It was indescribable—beyond logic, even—that two auras so contradictory in nature, the Holy Realm and the Evil Realm, could coexist within a single being.
And yet, regardless of whether it was the sacred or the profane surging through him, John Lopez radiated a temperament that never wavered—an aura of overwhelming dominance.
But even dominance had its classifications. There was a dominance that was just, and a dominance that was arbitrary.
John Lopez fell firmly into the former.
He had given Young Master Feather two choices. When the latter chose death, John Lopez honored that decision without hesitation. It wasn't in his nature to offer a choice and then retract it—especially not when it was a choice to die. That would defy the very logic of his existence.
So, he took Young Master Feather's life—calmly, without pause, without guilt.
The others around him were already paralyzed with terror. When John Lopez began walking toward them, Nancy Loop's face went pale with dread. Her legs trembled as she frantically shook her head and pleaded, "S-Sir… please, have mercy!"
Young Master Feather had lied—he hadn't yet condensed his refined blood. But Nancy Loop hadn't lied. Her use of taboo pills to boost her cultivation temporarily was proof enough of that. She had no need to lie, nor did she attempt to deceive anyone.
In other words, the ultimatum John Lopez gave to Young Master Feather didn't apply to people like Nancy Loop.
They had no choices left.
Only death remained.
"I said I wasn't a sorcerer. Do you believe me now?" John Lopez asked again, his voice calm, yet laced with menace.
"We believe you!"
"Yes! You're clearly a powerful sword cultivator—not a sorcerer at all. I deeply regret ever slandering you, Sir," Nancy Loop said, nodding repeatedly like a frightened bird pecking seed.
She wasn't lying. Fear gripped her heart, yes, but it wasn't just terror that made her recant her words. The pure, untarnished sword aura John Lopez had released earlier made her truly uncertain of his identity.
If John Lopez said he wasn't a sorcerer—then he wasn't. What else could she do but agree?
But then, to her horror, a mysterious smile tugged at the corners of John Lopez's mouth. He shook his head lightly and said something that made her blood run cold.
"I don't believe you believe."
"'I don't believe you believe'...?" she echoed, stunned.
Was he toying with her? Speaking in riddles? For a moment, she thought it was a tongue-twister, a slip of the tongue, a jest. But then she felt it—an icy killing intent creeping toward her like death's shadow. Her heart seized in fear.
It wasn't about belief.
It never was.
The only truth that mattered now was that John Lopez wanted her dead.
He had slain someone in the Golden Crystal Realm as easily as plucking a weed. Killing her—an insignificant figure in comparison—would be no more difficult than slaughtering a pig.
Desperation surged in Nancy Loop's mind. Her gaze darted around frantically until it landed on Tracy Linch, standing not far behind John Lopez. A wild idea bloomed.
"Sir! Please, wait—I know what's wrong with that girl!" she blurted out.
She had noticed John Lopez's concern for Tracy Linch. No matter who he fought, he always ensured her safety first. That level of protection meant something. It meant that the girl mattered.
So, Nancy decided to gamble with her life—and use Tracy as her bargaining chip.
As expected, the killing intent around John Lopez slowly receded. His eyes narrowed as he said, "Then speak. What do you know?"
"Will you spare me if I tell you?" she asked cautiously.
John Lopez was silent for a moment, then nodded. "If your information is accurate, I'll let you go."
"It is. Absolutely. Our Cinnabar Sect knows the origins of the Holy Fire Tripod of Queen Cyan very well…"
She paused, glancing anxiously at him to judge his reaction. Would he still kill her after learning what she knew? Would he go back on his word?
John Lopez clearly understood her hesitation. With a cold snort, he said, "I already told you—I'm not a sorcerer. I don't break promises. Besides…"
Suddenly, the air around him grew frigid. A glacial pressure pressed down on the atmosphere like a stormfront descending.
"You don't have any other choice. If you don't tell me, you die. And if that happens, I'll simply visit your Cinnabar Sect myself to get the answers I need."
"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
Crushed by the weight of his authority, Nancy Loop capitulated immediately.
"It's said that the Holy Fire Tripod of Queen Cyan was once wielded by a queen known as Queen Cyan in her youth. Originally, it was a Sun Tripod Cauldron. Its counterpart, the Moon Tripod Cauldron, was personally forged by King Cyan as a gift for his wife. The Moon Tripod was designed specifically for women…"
She began explaining the legendary origins of the Holy Fire Tripods, their dual nature, and their historical significance.
"No one knows what ultimately happened to Queen Cyan and King Cyan. But both of the Holy Fire Tripods vanished without a trace."
"The Tripods are not mere tools—they're spiritual treasures. After spending years with their masters, they develop echoes—imprints—of their consciousness. These residual spirits are like living recordings, echoing the thoughts and voices of their owners."
"When the Tripods pass to a new generation, these memories replay within the minds of the new wielders. It's like hearing a disembodied voice in one's thoughts. And if the new host cannot understand or harmonize with that consciousness, it causes immense pain."
Nancy Loop gave a quick glance toward Tracy Linch, this time with a flicker of genuine admiration.
"In that girl's body resides the Moon Tripod Cauldron—the counterpart of the Holy Fire Tripod. Unfortunately, she doesn't know the Scripture of Queen Cyan. Without it, she cannot interpret or absorb the remnant consciousness within the cauldron. That's what causes her pain."
Tracy Linch listened, her eyes wide with revelation.
She wasn't trained in cultivation, but she grasped the essence of what Nancy was saying. The Tripod of Cyan within her body wasn't just a magical artifact—it held knowledge. Secrets. Memories.
Those disembodied voices she had been hearing—confusing, haunting, painful—were fragments of Queen Cyan's consciousness. Without the proper scripture to unlock them, her mind was suffering under the strain.
Now it all made sense.
John Lopez's expression didn't shift, but his heart stirred.
If Tracy could learn to harmonize with the consciousness embedded within the Tripod, then she would inherit the legacy of Queen Cyan herself.
It was a tremendous opportunity—one that could change everything.
Still, he didn't allow any visible emotion to flicker across his face. Instead, he focused on Nancy and asked with a sharpened tone, "Where did you hear all this hearsay?"
Nancy hesitated briefly. Then, deciding it was time to lay the truth bare, she replied solemnly, "Queen Cyan… was the first head of our Cinnabar Sect."
The revelation made John Lopez's eyes gleam with sudden clarity.
That explained it. That lent weight to every word she had spoken.
"In that case," he said slowly, his gaze narrowing, "the Scripture of Queen Cyan you mentioned—shouldn't it still be preserved within your Cinnabar Sect?"