Chapter 176
Roran Brightholm ran, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
Every step sent a sharp jolt of pain through his body, like glass shattering inside him. His skin burned, deep cracks forming along his arms and legs, oozing dark, sluggish blood. The power inside him surged wildly, barely under control, making his muscles twitch and his head pound. If he stopped, even for a moment, he feared his body would finally break apart. No—he knew his body would finally break apart. So he ran.
He knew he had to go somewhere safe—
Vasper forest, that’s where he should go.
Arzan’s forces might not be able to find him if he just—
Suddenly, his eyes widened.
The walls of Veralt were right in front of him, lined with guards. Oh, goddess!
He saw them pulling out their weapons and preparing to cut him down. Among them, he recognised the Knights—they wouldn’t hesitate. His heart pounded harder. No time to think, he had only one way out.
Grinding his teeth, he forced the power inside him outward. The air around him howled as blades of wind, thick with a dark, pulsing energy, wrapped around his body. The moment he leaped forward, the guards sprang into action. Swords swung. Arrows cut through the air and spears almost reached closer to him. But the wind around him pushed them aside, snapping the projectiles before they could reach him.
He hit the ground on the other side of the wall, knees nearly buckling from the impact. A sharp, searing pain tore through his legs, but he didn’t stop. He pushed forward, the wind carrying him as he blurred through the dusty roads and past the city's edge. The world became a streak of movement—boulders, trees, empty roads—until the Vasper Forest finally appeared before him.
The moment his foot touched the soft earth beneath the trees, he let the spell drop. The wind died, and with it, his last bit of strength. His legs nearly collapsed under him, and fresh pain exploded through his body.
He inhaled deeply, but a sharp pain shot through him, it spread until the very tips of his fingers. He looked down at him. Blood soaked his robes, dripping onto the fallen leaves. He sucked in a shaky breath, his entire body trembling.
Still, he moved.
One step. Another. He had to go deeper, far enough to be safe. The shadows thickened around him as the trees grew denser, their twisted branches blocking out the moonlight.
Then, the sound came. Soft. A shift in the leaves.
His body froze. His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t alone.
Slowly, he lifted his head, scanning the darkness between the trees. At first, he saw nothing—only the endless stretch of tangled roots and foliage. Then, movement. A shadow, too fluid, too purposeful to be just the wind.
His fingers twitched, but when he tried to summon a spell, white-hot pain lanced through his arm. Blood dripped from his fingertips, the cracks on his skin deepening. He winced, biting back a cry as he forced his shaking hands into position
The rustling grew louder. The shadows shifted.
Then, from the trees, something stepped forward.
A fray. It’s a fucking fray.
It was tall—so fucking tall, its limbs lean and stretched, moving with an unnatural smoothness. Its eyes, piercing violet, locking onto him with a silent, predatory intensity. Its skin, if it could even be called that, was white fur with red stripes. He swallowed hard.
Then, more movement.
Another figure slinked out from between the trees, then another. More and more emerged, melting out of the darkness like shadows peeling away from the night itself. Within moments, the clearing was filled with them. A dozen? Two dozen? He couldn’t count. His breathing grew unsteady, his hands twitching as fear clawed at his throat.
Then, one stepped forward. Different from the rest. Taller, broader, and exuding an unmistakable aura of command. The Fray king.
The creature snarled, its hollow eyes locked onto him. Then, in a voice like wind cutting through stone, it spoke.
"Human…. Put… down."
The Fray wasn’t speaking fluidly, but Roran understood.
“We… give you… less pain…”
The fray king moved, gliding forward without a sound. Roran flinched, his fingers curling as he took a staggering step back. His body ached, the power inside him flaring wildly, barely contained. But it wasn’t just the Fray
that filled him with dread.
No.
It was the thing he felt.
His gaze flickered, and for the first time, he truly saw it—the chaotic bubble of power that had settled over him. It pulsed, unstable, writhing like a living thing. The power he had been given, forced into his body to gain strength he didn't deserved, only to find it tearing him apart.
His chest tightened. Was this it? Was this where it all ended? He felt tears pooling his eyes, and his nose getting heavier. He sniffled.
No.
His eyes snapped back to the Fray, his expression hardening.
"I can't give up," he whispered. “I won’t give up!”
Then, he let the power loose.
The wind roared to life, a cyclone of dark energy bursting from his body. The trees groaned, leaves ripping free as the force spread. The ground cracked beneath him.
The Fray didn’t flinch.
But then—the pain burst forth. Agony unlike anything before.
Roran gasped, choking on his own breath as something tore through him. His own power. The dark winds lashed wildly, not just striking the Fray, but slashing into him.
He staggered, barely able to think as the spell spiraled out of control. His skin peeled away in ribbons, his body splitting apart with every surge of power. His scream tore through the forest, loud enough to wake every slumbering beast.
The chaotic mana reached its peak, writhing, twisting—
And then, he collapsed.
A deafening blast erupted, shaking the trees to their roots. The air distorted, the raw force tearing through everything in its path. The last remnants of Roran were swallowed by the explosion, his body reduced to nothing more than scattered fragments in an instant.
The Fray stood still, watching.
The wind settled. The forest grew quiet once more.
The leader tilted its head, staring at the smoldering remains.
Then, without a word, it turned. The rest of the frays followed the king into the forest.
***
Unlike what Kai had hoped for, Roran hadn't made it out alive. Reports from his men confirmed the gruesome details—his body had detonated from the unstable, bubbling mana within him before the Fray had even laid a hand on him. A tragic end, perhaps, but one Kai found little sympathy for.
Afterall, the man did try to end his life.
Moreover, Roran wasn’t stupid—he had known what would happen when he consumed the potion. Even if he hadn’t fully understood the consequences, he had still chosen his path as a spy. One way or another, his fate had always led to death.
Still, with his demise, the invisible knife hovering at Kai’s throat was finally gone. No longer did he have to keep a constant eye on the man, waiting for the inevitable betrayal. Though there was always a possibility of more spies, therefore, his Watchers had been monitoring everything closely, and for now, things remained under control.
He did felt it was regrettable that he wasn't able to take him as a prisoner to be used against Magus Veridia, but he'd no doubt she would have discarded him just as Actra.
In the larger game, people like Roran were just pawns.
With that matter settled, Kai shifted his focus to the next pressing issue.
While he had been recovering from the strain of strengthening his body, the fief war had started to move. Lucian had evidently caught wind of what had happened with Idrin. In response, the noble forces had begun to mobilize, their armies moving to converge at Castle Dorn. Kai had no intention of letting them consolidate their strength. Not at all.
After ensuring that Veralt was adequately defended in case of a surprise attack, he took action. With his forces prepared, he led them toward the castle, cutting off the enemy before they could gather in full force.
With both Verdis and Veralt under his control and the steady recruitment that had been ongoing for weeks, his army had swelled to over two thousand and five hundred men. A staggering number. Many of them were fresh recruits, but they hadn’t been thrown into battle unprepared. Those who had volunteered had undergone rigorous training, whipped into shape by his Knights. They might not yet be seasoned veterans, but they were no longer the untrained civilians they had once been.
Now, it was time to put them to the test.
Kai didn’t know what to think as he led his forces toward the castle of House Dorn. The reality of war was never far from his mind—there would be deaths. It was unavoidable.
He had already borne that weight in past battles, and had felt the crushing responsibility each time men under his command fell. Yet, no matter how much he steeled himself, it was never easy.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task ahead. The open fields stretched endlessly before him. Behind him, his men were following in disciplined formation.
It wasn’t extremely far away, just a little to the East from Veridis.
And as they rode, the silhouette of the castle finally emerged in the distance, a dark mass against the horizon. With a flick of his wrist, Kai cast a simple signal spell— a small firecracker-like explosion that burst in the air with a crackle of red sparks. At once, the marching force behind him came to a halt, their training evident in the way they stopped without disorder or confusion.
Kai glanced back, pleased with how well Killian had drilled them. Then, shifting his gaze forward, he took in the fortress that loomed ahead.
Castle Dorn was nothing like Veralt. It was massive, far larger and more imposing, its walls thick and weathered by years of conflict. This castle had undergone several major battles according to history, but all were under different rules. It was still a sight to see.
Towering stone bastions stood at its corners. The outer walls were reinforced with layers of black stone, basically designed to withstand sieges. Arrow slits lined its upper sections, giving defenders the perfect vantage point to rain death upon invaders. Behind the battlements, he could make out the edges of high towers, their spires reaching toward the sky. The entrance was sealed shut with a heavy iron gate, thick enough to hold against a battering ram for hours.
This was not a castle built to fall easily.
As Kai studied it, a figure moved toward him from the ranks. Killian moved on his horse beside him. The knight’s sharp eyes were locked on the fortress ahead.
"When should we march?" Killian asked.
Kai exhaled slowly before replying, "In a couple of hours. According to tradition, we must offer them a chance to surrender first."
He smirked slightly. "Though, I doubt they will."
Killian made a sound of disapproval. "I don’t like it. Giving the enemy time to prepare is foolish."
Kai turned to him, an amused glint in his eyes. "You don’t like traditions? That’s new, coming from such an uptight Knight."
Killian shook his head. "There’s no tradition in war. Every second we give them is a second they’ll use to fortify their defenses. And we both know they won’t surrender."
"That’s true," Kai admitted, his smirk fading. His gaze returned to the castle, calculating.
"But it won’t change the outcome. No matter what, we will win."
Before Killian could respond, a gruff voice cut through the conversation.
"The lad is right. There isn’t a way those pesky humans can d’feat us."
Kai turned toward the speaker, his brow raising slightly. Striding toward them with short but confident steps was a stout figure barely reaching his waist. Despite his small stature, the presence he exuded was anything but diminutive. A thick, unruly beard covered most of his face, streaked with gray and tangled in places. Deep-set eyes, sharp and shrewd, peered out from beneath bushy brows. His skin was weathered. And he wore sturdy armor reinforced with engravings.
Needless to say, he carried himself with the air of someone who had lived long years.
Kai met his gaze with a knowing look. "Tharnok," he said. "You do realize our forces are human too, don’t you?"
Kai watched as the dwarf stroked his beard, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Aye, but you're fightin’ with weapons that I had a hand in craftin’," Tharnok said with a proud grin. "They’ve got the dwarven touch in 'em—superior to any human weapons."
Kai chuckled but didn’t argue the point. He had already met the dwarf when he returned to Veralt, a master smith who had been teaching Balen. The old craftsman had been more than enthusiastic about weapon designs, bombarding Kai with questions the moment they met.
In exchange for the answers, he had eagerly thrown himself into helping with the production of lightwood armor and other weapons. His fascination hadn’t stopped there—he had even tinkered with improving their golem designs. Now, he followed them into war, accompanied by a group of apprentice blacksmiths ready for on-the-spot repairs and reinforcements.
Kai let out a breath, shaking his head in amusement. "Let’s hope your weapons truly are superior," he said. "Because in a few hours, we’ll be using them against those walls."
The dwarf smirked. "Aye, lad. It'll be a great demonstration. By mornin’, that castle will be ours." He then turned to Kai with a hopeful expression. "And then you’ll have time to answer more of my questions. I still can’t wrap my head around how you think of such fancy designs. But I guess humans have their smart men too."
Kai ignored that last part, suppressing the familiar pang of guilt. He wasn’t some brilliant innovator—just a plagiarist, borrowing knowledge from another world. The thought weighed on him for a moment, but he pushed it aside, shaking his head.
"Everything else can wait," he said, turning to both Killian and the dwarf. "First things first—we need to conquer a castle."
***
Viscount Buck felt his hair rise and his chest tighten as the scout’s words rang in his ears.
"A large army, my lord. Moving straight toward the castle. Their banners bear the sigil of Count Arzan."
Buck clenched his fists beneath the folds of his robes. He had known this was coming—had braced himself for it ever since the news of Idrin’s capture. But still, it felt too soon. He had hoped, even prayed, that the infamous
Count would remain cooped up in Veralt, delaying his march until their own forces were fully assembled. Yet, deep down, Buck had known that was nothing but wishful thinking.
Arzan Kellius was a man of action. His past feats proved that much.
Taking a slow breath, Buck forced himself to remain composed as he ascended the castle walls.
When he reached the top, the sight below made his throat run dry.
The scouts hadn’t exaggerated. Their army was sprawled across the open grass fields, moving with unnerving discipline, banners fluttering in the wind. The sheer sight of them sent a dull throbbing through Buck’s skull. He had been in his share of conflicts before, old enough to have seen and heard about battles and disputes over the land, but none of them compared to this.
And worst of all, this wasn’t even his war.
He wanted no part in this madness. And even considering the dark rumours that surrounded him, Buck had little desire to clash forces with such a man.
But he had no choice.
For centuries, House Dorn had been subservient to the Kellius line, bound by blood and fealty. Betrayal was not an option, not if he wished to keep his head. So when the Count’s forces inevitably sent a man forward, offering terms of surrender, Buck did the only thing he could.
He stalled.
Hours passed as he gathered his men—Knights, warriors, battle-hardened veterans.
The Mages reinforced their formations, readying spells and enchantments, while archers prepared for the first volley. The castle had been on alert since the fief war began, but now, with the enemy at their doorstep, every muscle in Buck’s body tensed.
Yet, as he stood on top of the walls, overlooking the battlefield, his confidence didn’t come from his forces.
It came from the walls themselves.
Towering structures of black stone, they had been transported from the depths of the caves of Xaldris generations ago—an underground labyrinth of minerals and enchantment-laced rock. Not even magic could breach these fortifications.
Numbers might be on Arzan’s side. His forces might be better trained, better equipped.
But no army had ever broken through the black walls of Dorn Castle.
And Buck intended to make sure that remained true.
He gripped the cold stone of the battlements as a sharp gust of wind swept across the field. His hair fluttered behind him, his unease hidden beneath a hardened gaze. Below, the enemy camp stirred with movement, a disciplined shift in their ranks that made his throat tighten.
"My lord," one of his knights called out, voice taut with unease. "There seems to be some metal contraptions among their forces."
Buck narrowed his eyes, scanning the battlefield. At first, he saw nothing unusual.
Then, gleaming in the afternoon light, he spotted them—small metallic machines, hovering just slightly above the earth as they advanced.
His brow furrowed.
These were not golems. They were too small, too frail-looking to be war constructs. Unlike the hulking, enchanted automatons of destruction, these contraptions seemed almost delicate, moving with an unnatural smoothness.
They’re no different from carts with floating enchantments, Buck thought. A few well-placed arrows or spells should shatter them.
"Archers!" he commanded, raising his voice over the wind. "Loose upon them! Mages, burn them to cinders!"
The air filled with the hum of spells and the hiss of arrows as volleys rained down upon the advancing machines, initiating an attack.
Yet, to Buck’s growing concern, the projectiles bounced harmlessly off their surfaces. Spells that should have melted steel fizzled against an unseen barrier, and arrows snapped uselessly upon impact.
His fists clenched. These things were sturdier than they appeared. But even then—what could they do? They were small, lacked visible weaponry, and had no soldiers escorting them.
"Stay your fire," he ordered after a moment.
"They are not golems of war. They can do little—"
His words died in his throat.
The machines reached the foot of the wall. A split second later, their metallic bodies pulsed like a yellow heartbeat. Once, twice—
Then, the world shattered.
His ears rang and the force rattled Buck’s bones. Soon, the castle’s lower walls were engulfed in blinding light, and when the smoke cleared, horror gripped him.
A section of the black stone fortifications—the very walls that had stood unbroken for centuries—had crumbled.
His breath came in shallow gasps as he stared at the destruction, dust still settling.
2025-02-06 18:14:50 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 67
A scent wafted through the leaves, slipping past the annoyingly tall trees to enter his nose. The little beast sniffed, ears twitching. He did not know what it was, only that he had to try it.
The berries and herbs of the wilderness had long ceased to satisfy him. They filled his stomach, but there was no pleasure in them.
A great being such as himself deserved more. The large, two-legged creatures who spoke in strange tongues and built their little houses with wood and hay—surely, they should be serving him, presenting him with offerings worthy of his stature. And yet, they had proven disappointingly unwilling, always offering the same tasteless berries. Over and over. And over.
He was sick of it.
So, he moved.
Through branches, over leaves, past the screeching birds that dared get in his way. He leapt, tumbled through the underbrush, and finally, he arrived.
A clearing.
A large pot sat in the middle, strange tubes connected to it, wisps of heat rising into the air. And beside it stood one of the two-legged creatures.
He eyed him warily. Tall. Just enough broad shoulders to fit his height. His fur—no, his clothes—were dull, the color of dust and dirt. His mane was dark, tied back, but strands fell over his forehead, messier than the usual ones that walked this land. His black eyes locked onto him, and for a moment, the little beast stiffened.
Danger.
It was the same feeling he had felt when he had accidentally stepped into the path of a wolf that roamed the forest, acting as a protector of sorts. A silent weight pressing down, a fleeting thought that he was prey.
Then, it passed.
He flicked his tail, shaking the feeling away and turned his gaze. Next to the human sat another creature—not one of his kind, but close. A feline. A hunter. Not a beast of the wild but not fully tamed either. She basked in the sun, relaxed, yet her sharp amber eyes followed him with interest.
He cared for neither of them.
His true target lay just ahead.
A large bowl, filled to the brim with something that carried that intoxicating scent. Beside it, a smaller one, just as inviting. He sniffed the air again, his blessed tongue already tingling with anticipation.
He could not stop.
Food awaited him.
So he sprinted forward.
The human’s eyes widened in surprise, but he was too mesmerized by his majestic self to react. A fitting response. Most creatures found themselves stunned when faced with such unparalleled grace.
The small bowl was close now. The scent—rich, sharp, and unlike anything he had ever tasted—filled his nose, making his whiskers twitch. He took one last sniff, confirming what he already knew.
This was it.
Without hesitation, he plunged in.
A bitter taste hit his tongue first, but he powered through. His refined palate adjusted swiftly, savoring the complexity of the liquid. He drank and drank, the warmth spreading in his belly, coating his tongue in its novel richness. A deep satisfaction settled in his chest. Finally. Finally, something worthy of him.
When the bowl was empty, he licked his lips, let out a contented sigh, and patted his stomach with his paws.
Only then did he glance up at the human.
The two-legged creature was staring at him, mouth slightly open, looking utterly stunned. The little beast blinked. He didn’t know why.
Maybe the human had never witnessed such elegance up close before. Understandable.
Deciding to break him out of his daze, he scampered forward, stopping at the human’s feet. The large creature crouched, eyes scanning him with some strange intent, before extending a hand.
Ah. He understood.
With a dignified leap, he climbed up, perching himself upon the broad shoulder. From here, the view was excellent. The trees stretched out in the distance, the sun bathed the clearing in warmth, and he—he felt grand.
Larger than life.
He lifted his paws in triumph.
Yes. Perhaps he had just acquired his first true servant.
As he basked in his glory, the human turned to the feline and muttered, “The squirrel doesn’t seem affected by the alcohol.”
Squirrel?
His tail bristled.
He knew many names for his divine species, but "squirrel" was not one of them. How dare the human compare him to those mundane, nut-hoarding pests? He prepared to deliver a righteous smack to the fool’s face when the feline spoke.
“I don’t think it’s a squirrel,” she said, her amber eyes gleaming with knowledge. “I believe it’s a lunari. And a male lunari at that. They are rarer than their female counterparts.”
He froze.
For the first time in his long life—spanning four hundred and sixty nine sunsets—he was genuinely surprised.
The feline… could speak?
Not just understand, as all majestic beings like himself could, but speak the strange language of the two-legged ones.
How?
As he pondered this revelation, the feline spoke again, calmly.
“I think it’s because it’s a spirit beast. Not really strong. Just Tier 1… and even then, a low Tier 1. But a spirit beast nonetheless.”
A spirit beast? He scoffed internally. Of course, he was a spirit beast. He was more than just some ordinary animal.
But wait—did she say low Tier 1?
His tail twitched in irritation. His fur bristled, standing on end like the spines of an angered porcupine.
