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

Just as Bai Ren had suspected, the battle didn't transform into a one-sided slaughter where he easily crushed the Half-Qilin, despite the desperate hopes of the Righteous Cultivators.

Instead, the conflict stretched on.

It became a grueling, savage war of attrition where a single moment of recklessness could prove fatal for either side.

The Half-Qilin launched another assault.

While its movements remained terrifying—every stride splintering the earth and every blow packing enough power to demolish peaks—it no longer charged with its previous, arrogant abandon.

Its gaze remained fixed on Bai Ren’s blade.

Every strike it threw was measured, cautious of being bitten by that specific sword.

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

After all, its previous wounds showed no signs of mending.

Though it couldn't comprehend the reason, the creature realized the sword possessed a strange power that nullified its natural healing.

Even so, the Half-Qilin still managed to suppress the trio.

The weight of the pressure was staggering.

Even when defending against indirect shockwaves, agony flared through Bai Ren’s arms and Meridians, despite his Saint-Grade Sword and a collection of Heaven-Grade Artifacts.

Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth repeatedly as he struggled to maintain his footing.

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

Their auras flickered erratically, their physical conditions deteriorating with every clash.

Zhao Wujin’s Qi was nearly depleted from the constant use of Heaven-Grade techniques; his complexion was deathly pale as he desperately maintained suppression arrays just to hinder the beast for a fleeting second.

Yu Xuande was no longer able to take the initiative since most of his Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts had been shattered.

A single direct blow would likely end his life. Nevertheless, he continued to provide support for Bai Ren.

They were clearly at their breaking point.

And yet—the Half-Qilin was failing to finish them off as expected.

Whenever it tried to close in, Bai Ren blocked its path.

The Saint-Grade Sword hummed, delivering a series of precise and unrelenting strikes.

Not every swing found its mark perfectly.

But whenever the steel tasted blood—

The injury remained.

Minor wounds began to pile up.

Shallow cuts obstinately refused to knit back together.

Even when the Half-Qilin desperately forced its Qi to circulate for regeneration, the scars left by the blade resisted the process, causing internal disruptions.

The beast’s breathing became labored.

Its aura, once an infinite and suffocating tide, started to flicker.

The weakening was gradual—

But it was undeniable.

The Half-Qilin sensed it too.

Its face twisted with frustration as its regenerative powers failed.

Each new wound chipped away at its total strength, 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.

Every parry sent violent vibrations through his bones, yet he refused to yield.

He couldn't afford to.

As long as he wielded that sword—

The Half-Qilin was restricted.

It was a balance of power.

A very precarious one.

The field of battle had turned into a test of endurance.

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

But the Half-Qilin had lost its aura of invincibility.

Its power was steadily bleeding away.

And for the first time—

The clock was ticking against the beast.

***

While Bai Ren’s group engaged the Half-Qilin, another pivotal and high-stakes confrontation was unfolding elsewhere.

CLANG! CLANG!

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

What he assumed would be a swift triumph was proving to be unexpectedly difficult.

First, there was the inexplicable surge in the Bai Clan’s overall power.

Now, they even had a Saint-Grade Sword in their possession—one capable of inflicting permanent damage on the Half-Qilin.

The situation was no longer as lopsided as he had hoped.

Bai Chu let out a laugh.

It was a sound of calm, steady, and quiet assurance.

"One could say that the heavens have smiled upon our Bai Clan," Bai Chu replied, glancing toward Mó Zūn.

He paused, then added,

"However, there is something I find far more intriguing," he said, shifting his full attention to Mó Zūn.

"How exactly did you convince the Half-Qilin to work with you?"

Silence followed.

Only the distant echoes of the ongoing battle filled the gap.

"You realize," he continued, his tone soft but piercing,

"that even if you win today—even if you manage to wipe us out—what happens next?"

He pointed vaguely toward the rampaging Half-Qilin.

"Demonic Beasts don't build civilizations. They don't respect borders or allies."

His eyes pierced into Mó Zūn.

"In the end, you Demonic Cultivators would simply be the next ones slaughtered!"

The atmosphere grew heavy.

Mó Zūn remained tight-lipped.

Bai Chu sighed softly, a hint of mockery in his expression.

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

"Why provide any assistance to Demonic Beasts?"

"..."

Mó Zūn was quiet for a moment before a smirk played on his lips.

"Bai Chu," he began slowly, his voice vibrating with absolute certainty,

"You are completely in the dark."

Bai Chu’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Mó Zūn continued, his stare cold and fixed.

"You are going to die here," he stated matter-of-factly.

"And once you are gone—I shall restore the Desolate Heaven Empire."

The statement carried a heavy conviction.

It wasn't spoken in anger.

