He had lost all standing within his clan.
Qian Zhongxuan seethed with anger.
He despised Elder Yu Changlin, that old bastard; he resented the carelessness of the hired cultivators and cursed the incompetence of his own men.
But what bothered him the most was who was helping the Monster Hunter with the Formation Painting and who was secretly casting spells?
Which Formation Master would stoop so low as to help these poor Monster Hunters with drawing Formations?
And what cultivator would use such weak but tricky and weird Fireball Techniques?
If it weren’t for the Formations and the Fireball Technique, he would have taken control of the spiritual mines long ago.
Qian Zhongxuan was baffled and could only vent his frustrations on Qian Zhuang, berating him so fiercely that he was drenched in a metaphorical bloodbath.
Were it not for his incompetence, how would he himself be stuck with these messes!
He had originally discussed with the Family Head that if he secured the spiritual mines, he would get an extra ten percent of the Spirit Stones. Now, even if he were to get twenty percent more, it couldn’t make up for his losses.
The more Qian Zhongxuan thought about it, the angrier he got.
In a low voice, Qian Zhuang asked, “Elder, what do we do now?”
He was trying to divert attention so that Qian Zhongxuan would stop focusing on how to scold him.
Qian Zhongxuan furrowed his brows, not having thought of a solution yet when wails suddenly came from outside the camp.
They were the injured members of the Qian Family and the hired cultivators.
Sighing, Qian Zhongxuan waved his sleeve and said helplessly, “Let’s save the wounded first.”
In the empty space outside the camp, the ground was littered with the injured, and cries of agony filled the air.
The Black-Clothed Cultivator was also being treated.
The Qian Family Pill Masters administered pills and applied herbs to his wounds, while also slowly cleansing the leftover spiritual power in his body and cutting off the hair singed by the Fireball Technique.
As his condition gradually stabilized, the Black-Clothed Cultivator slowly came to after a while.
His mind was a blank due to the pain, but slowly he began to recall the events of the day.
Flashes of different cultivators passed through his mind: the one who tripped him, the one who kicked him, the one who slashed at him haphazardly.
And of course, there was the cultivator who used the Fireball Technique!
A surge of resentment welled up inside the Black-Clothed Cultivator.
He had roamed the Second Grade Black Mountain State Boundary for over a hundred years, usually with smooth sailing and few failures. But now, he had been unexpectedly capsized in the gutter by a Fireball Technique.
That low-level Fireball Technique, the one with the power of a middle phase Qi Refinement!
Ambushed by a Fireball Technique!
A hundred-year-old cultivator, ambushed by a Fireball Technique!
It was a humiliation beyond compare!
Amidst the indignation, the Black-Clothed Cultivator was also puzzled.
How had he been ambushed, how had his Concealment Technique been broken, who was the one casting the Fireball Technique, and how could he have been targeted so precisely every time?
No matter how much the Black-Clothed Cultivator pondered, it didn’t make sense to him, and he felt an overwhelming frustration building up. Looking up at the sky, he spouted fresh blood from his mouth and roared unwillingly:
“Who the hell used the Fireball Technique?!”
As rage overtook him and his wounds ruptured again, his vision darkened and he fainted once more.