Low Tier 1? The more he thought about it, the more his anger increased.
The cat’s voice was calm, almost indifferent, but to his ears, it carried the weight of condescension. His tail flicked once, then again, sharp and agitated. His small claws pressed into the fabric of the human’s shoulder, a silent protest. He was not weak.
He was not some lowly creature to be pitied.
He was—
A warmth settled on his head.
He froze.
Fingers pressed lightly between his ears, ruffling the fur in slow, rhythmic strokes. A shiver ran down his spine. His first instinct was to swipe the hand away, to remind this human of his place, but… the touch was nice.
A deep warmth spread from the top of his head down his back, loosening the tension in his limbs. His tail, which had been flicking angrily, stilled, curling slightly in contentment.
Strange.
He blinked up at the human, who had turned back to the cat. His voice was steady, thoughtful.
“So, should we keep him? He's cute.”
The cat gave him another long, unreadable look before flicking her tail.
“Your choice,” she said, stretching out in the sunlight. “Just keep him away from the alcohol, or you’ll never make enough to sell.”
The human hummed, considering, before shifting his gaze back to him. He met his dark eyes—deep, endless, reflecting something unreadable.
“Then I guess I’ll take care of you.”
He said it so simply, like it was already decided. Then the human tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought. A moment passed.
“Now, what should I name you?”
The beast opened his mouth, ready to tell this foolish human the name of his majestic lineage—
Then he paused.
What… was his name?
His whole life, through four hundred and sixty-nine sunsets, he had moved through the world nameless, known only by the quiet awe of the lesser creatures and the whispered warnings of those smart enough to recognize his greatness. A name?
He had never needed one.
His ears twitched as he studied the human.
Well… perhaps he would allow this one to name him. That much, at least, was acceptable for someone who had already proven his worth in head pats.
The human’s brows furrowed, the same expression that he made when debating between more food or a long nap. His lips parted, then closed. Thoughtful. Calculating. Then, finally, his face brightened, eyes lighting with the satisfaction of someone who had reached a grand conclusion.
A slow smirk spread across his lips. “Whiskey.”
He blinked.
The human grinned. “Your name will be Whiskey.”
Whis Ke.
He turned the sound over in his mind, tasting it like a rare berry plucked straight from the branch. Odd. Sharp. Unlike any of the names he had ever heard the big creatures call one another.
But as he thought about it again and again, something stirred inside him—a strange warmth, something deeper than the alcohol he had just tasted. It was his.
A name.
He rolled his shoulders, puffing out his chest, lifting his paws as if announcing his new title to the world.
Whiskey.
Yes.
From this day forward, his majestic self would be known as Whiskey. The name given by his newly acquired human servant.
***
Chen Ren hadn’t expected to gain a spirit beast companion while brewing alcohol, but fate had a peculiar sense of humor. The small creature, covered in sleek white fur with a bushy tail that flicked at the slightest provocation, had attached itself to him after downing a full bowl of discarded alcohol. He licked its tiny paws, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction, before climbing up his arm like he had always belonged there.
Strange little thing. But cute, in an arrogant, self-important way.
More surprising than its presence, however, was its obsession with alcohol. He sniffed at every jar he opened, jumped onto tables to inspect bubbling liquids, and, if he wasn’t careful, dove headfirst into cups meant for testing. He had to start covering his batches, lest he find the tiny drunk curled up inside a brewing pot again. Still, as long as the lunari kept lapping up failed experiments without complaint, he supposed he earned his keep.
Whiskey didn’t mind any scraps that he received. And Chen Ren didn’t complain.
It wasn’t just him the little beast had taken a liking to. Zi Wen had been talking to him more frequently on dao and what it might mean to be a beastmaster and these conversations would mostly happen when Chen Ren would be mid-brew and in one of these talks,
Whiskey had realised he found the middle aged cultivator pleasing.
Whiskey often perched on Zi Wen’s knee, tail curled around his body as he watched the man with critical, beady eyes. Zi Wen, in return, stroked his beard in contemplation.
Sometimes, he would completely ignore the spirit beast and continue to talk with Chen Ren about dao and beasts; but throughout, Whiskey would be nearby.
It showed that Zi Wen was liked by spirit beasts, and his assumption of Dao of Taming was correct. It made Chen Ren hope for the best; hope that the man would choose his Dao and attempt to connect with it soon.
Then there was Luo Heng, a different sort of visitor. Unlike Zi Wen’s philosophical musings, his curiosity was far more grounded. He asked about cultivation techniques, his life story as someone who had been a cultivator for a long time and how the immortal society worked.
Through his conversation, he was able to get to know the man better, but one particular frustration gnawed at him—the fact that his lightning cultivation manual was utterly useless for him.
It was because the man's spirit roots were earth-aspected. Yalan had confirmed it during the aptitude test, and he wouldn't be able to make use of his lightning manual.
Still, not all paths were blocked.
Chen Ren tossed him a few old mortal grade martial art manuals from his childhood.
“Cultivation isn’t just about one thing. Work on the foundation first,” he said. “Figure out your Dao. You’re better off knowing what path to walk upon as I get you a cultivation manual.”
Luo Heng didn't complain and accepted the manuals and started to practice them with Zi Wen helping him to understand the stances and forms.
While the cultivators wrestled with their paths, the mortals had no such luxury. They had tasks, responsibilities, and deadlines—and Tang Xiulan saw to it that they met them.
Chen Ren had known she was intelligent, but watching her teach was another thing entirely.
She grasped concepts quickly, adapted them, and had already organized lessons for the street kids and villager-turned-students.
Basic literacy, arithmetic, and business fundamentals—everything they’d need to handle his growing enterprises.
That was one problem he didn't have to worry about.
Seeing that his sect was slowly forming a rhythm, his mind moved to the next task at hand: alcohol distribution. He needed to finalize his supply chain before scaling production. Once that was set, he could shift focus to expanding his food stalls. Ice cream would have to wait—summer had passed, and he wasn’t foolish enough to push a seasonal product.
Still, the future stretched ahead, full of possibilities.
He knew he needed to produce a fresh batch of the alcohol without an awful taste. And for two weeks, he kept distilling alcohol and trying to get the flavour right. It took a while and a lot of frustration as he kept trying different concentrations and methods until finally, he found himself making a batch that was just good enough to sell. It took another week to create a carriage full of them with his sect members helping out before Chen Ren decided it was finally the time to take a trip around the empire.
Just before he left, he sat across Xiulan, papers scattered across the table as they finalised the plans for the sect’s upcoming expansion.
"Is it really necessary for you to go?" Xiulan’s question cut through the quiet, her fingers fidgeting nervously on her lap. "We’ve just started things here, and I might be able to get some more help."
Chen Ren inhaled through his nose. His eyes met her for the briefest moment and saw how serious she was. “Yes, I did tell you I have a few things to do other than the alcohol supply line.”
“I do know, young master. But that’s what makes me worried. You’re going to an established sect, and from what you’ve told me, it can be dangerous.”
He gave a small nod. “Yes, it is dangerous. But Yalan will be with me. And I think I’ll at least be able to preserve my life and escape with her there, if anything goes wrong.”
Xiulan let out a breath, her posture relaxing slightly as she processed his words. “All right. I’ll make sure to handle the construction and plumbing. Though, I think it might take some time for the village builder and laborers to understand your diagrams.”
Chen Ren smiled wryly, feeling a familiar frustration at the mention of plumbing.
Beyond the hustle of his businesses, Chen Ren had a vision for expanding his place, a long-term goal of building more facilities to accommodate the growing needs of the sect.
But for now, his focus was on enhancing the three buildings they already had. More floors, more rooms, and, most importantly, proper plumbing.
Yes, plumbing.
It was something that grated on him about this era—the complete lack of efficient plumbing and proper facilities for nature’s calls. A seemingly minor detail that no one ever seemed to address in any Xianxia novel. It always seemed so absurd to him. Even cultivators, according to Yalan, weren’t exempt. They could survive without food for days, and as a result, their bodily needs were minimal. But that only left one glaring problem: no one had thought to advance the plumbing systems.
Chen Ren wasn’t about to let that slide. He intended to change that, starting with his own buildings.
He felt a sense of contentment as he reviewed the plans—everything sketched out in detail. He’d handed over the blueprints to
Xiulan, making sure to emphasize where manual labor would be needed. He trusted her to follow the instructions. She had always been good at executing his plans, and he had no doubt she would manage this one just as effectively.
The door opened then—cutting his thoughts short, and Zi Han stepped in. “Sect Leader Chen, we’re ready to go.”
Chen Ren stood, giving Xiulan one last look. “Okay, I’ll be back in two weeks.” He gave her a reassuring smile, though his mind was already turning to the journey ahead.
He walked outside with Zi Han and Xiulan, and the sight of the modified carriage waiting for him made his chest swell with pride. The carriage, once used for their initial travels, had been altered to fit crates of his newly perfected alcohol, and it was now packed to the brim, ready to make its way across the empire.
The group had gathered. Hong Yi and Anji stood by the carriage, their eyes scanning the surroundings. Yalan was seated on the ground and Whiskey stood on top of the carriage.
As he approached the group, his gaze flicked over Hong Yi, who was deeply engrossed in a map. When Hong Yi noticed him approaching, he lifted his eyes, a skeptical look creeping across his face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.
Chen Ren gave a reassuring smile, his confidence unwavering. “Yes, I’m confident,” he replied, then stepped forward and traced his finger along a line on the map. His finger paused at a small town named Black Lotus Town, the first destination on their journey.
“We’ll be moving from here,” he said, his finger continuing along the path. “Then we’ll follow this road through the major cities to reach Ashen. This will be our destination.”
The path he outlined was a half-circle, the route weaving through some lesser-known towns. “On our way back,” he continued, “we’ll pass through Cloud Mist City.”
“What’s in Ashen City?” Anji asked.
Chen Ren pointed at a spot on the map, just before the last leg of the journey. “From what I gathered, it houses the Zhu Clan and they have one of the largest breweries in the region, with alcohol businesses spanning multiple cities. We’ll be trying to get in business with them.”
He paused, his finger moving to another part of the map, closer to the halfway point between them and Ashen. “But before we get there,” he added, “we’ll make a stop at the Blood Iron Sect.”
Hong Yi’s eyes changed at the mention of the sect. He gulped, his brow furrowing in concern. “I really hope you’re right about this,” he muttered, the uncertainty now evident in his voice.
It made Anji frown deeper. She clutched the map in her hand.
“Don’t worry,” Chen Ren said. “It won’t be the first time I would made a big organization bow down to me.”
***
Magus Reborn Chapter will be a little late. Sorry for inconvenience.
2025-02-06 03:20:21 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 175
Duke William Blackwood rubbed his hands together as he took in the man before him completely. Everything about Count Jorand Whitecrest seemed to be swallowed by white—his beard, his hair, even the extremely elegant robes draped over his broad shoulders. But William knew better. The white wasn’t just a matter of age, it was a symbol, the colors of House Whitecrest, a force that held dominion over lands stretching eastward to the sea.
The years had left their mark on the man, but wisdom clung to him just as tightly as his reputation.
Bringing the goblet to his lips, William took a slow sip. The moment the bitter liquid touched his tongue, he sighed, placing the cup back down with deliberate care.
“Jorand, my old friend,” he said and sighed dramatically. “Your wine is still as bitter as ever.”
Across from him, Jorand picked up his own glass, swirling the dark liquid before taking a sip. “The nobles would say it’s simply not to your taste. Everyone else seems to like it.”
William let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “They’re just too scared to say anything but praises in front of you.” His eyes glinted with knowing. “You do know what our positions mean to others. They’re terrified to offend us, even a little. And saying your wine tastes bitter—I don't think so.”
Jorand exhaled a soft laugh, setting his cup aside. “I don’t think you traveled all this way just to complain about people treating you too nicely, or to remind me that my wine tastes bitter.”
A rare smile tugged at the corner of William’s lips. “No,” William admitted. “I was out hunting and thought to visit you at the same time.”
Jorand arched a brow. “You traveled for hours just to hunt?”
“No. To meet you.”
That seemed to catch the count’s attention. His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden armrest of his chair.
“The kingdom is changing,” William continued, his tone dropping lower. “And there is much to discuss. And who better than you? Especially since I know you are in the middle of selling your allegiance to the first prince.”
Jorand didn’t react immediately. Instead, he reached for his cup once more, taking a thoughtful sip before setting it down again. William could see the hesitation in his little action. Jorand had been a man of quick and precise actions, but when he took a slow sip out of the wine glass and exhaled loudly while putting it back on the table, he knew that his old friend had already come to his own conclusion.
“Are you here to stop me?”
“In a way,” William admitted, “but more exactly, I’m here to make you pause. To reconsider.”
“Reconsider toward whom? I made my choice based on who is most likely to end up as king among the three.”
William’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened. Jorand’s grabbed the glass again.
“There might be four soon.”
The count’s brow arched mid-sip, the wine stopping just short of his lips.
“I know King Sullivan was lonely because he got crazy women as queens,” he said slowly, lowering the glass. “But did he really father an illegitimate son? I’ve never heard of him.”
William shook his head. “No. It’s not one with royal blood.”
The count frowned, his fingers tightening slightly around the stem of his goblet. “Then what do you mean?”
William leaned back, settling comfortably into his chair. His silver eyes locked onto the count’s, watching his old friend’s confusion deepen before dropping the words like a blade.
“Count Arzan came to meet me.”
The pause was brief but heavy. The count blinked, then tilted his head, processing the name before scoffing.
“The new hero of the kingdom?” He gave a small shake of his head. “I never heard about this.”
“It was confidential,” William said, picking up his wine again but not drinking. “He came and went without anyone knowing. He can be sneaky.”
“And what was this meeting about?”
William’s lips curled slightly. “Why don’t you take a guess?”
There was no immediate answer. The count's eyes narrowed slightly, then widened just a fraction as a thought struck him.
“He’s Valkyrie’s son.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Jorand’s expression shifted—from confusion to deep thought, then to something dangerously close to realization. And then—
Bang.
His arm slammed onto the table, rattling the table.
“He intends to run for the throne? Is he crazy?”
William laughed. “I think so.” He swirled his wine lazily before adding, “We might need some crazy for the good of the kingdom.”
Jorand didn't seem convinced. His fingers tapped against the table, his mind clearly still working through everything. He grunted before responding.
“So you’re supporting him.”
“Not exactly. At least, not yet. But he gave me a lot to think about. A lot of things. He predicted the fief war that’s raging right now.”
The count's fingers paused mid-tap. He exhaled through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line. “He knew it was coming?” He leaned back slightly, rubbing his beard. “Well… I suppose that’s believable. He already seems to have made gains in the war, but I don’t know if he’ll win.” His fingers drummed against the table once more. “Apparently, almost all the nobles in the Sylvan Enclave are coming for him.”
William didn't answer immediately, watching as his friend continued to piece things together. Then—
“But I suppose,” Jorand muttered. “If you’re talking about him positively, that means the rumors about him having dark powers are wrong.”
Duke William nodded, setting his goblet down with a quiet clink.
“On the contrary,” he said. “He hates it.” His fingers traced the rim of the cup as he continued. “It’s a conspiracy. I can tell because I met and talked with him.”
“Is that why you’re in favor of him? You do know it’s unlikely he’ll survive. I only get bits and pieces from that side since the whole place is locked down, but from what I hear, the forces against him are overwhelming.”
William exhaled slowly, nodding. “I know,” he admitted. “But I have hope for one reason.”
The count raised a brow but said nothing, waiting.
“You know he didn’t go straight to his territory after leaving the capital,” William continued. “My men tracked his movements. He headed toward the Sylvara Forest.”
That got a reaction. A deep frown. “The one leading to—”
“Sylvastra.”
A long silence stretched between them. Even though William had known this piece of information, saying it out loud felt different. And by heart, he knew the next question.
“You think he met the elves?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s just a theory, but I think so. He wasn’t in my territory just to talk to me, and my men never saw him passing through on his way back home. And yet, we both know he’s in Veralt now. I suspect he has connections with the elves… and they helped him travel back.”
“That changes a lot of things,” Jorand said while his eyes seemed distant—the man was clearly rethinking everything. “No human has ever gained the elves’ favor. But do you really think he can defeat his brother and win this war?”
William sighed. “We’ll wait and watch. Because I have no idea. With that kid, nothing is predictable. I haven’t made my decision yet—for that very reason. But don’t forget… if he actually does it, the waves it will send through the kingdom will be immense.” He met
Jorand’s gaze. “We’ll need to be prepared.”
Jorand nodded in return. “You’re right.” He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Thank you for informing me. If you hadn’t, I might’ve rushed into an alliance.”
William laughed, the sound lighter than before. “I didn’t warn you just because I see
Arzan as a potential claimant.”
“Then what else?”
“When Arzan came to meet me,” he said, “he told me some things about Regina that you should know.”
***
Roran Brightholm moved through the estate like a shadow, his breath steady but his heart hammering against his ribs. It had finally come to this.
An assassination.
And then—freedom. No more hiding in this wretched place, no more playing the part of a loyal vassal. He would return to the capital, to the safety of Magus Verdia, and claim what was rightfully his—power, prestige, and the respect he had bled for.
But his fingers twitched at the thought. What if it went wrong?
His mind raced through the possibilities, each one gnawing at his nerves. What if Arzan survived? What if the guards found him before he could escape? What if—?
Roran shook his head sharply, his grip tightening around the small glass vial hidden within his robes. The potion felt warm against his palm, as if reminding him of its purpose.
No. Think of the better outcome. Finishing the job. Getting out. Returning to the capital as the man who helped secure the future.
He exhaled, slow and measured, then glanced at the window. The sky had darkened completely. Night. The perfect time to move.
His steps were light as he ascended the stairs—not to the floor where Arzan’s room was, but one level above. The hallway stretched ahead of him, quiet and empty. He had planned for this. Finding an unoccupied room wasn’t difficult, and once inside, he wasted no time.
Crossing the chamber like he’d planned, he reached the window and peered down.
A handful of guards lingered in the courtyard below, their eyes fixed on the perimeter. None of them looked up.
Good.
He placed a hand over his chest, feeling his own heartbeat beneath his palm. Steady. He had prepared for this.
Muttering the incantation under his breath, he cast [Featherfall], his body growing lighter as he stepped onto the ledge. Without hesitation, he pushed off, plummeting toward the window below.
The night air rushed past him.
At the last moment, his fingers caught the window hinges.
For a breath, he dangled there, his muscles straining, then—quietly, carefully—he pushed himself inside.
His breath came out in a quiet sigh, and he quickly scanned the room.
His eyes drifted to the bed, where Arzan was, his figure barely rising and falling with each breath. The lord hadn’t stirred. Hadn’t even reacted to the shift in the air as a stranger slipped into his chambers.
Good. This will be quick.
Roran moved with careful precision, muttering a soundproofing ward under his breath. A faint shimmer pulsed across the walls, sealing them in silence. No one would hear. No one would interrupt.
He took another step forward, slipping the dagger from his robes. The cold steel gleamed in the low light, sharp enough to end this in one clean motion.
Standing over Arzan, he let out a slow breath.
"You might be a good lord," he thought, tilting the knife downward, "but you crossed the wrong people."
His grip tightened. One strike—
“You’re early.”
Roran froze.
Arzan’s voice was calm, almost amused.
“I was expecting you to come a bit later.”
The man in the bed opened his eyes.
Roran took an instinctive step back, his heart slamming against his ribs as Arzan sat up, a slow smile creeping onto his face.
Was I seen? The thought raced through his mind like wildfire. Was this all a trap?
He clenched his jaw, pushing the doubt away. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t hesitate now.
With a snarl, he lunged, slashing the dagger toward Arzan’s throat.
A pulse of energy flared between them.
The force sent Roran flying backward, slamming him into the wardrobe with a heavy thud. His head spun, his vision blurring for a split second—just long enough for the door to swing open.
Fuck.
Knight Killian stepped inside, his blade drawn, guards flanking him on either side. His gaze dropped to Roran, impassive yet sharp.
Pinned, surrounded, Roran’s breath came fast. His mind spun for an escape.
