One of the dark cultivators narrowed his eyes, his gaze practically burning red with rage. With a swift motion, he lowered his hands and—whoosh!—a sleek, dark-black sword materialized in his grip.
Divya's jaw nearly dropped.
Whoa.
If she wasn't about to be murdered by this man, she might've actually clapped.
Seriously, where else would she get to see a real-life magic trick like this?
Unfortunately, she had more pressing concerns—like the fact that the guy in front of her looked ready to chop her into tiny pieces.
"How dare you touch our young master like that?!" he growled, his voice dripping with fury.
Divya blinked.
Then, casually, she tilted her head to the side and looked at the so-called young master she had just sent flying.
And she stared.
Stared real hard.
Her eyes then slowly shifted back to the dark cultivators, who—despite their eerie black masks—were clearly gorgeous.
And then back to him.
Wait. Hold up. Time out.
These guys—these absolute stunners—were supposed to be slaves…
…while that pig-faced, water-retaining, pumpkin-looking man was their master?
Divya felt a deep, soul-crushing disappointment.
She wanted to find the author of this reality and personally punch them in the face.
Because seriously—who the hell wrote this script?!
As Divya was lost in her very important thoughts about life's unfair beauty distribution, reality came crashing back—literally.
A sword was already inches from her face.
Her body reacted before her mind even caught up.
Snap!
Her palm shot up, grabbing the blade just a breath away from slicing her nose off.
Her fingers clenched around the cold steel, and in that instant—whoosh!—her eyes flickered gold.
Damn it.
On the outside, she looked calm and composed.
On the inside?
She was absolutely losing her mind.
What the hell was this timing?! If not for this body's weirdly fast reflexes, she'd be a shish kebab right now!
She tightened her grip. Pain shot up her arm as blood dripped down her fingers, but she held on, gritting her teeth.
Alright. New plan—break the damn thing.
She focused all her strength, trying to snap the blade. But—
Nothing.
The sword didn't even bend.
It was like trying to break a steel rod with vibes alone.
Damn it, author! At least let me have a cool moment!
Before she could process another thought—
BAM!
A foot slammed into her stomach.
Her entire body folded like a ragdoll.
Oh.
Oh, this was not good.
And then—
BOOM!
She went flying.
SMACK!
Right into the wall.
The impact knocked the air out of her lungs.
She slid down with an undignified thud, wheezing.
Okay.
So, today was not going great.
Divya was pissed.
No—pissed wasn't even the right word anymore.
She was furious.
What the hell was going on?!
She had never been beaten up this much in her entire life! Today had officially set a new personal record in pain—and she was not happy about it.
Every inch of her body ached. Bruises were forming faster than her brain could process, and she felt like a battered dumpling left to dry on the pavement.
She wanted to stand up. She wanted to beat the absolute shit out of these guys.
But…
She did a quick headcount.
Yeah, no. Those were not good odds.
So, being the genius she was, she made the most strategic decision possible—
She closed her eyes and pretended to be dead.
Perfect plan.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Purposeful.
She could feel someone approaching.
Then—
Whoosh!
A sword was raised.
Her skin prickled. The killing intent was real.
Alright.
Time to not be dead.
She cracked one eye open.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh, shit.
That blade was way too close.
This guy was actually going to kill her!
Her fingers twitched toward her bracelet—her last resort. If she could just—
"Wait."
The voice was calm, commanding.
The person with the sword immediately paused, his grip tightening in hesitation.
Divya blinked.
She tilted her head slightly and caught sight of the speaker.
A man stood at the back, his posture rigid, his presence undeniably that of a leader. His aura practically screamed boss level threat.
The dark—ugh, no, ghost cultivators—watched him closely, waiting for his next words.
"Don't kill her," the leader said, his tone firm. "We need her."
The sword-wielding ghost cultivator hesitated, then frowned. "But, Master—"
"Enough," the leader interrupted sharply. "I said we need her. Let it be."
Divya, still lying on the floor like roadkill, exhaled slowly.
Well.
This was…unexpected.
So, uh—yay for not dying?
The guy who had nearly slit her throat scoffed, shooting Divya a look so full of disgust it could have curdled milk. Then, without another word, he turned around dramatically, as if she weren't even worth his time.
Divya stared at his retreating back, fists clenching.
Oh, hell no.
Did he just scoff at her like she was some cockroach crawling out of the gutter? Excuse you, sir, but she was the one who just got kicked across the room!
For a split second, she seriously considered yanking him back by the hair, prying open his skull, and personally inspecting if there was a single brain cell left inside.
What the hell was he scoffing for, huh?!
She was the victim here! She was the one who got beaten up, and he was looking at her like she had just thrown up on his shoes.
Unbelievable.
She took a deep breath, finally allowing herself to relax now that she had somehow survived—
Until—
"Prepare for the wedding ceremony."
The words were spoken so casually she almost didn't register them.
But then she did.
Her eyes snapped open.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
Did they just say—
"My wedding ceremony? With that pig?"
Her voice went up an octave in horror.
She whirled toward the group of ghost cultivators, pointing wildly at the unconscious, pumpkin-faced lump of a man she had kicked earlier.
"You mean him?!"
They didn't even flinch.
"Yes."
Divya exhaled sharply, forcing down the overwhelming urge to scream.
Then, very calmly—
"It might be better if you just kill me right now."