It may have been a long time since he'd faced off against the great sects (the old collection, at least), but Tianlang-Jun would have at least thought that they would still be teaching disciples how to recognize a demon when they saw one. Particularly saint demons with their distinctive markings.

Not the case, if the cooling idiot at his feet was any example. If it'd only been the case of the cultivator leaping out from a distance shortening array almost on top of him, Tianlang-Jun could have forgiven him. It wasn't his business that the man had been disguised and carrying some poor fool's body, and he'd planned to return to the demon realm soon anyway. It became his business when the man drew a sword on him and showed he lacked the humility and intelligence to recognize when he was hopelessly outclassed.

Snorting, he turned to get a look at the body he'd been carrying, only to pause.

Huh. "So, you're not dead after all."

If someone asked later why, he'd claim it was a bored whim as he bit into his hand to make himself bleed, letting it drip onto the open stump that was left of his arm to slow the bleeding before hauling him up over his shoulder. If nothing else, maybe it'd be something to do on his way back home.