tremor that had nothing to do with the temperature. She pressed herself closer against Wang Jian’s back, her arms tightening around his waist.

"Jian," she whispered, her voice a soft note of unease against the low hum of the flying artifact. "This place... it feels wrong. The spiritual energy is chaotic, tainted."

Wang Jian brought the Soarer to a smooth, hovering stop, his gaze sweeping over the forest with a cool, analytical focus. "It is," he confirmed, his voice calm. "The lingering presence of demonic Qi. It’s like a poison, seeping into the very earth. The Crimson Fiend has been active here for some time."

He pointed towards a small, pathetic-looking clearing on the edge of the vast forest. A cluster of simple, mud-brick houses huddled together, a plume of weak grey smoke rising from a single chimney. The entire settlement looked like it was holding its breath, cowering in the shadow of the monstrous woods.

"That must be the village," he said.

He guided the Serpent Scale Soarer down, not towards the village itself, but into a secluded, heavily wooded clearing a half-mile away. Landing directly would cause a panic among the already terrified mortals.

The moment the artifact touched the ground, he stepped off, turning to help Yue Lingshan. He took her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Stay close, Lingshan. A demon who preys on mortals is often desperate, and desperate creatures are unpredictable."

She nodded, her hand clutching his, her other hand resting on the hilt of her Verdant Willow Blade. They concealed the Serpent Scale Soarer with a simple but effective illusion talisman, then began the walk towards the village.

The closer they got, the more palpable the fear became. The fields surrounding the settlement were untended, the crops wilting. A deathly silence hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual lively bustle of a mortal village. It felt like a place holding its last rites.

A crude wooden palisade, sharpened stakes pointing outwards, surrounded the village. It was a pathetic defense against a true demonic cultivator, but a clear sign of the inhabitants’ desperation. The main gate was barred shut.

Two guards stood watch, their faces gaunt, their eyes wide and darting nervously towards the forest. They held their iron-tipped spears with white-knuckled grips, their bodies trembling.

As Wang Jian and Yue Lingshan approached, the guards stiffened, leveling their trembling spears.

"Halt!" one of them cried out, his voice cracking with fear. "Who goes there?! State your purpose!"

Wang Jian stopped, holding up a placating hand. He did not release his Qi in an overwhelming wave; that would only frighten them more. Instead, he let a small, controlled trickle of his Foundation Establishment aura seep out—enough to be felt, to be recognized as something far beyond mortal, but calm and non-threatening.

"We are cultivators from the Mystic Peak Sect," he announced, his voice clear and steady, carrying an innate authority that cut through their fear. "We have heard whispers of a demonic presence in this region and have come to investigate."

The guards’ eyes widened, their terrified expressions slowly morphing into ones of stunned, disbelieving hope. Immortals. Real, living Immortals from the legendary Mystic Peak Sect were here.

"Immortals?" the other guard whispered, his spear lowering slightly. He looked from Wang Jian’s calm, handsome face to Yue Lingshan’s graceful, veiled form. He fell to his knees with a clumsy thud.

The first guard quickly followed suit, his spear clattering to the dusty ground. "Esteemed Immortals! Forgive our rudeness! We... we thought you were... him!"

"We are not," Wang Jian said gently. "We are here to help. Open the gate."

Scrambling with a haste born of desperate relief, the guards unbarred the heavy wooden gate, pulling it open with a low groan.

They ushered Wang Jian and Yue Lingshan inside as if they were divine saviors. "The Elder! We must take you to the Village Elder!" one of them stammered, leading the way.

The village, which Wang Jian learned was called Oakhaven, was even more desolate inside. Doors were shuttered, windows barred. The few faces that peeked out from behind curtains were pale and haunted.

They were led to the largest building, a simple but sturdy hall that served as the village’s administrative center. The interior was dark, lit only by a few sputtering oil lamps, the air thick with the scent of fear and unwashed bodies. A dozen or so grim-faced men and women were gathered, their expressions a mixture of despair and defiance.

At their center sat an old man, his back bent with age, his face a roadmap of worry and hardship. This was the village elder, Elder Chen.

"Elder!" the guard cried out, his voice filled with an almost hysterical joy. "Immortals! The Mystic Peak Sect has sent Immortals to save us!"

Every head in the room snapped towards the entrance. A collective gasp went through the assembled villagers. They stared at Wang Jian and Yue Lingshan, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe, reverence, and a desperate, fragile hope.

Elder Chen struggled to his feet, his old bones creaking. He stumbled forward and, before Wang Jian could stop him, fell to his knees, his forehead touching the dusty floor.

"Esteemed Immortals," he wept, his voice thick and broken. "The heavens have heard our prayers! You have come! You have finally come to save our miserable village!"

Wang Jian moved forward, his expression carefully crafted to show compassion and righteous strength. He gently placed his hands on the old man’s shoulders, helping him to his feet.

"There is no need for this, Elder," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "We of the Mystic Peak Sect do not seek such ceremony. We are here to uphold justice. Tell us what has happened here. Tell us of this demon."

The Elder, tears streaming down his wrinkled face, could barely speak at first. He gripped Wang Jian’s arm as if he were a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. "Thank you, Esteemed Immortal. Thank you."

He led them to a crude wooden table and, with trembling hands, poured them cups of water. He began his tale, his voice a low, horrified whisper.

"It started a month ago, Esteemed Immortal," he began, his gaze distant, lost in the terrible memories.

"At first, it was the livestock. Our sheep, our cattle. We would find them in the morning, their bodies... drained. Not a single drop of blood left. As if they were husks."

He shivered. "And they were arranged in strange, terrible patterns in the fields. Circles, spirals... it was the work of a demon, we knew it."