Or out of desperation.

But with total confidence.

Mó Zūn then looked toward the far-off fight, where the Half-Qilin roared as the Saint-Grade Sword carved another permanent furrow into its skin.

"Hmph!"

He grunted.

"As for those creatures," Mó Zūn said with a dismissive wave, "you needn't concern yourself."

Mó Zūn’s eyes flashed with a faint light.

"Once they have finished exterminating your kin," he said, "I will deal with them personally."

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

(Deal with them... himself?)

He instinctively looked back at the Half-Qilin.

It was a pinnacle Demonic Beast.

A creature with a hide more durable than Heaven-Grade defensive gear.

An entity whose healing was nonsensical—able to shrug off lethal wounds in the blink of an eye.

Even now, only that Saint-Grade Sword was making any progress.

Without such a tool—slaying the Half-Qilin was practically impossible.

Bai Chu’s mind raced.

Even if it were himself or Mó Zūn facing that beast alone, the odds of winning were pathetic.

Less than twenty percent, at best.

And that was being optimistic.

Without a Saint-Grade weapon to halt its regeneration—

The chances were essentially zero.

So where did Mó Zūn’s confidence come from?

Bai Chu scrutinized him carefully.

Mó Zūn stood there at ease, hands behind his back, his posture completely unaffected by the surrounding carnage.

He wasn't bluffing.

(He is concealing something powerful.)

Bai Chu thought grimly.

Bai Chu gave a small shake of his head.

"Regardless," he said, his voice firming up with renewed confidence, "it is irrelevant."

Mó Zūn’s plans for the beast didn't matter.

Because Bai Chu had no intention of letting the man leave the battlefield alive.

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

Mó Zūn suddenly burst into laughter.

It was a loud sound, dripping with disdain.

"Won't win?"

He echoed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Bai Chu... your ego hasn't faded in the slightest."

SLASH! SLASH!

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

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

Bai Chu’s expression turned grim.

His sword whipped out, meeting the strikes head-on as shockwaves exploded outward, shredding the clouds above.

"Ego?"

Bai Chu snorted coldly.

"You're the one dreaming if you think this ends in your favor."

Mó Zūn smirked as their blades clashed once more, sparks showering between them.

"You've got it wrong," he said calmly. "I never claimed I could kill you."

Mó Zūn’s grin stretched wider.

"But just because I can't kill you..." he continued, his voice dropping to a sharp, cruel whisper, "doesn't mean your Bai Clan is safe from the same fate."

Bai Chu’s heart jolted, though he kept his expression neutral.

"Hmph! Mó Zūn, do you truly think my Bai Clan is so easily handled? You should be more worried about your own Demonic Cultivators being slaughtered by them!"

At that precise moment—

Boom!

A titanic explosion of energy erupted from the distance.

The very heavens shook.

Qi swirled violently as an unfamiliar, crushing aura surged forth, possessing a weight that momentarily distracted even the Immortals.

Bai Chu turned his gaze toward the source.

"That technique...!"

It was the same move Bai Zihan had displayed previously.

But this time—it was significantly more powerful.

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

Opposite him, Mó Zūn also stopped.

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

"Another pest," Mó Zūn muttered softly.

Then—

Mó Zūn retreated half a step, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Bai Chu, I have to wonder," he remarked casually, "will you still be able to keep that calm face—"

His smile turned predatory.

"—once Bai Zihan is a corpse?"

Bai Chu’s pupils contracted sharply.

In a heartbeat, he turned his head.

In the direction of Bai Zihan—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

One after another, terrifying auras exploded into existence.

Demonic Qi shot into the sky like pillars of obsidian.

One.

Two.

No.

There were more.

The suffocating pressure of multiple Great Ascension–level Demonic Cultivators saturated the air 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 shock and rage washing over him.

"How dare you!"

Bai Chu bellowed, his killing intent exploding uncontrollably as he whipped his head back to Mó Zūn.

"If Bai Zihan falls," he vowed, his voice shaking with fury, "I swear upon my Dao—"

"I will hunt every single Demonic Cultivator to the ends of the earth!"

"We will wipe out your Sects and your lineages until nothing remains!"

The malice in his words was so potent that the very space around them began to distort.

Mó Zūn let out a roar of laughter.

"Hahaha!"

His laughter rang across the field, saturated with mockery.

"Be my guest," he sneered. "You can certainly try."

He leaned in, his eyes sharp and pitiless.

"But if you attempt that," Mó Zūn added coldly,

"do you honestly believe the Bai Clan will survive to see the end?"

Bai Chu stood paralyzed, his chest heaving as he looked back toward Bai Zihan’s position once more.

Multiple Great Ascension auras.

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