Meanwhile, the bullet comments raged across the screen like an untamed wildfire, a thousand internet voices screaming in disbelief and awe, their usernames flashing in garish neon colors against the livestream backdrop.

[BloodyMystic888]: NO. FREAKING. WAY.

[CultivationCrashCourse]: Did this guy just perform a Blood Refinement? Bro, that’s a level 5 Alchemist ritual! It’s supposed to take an entire volume for a protagonist to LEARN that!!!

[QiQiBabyUwU]: AHHH! THAT’S ILLEGAL! Even my uncle, who’s a REAL doctor, said that stuff’s fictional. You need a damn purification furnace and three moonlight petals!!

[SpiritualSludge69]: WAIT WAIT WAIT. Is he doing the Crimson Throat Transfer? But that needs a Spiritual Blood Net and a catalytic whisper stone!!!

[NarrativePolice]: Plot hole alert?? There’s no way someone with zero setup just casually does a blood refinement on a dying NPC dad! That’s at least 30 chapters of setup and betrayal arc.

The chat kept rolling, turning feverish, dramatic, some users pretending to faint behind their keyboards, others typing in exaggerated screams, fangirling hard over Vonjo’s absurdity, while a few skeptics held onto the disbelief like lifelines.

[SchizoTheoryGuy]: He’s capping. Dude’s lying just like he lied about Archery earlier. It’s impossible to believe that he can refine ass shit!

[BoneSoupConnoisseur]: `Y’all don’t understand! To refine blood, you need:

1. A burning spiritual vein

2. Dragonroot flower soaked in infant tears

3. Glass container blessed by an Oracle

4. Three drops of your own blood at the moment of pure intent

5. A lunar chant performed while rotating seven times under the dying star’s rays

And guess what? No incantation, no prep, no purity thread! He just did it!? [ThickThighCultivator]:I’m calling it. This guy’s either a hidden boss… or a fraud with really good camera angles.`

The flood of texts didn’t slow down.

They came like endless ocean waves, crashing against every logic structure a viewer tried to build, only to watch it crumble under Vonjo’s inexplicable move.

The internet was collectively losing its mind.

Eugene, meanwhile, stood frozen beside Vonjo, his breath caught in his chest.

The heavy stink of iron and soot lingered in the air, while the blood-filled cup shimmered with a faint unnatural glow. His father’s pale, almost lifeless body lay across the floor, limp and sunken into a shroud of death’s prelude.

And Eugene—he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that this so-called “blood refinement” wouldn’t kill his father instantly. What if it was poison? What if Vonjo was bluffing again?

Eugene’s hands trembled. “You’re… sure this is safe?” His voice was nearly a whisper, uncertain, cracked, and filled with desperation he tried to mask.

Vonjo, calm as a monk on molasses, didn’t flinch. He had been reading the comments, of course. They were impossible to miss, and he even chuckled at one.

“Glass container blessed by an Oracle?” he muttered, grinning. “Cute.”

He looked at Eugene, then at the crowd through the lens, and raised an eyebrow. “Some stupid normal professors are thinking about the ritual from the alchemy arc of Heaven Scars: Volume 3. But that was a purification type, not a life stabilization one. What I used is more like a Pulse Tethering Extraction. I didn’t need a blessed glass, or a moonlight chant. I used heat from my own core, and then filtered the blood with a thread of spiritual fiber from normal humans and they would be back. .”

[LMAOSpiritualTail]: WAIT WHAT?!

“Yes,” Vonjo said aloud, glancing at Eugene as if he was talking to him and not at the chat. “Archey’s tail, soaked in healing wind essence for three nights. That’s the catalytic thread. Then, I used my own fallen curse energy to stabilize the bloodstream. I added a condensed fallen curse energy as an outer barrier, keeping the impurities suspended rather than expelled.”

He kept going, faster now, as if listing ingredients for a deadly soup. “And I didn’t purify the blood—I filtered it. That’s why it still has that murky color. It’s not meant to heal. It’s meant to stabilize long enough for his natural recovery to kick in. Plus, as far as removing some particles, I already devoured them. “

Eugene was stunned. None of those words made sense. He blinked slowly, his skepticism faltering with each confident word.

“You mean… he’s not healed?”

Vonjo nodded. “No. But he’s not dying either.”

The chat erupted again.

[CertifiedDumbass]: BRO WHAT??? STABILIZED??

[AlchemyIsLife]: Okay I take it back. This guy’s cooking something real here. Not your average snake oil.

[FakeHealerFanclub]: I’m SO confused. And SO invested.

And Eugene, hesitant at first, finally nodded. He accepted the cup, his fingers closing around its warm edges.

The scent of blood was strong, metallic but somehow comforting, almost like iron stirred with herbs and something ancient.

He leaned down. His father’s face was pale, mouth slightly open.

Eugene hesitated—but then, something inside him snapped. If Vonjo had wanted to kill him, he could’ve done it already. He wouldn’t have carried him, wouldn’t have performed this strange ritual.

Eugene pressed the cup to his father’s lips. The blood touched his father’s tongue. Then his throat. It slid down.

And nothing happened.

The seconds crawled by like molasses in winter. Eugene watched, knuckles white. Vonjo stood nearby, silent, watching with those maddeningly calm eyes.

For a moment, Eugene thought he’d been duped again. Rage itched in his chest.

Then—

A faint exhale.

Then another.

Smoother.

Deeper.

More natural.

Eugene jerked forward. His father’s chest rose and fell with newfound rhythm. The tension that had gripped his limbs drained, replaced by disbelief.

Vonjo smiled. “Told you. Let’s go.”

Eugene didn’t speak. His throat was dry, his thoughts louder than a war drum. He just nodded and helped lift his father.

Together, they carried George—still unconscious but unmistakably alive—toward the Van.

Vonjo opened the back, and with practiced ease, laid George onto the seat and buckled him in. Eugene climbed in after, still in shock.

The engine rumbled. The van swerved onto the road, and for a moment, nothing but the hum of tires and the faint beeping of bullet comments filled the silence.

Then, out of nowhere—Vonjo slammed the brakes.

Eugene jolted forward, barely catching himself. “What the hell?!”

“Get out,” Vonjo said.

“What?”

“Out. Now.”

Eugene stared at him. Suspicion spiked again. But something in Vonjo’s voice wasn’t hostile. It was heavy. Like something he couldn’t say was just beyond the door.

So Eugene climbed out.

And froze.

Dead silence.

He was standing in a clearing. Moonlight washed the grass silver. And there—sprawled in grotesque, twisted angles—were two bodies.

Roc.

And the tall man who had almost killed his father.

Both of them were dead. Very, unmistakably, undeniably dead.

With arrows still lodged in their skulls.

Vonjo stood behind Eugene and said nothing. Just let the shock set in.

Eugene’s eyes widened. His knees nearly buckled.

They were already dead?

But how? Who…?

Then he’d see Vonjo. Grinning smugly.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep