The fox calculated rapidly.
Hand over the child? Impossible.
The Ghost Flag? Equally unacceptable.
Submission? Servitude. Control. A leash.
Little White stood beside her, small but rigid, golden eyes locked on the cultivator.
No fear.
Only tension.
The fox exhaled slowly.
"We have nothing you seek."
A lie.
Necessary.
"The Ghost Flag was taken by the village puppet," she added evenly.
Another lie.
"It is gone."
Her turquoise eyes held steady.
"And the child is mine."
No apology.
No deference.
The cultivator studied her.
Then laughed softly.
"Stubborn."
He crossed his arms.
"I can sense the flag's residue."
The fox's pulse tightened.
*Of course you can.*
Golden Core perception could trace lingering spiritual imprints across miles.
Not exact location—
But confirmation.
"And the child," he continued, voice lowering slightly,
"…is special."
Her grip tightened imperceptibly.
Little White remained silent.
The cultivator's smile thinned.
"But I am willing to compromise."
Less playful now.
More direct.
"Give me the flag."
"Keep the child."
"And I will allow you to leave."
A tempting fracture in the situation.
But flawed.
If he held the flag, he could refine it.
Study it.
Track its origin.
And eventually—
Track them.
The fox met his eyes.
"No."
Simple.
Final.
He sighed.
"As expected."
His hand lowered.
"Then I offer another option."
His eyes gleamed.
"Join me."
The fox blinked once.
"Join you?"
"Demonic practitioners are hunted," he said calmly. "Under my protection, you would be safe."
A faint pause.
"And useful."
His gaze drifted to Little White.
Interest again.
Not cruelty.
Utility.
The fox's thoughts spun through outcomes.
Alliance.
Submission.
Delayed betrayal.
Every path led to a cage.
"We will not join you," she said evenly.
"We will leave."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then shrugged.
"Pity."
He turned slightly.
"If you change your mind—"
His eyes flicked back, sharp as needles.
"I will be waiting."
And he vanished.
No explosion.
No threat.
Simply gone.
The air remained heavy.
Golden Core presence lingering like a stain.
Little White's eyes narrowed.
The child stirred faintly in the fox's arms, unaware of the precipice they had stood upon.
The fox exhaled.
Not relief.
Not triumph.
Survival.
For now.
Then—
The air rippled again.
He had never left.
Space folded once more.
The cultivator stood exactly where he had been moments before.
But this time—
He did not look at the fox.
His gaze slid past her.
Locked onto Little White.
Though the lizard remained small.
Though concealment still partially veiled him.
Those demonic eyes pierced through it.
A faint smile curved his lips.
"You misunderstand."
His voice was calm.
Measured.
"I am not speaking to you, little fox."
The fox's pupils contracted.
The cultivator tilted his head slightly.
"I am speaking to the creature with draconic blood."
The air thickened.
Little White did not move.
Lightning flickered faintly along the edges of his horns.
"Mutated lightning constitution," the cultivator continued softly.
"Earth manipulation."
"Ice manifestation."
"And that blood…"
His smile widened.
"Ancient."
"Diluted perhaps."
"But unmistakable."
His eyes gleamed—not with hunger—
But with recognition.
"You are not a mere beast."
His voice dropped a fraction lower.
"You are something rarer."
The fox's thoughts sharpened.
*He sees it clearly.*
*This is no speculation.*
Little White lifted his gaze fully now.
Golden meeting demonic.
Unflinching.
The cultivator gestured lazily toward the fox.
"Why bind yourself to her?"
"You possess potential far beyond this."
His aura remained contained—
But his presence subtly pressed toward the lizard alone.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
"The gap in realm."
"The difference in power."
His smile sharpened.
"Under me, you would ascend faster."
"Your bloodline would awaken."
"I can offer resources."
"Techniques."
"Protection."
A slight pause.
"Freedom from being hunted."
The fox remained silent.
Interference now would only confirm insecurity.
He was isolating the lizard deliberately.
Little White's thoughts turned inward.
*He sees the bloodline.*
*He sees the ceiling.*
"Stay with her," the cultivator continued quietly,
"And you will spend your existence fleeing."
"Cornered."
"Outmatched."
He extended his hand.
Not forcefully.
An invitation.
"Come with me."
The wind stilled.
The tension shifted.
No longer fox versus Golden Core.
But cultivator versus dragon-blooded being.
A choice.
The fox did not look at Little White.
Fear would poison the moment.
But her mind was razor sharp.
*What will you choose?*
Little White's golden eyes burned steadily.
Lightning whispered along his scales.
The silence stretched thin—
Like a blade poised to fall.
The silence stretched—
Then the fox stepped forward slightly.
Her turquoise eyes were no longer calm.
They were sharp.
Cold.
"If you're finished," she said flatly, "with your nonsense."
No fear in her tone.
Only irritation.
"This is exactly what I despise about demonic practitioners."
Her gaze hardened.
"The shamelessness."
"Always scheming."
"Always acting as though you are the cleverest person in the room."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You might want to pause for a second…"
Her voice softened.
Dangerously.
"And think again."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"Who exactly is in the worse situation right now?"
The cultivator's smile faded.
Just slightly.
The fox's lips curved faintly—
But inside—
*I have you exactly where I want you.*
At that precise moment—
The air shifted.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
The golden core cultivator's pupils contracted.
His head snapped toward the horizon.
He felt it.
Another presence.
Heavy.
Dense.
Golden core level.
Approaching rapidly.
His demonic aura flared instinctively.
Scanning.
Searching.
*Another golden core?*
His thoughts raced.
*Did they bring reinforcements?*
*Was this a trap?*
He replayed the confrontation in an instant.
The resistance.
The self-detonating puppet.
The refusal to surrender.
The calculated defiance.
*They were buying time.*
His gaze snapped back to the fox.
Her expression remained composed.
Too composed.
The pressure in the air thickened.
From the distance—
A second surge of golden core aura approached.
Closer.
Unmistakable.
Not subtle.
Not concealed.
The demonic cultivator's grin vanished.
His thoughts sharpened.
*Righteous sect?*
*Independent cultivator?*
*Or something else?*
He extended his divine sense outward—
But whoever it was—
They made no effort to hide.
They were coming directly toward the battlefield.
Fast.
The wind began to spiral violently around the shattered ground.
The fox did not move.
Did not flee.
Did not press her advantage.
She simply watched him.
Waiting.
And for the first time since the confrontation began—
The golden core cultivator hesitated.
The wind howled between them.