“You’re done here,” Arzan said, swinging his legs over the bed. His voice was almost casual, like he was discussing dinner plans. “Just give up, and we won’t torture you during interrogation.”
Roran’s fingers twitched.
When? His mind demanded. When was my cover blown? How long have they known?
It didn’t matter.
There was no time to think. No time to
hesitate.
His hand shot into his robes, gripping the vial.
The only way to survive.
Without another thought, he downed the potion. Just then, a [Wind Blade] shot forward.
But Roran was ready. His fingers flicked, summoning a wind barrier just in time. Arzan’s attack should have been stopped—should have—but the magic tore right through, slipping past the defense.
Roran lunged to the side, his body twisting unnaturally fast, dodging just as Killian surged forward. The knight’s sword came down in a sharp arc, aimed straight for his shoulder—
Then the blade stopped.
Not because Roran had dodged. Not because he had blocked it.
But because something had changed.
Scales.
Dark, jagged scales rippled across Roran’s arm, climbing up like living armor. His breath hitched as his body trembled, visibly something else waking inside of him.
Power flooded his veins. Chaotic, violent, uncontrollable. A force that roared like a storm, making his own magic feel small in comparison.
Fourth circle…? His mind reeled. He could feel the strength thrumming through him. The unmistakable strength, the mana flow—it was on a level he had never touched before.
But none of it mattered.
Not now.
His gaze flickered up, meeting Arzan’s and Killian’s. The knight’s sword crackled with lightning, energy pulsing up the blade. Arzan’s hands moved, gathering mana, his eyes unreadable but sharp.
Can I take them out?
For a moment, Roran considered it. He knew it was a matter of survival or doing his job. He had to choose one even with the power inside of him. But there was no moment to think, to come to a decision.
Hence, he decided he wanted to live more.
Without another thought, he snapped his fingers, channeling a spell—
Not at them.
At the floor.
The dark mana surged, wind compressing into a single violent burst. [Wind blast]
Boom!
The explosion rocked the room, tearing through wood, sending dust and splinters flying. It happened too quickly to process. He saw Arzan's hands covered with another spell, but Roran didn’t wait to see what it would do.
He moved.
In one swift motion, he spun and launched himself out the window.
The night swallowed him whole.
***
The soft hum of mana dissipated as Kai lowered his hands, undoing the protective barrier that had shielded both him and Killian from the blast.
Dust still lingered in the air, swirling the air, filling his lungs. The wooden floor where the explosion had struck was shredded, deep cracks splintering outward like veins. A gaping hole yawned at the center of the destruction, the jagged edges still smoldering with traces of dark mana.
When Roran brought the vial tip closer to his lips, there was a single thought that ran through his mind— not again. He had an immediate flashed back to Actra—the twisted form, the monstrous strength, the raw chaos that had nearly torn through him.
Kai exhaled, his fingers flexing as he took in the aftermath.
It had worked.
One of the major reasons he had gone through with the procedure was this moment—this exact scenario. He knew the recovery would force him to rest for a day, that if someone wanted him dead, this was the best opportunity to strike. A perfect bait.
And the rat had taken it.
But he hadn’t expected this.
His gaze dropped to the blackened remnants
of the floor, then toward the shattered window where Roran had fled. His mind turned, dissecting what he had just seen, what the man had become.
The potion.
The same kind that Actra had used.
Was it so common? Were there more of these cursed vials in circulation?
His jaw tightened.
Or had Verdia given it to him specifically?
If she had, then she saw him as a major threat. Not just an inconvenience—an obstacle. That thought settled heavily in his chest.
Beside him, Killian stepped forward, his sword still in hand, though the crackling lightning had faded from the blade.
“I’ve already given orders,” he said. “The guards are on full alert. He won’t get far. Every exit is sealed.”
Kai nodded. “I hope we can catch him alive.” His eyes flickered toward the ruined floor again. “If not, we lose a good pawn against Verdia. Just hope he doesn’t try to escape through Vasper Forest.”
“If he does,” Killian murmured, “he won’t have a good time.”
2025-02-04 03:08:50 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 66
Once the initiation class was over, Chen Ren sent everyone off.
Xiulan took charge of the mortals, leading them to another area where she would explain more about the sect—what they would do, what their duties were, and what they would learn.
Unlike normal sects, where disciples followed a master and learned directly from them, the Divine Coin Sect was different. It would teach through structured lessons, and everyone had to take part.
The lessons covered many things. Sales techniques that Chen Ren had written down, reading and writing, and even more math lessons than they expected. He didn't want his disciples getting tricked just because they didn’t know how numbers worked. He had already gone over all of this with Xiulan, and she was more than capable of handling it as the sect manager.
As for the cultivators, he kept them back a little longer. Instead of rushing them straight into training, he wanted them to think carefully about their path. What did they want to pursue? What was their Dao?
Of course, a part of this was because Chen Ren didn’t actually have any cultivation manuals to give them. The only one he had was the Chen clan's manual [Thunderstorm Sutra], and according to Yalan, none of them had lightning-aspected spiritual roots.
Zi Wen was fine—he still had his old manual from his previous sect, and Yalan could probably help him improve it. But Luo Heng needed a new one, and that was a problem
Chen Ren would have to deal with soon.
After speaking with both of them, he turned to Hong Yi. Unlike the others, he wasn’t officially part of the sect yet. But if he could get him to join the sect, it would mean increasing the sect's average strength by a lot, excluding Yalan of course.
Chen Ren led him to the back of the building, toward a small clearing just before the mountains. Hong Yi silently followed him.
There, with the wind rustling the trees, he finally spoke.
“So? What did you think of the lecture?”
Hong Yi looked at him, clearly rethinking about it. Then, after a moment, he said, “It was... interesting.”
He paused, glancing at the sect buildings before looking back at Chen Ren.
“I’ve heard of sects with different branches, each focused on their own disciplines. But I’ve never heard of one focused on money.”
Hong Yi paused once again, as if gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke. "As for the talk on Dao... I gained good insight from it. I think it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now."
Chen Ren studied him before asking, "You follow the Martial Dao, right?"
Hong Yi nodded. "Yes. I’ve followed it for the last three years, ever since I started cultivating. For a long time, it felt like my path. But... since I got the inheritance, I feel like something is clashing with it." He clenched his fists, frustration showing on his face. "I’m not improving as fast as I should. I don’t practice my martial arts much anymore. I only focus on my puppets. Because of that... I’m falling behind in the Martial Dao." His voice lowered. "And I’ve started to question if it’s truly the way for me."
Chen Ren crossed his arms, watching him carefully. "You’re still young. You haven’t gone too far into cultivation yet. I think you can still change to the path you truly wish to walk on." He let the words settle before continuing. "In the end, it’s more philosophical than anything. It’s in your mind. Your Dao has to align with what you want. If you can do that, I believe you’ll be fine."
For a moment, there was only silence. The wind whispered through the trees. The boulder nearby stood still, unmoving, as if it had been there forever. The air was peaceful, untouched by doubt or hesitation.
Chen Ren looked around before turning back to Hong Yi. "I don’t see your puppets. I thought I told you to bring them."
Hong Yi blinked. "I brought them."
"Then where—"
Before Chen Ren could finish, Hong Yi whistled. A sharp, clear sound cut through the air.
Chen Ren frowned, wondering what he was doing. Then, he noticed movement in the mountain.
A figure leaped out and landed lightly on the ground.
It was wooden. Not taller than three feet. Humanoid. Its body was shaped like a person, but its features were simple. Two eye-like shapes were carved into its face, but there was no mouth, no nose. It almost looked like a wooden statue.
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow.
"I hid it in the mountain," Hong Yi admitted. "I didn’t want to be seen with it."
Chen Ren looked at the puppet then back to him. "How does it work?"
"It’s... hard to explain," Hong Yi said. He walked over to the puppet and placed a hand on its shoulder. "It’s like a soul link between me and it. The puppet understands basic commands. I made them respond to whistles since I was always good with them. And because it’s hard for enemies to figure out what I’m doing."
Chen Ren nodded slowly. "So it’s a bit like programming."
Hong Yi tilted his head. "Programming?"
Chen Ren thought for a moment. How was he supposed to explain this?
Finally, he said, "Think of it like giving someone commands, but in a really specific way. Each command makes for a specific effect. If you want to program it to fight, you will do a specific command. If you want it to walk, you will do a specific command. Like that." He frowned. "I don’t know how to explain it further, but... it’s like that."
Hong Yi nodded slowly. "I believe I get the gist of it."
Chen Ren smiled before pointing at the puppet once again. "How strong are they?"
Hong Yi smirked. Instead of answering, he stepped back and whistled again.
The wooden puppet moved. Its joints clicked slightly, but its steps were steady. It walked towards the boulder at the center of the clearing, raised its fist, and punched.
Boom!
A deep dent appeared in the stone.
Chen Ren’s brows lifted in surprise.
Without hesitation, the puppet drew back its arm and struck again. This time, the entire boulder cracked and crumbled into chunks.
Chen Ren blinked. That’s stronger than I expected.
Hong Yi looked proud. "This one is in the fifth star of the body forging realm. I haven’t been able to ‘program’ martial techniques into them yet, but they’re still formidable."
Chen Ren nodded. They were much stronger than he’d expected. "I can see that." He glanced at Hong Yi. "How many do you have?"
Hong Yi hesitated. He pressed his lips together, looking as if he didn’t want to reveal the number. After a moment, he sighed. "...Twelve right now. I’ve hidden them in the mountains, mostly. All of them range from the third to fifth star of body forging."
Chen Ren hummed. That was more than he expected.
"Can you make them stronger?" he asked.
"Yes," Hong Yi said immediately. "But it depends on materials. Spirit wood is especially important. If I want them to have elemental affinities and be smarter, I’d need more resources—and someone with knowledge of arrays and runic symbols."
Chen Ren raised a brow. "Arrays?"
Hong Yi nodded. "Apparently, I can engrave arrays into their cores. If I place elemental beads around the array, they can use elemental techniques." He frowned slightly. "It’s a bit hard to describe. Even harder to do."
Chen Ren stayed quiet, his mind already spinning with possibilities.
