A Bloody Feast

Name a price? Then he wouldn't hold back.

"One Wing Enchanted Gear," Mo Fan said without missing a beat.

"Go by yourself, then. How many people die is none of my business." Zhao Manyan stopped dead in his tracks, and his expression made it clear he wasn't joking.

"A Spirit Grade Lightning Seed. If that doesn't work for you, I'll go alone — you're not exactly a powerhouse, and I have my own means of protection." Mo Fan's tone was equally earnest, without a trace of humor.

"…Damn it, you ruthless bastard!" Zhao Manyan spat.

A Spirit Grade Lightning Seed was worth tens of millions.

Special Spirit Seeds like that were always scarce resources — the moment one appeared at an auction house, it would be snapped up in minutes by wealthy factions.

So Spirit Seeds often sold well above market rate. The Spirit Grade Lightning Seed Mo Fan was demanding wasn't something the Zhao family couldn't afford, but it wasn't something they'd simply hand over on a whim, either. It felt like a layer of skin being torn off, raw and bloody.

"Deal?" Mo Fan asked.

"Deal," Zhao Manyan said through gritted teeth.

Zhao Manyan knew how to run the numbers.

Compared to how Mu Nujiao had spent far greater family resources bolstering her prestige by funding public goods for every incoming student, having his own Noble Clan part with one Spirit Grade Lightning Seed to build an even stronger reputation would absolutely be a bargain. Zhao Manyan was confident the elders who held power in his clan would be more than happy to make this trade.

While the two were still plotting, they had already reached the third floor.

When Lingling told them that the red dots on the third floor were practically wall to wall, the two exchanged rueful smiles.

All that scheming about dividing the spoils — what use was any of it if they couldn't even survive these monsters' claws? Neither the Greenish-Yellow Demoness nor the Scale-Skin Mother Demon would be easy to put down.

Down in the main plaza, the rehearsal had finally begun.

The students who had been waiting on the outskirts flooded into the center of the concert venue all at once.

The inner ring had seats, which had already been claimed long ago by a swarm of male fans — hormones surging, signs and iPads raised high, bold declarations of adoration scrawled across every surface.

Many wore custom T-shirts bearing the idol's face. Having waited so long, they were finally about to lay eyes on their goddess before the concert proper, and they were beside themselves with excitement, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Beyond the seated section, an even larger crowd pressed in — plenty of genuine fans, but just as many who had come purely for the spectacle.

When the opening music kicked in, the crowd erupted in waves. Artificial rain drifted down from above, showering the young revelers dancing to the beat. Anyone who knew a few moves couldn't help swaying.

It was like a private party coming alive. When the backup dancers took the stage — figures that turned heads, dressed in hot pants and crop tops — the crowd surged into a frenzy. Cheers, screams, and DJ effects swelled into a single wall of sound.

The dancers' wet hair whipped through the air; their eyes were hazy with the music, achingly magnetic.

Sinuous and electric, they radiated effortless allure — lights of every color sliced across the stage like weaving bolts of lightning, throwing their supple, passion-charged moves into sharp relief.

A carnival in full swing, playing out right here and right now. The headline act hadn't even taken the stage yet, and the students — vibrant with youth — had already blown the roof off the place.

What none of them knew was that this gymnasium was already a trap.

That girl who looked a little shy and restrained in the crowd — the one who said she was heading to the restroom — might very well be about to shed her skin entirely, and turn this festive rehearsal into a bloody feast.

On the third floor, as Mo Fan and Zhao Manyan passed through the transparent corridor, they could see the rehearsal already in full swing below.

Neither had the slightest interest in the music shaking the gymnasium walls. From their elevated position, they ran at full sprint, eyes sweeping over the dense mass of people below.

According to Lingling, among those four or five thousand concertgoers, no fewer than a hundred had already been parasitized.

The moment the Scale-Skin Mother Demon gave the order, over a hundred Demon-Beasts would simultaneously tear off their human skins, transform into bloodthirsty monsters, and carve a massacre through those four or five thousand people.

Blood — that was precisely what the Scale-Skin Mother Demon needed most.

The more blood it drew, the stronger it became.

Four or five thousand people, all crammed into one place — the vast majority Basic-Level Mages who would struggle badly against Demon-Beasts. Once those parasitized individuals shed their skins and turned, it would become a slaughter.

"Move fast. All the Greenish-Yellow Demonesses from the other zones are converging here — they're turning this place into a killing floor. There are at least three thousand female Mages here suitable for blood extraction and further parasitism!" Lingling's voice was tight with desperation.

Not long before, the red dots had been scattered across the gymnasium, prowling for isolated targets.

Now, every last one was moving toward the central venue.

Their intent couldn't have been clearer. If the concertgoers were parasitized and infected en masse, the Scale-Skin Mother Demon's power could break through to Commander-class — and by then, killing it would be far more difficult. A Commander-class Scale-Skin Mother Demon holding four or five thousand hostages would spark a catastrophic event unlike anything seen before.

Both Mo Fan and Zhao Manyan felt the full weight of the situation settle over them.

The Scale-Skin Mother Demon genuinely had a sharp mind. No wonder it had herded all the parasitized individuals into the gymnasium — it had been building toward this larger scheme all along.

Every person in this building could become its offering.

"We're here," Mo Fan said to Lingling, his voice flat and controlled.

"You must kill the Mother Demon first. If you don't, you'll be surrounded by a swarm of Greenish-Yellow Demonesses, and at that point your odds of walking out are basically nothing," Lingling said.

Zhao Manyan, standing right beside him, heard every word.

Doubt crept in.

Fame mattered. But if you were dead, nothing else counted for a damn.

He hadn't expected things to be this dangerous.

"Mo Fan — you're not scared?" he couldn't help asking.

He'd noticed it before: his roommate was nothing like a normal student. The calm Mo Fan maintained when facing Demon-Beasts was on par with veteran hunters who had spent years living on the knife's edge between life and death.

"I've faced worse than this. It's nothing," Mo Fan said. "And Zhao Manyan — forget about backing out now. Look behind you."

The corridor they had just come through was no longer empty.

A group of girls had appeared — they seemed to all be from the same dormitory, dressed in volunteer uniforms, clearly temporary staff for the concert.

They were chatting and laughing among themselves. When they spotted Mo Fan and Zhao Manyan, one particularly conscientious girl stepped forward briskly and called out: "Hey, you two. This is the third-floor work area. You shouldn't be wandering in here."

Mo Fan didn't react.

Zhao Manyan stood where he was, eyes fixed on these girls who looked completely and utterly normal.

Mo Fan caught his eye and murmured:

"All red dots."