A woman in the corner of the room, her face pale and tear-streaked, let out a choked sob.

Elder Chen’s voice dropped even lower. "Then... then it started taking our people."

"Young Wei was the first," the elder continued, his voice trembling. "A strong lad, a good hunter, the pride of his family. He was snatched from his own home in the dead of night. His mother... she found his door splintered, his room a mess... and a faint, sweet-smelling red mist lingering in the air."

The weeping woman in the corner, clearly Wei’s mother, cried out in fresh grief. "My son... my boy..."

Another woman, her face a mask of sorrow, stepped forward. "My Li-Mei... she was to be married next spring, Immortal Sir. She was beautiful, so full of life." Her voice broke. "She just... vanished from her bed. Gone. We only found her favorite hairpin on the floor... covered in... something dark and sticky. It smelled of rust."

Yue Lingshan, her fists clenched at her sides beneath her cloak, felt a surge of cold fury. Her voice, when she spoke, was like ice.

"This is monstrous," she said, the words sharp and clear. "To prey on innocent mortals, to treat their lives as... as nothing. Such an act cannot go unpunished."

The villagers looked at her, at the righteous anger in her posture, and a flicker of true hope ignited in their desolate hearts.

Wang Jian listened to their tales patiently, his expression grave and serious. He let them pour out their fear and their grief. Then, he began to ask his questions, his mind a cold, analytical engine.

"The red mist," he said, his gaze fixed on Elder Chen. "You said it was sweet-smelling. Can you describe the scent?"

The elder frowned, thinking. "Sweet, yes... but cloying. Like... like rotting flowers mixed with something metallic. It made your head spin if you breathed it in too deeply."

’A demonic art that affects the senses. Likely a low-grade confusion or fear-inducing mist,’ Wang Jian cataloged.

"The patterns the livestock were left in," he continued. "Can you describe them? Were they random, or specific symbols?"

A younger man stepped forward. "They were symbols, Esteemed Immortal. Always the same. A circle, with a jagged line, like a lightning bolt, through the center."

’A ritualistic symbol. He’s not just feeding; he’s performing a ritual. Likely a blood essence refinement technique. Crude, but effective for rapid, if unstable, power gain.’

"Were there any tracks?" Wang Jian asked. "Anything at all left behind by the perpetrator?"

The elder shook his head sadly. "Nothing, Immortal Sir. It is as if a ghost moves among us. Some have claimed to see a shadow, a blur of crimson in the corner of their eye just before an attack, but nothing more. We call him... the Crimson Fiend of Blackwood."

Wang Jian nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. A rogue Blood Fiend Sect disciple, likely of low standing, using forbidden mortal-sacrificing arts to rapidly increase his power. Pathetic, but dangerous to these defenseless villagers.

Elder Chen, seeing the thoughtful, serious expression on the Immortal’s face, felt his hope surge. He fell to his knees again. "Esteemed Immortals, please, save us! We have little to offer... our winter grain stores, the few silver coins we have saved for emergencies... It is all yours, if you can just stop this monster!"

Wang Jian held up a hand, a gentle but absolute gesture that stopped the elder in his tracks.

"Keep your grain, Elder," he said, his voice firm yet kind. "Keep your silver. We of the Mystic Peak Sect do not seek payment for upholding justice."

He looked at the faces of the villagers, at their fear, their hope, their desperation.

"Protecting the innocent," he declared, his voice ringing with a righteous conviction that was utterly, perfectly feigned, "is our duty."

Yue Lingshan looked at him, her heart swelling with a fierce, absolute adoration. He was everything she had ever dreamed a hero could be. Strong, decisive, intelligent, and so, so compassionate. He was perfect.

Wang Jian turned back to the elder. "We will handle this. But we need a place to start. Where was the last attack?"

"The logging camp!" the elder said instantly, his voice filled with renewed urgency. "Deeper in the forest, near the old stone quarry. Three of our strongest lumberjacks were stationed there. They vanished just two nights ago. We are too afraid to go look for them ourselves. Perhaps... perhaps the fiend has its lair there."

He quickly produced a crude, hand-drawn map, pointing out the location with a trembling finger.

Wang Jian took the map, his expression hardening with resolve. "We will investigate immediately."

He and Yue Lingshan turned to leave the hall. The villagers bowed deeply as they passed, their faces filled with a reverence usually reserved for gods.

"May the heavens protect you, Esteemed Immortals!" Elder Chen called after them.

Once they were outside, alone again in the deserted, fear-choked streets of Oakhaven, Yue Lingshan’s hand found Wang Jian’s.

"Jian," she said, her voice filled with a burning anger. "Those poor people. We have to stop this demon. We have to make him pay for what he has done."

"We will, Lingshan," Wang Jian replied, his voice a low, reassuring murmur as he squeezed her hand. "Do not worry."

His outward expression was one of righteous resolve. But his inner thoughts were far colder, far more calculating.

’This ’Crimson Fiend’... he’s more brazen than I thought. Good. It means he’s overconfident. And his methods... absorbing life essence... a classic, if crude, demonic art. Perhaps he possesses a cultivation scripture that might be... useful. Yes. This little side mission might prove more profitable than just a few sect contribution points.’

He looked towards the dark, menacing line of the Blackwood Forest, his eyes gleaming with a cold, predatory light.

"Come, my love," he said to Yue Lingshan, his voice softening once more into the tone of a caring lover. "Let us go hunting."

They walked towards the edge of the village, towards the oppressive shadow of the ancient woods. The hunt for the Crimson Fiend had begun, but for Wang Jian, it was also a hunt for knowledge, for power, and for the spoils that always came with cleansing the world of lesser, more reckless demons.