What in the world is that woman doing here? That woman with the large, furry ears and plump, fluffy tail, I’d recognize her anywhere after all the humiliation and suffering she and her underling put me through—me, a feared immortal, leader of a devilish cult with hundreds of thousands of followers, the dreadful Bloodmoon, who has more blood on his hands than the retired owner of a butcher shop. She was introduced by her wolf-headed weapon spirit as the White-furred Tyrant’s disciple, but can I believe it? How do I know this isn’t one of Principal Pentorn’s cunning schemes designed to exploit every aspect of human nature in just the right manner to paralyze her enemies in order to bide time to grow? She fooled the seven great sects once; I wouldn’t put it past her to fool them again.

“What’s the matter, Disciple Gu?” my master asked.

Unfortunately, as a side effect of my forceful possession of this man’s body, part of his soul lingers on within me. It isn’t strong enough to change its fate of being slowly ground down into nourishment for myself, but it’s capable of causing minor inconveniences. For one, controlling my facial expressions is much more difficult, and sometimes, the natural reactions of this body are impossible to repress. Thanks to this wimpy soul’s influence, I actually stuttered when introducing myself to Lucia. “Nothing’s wrong, Master. I’m only feeling a little uneasy because squirrels are joining the fray. Aren’t they supposed to be neutral?”

My master stroked his beard. “It certainly is unusual for squirrels to make a move, but it can easily be explained by the squirrel we met just now. With such a huge gathering of the top forces within the mainland, it makes perfect sense for her to make a debut here.”

Ah, yes, the disciple of the White-furred Tyrant, Lucia Fluffytail. It hasn’t even been that long since I escaped from the lower realm she belonged to. How is it possible for her to obtain such a prestigious status in such a short time? “The White-furred Tyrant never had a disciple before. What if this squirrel is faking her identity as the White-furred Tyrant’s disciple?”

“I, your master, am not that foolish,” the old man, who didn’t know I wasn’t actually a disciple of the Blazing Sun Sect, said. “While I was conversing with her earlier, I scanned her with my divine sense. The White-furred Tyrant’s aura is all around her, and for a very brief moment, I felt fear.”

“Master felt fear?” It’s not that I don’t believe it. The legends of the White-furred Tyrant’s deeds are incredible, and it’d be even more so for someone who met her in person. I just didn’t expect a supreme immortal to admit his inferiority.

“There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re scared,” my master said and shook his head. “Fear is humanity’s greatest asset. Would humans have survived for as long as they have if they were fearless? If they charged into danger without considering the consequences their actions might have? If you’re feeling scared, it’s usually for a good reason. Listen to it.”

Humanity doesn’t have many supreme immortals. There are seven of them who are publicly known, and each one belongs to one of the seven great sects. As a supreme immortal, my master holds great sway when it comes time to make decisions for the sect. Perhaps his cowardly demeanor was the reason why my cult was never wiped out in my previous life. At the same time, perhaps it’s why the Blazing Sun Sect stands in the position it does today.

“That being said, if you encounter Big Elder Fluffytail within the ancient ruins, do your best to avoid her. If a squirrel fixates on you whether for a positive or negative reason, it’s nearly impossible to get rid of them. The only thing you can do is submit wholeheartedly, and when they get bored—which will happen—you’ll be free to go.”

Judging from the nostalgic expression on my master’s face, he must’ve been targeted by a squirrel once. Using context clues from earlier, it’s not unreasonable to assume the White-furred Tyrant had fixated on him once for whatever reason. In that case, why in the world was nostalgia on my master’s face? Shouldn’t it be depression or exasperation? “Master, earlier, you said the White-furred Tyrant was close enough to you to give you a nickname. What was it?”

My master cleared his throat. “Mr. Timid, that was the White-furred Tyrant’s nickname for me.” His eyes narrowed. “In my younger days, I temporarily joined forces with a mercenary group to fight for a Fire Heart. We killed the beast guarding it, but the White-furred Tyrant appeared out of nowhere. The mercenaries picked a fight with her, but thanks to my fear sending me a warning, I stayed put.”

Even though this old man is wrinkly and shriveled up like a plum, he’s still young at heart. What’s his deal, keeping me in suspense when he’s telling a story? “What happened next?”

“What do you think happened?” my master asked and rolled his eyes. “The White-furred Tyrant slaughtered everyone except for me. After that, she called me Mr. Timid and used me as free labor until she was satisfied.”

Free labor? Satisfied? I, Bloodmoon, don’t care, but the soul I’m suppressing clearly suspects something suspicious happened between the two of them. “What did she have you do to satisfy her?” Of course, asking a question like this is completely tactless. “I’d like to mentally prepare myself for what’ll happen if I’m caught by a squirrel inside the ancient ruin.”

“Well, as my disciple, I guess it’s fine if you know,” my master said and nodded at me. “Don’t tell anyone though. If you do, I’ll deny it and disown you as a disciple. The White-furred Tyrant was looking at me like she wanted to eat me, so I did what any reasonable person in that situation would do. I offered to cook the mercenaries for her to eat. Now that I think about it, it was my first time using my flames to cook something.”

I’ve thought it a lot now, and I thought it a lot when I was still Bloodmoon, but … humans are really pitiful, throwing away their dignity to survive. One day, I’ll be strong enough to look down on everyone, White-furred Tyrant or not.