Turns Out, I’m In A Villain Clan! Chapter 398 War of Attrition, War of Schemes

Just as Bai Ren had anticipated, the confrontation did not turn into a one-sided slaughter of the Half-Qilin, despite the fervent hopes of many Righteous Cultivators.

Instead, the battle stretched into a grueling stalemate.

It transformed into a savage, exhausting war of attrition where neither combatant dared to be careless.

The Half-Qilin launched another assault.

Its movements remained terrifyingly powerful—each stride fractured the earth and every blow carried the weight to crumble mountains—yet it no longer charged with the same reckless arrogance it had displayed previously.

The beast’s gaze was fixed intently on Bai Ren's blade.

Every strike it threw was measured with caution, as it desperately sought to avoid the bite of Bai Ren's sword.

It refused to overextend, terrified of leaving an opening for another direct hit from the Saint-Grade weapon.

The creature's previous wounds had failed to mend, after all.

Though it couldn't comprehend the reason, the beast knew the sword possessed a mystical property that nullified its natural healing.

Even so, the Half-Qilin maintained enough power to suppress the three of them.

The weight of the combat was crushing.

Simply parrying the indirect shockwaves caused agony to flare through Bai Ren's arms and Meridians, even with his Saint-Grade Sword and several Heaven-Grade Artifacts protecting him.

Blood trickled from his mouth repeatedly as he struggled to maintain his footing.

Behind him, Zhao Wujin and Yu Xuande were in equally dire straits.

Their auras wavered unsteadily, their conditions deteriorating with every passing second of the exchange.

Zhao Wujin's Qi was nearly depleted from the constant use of Heaven-Grade techniques; his complexion was as pale as a corpse as he desperately cast suppression spells just to hinder the Half-Qilin for a few heartbeat's time.

Yu Xuande was also unable to provide the same proactive support as before, seeing as most of his Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts had been shattered.

A single direct blow would likely result in his death. Nevertheless, he continued to provide what support he could to Bai Ren.

The group was visibly reaching their breaking point.

However—the Half-Qilin was not dominating them as easily as it should have.

Whenever it tried to press the advantage, Bai Ren intercepted it.

The Saint-Grade Sword whistled through the air repeatedly, delivering precise and relentless strikes.

Not every blow found its mark perfectly.

But whenever the edge tasted flesh—

The injury remained.

Minor wounds began to pile up.

Shallow cuts obstinately refused to heal.

Even when the Half-Qilin forcefully moved its Qi to regenerate, the lingering marks of the sword resisted the process, causing the internal flow of its body to become chaotic.

The beast’s breathing became labored.

Its aura, once an oceanic and suffocating force, started to flicker.

The weakening was gradual—

But it was undeniable.

The Half-Qilin sensed it too.

Its expression grew more sinister with every failed attempt at recovery.

Each wound sapped its vitality, bit by bit.

Meanwhile, Bai Ren was approaching his absolute limit.

His reactions were slowing down.

He gripped his weapon so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Each swing sent agonizing tremors through his limbs, yet he refused to yield.

He couldn't afford to.

For as long as he brandished that sword—

The Half-Qilin was unable to act with impunity.

That was the balance of the fight.

A delicate, fragile balance.

The area had turned into a battlefield of endurance.

Bai Ren’s party was broken and bloodied, barely clinging to consciousness.

But the Half-Qilin was no longer an invincible monster.

Its prowess was steadily eroding.

And for the very first time—

Time was working against it.

***

While Bai Ren and his companions dealt with the Half-Qilin, a parallel battle of equal significance and decisive weight was unfolding elsewhere.

CLANG! CLANG!

"It appears your Bai Clan has stumbled upon a rather troublesome artifact," Mó Zún remarked.

What he had assumed would be a swift triumph was proving to be significantly more complicated.

Initially, there was the unexplained surge in the Bai Clan’s overall power.

Now, they even held a Saint-Grade Sword—a weapon capable of inflicting lasting harm on the Half-Qilin.

The situation was no longer as advantageous as he had first thought.

Bai Chu let out a laugh.

The sound was composed and steady, radiating a quiet sense of self-assurance.

"One might say the Bai Clan has been graced by fortune," Bai Chu replied, glancing toward Mó Zún.

He went on,

"However, what puzzles me more is this," he said, shifting his full attention to Mó Zún.

"How did you manage to strike a deal with the Half-Qilin?"

Silence followed.

The echoes of the distant combat filled the brief lull in their conversation.

"Think about it," Bai Chu continued, his tone level but cutting,

"even if you prevail here—if you actually succeed in wiping us out—what follows?"

He made a subtle motion toward the Half-Qilin.

"Demonic Beasts are not empire builders. They do not share their domains."

His eyes pierced into Mó Zún’s.

"In the end, you Demonic Cultivators would simply be the next to die!"

The atmosphere turned heavy.

Mó Zún remained silent.

Bai Chu let out a soft breath, his expression almost mocking.

"So I truly fail to see the logic," he said.

"Why assist Demonic Beasts at all?"

Mó Zún stayed quiet for a moment before a smirk played on his lips.

"Bai Chu," he spoke slowly, his voice calm yet dripping with absolute certainty,

"You are completely ignorant."

Bai Chu’s eyes narrowed slightly at the remark.

Mó Zún continued, his gaze icy and resolute.

"You will perish on this ground," he stated flatly.

"And once that is done—I shall restore the Desolate Heaven Empire."

There was weight behind his words.

It wasn't fueled by anger.

Nor was it born of desperation.

It was pure conviction.

Mó Zún then looked toward the far-off struggle, where the Half-Qilin let out a roar as Bai Ren’s Saint-Grade Sword carved another deep gash into its hide.

"Hmph!"

He gave a dismissive snort.

"As for those creatures," Mó Zún said airily, "you needn't concern yourself."

Mó Zún’s eyes glimmered with a faint light.

"Once they have finished slaughtering the rest of you," he added, "I will deal with them myself."

Bai Chu stared at him, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes.

(Handle them... by himself?)

His gaze naturally drifted back toward the Half-Qilin.

It was a supreme Demonic Beast.

An entity with a body more durable than even Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts.

A creature with regeneration so absurd it could bounce back from the brink of death in an instant.

As it stood, only the Saint-Grade Sword could leave wounds that lasted. Without such a weapon, slaying the Half-Qilin was practically impossible.

Bai Chu’s mind whirled with calculations.

Even if he or Mó Zún were the ones facing the Half-Qilin, the odds of winning were pathetic.

Less than twenty percent.

And that was being optimistic.

Without a Saint-Grade Weapon to suppress its healing—

The probability dropped to nearly zero.

So where did Mó Zún derive such confidence?

Bai Chu observed him intently.

Mó Zún stood in a relaxed posture, hands clasped behind his back, seemingly unmoved by the carnage surrounding them.

There was no hint of a bluff in his expression.

(He is concealing something.)

Bai Chu thought grimly.

Bai Chu gave a small shake of his head.

"Well," he said, his voice suddenly turning firm and confident, "it matters little."

Whatever Mó Zún intended for the Half-Qilin was irrelevant.

Because Bai Chu had no plan to let Mó Zún walk away from this encounter alive.

"You won't be winning either way," Bai Chu proclaimed.

Mó Zún suddenly erupted into laughter.

It was a loud sound, saturated with derision.

"Won't win?"

He echoed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Bai Chu... your pride truly hasn't faded one bit."

SLASH! SLASH!

Obsidian demonic light sliced through the air as Mó Zún resumed his attack, his saber moving with lethal accuracy.

Each blow was infused with a killing intent so thick it could freeze the soul, forcing Bai Chu to react instantly.

Bai Chu’s face hardened.

His sword swung out, meeting the strikes head-on as shockwaves rippled through the air, scattering the clouds above.

"Pride?"

Bai Chu snorted with disdain.

"You are the one daydreaming if you think this ends in your favor."

Mó Zún smirked as their blades collided once more, sparks cascading between them.

"You've misunderstood," he said smoothly. "I never claimed I could kill you."

Mó Zún’s grin widened further.

"But just because you are beyond my reach..." he continued, his voice dropping to a sharp, cruel whisper, "doesn't mean the same can be said for the rest of your Bai Clan."

Bai Chu’s heart faltered for a second, though he kept his expression neutral.

"Hmph! Mó Zún, do you believe my Bai Clan is so easily dispatched? You should be more concerned about your Demonic Cultivators being slaughtered by them!"

At that moment—

Boom!

In the far distance, a cataclysmic shockwave exploded.

The very heavens shook.

Qi erupted violently as a strange yet overwhelming aura surged forth, exerting a pressure that would distract even Immortals.

Bai Chu turned his head toward the source of the blast.

"That technique...!"

It was the same move Bai Zihan had employed earlier.

Yet this time—it was significantly more powerful.

And Bai Zihan was still only at the Spirit Severing Realm.

Opposite him, Mó Zún also halted his movements.

His saber slowed mid-air as he looked toward the distant horizon, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Yet another troublesome individual," Mó Zún murmured.

Then—

Mó Zún took a half-step back, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Bai Chu, I have to wonder," he continued in a casual tone, "if you will be able to keep that composure—"

His smile became predatory.

"—once Bai Zihan is dead."

Bai Chu’s pupils contracted sharply.

In an instant, he whipped his head around.

In the direction of Bai Zihan—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Terrifying auras flared up one after another.

Demonic Qi shot into the heavens like pillars of pure darkness.

One.

Two.

No.

There were many more.

The suffocating pressure of multiple Great Ascension-level Demonic Cultivators saturated the battlefield coming from Bai Zihan’s location.

Bai Chu’s blood turned to ice. It was clear the Demonic Cultivators were determined to end Bai Zihan today.

His eyes stretched wide, a mix of horror and fury washing over his features.

"How dare you!"

Bai Chu bellowed, his killing intent exploding without restraint as he snapped his focus back to Mó Zún.

"If Bai Zihan is slain," he spoke, his voice shaking with a cold, suppressed rage, "I swear upon my Dao—"

"I will hunt down every single Demonic Cultivator in existence!"

"We will wipe out your sects and erase your bloodlines until nothing remains!"

The murderous intent behind his words was so potent that the very space around them began to vibrate.

Mó Zún let out a burst of laughter.

"Hahaha!"

His laugh rang out across the field, dripping with scorn.

"By all means," he said mockingly. "You are welcome to try."

He leaned in slightly, his eyes sharp and pitiless.

"But if you choose that path," Mó Zún added coldly,

"do you honestly think the Bai Clan will survive the process?"

Bai Chu stood motionless, his chest heaving as he stared toward Bai Zihan’s position once more.

Multiple Great Ascension auras.

Even for someone like Bai Zihan who had successfully slain Grade-10 Demonic Beasts, surviving this would be nearly impossible.