Through the eyes of the Warrior clone concealed behind the rock crevice, Lylin watched the three intruders. Their robes were embroidered with faded silver cloud patterns, torn and heavily stained with dark, coagulated blood. Two men supported a severely injured woman between them, her breathing ragged, a trail of vital energy leaking from a deep slash across her chest.
"Cultivators from a formal sect," the Scholar clone noted quietly from within the inner chamber, analyzing the visual feed through their shared link. "Lower human realm origin. Earth-Element Foundation Establishment level, though severely drained."
The leader of the group, a grim-faced man with a shattered sword hanging at his hip, brought his companions to a halt against a crumbling wall directly above Lylin’s hidden sanctuary.
"We can't go any further, Senior Brother," the younger cultivator gasped, collapsing to his knees. "The Iron-Clad Sect operatives are tracking our blood trail. Junior Sister won't survive another mile."
"Quiet," the leader snapped, his eyes darting frantically across the desolate ash field. "This valley is a dead zone—an ancient graveyard. If we hide among the ruins, their tracking talismans will be disrupted by the heavy residual aura."
Below the earth, Lylin sat motionless, his mind calculating every variable with ruthless efficiency. The arrival of living cultivators was a double-edged sword. On one hand, they brought unwanted attention and potential pursuers to his doorstep. On the other, they were his first direct source of current intelligence regarding the surrounding human worlds, sect territories, and power structures.
"Host," the Scholar whispered, its blue-glowing eyes fixed on the ceiling. "If their pursuers arrive, our hidden base risks exposure. However, if we eliminate both parties, we gain information, weapons, and cultivation resources."
"No unnecessary risk," Lylin replied in his mind, his voice like ice. "We wait. Let the drama play out above us. The Warrior will strike only if they discover our entrance."
Minutes dragged by in tense silence. The cold wind howled across the wasteland, whipping dust into swirling grey tornadoes. Then, three heavy thuds echoed from the edge of the crater.
Three figures clad in brutal, dark-iron armor landed on the scorched earth, blocking the refugees' path. Each carried a massive, serrated broadsword that dripped with dark energy.
"Found you, lingering rats of the Cloud-Rest Guild," the lead iron-clad pursuer sneered, his voice metallic and rasping. "Hand over the Spirit-Vein Map, and we might grant you a quick death."
The leader of the wounded group drew his shattered blade, stepping in front of his fallen companions. "You traitorous bastards... the map belongs to the realm council!"
From the subterranean darkness, Lylin’s lips curled into a faint, cold smile. A Spirit-Vein Map. The very item he needed to locate major energy nodes across this human realm.
"Change of plans," Lylin commanded silently through the link. "Warrior... prepare for an ambush. Leave no survivors on either side."