Puppets like these… They wouldn’t just be useful for defending the sect. He could send them with his sales teams to different cities when they moved to expand. The Kalian Empire was a dangerous place. Beasts roamed freely alongside bandits, and traveling long distances wasn’t something ordinary people did. Even merchants had to hire guards—sometimes even rogue cultivators at the body forging realm.
But with these puppets, I might be able to solve that problem.
Not just for himself, but for the people too.
His gaze returned to Hong Yi. "I’m impressed by the puppets. And honestly, I’m impressed by you." He exhaled and said, "So, once again, I’d like to offer you a place in the Divine Coin Sect."
Hong Yi’s expression shifted. He still looked uncertain. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Chen Ren didn’t know he was holding his breath until the man in front of him opened his eyes. The eyes; they were filled with a ‘sorry’ to come. He was about to reject the offer again—
But before he could, Chen Ren spoke.
"I know your hesitation. You don’t think the Divine Coin Sect will be able to protect you against your former sect." he pursed his lips. "That’s your biggest concern, isn’t it?"
Hong Yi stiffened. Then, slowly, he nodded.
Chen Ren smiled slightly. "Then what if I can solve that?"
Hong Yi's eyes widened. For a moment, a flicker of hope crossed his face—but it was quickly replaced by doubt. He shook his head, concern evident in his gaze.
"I don’t think it’ll work," he muttered. "The sect leader of Blood Iron Sect himself is a meridian expansion realm cultivator and Master Yalan might be able to deal with him, but there's hundreds of cultivators under him."
Chen Ren shook his head. "No, I don’t plan on asking Yalan to negotiate with them or protect you." His expression turned serious. "I know their manpower is too much for us to handle head-on."
Hong Yi frowned. "Then what—?"
Chen Ren raised a hand. "I’ll tell you soon. I’m still fine-tuning the plan. But if I manage to do it, will you join the Divine Coin Sect?"
There was no hesitation in Hong Yi’s response. "If you can do it, I’ll happily join—if my inheritance stays with me."
Chen Ren smirked. "It will. I wouldn’t ask for something that personal." He crossed his arms. "But I’ll need information on your former sect. I’ll be traveling soon.”
Hong Yi raised an eyebrow. "For me?"
Chen Ren chuckled. "That, and for the next step of Divine Coin Sect’s expansion, basically to set up the supply chain for our next product."
***
Chen Ren wiped the sweat from his brow as he carefully hoisted another earthen pot filled with fermented mash, setting it down near the crude distillation setup he had pieced together. Copper tubing, sealed joints, and a few makeshift condensers lined the back of the house, where he had been experimenting for the past few days
As he adjusted one of the tubes leading to a collection container, testing the seal, he heard
Yalan’s voice from behind him.
"So, this is going to be your next big product?"
He glanced at her, then back at the equipment. "Yes. One thing the Kalian Empire has a massive market for is alcohol. And all the ones we tasted on our trip to this village…" He frowned. "They were weak. There’s definitely a gap for something stronger."
Yalan stepped closer, examining the setup with mild curiosity. "So you're making this—moonshine—just for that reason?"
"Not just moonshine." Chen Ren grinned.
"Homemade cider, bathtub gin, and whatever else I can get working. My father was a big fan of alcohol, so I know a bit about the stronger stuff."
Yalan didn’t even blink. "So he was an alcoholic."
Chen Ren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. The local pubs loved him. He was basically their best customer." He paused for a moment as old memories surfaced, but he quickly pushed them away, refocusing on his work.
He checked the tubing again, watching as the first trickles of liquid began to move through the still. The vapors condensed, dripping steadily into the container he had set up. It wasn’t perfect yet—he’d have to distill it at least twice to get a high enough concentration—but it was a start.
"If this works," he muttered, more to himself than to Yalan, "I’ll start testing rice wine and other variations. If moonshine doesn’t sell well, something else will." He smirked. "But I have a good feeling about this. A little trial and error, and we’ll have something strong enough to shake up the market."
Chen Ren carefully adjusted the flame beneath the pot, watching as the liquid inside began to simmer. Thin tendrils of vapor curled upward, traveling through the coil of copper tubing toward the collection container.
The first clear drops of alcohol began to drip, and he exhaled in satisfaction.
As he worked, Yalan fell into an unusual silence, watching him like a hawk. And he could tell that the wheels of her brain were spinning.
"You do know that getting into the alcohol business means more trouble, right? It’s an established market, like you said."
"I know," Chen Ren replied without hesitation. "And trouble is something that’s going to follow me no matter what I do." He straightened, wiping his hands on his sleeves.
"Even then, I don’t plan on fighting other clans for their businesses. I’ll just be the supplier instead of creating my own pubs. I don’t have the money to buy properties for that."
"Then how do you plan to make money from it?"
"Once we refine the formula, I’ll travel to form contracts with major pub businesses. Sell it directly to them instead of competing. That’ll be the first step in developing something even bigger—spirit alcohol."
At that, Yalan actually laughed. "Spirit alcohol? That’s a secret recipe. Only a few sects know how to make it, and even then, it’s not easy."
Chen Ren shrugged—not new to this piece of information. "I know. I’ve heard. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. If I can infuse my qi into these spirits properly, I might be able to figure out the formula myself. When I go back to Cloud Mist City, I’ll ask Qing He about it, too. She might know something."
"Maybe," Yalan conceded, stretching lazily in the sunlight. "But even if you do get the process down, you’d still need spirit materials. Spirit rice, at the very least. And I don’t see anyone growing that around here."
Chen Ren exhaled, shaking his head. That was another complication. Every business in this world—especially those tied to cultivation—was filled with hurdles. Even the simplest resources required spiritual properties, and that meant they were expensive.
Pushing the thought aside for now, he turned back to the distillation process, monitoring the slow drip of liquid into the container. But as he worked, his gaze flickered back to Yalan, who sat basking in the sun, seemingly unconcerned with anything at all.
That reminded him—there was something he had wanted to ask her.
Chen Ren wiped his hands again and glanced at Yalan. "By the way, there’s something I need to show you."
She tilted her head. "What?"
Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the small egg he had taken from the Soaring Sword Sect’s treasury and handed it to her. "I found this when I was in the sect. The elder let me take it, and said it was a dead egg. Do you think we can make use of it in some way?"
Yalan took the egg and inspected it carefully, her claws brushing over its surface as she concentrated. After a moment, she hummed. "I don’t know what beast this egg belonged to. A lot of eggs look like this, and it’s really small, so it can’t be from anything huge." She flipped it over using her small paws, eyes narrowing. "It is dead, like the elder told you, but there are some faint traces of qi lingering inside."
Chen Ren’s eyes lit up. "So it might still be useful?"
"Depends," Yalan said dryly. "Might make for a good breakfast if it’s not poisonous from being dead for so long. You should throw it away."
Chen Ren sighed as she set the egg down on the grass. He reached over and picked it back up, tucking it back into his robes. "I don’t really want to. Don’t you think it might turn into some hidden treasure or something?"
Yalan squinted at him. "Why would you think that?"
"Cultivation logic," he declared. "The way I found it. It was just sitting there in a treasury, untouched amidst far better treasures. Even the elder didn't know what it was doing there. Everything in my being said that there's a reason why a dead egg is there. It's fate basically.”
As he finished the explanation, Yalan stared at him like he was an idiot. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Chen Ren, too, kept staring—waiting for her to speak her mind.
“What?” he finally asked.
"I don’t know why you think the world works like that. It really doesn’t."
Chen Ren opened his mouth to defend himself, but movement caught his attention. His eyes flicked to the distillation setup, where the first proper bowl of alcohol was filling drop by drop. He quickly picked it up, bringing it close to his nose. The scent was sharp and unrefined, and when he took a sip, it burned down his throat in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant.
He smacked his lips, frowning. "Needs work."
Still, he was making progress. With the mortal members in the sect now and the base alcohol being cheap, he was confident that once he got the right formula, he’d be able to build a proper foundation for a brewery. A brewery that could eventually supply the strongest alcohol in the region. The profits would be huge.
But just as he was thinking that, something moved in the trees beyond the house.
His head snapped up, and he saw Yalan shift slightly, eyes narrowing as she, too, noticed the movement.
Chen Ren tensed, glancing at Yalan. "A wild beast?"
"Maybe," she murmured, eyes scanning the treeline. "Nothing too strong, though. The forest around here doesn’t have many beasts you can’t handle."
He nodded, keeping his senses sharp. Then, the sound of rustling grass grew louder—something was moving fast, weaving through the undergrowth like a darting shadow. Chen Ren barely had time to react before a small head poked out from the foliage. His eyes widened.
White fur, soft and rustling in the wind, covered a small, sleek body. It had large, sharp front teeth, a bushy tail curled slightly at the end, and small claws that looked deceptively delicate. Its eyes, bright, flickered between them before its little nose twitched. The beast resembled a squirrel but had an oddly refined presence, almost as if it was more aware than a normal beast.
Chen Ren relaxed slightly. "Just a squirrel—"
Before he could finish, the creature froze, its gaze locking onto the bowl of distilled alcohol in his hand.
Chen Ren hesitated. What’s it—
Then, in a blur of motion, the squirrel bolted forward, a streak of white fur crossing the distance in an instant.
"Hey!" He barely had time to react before the creature skidded onto the table, stretched up on its hind legs, and—before he could pull the bowl away—took a big sip of the freshly distilled alcohol.
***
Got done with the real life stuff! Enjoy!
2025-02-04 03:02:54 +0000 UTC
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There would probably be chapters tomorrow due to real life problems for both Magus Reborn and Dao of money!
Hope you all fine with it!
2025-02-03 19:08:23 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 65
Chen Ren stood in one of the biggest rooms he could find in the buildings he now owned. The space was large, its high ceiling, and the emptiness after the cleanup making voices echo slightly, and in front of him stood every new recruit of the Divine Coin Sect.
Although he had expected a decent number of people to join, he was still pleasantly surprised—twelve members from the nearby villages. Twelve.
