“Yes, yes! Even a four-year-old child was burned to death!”

“Who set the fire? They didn’t even spare a child?”

“Sigh, truly the heavens are blind!”

“Yes, even someone as kind as Edward the Good was burned to death, not a single one escaped!”

Eric Bennett, dressed in blue, stood nearby, coldly listening to the crowd’s discussion without saying a word. Although he hadn’t examined the scene himself, just from the lingering fluctuations of magical power, Eric Bennett understood that this was the infamous Soul-Refining Yin Fire of the demonic sect.

Eric Bennett lowered his eyelids. Now that he knew this, he naturally had a way to track them down. Eric Bennett considered himself not one for reasoning or evidence—anyone who practiced this Yin Fire would be taken down. The Daoist sects also had soul-interrogating spells. There weren’t many who could wield such Yin Fire; better to kill the wrong person than let the real culprit go. The true perpetrator would surely be found.

The question was, why did they target Edward Foster? How did they know Edward Foster had succeeded in his cultivation and formed a nascent soul? Without a doubt, Edward Foster must have leaked something, but given his character, even if he did, it would only be to a very few close people.

It must have been one of those very close people—either they leaked it unintentionally, or they deliberately colluded with the demonic sect. And if not his two sons, then it was someone from this place.

With this thought, Eric Bennett’s reasoning became much clearer.

And what were they after? First, perhaps they wanted Edward Foster to join their sect, but that was unlikely. The demonic and Daoist sects each had their own traditions, and their disciples inherited their essence and spirit—it wasn’t like a mundane gang just recruiting anyone. Second, they might be cultivating the Seventy-Two Asura Demons, seeking out those who had formed nascent souls to refine. Normally, such things wouldn’t be done so rashly, but who could say? Third, perhaps they saw that Edward Foster had achieved nascent soul cultivation in just thirty years and suspected he possessed some rare Daoist scripture, thus coveting it.

This reasoning made sense. The Shaoqing Yuanjing, while not the highest art among true Daoist cultivators, was profound in its principles and simple yet vast in its methods. Even if one practiced only this scripture, they could form a nascent soul, illuminate the Purple Mansion, and have hope of becoming a wandering immortal.

Perhaps someone suspected Edward Foster had another secret method, so they forcibly used Yin Fire to refine him, hoping to interrogate him.

Eric Bennett took a deep breath and turned to leave, but just then, he heard someone shout from behind, “You in the blue clothes, stop right there!”

Eric Bennett turned to look and saw two men in constable uniforms, one tall and one short. The short constable was shouting at him.

Eric Bennett frowned slightly, unwilling to clash with the authorities in broad daylight. It wasn’t a matter of fear or concern, but rather that immortals should not reveal themselves to the mundane world. As a cultivator, to get into a conflict with them was pointless and childish.

So he quietly stopped and asked, “You two called me—may I ask what you need?”

The tall constable, hearing his tone, immediately knew he wasn’t an ordinary citizen. Not only was his calm demeanor uncommon, but even his choice of words was not something a peasant would say.

But the short constable was displeased and cursed, “Be honest! Is that how you talk to us? Who are you, where do you live, and why are you here? Speak up, or you’ll be punished!”

Seeing his rudeness, Eric Bennett didn’t answer and simply turned to leave. Perhaps ordinary people would bow their heads and answer respectfully under their authority, but to a cultivator, this was no threat at all.

“You dare run?” The short constable swung an iron chain at him.

At that moment, Eric Bennett turned back, a flash of golden light in his eyes, and the man immediately stopped his attack.

“What’s wrong, Old Thompson?” Sensing something was off, the tall constable hurried over and found the short one staring blankly, panicked, and patted him several times.

Amidst the confusion, Eric Bennett calmly walked away.

After a while, someone from inside brought out several more constables. The leader, dressed in official robes, though only an eighth-rank inspector, was still the head of security for the county.

He looked worried, clearly aware that the extermination of the Liu family was a major case and must be handled with care. Without turning his head, he said, “Post two men here. The rest, come with me to see the magistrate.”

At this moment, the short constable finally came to his senses. He looked around in terror, realized he was in broad daylight among a crowd, and let out a breath.

Meanwhile, Eric Bennett walked down the road, left the street, and saw a teahouse. Though it was still early, some people were already having breakfast. Eric Bennett casually found a seat and sat down.

“What would you like?” It seemed the shop was run by a couple. Seeing him sit, the woman came over to ask.

It’s been four hundred years since I last ate mortal food, Eric Bennett thought as he glanced around and said, “A bowl of porridge, a cup of tea, and two fried dough sticks.”

“All right!” It was a simple request, and the food was quickly served.

Eric Bennett picked up the tea, about to take a sip.