Chapter 136: The Human Clan's Own Precious Technique?
Face? What use is pride when your life is hanging by a thread?
The Crimson Flame Bird couldn't be bothered to argue with the Nine-Headed Golden Lion. Not everyone had a Nine Spirit King as a grandfather, after all. This lion had simply emerged from some barren, backwater land—a lone Ancient Descendant that had clawed its way into the Hundred Fragmented Mountains through sheer luck.
It was always cautious, paying attention to every detail, terrified that one misstep would mean death. And rightly so. In this world, once you die, you're gone. No one mourns the forgotten.
"Holy Son, I think..." The Crimson Flame Bird started with an avalanche of flattery so cloying even a professional bootlicker would wince—only then did it voice its real curiosity.
"Holy Son, what sort of precious technique is this? How can it change form so fluidly?"
The bird was genuinely puzzled. What kind of innate rune technique had this level of transformation? It defied everything it thought it knew about Fierce Beast techniques.
"As expected, you're just another frog at the bottom of a well." The Nine-Headed Golden Lion huffed, tossing its head with feigned confidence. "Holy Son, if I'm not mistaken, this must be the legendary Golden Macaque technique. The ancient tales say the Golden Macaque mastered seventy-two transformations. Only that technique can shift through so many forms."
If anyone else had said it, perhaps someone might have believed it. But among insiders—Shi Yi, Hu Niu, Ling'er, Yu Zimo—the claim was laughable.
Yun Xi, ever perceptive, noticed the strange looks being exchanged. She nudged Shi Yi in the ribs with her elbow and whispered, "Holy Son, did the Golden Lion get it wrong?"
Why poke me just to talk?
Shi Yi sighed inwardly. He'd been far too lenient with her. She was a fierce beast, not some delicate human, and yet he let her act this freely. Now she even dared jab him with her elbow.
Still, he didn't scold her.
Instead, he answered gently, "This is a precious technique developed by the Human Clan—a technique that anyone can learn."
The moment those words left his mouth...
Not just Yun Xi—both the Nine-Headed Golden Lion and the Crimson Flame Bird stared in disbelief.
"A Human Clan precious technique?"
"Impossible."
"From ancient times until now, Human Clan techniques have always come from Fierce Beast bones."
"How could the Human Clan possibly have their own technique?"
"It's nonsense. Other than a few prodigies…"
"Yes—except for the Holy Son and his brother, no one else from the Human Clan has innate techniques of their own."
They argued one after the other, voices laced with disbelief. To them, the very idea was absurd. Everyone knew the Human Clan's cultivation path was a hand-me-down—relics stolen from beast bones. Nothing more.
If every human could wield their own original technique, then the Lower Realm's Eight Regions would've been conquered by the Human Clan long ago.
The truth was this: Fierce Beast techniques and their corresponding runes were cryptic and arcane. Even when humans did manage to copy them, they could never replicate the original power. The disparity in quality was night and day.
That's why, for so long, the Human Clan had been stuck at the bottom of the pecking order—oppressed and overlooked. Because imitation is never innovation. A copy is never a legacy.
It wasn't until generations later, when the Desolate Emperor established the Human Body Mystic Realm Cultivation System, that everything began to change.
The Human Clan started creating its own techniques. Its own cultivation system.
That was the turning point.
Without it, the Human Clan would've remained nothing more than shadow-chasers of the Fierce Beasts.
"H-Holy Son... a technique that everyone can learn?" Yun Xi echoed, eyes wide as the implications sank in.
Far to the east, near a misty lake in the Hundred Fragmented Mountains...
"Where do you think you're running?"
"Time to die!"
The warriors from Stone Village were the first to intercept the black fierce bird, cutting off its escape route.
"Human Clan? More blood food?"
The monstrous bird loomed large, wings stretching a hundred meters wide. Its bald, vulture-like head and cold red eyes radiated cruelty.
It sniffed the air and sneered. The scent of human blood filled its nostrils—rich, enticing, medicinal. It was ready to feast.
"Still calling us blood food? You're the one who's going to be dinner today."
The group from the Heaven Mending Pavilion arrived shortly after, panting from the chase. They had to admit, the technique used by the Stone Village warriors—the Form and Intention Method—was absurdly effective.
Not only could it shift form at will, it required little energy. It was practically custom-built for humans. There was none of the strain and rejection that came from forcing a beast technique into the human body.
Of course, neither the Nine-Headed Golden Lion nor the Crimson Flame Bird understood this technique. To them, the Form and Intention Method seemed like some extraordinary, mysterious transformation art.
Not because they were dumb—just inexperienced.
After all, no one in their right mind shouts out their technique's name while using it. If you knew what it was, fine. If not, tough.
Sure, there were a few lunatics who announced every move like a stage actor, but anyone with common sense kept their trump cards close. Declaring your technique before battle was as stupid as playing poker with your cards facing up.
The black fierce bird sneered, eyes gleaming with hunger. "So many humans, so much meat. Blood thick, flesh glowing. You're all rare medicines to me. Today, fortune favors me."
But before it could act—
The "little sparrowhawks" from Stone Village suddenly shifted, turning into golden eagles that radiated a pressure no less than the black bird itself.
"Form and Intention Method: Eagle Form."
A weak hawk is a harrier. A powerful one becomes an eagle. Now, behind each human appeared the phantom of a fierce golden eagle—kings of the sky, talons sharp, eyes piercing.
The black bird's confidence faltered.
What just happened?
Weren't they chicks just a moment ago?
Now they were fully grown raptors—and they were circling.
But while the beast was stunned, the eagles weren't. With a chorus of cries, they swooped in, talons first.
"Fierce Beasts don't care about fairness. Why should we? Everyone, attack!"
The Heaven Mending Pavilion's young warriors, though unable to use the Form and Intention Method, were no slouches. These were the elite of their generation.
They didn't stand back—they struck with everything they had. Their precious techniques roared through the air like a barrage of artillery, multicolored blasts lighting up the sky.
"Despicable humans! Fight me one-on-one if you have any guts!" the black bird howled.
It was furious. Bitter. It didn't expect the humans to be so... underhanded.
In the blink of an eye, it was riddled with wounds. The golden eagles had torn into its hide; blasts from the Pavilion disciples punched through its defenses.
It tried to break free—once, twice, three times. Each time it was blocked. Pinned down.
Yes, it was stronger than any one of them.
But not all of them.
Not together.