Zushi was the first among them. She stood near the front, looking calm but attentive. Her eyes were plastered on Chen Ren, and next to her was Luo Heng, the young man who’d no idea that he was a cultivator, and had lived his entire life as a farmer.
Then there was Tao Li, a man in his mid thirties who was partially blind but had the wits of someone who’s twice his age. He had answered every question effortlessly, but precisely—the answers fitting to each question. On the back sat the two brothers, Zi Wen and Zi Han, looking up at him and whispering something to each other.
And there was also Hong Yi puppet cultivator who hadn't joined the sect yet, but had come to meet him just as their arrangement. He kept his distance, as if unsure whether to stay or leave. Chen Ren hadn’t seen his puppet anywhere, but at least the man had come.
That was a good sign. Convincing him to fully join would take work, but he saw potential.
Apart from these people, the rest of the men and women fit his standards enough to be taken inside. In a way, it was good to find literate people. That alone made things easier. But what excited him the most were the cultivators among them.
On the side stood his original members—Xiulan, Yalan, the kids, and Anji.
Taking a deep breath, he swept his gaze around the room for the final time and spoke.
“Everyone, I would like to first congratulate you on joining the Divine Coin Sect. All of you have shown qualities like grit, determination, good aptitude, and intelligence during our interviews. And I can promise you this—you won’t regret your choice.”
The mortal members straightened, excitement flickering in their eyes. Among the cultivators, only Luo Heng looked enthusiastic. The other two remained unreadable, their expressions giving away nothing.
Chen Ren continued. “Unlike other sects, we do not focus solely on martial arts. Our sect is built on business, trade, and wealth. But make no mistake—we will not neglect the path of cultivation. Strength and wisdom go hand in hand, and this sect will be a place where both flourish. No one will be cast aside based on their background, status, or cultivation. Everyone has a role, and everyone will benefit.”
He explained further, speaking of the sect’s future, the opportunities it would create, and the strength they would build—not through blind ambition, but through strategy, discipline, and profit.
When he finally asked, “Are there any questions?” Silence hung in the air for a moment. Some recruits hesitated, glancing at each other.
Then Zushi stepped forward. “Sect Leader,”
she said, “our sect has both mortals and cultivators standing as equals. But does that mean we, the mortals, will also learn martial arts like them?”
Chen Ren met Zushi’s gaze and nodded. “The primary duty of mortals in the sect will be different. Your focus will be on sales, marketing, and delivery.” He paused, scanning their faces for any hint of hesitation. “The Divine Coin Sect already has its hands in a few businesses, and as we expand, you’ll be the ones managing them.”
Some of the mortal recruits looked at each other, murmuring.
“But,” Chen Ren continued, “that doesn’t mean you won’t be trained. Strength is important in all walks of life. You’ll be required to do basic physical training every day. More than that, you’ll learn about cultivators—their needs, their goods, and their methods. In the future, we’ll be selling to them, so understanding their world will be necessary.”
That got their attention. Zushi nodded, her small eyes flashing with understanding, while Tao Li stroked his chin in thought.
“And after some time,” Chen Ren added, “there will be special training for all mortals.”
That made a few of them straighten in interest.
Han Fei, a herbalist who’d been in the same stream for generations raised a hand. Chen Ren remembered his face well due to the bushy eyebrows he had. “What kind of training?”
Chen Ren only smiled. “You’ll know when the time comes.”
He let that settle before shifting his gaze toward the cultivators standing at the back. Zi Wen looked intrigued, Hong Yi’s expression was unreadable like usual, and Luo Heng–the youngster among the group-had an openly curious expression on his face.
“Mortals will focus on sales,” Chen Ren said, “but cultivators will be more involved in production. That means learning disciplines like alchemy, forging, and artifact crafting.” He let the words sink in before continuing. “There won’t be any force. You’ll be free to learn as you choose. But you will also be required for protection when necessary. Beyond that, you’ll have time to cultivate and walk your own Dao. The sect will support you in that.”
Zi Han crossed his arms, tilting his head. “How will the sect help?” he asked. “Do we have a lot of resources—pills, treasures, things like that? And what about masters? If we’re learning disciplines, who will teach us?”
Chen Ren took a slow breath. “Our sect is new. Right now, we don’t have a stockpile of resources, but we will. As we grow wealthier, we’ll buy what’s needed—pills, materials, manuals.”
Zi Han gave a small nod at that, but his eyes still held some doubt.
“As for masters,” Chen Ren continued. “We have books on various disciplines. They’ll serve as a foundation. And in time, we’ll attract more cultivators who can teach. But resources and masters aren’t the only things that help a cultivator grow.”
At that, Zi Wen finally spoke. “What else is there?” His voice was deep and calm. “What kind of support can you offer besides resources?”
Chen Ren’s gaze settled on him. “Insights into your Dao.”
Zi Wen frowned slightly, but before he could ask more, his expression shifted, as if another thought had struck him. He hesitated, then finally spoke again.
“I apologize if this is disrespectful, Sect Leader,” he said, carefully measuring his words. “But I would like to know—who is the strongest cultivator in our sect?” His sharp eyes met Chen Ren’s. “I know you are the sect leader, but—”
“But I’m only in the qi refinement realm, right?” he said, finishing Zi Wen’s unspoken thoughts. “You’re worried about the safety of the sect.”
Zi Wen nodded, but his eyes revealed a trace of concern. It was a question that probably rang in everyone’s mind but they refused to speak up.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Chen Ren continued. “We have a sect guardian among our ranks—a meridian expansion realm cultivator, one of the strongest beings in the Kalian Empire. She’ll also be available to help with martial training if you have any problems.”
The words hung in the air for a moment before realization dawned on Zi Wen. His eyes widened. “A meridian expansion master?” he asked.
Someone from the group gasped out loud at that. But Chen Ren maintained his calm demeanor.
“Yes.” Chen Ren nodded. “She’s the protector of our sect. As long as she’s here, you don’t have to worry about our safety.”
Zi Wen slowly exhaled, processing the information before giving a firm nod. “I see.”
From the side, Yalan smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. The other recruits stirred, excitement buzzing among them. Even the mortals—despite not fully grasping the weight of the words—could tell this was significant.
Only one person remained quiet. The puppet cultivator, Hong Yi. His gaze flickered toward Yalan, lips pressing into a thin line, clearly remembering their interaction.
Chen Ren let the moment settle before shifting the conversation. “Any more questions for now?”
Silence. A few hesitant glances, but no one spoke up.
Satisfied, he moved forward. “Earlier, you asked what kind of insights the sect could give you. Let’s talk about that.” His tone shifted, drawing their full attention. “These insights will be about the different types of Dao—because the Martial Dao isn’t the only path.”
A few of the mortals looked puzzled, while the cultivators narrowed their eyes in thought.
“I know some of you may find this confusing,” Chen Ren admitted. “So let’s put it simply. Think of Dao as your path—the one you want to walk, the foundation your purpose is built around.”
He paused, scanning the room to make sure they were following. The mortals exchanged uncertain glances, but Zushi seemed to grasp it first, nodding in understanding.
“Most sects in the empire focus on a singular Dao—the Martial Dao,” Chen Ren continued.
“Some sects and clans specialize in variations of it, like the Dao of the Sword, the Dao of the Spear, and similar martial paths. Others center around professions like alchemy or blacksmithing.”
He let the words sink in before raising a question of his own. “But are those the only Daos in the world?”
Chen Ren let his question linger in the air, watching the cultivators carefully. It was the puppet cultivator who broke the silence first.
“You’re talking about esoteric daos,” Hong Yi said.
A pleased smile tugged at Chen Ren’s lips. “Exactly,” he said. “These are the rare Daos—not many cultivators walk upon them, but those who do are considered strong simply because of how unpredictable they can be.” His gaze swept across the group, lingering on the ones who had been the most skeptical. “Divine Coin Sect is also based on such a Dao—the Dao of Money.”
A murmur spread through the group, some looking confused while others appeared intrigued. Yalan’s smirk widened slightly, clearly already aware of where this was going.
“Not only that, but our sect is going to specialize in these esoteric Daos. We will encourage every disciple to think deeply about their own path. Why?. Because not only is it the fastest way to reach the top, but it also makes the issue of low spirit roots meaningless.”
Zi Wen’s brows furrowed, his sharp mind latching onto the statement. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Yeah, I don’t get it.”
One of the mortals spoke up. Chen Ren ignored the mortal and focused on Zi Wen.
“I knew you’d be interested.” He let the anticipation build for a moment before speaking again. “You already know how many spirit roots I have, don’t you?”
Zi Wen hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”
“And yet,” Chen Ren continued, “I’ve reached the qi refinement realm in just the last few months—from third star body forging realm.”
Zi Wen’s expression tightened as he put the pieces together. “It was because you focused on your Dao of Money,” he murmured.
“Exactly,” Chen Ren confirmed. “I focused on my Dao, pursued accomplishments within it, and paired it with the right amount of insight. You can do the same. And if you do, then spirit roots won’t matter anymore.”
Chen Ren had talked about this extensively with Yalan. Cultivation, at its core, was about taking in the energy of the world and refining it within oneself. That much was undeniable. But if one walked their Dao, the energy would begin to move as if it had a mind of its own, aligning with the cultivator’s path and empowering them naturally. It took the issue of spirit roots out of the game completely.
It was no different from how a sword cultivator’s strength increased not just by absorbing Qi but by mastering sword techniques, refining his understanding of the blade, and deepening his connection to it. A blacksmith cultivator didn’t rely solely on Qi intake—his cultivation progressed as he forged better and better weapons, strengthening his Dao of the Forge with each success.
As Chen Ren was lost in thought, Hong Yi spoke again. “Even if what you say makes sense, Sect Leader… esoteric Daos are called esoteric for a reason. They’re rare. Walking such a path and gaining insights into them is extremely difficult. Not many pursue these paths for a reason.”
Chen Ren’s gaze flicked to him, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Why do you think that is?” he asked. “Why are there so few esoteric Dao cultivators?”
Hong Yi frowned, arms crossing as he mulled over the question. Seconds passed. Then more. In the end, he let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know.”
Chen Ren’s voice was steady as he answered. “It’s because our cultivation structure is inherently flawed.”
That made a few people straighten up, their attention sharpening.
