SSS rank Mother-In-Law to an Invincible Family

The night didn't stay loud for long.

At first, there was noise—grunting, heavy breathing, the occasional confused howl—but it all died down quickly.

Once the formation was activated and the human cultivators sealed off the entire site, silence started creeping in.

Like fog. Slow but steady. It wrapped around the whole camp, pressing down on every living thing inside.

The beasts, who were loud and full of pride earlier, now lay on the ground. Weak. Some couldn't even move.

Others twitched or groaned, but even that took effort. They were too stunned to scream properly, too dizzy to run. Most didn't even know what had hit them.

They tried.

Some growled through gritted teeth, refusing to accept their fate. Others clawed at the dirt like injured animals trying to escape a trap.

A few even begged, their voices slurred and cracked. "Please… don't…"

But no one replied.

The humans didn't say a word.

They didn't shout. Didn't boast. Didn't gloat.

They just walked in. Silent. Steady. Cold.

The Shadow members arrived first, slipping through the outer edges of the camp like ghosts. Their job was simple: make sure no one slipped away. And they did it perfectly.

Some of the watchers were still at their posts, but most were fast asleep—snoring softly, unaware of the chaos already unfolding deeper inside the camp.

Even when the beasts inside began to scream and cry out, the sleeping watchers didn't wake. Whether it was exhaustion, low vigilance, or a spell in the air, it didn't matter.

They didn't open their eyes.

And they never would.

The Shadow members moved through the perimeter without hesitation. Each sleeping beast received a quick, clean strike—silent and efficient. A blade through the neck. A sharp stab to the heart. A snap of the spine.

No one screamed.

No one got a second chance.

Those few who stirred, blinking in confusion or slowly sitting up, were killed before they could even react. A hand covered their mouth. A blade ended them in a single move.

No ropes. No spirit seals. No mercy.

It's just a quiet death.

By the time the main group of cultivators entered the camp, the outer edges were already soaked in still blood. The watchers were gone—erased without a sound.

Inside the camp, most of the beast soldiers were already down. Some could barely lift their heads. Others looked around in confusion, their vision blurry. And those who still had strength left? Their minds were so scrambled they couldn't even form proper thoughts.

The cultivators didn't need to lift a finger in battle.

No fights broke out. No duels. No shouts of challenge.

The special units moved through the camp like farmers moving through a field of dying weeds—calm and methodical.

One after another, beast soldiers were dealt with.

A quick palm strike to the chest.

A clean sword through the throat.

A flick of the blade along the back of the neck.

No extra moves. No hesitation.

It wasn't a battlefield.

It was clean up.

And it was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was no resistance. No last stands. No glory.

Only silence. And death.

The ground slowly turned red as blood pooled across the dirt, soaking into the earth like spilled wine.

Garuum, the once-proud commander of this camp, lay at the center. His body twitched as he tried to push himself up. He wanted to fight. To stand. To say something.

But nothing moved.

Not his arms. Not his legs. His breath came out in shallow gasps.

He could only watch.

One of his captains, barely conscious, started crawling away. Inch by inch. Pathetic.

A Shadow member stepped in front of him. No emotion on their face. No anger.

One clean strike.

The captain dropped, unmoving.

Garuum's eyes shook. His vision blurred. They were dying—every last one of them. And it wasn't even a fight. They were being butchered like animals.

Some of the beasts who hadn't touched the food were still standing. But their minds were gone. They looked around with blank expressions, unable to process what was happening.

They hadn't expected this.

It's not this clean.

Not this fast.

Not this easy—for the humans.

Two tried to run. But they didn't get far. The invisible spiritual nets, cast earlier by formation experts, snapped into place. The beasts slammed into the ground like flies into a web—unconscious before they even knew what hit them.

With the area secure, the special units got to work.

The low-level soldiers? Killed cleanly. Quick and painless, as much as war allowed.

The captains and high-ranking officers? They were tied up. Sealed. Dragged to one side of the ruined camp.

Garuum was among them.

His face twisted with rage. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth. But his eyes still burned.

"You… You monsters…" he growled, barely louder than a whisper.

A passing cultivator didn't even glance at him.

Moments later, more members of the special unit showed up. They were carrying a sealed black box. It pulsed with spiritual energy.

Inside were tools.

Not for killing.

For extracting information.

Spirit needles, pain amplifiers, memory probes, and talismans that can pry open someone's spiritual core and rip secrets straight from the soul are available.

One of the squad leaders pointed at a boar-faced captain. "Start with him."

The process began immediately.

There were no screams.

The talismans wrapped around their throats made sure of that. No sound could escape.

There was no struggle, either.

Their limbs were bound with spirit chains that drained Qi like leaking buckets. Even a peak-stage beast warrior couldn't break free.

One by one, the captains broke.

They gave up everything.

Names. Future plans. Routes. Codes. Hidden paths are used by beast-raiding teams. Weak points in the faction's communication system.

The Shadow members didn't waste a second.

They wrote everything down. Fast. Precise. No small talk. No hesitation.

They were trained for this.

But just as the cleanup neared its end, something changed.

The air shifted.

Heavy.

Pressurized.

One of the Shadow scouts suddenly stiffened. "Wait—space energy just spiked again."

Another cultivator narrowed his eyes. "A formation?"

"Yeah," the scout nodded, already moving toward the treeline. "Teleportation gate. Nearby. Something's coming."

Everyone froze.