“Instead of letting a cultivator choose their own path, they are pushed toward the martial path—because to most people, that is the only way to create powerful cultivators,” Chen Ren continued. “Even in sects that allow disciples to learn alchemy, forging, or arrays, those disciplines are always seen as secondary to the Martial Dao. And by the time a cultivator has advanced too far on that path, it becomes nearly impossible for them to change their Dao.”
The room was silent for a long moment. Some looked contemplative, others seemed uncertain, and a few had eyes gleaming with realization.
“But what if we didn’t follow that structure?”
Chen Ren exhaled slowly. This had been something that he’d spoken with Yalan, and even she’d agreed throughout their conversations.
The whole system was flawed. In a way, it wasn’t different from how kids who were born and raised in Asian countries were being forced into STEM fields they had no passion for. Like how a child was being pushed into studying alchemy in this world when their heart lies with arrays. Or being forced into martial cultivation when they have a natural talent for healing.
“And unlike those children who can change careers later, cultivation isn’t so forgiving. Once a cultivator goes too far down a path, it’s nearly impossible to turn back. That’s why esoteric Dao cultivators are so rare. Most never get the chance to walk their true path. And the few who do? They tend to be rogues, because no sect would support them.”
At his words, he saw different reactions from the group. Anji stood to the side, eyes narrowed in deep thought. Luo Heng mirrored the expression, as if trying to make sense of it all. Zi Wen and Hong Yi however, seemed more analytical, searching him for any deception in his words.
They found none.
Chen Ren could see the shift in their eyes, the slight change in how they looked at him. It wasn’t trust, not yet, but it was something close.
Ignoring their reactions, he moved on. “And to prove my point, let me tell you something—there’s already an esoteric Dao cultivator in this room besides me.”
That got their attention. Eyes widened. Some glanced around, looking at each other. Even the mortals, who didn’t fully grasp cultivation, perked up in curiosity.
Chen Ren smirked. Then he raised a hand and pointed directly at Zi Wen.
“It’s you.”
Zi Wen blinked. “Me?”
“Yes.”
A stunned silence. Then Zi Wen frowned. “How? How is it me”
Chen Ren tilted his head. “You might not have realized it yet, but you’ve unconsciously walked onto the Dao of Taming. You just haven’t aligned with it yet, which is why you haven’t gained any benefits from it.”
Zi Wen’s expression flickered. “Because of Little Yuze?”
“Yes. Beasts aren’t supposed to be easily tamed. Even if you got him as a whelp, the connection between you two, the way he listens to you—it all points toward something much deeper than simple training. In the texts I’ve read, this is a sign of someone on the Dao of Taming.”
Zi Wen looked down, visibly processing the revelation. Some of the others exchanged looks. A murmur ran through the group.
He crossed his arms and waited, giving the man some time to process it. Zi Wen remained silent, his brows furrowed in deep contemplation. Chen Ren could tell that he was turning the idea over in his head, trying to grasp what it truly meant to walk a Dao that wasn’t tied to raw martial strength. But he had no doubt—given enough time, Zi Wen would connect with his path.
Letting Zi Wen dwell in his thoughts, he turned to the rest of the group. His gaze swept across them, taking in their mixed expressions of curiosity, excitement, and apprehension.
“I implore all of you to think carefully about your Dao,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a martial one. You are all free to walk and learn any path that resonates with you. Even those of you who are mortals.”
A few of the non-cultivators blinked in surprise, as if they hadn’t expected to be included in such a statement.
“You may not be able to perform feats like a cultivator,” Chen Ren continued, “but having a path, a purpose that aligns with who you are, will still allow you to achieve great things. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sect Leader!” came the resounding reply.
Chen Ren nodded in satisfaction.
His gaze shifted towards Hong Yi. The man was still lost in thought, his fingers twitching slightly as if adjusting invisible strings. Chen Ren had initially suspected him to be reluctant about joining, but now… now he seemed to be taking this seriously. That was good. That was what he needed.
But still, there were things that needed to be settled.
Before he could move forward with his plans, he needed to deal with this man. Learn more about him. Decide whether he was truly someone who could be trusted in the sect’s ranks.
And after that?
Chen Ren’s lips curled slightly.
Then he could finally begin production on his next creations.
The ones that would sweep across the empire like a storm. The ones that would carve his name into history. It would be the prelude before dominating the immortal market.
2025-02-01 19:27:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 174
Over the past week, Kai had replayed the procedure in his mind countless times. He’d gone through every detail, anticipating, planning every possible outcome, but nothing had prepared him for what was happening now.
The fiery pain tore through him, hitting every nerve, every vein, every part of him. The concoction was inside him, coursing through his blood and organs like liquid fire. It wasn’t just moving through his veins, but peeling away the very walls of his organs, burrowing deeper into his body like it was trying to reach the core of him.
The pain became unbearable in a matter of minutes.
He collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud, his body barely responding as he tried to find a breath, the sensation nearly choking him. Every fiber of his being screamed for relief. His mind screamed for him to cast a spell—to call on his magic, to lessen the pain, even if just for a moment. But he forced his hands down to the floor, knowing that interfering now was the last thing he could afford.
This wasn’t like his awakening, where he had to wrestle with his Mana heart, coaxing it to bloom. No, this time, the task was simpler. He had to do nothing. The concoction was doing its work, tapping into his magic, reshaping his body, making it stronger, preparing it for the Enforcers’ power. He didn’t have to force it; he just had to endure.
Mages and Enforcers both wielded mana, but their powers were different. Kai knew that well. To harness both was unnatural, and for that unnatural strength, he had to be prepared to bear pain that no one else could withstand.
The time went by and it felt like every second brought him closer to shattering. His insides seemed to burst apart and then reassemble, only for it to happen again, over and over. His mind conjured vivid, torturous images—hands, invisible but relentless, tearing apart his organs before putting them back together.
He knew they weren’t real, but the hallucinations gnawed at him, wearing down his hardened resolve.
The ancient texts had warned him of pain, but they hadn’t mentioned this. This was beyond what he’d expected—beyond what he could have imagined. Yet as he lay there, the floor cold against his body, the thoughts in his mind were clear.
If there was anyone who could survive this, it was him. He’d shattered every limit in his path in the pursuit of strength, and for more power, he’d do it again. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it tore him apart.
A question slipped through his haze of agony: Was it necessary? Could he survive it?
Truthfully, now, Kai wasn’t sure. The concoction wasn’t guaranteed to work—no one had ever said it was. But that was life. Nothing was guaranteed. It was all a risk. A risk he had to take. He’d come out of the last ordeal alive, when he’d forced his mana circles to expand. He could do it again. He would do it again.
And just as the thought solidified in his mind, he felt it. A trickle down his cheek. At first, he thought it was tears, but the instant he touched his skin, he knew better. His fingers came away slick with something darker than tears. Blood. Thick, dark blood, like it was drawn from a creature of the night.
His breath hitched, but the pain soon swallowed that too. There was no time to think, no time for fear. Only the endless flood of agony and the knowledge that he couldn’t stop now.
It felt as though the liquid waIt started at his eyes—the blood, thick and dark, seeping from his tear ducts. A tingling sensation crept down his arms and legs, and soon he could feel his skin tightening as small pores opened, letting more blood trickle out. It wasn’t just coming from his eyes anymore; it was everywhere. His skin, his limbs, all bleeding as though his body was purging itself. Kai understood what was happening.
Every impurity, every weakness, was being forced out. It was a painful process, but he knew it was necessary.
The pain seemed to double, then triple, as the blood continued to pour, but Kai bit down hard on his teeth, determined to outlast it. He was close. He could feel it—the energy inside of him was dimming, the fiery sensation that had raged through him now slowing, becoming more bearable. The blood flowed faster, covering the floor, pooling around him, staining everything.
The room was bathed in darkness and crimson. He hadn’t realized how much blood he had until it covered the entire space. It was as though his body had held an ocean of it.
Just as the pain seemed to reach its peak, the door to the room creaked open. A sliver of light sliced through the darkness.
Claire.
Her worried eyes were the first thing Kai saw, and behind her stood guards, eye wide with shock at the sight of him, but Claire was focused entirely on him.
She moved toward him, her footsteps quick, but Kai barely registered the sound as his body trembled. She said something, her lips moving urgently, but he couldn’t hear her over the pounding in his ears. Blood bubbled up in his throat, and he coughed it out violently, his body jerking from the effort. His hand shot up instinctively, palm facing her as if to reassure her.
“I’m fine,” he wanted to say, but his voice failed him, drowning in blood and pain. He couldn’t even make a sound.
Claire didn’t seem reassured by his gesture. Instead, she dropped to her knees in the blood, her face drawn in concern. Her eyes were wide, searching him for any sign of life, any sign that he was still in control.
Kai wanted to tell her he was okay, but his vision was starting to fade, the world around him spinning.
Everything blurred. The light from the door, Claire’s face, the guards—all of it began to dissolve into a haze, leaving him with only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the beating of his heart, which was growing weaker by the second.
Before he could form another thought, another word, his body gave in. His vision swam, and everything went black. The last thing he saw was Claire, pulling a healing potion from her pouch, her hand trembling as she reached for him.
Then, the darkness swallowed him whole.
***
Roran Brightholm moved through the street, his eyes scanning everything around him. The guards patrolled the streets, their faces stoic, their movements methodical, but none of them seemed to be in a rush. The civilians strolled along the cobblestone paths, chatting casually, as though the war wasn't going to knock on their door soon.
It was an odd sight—odd, yet familiar. Roran knew the reason behind it.
The battle of Verdis had been won. The city had heard the news just yesterday, and it had spread like wildfire. People had celebrated, their spirits high, their confidence soaring. To them, the war was all but over. They believed victory was already within reach, that it would be a simple march through Veralt to finish the job.
He could almost hear their thoughts, the civilians basking in their fleeting sense of safety. But Roran knew better.
Victory at Verdis was one battle—one that had been easier than expected. The war was far from over, and he knew that in the coming days, things would turn darker. He needed to make sure of it. He needed to ensure that Arzan Kellius—Lord Arzan, the rising Count of Veralt—didn’t live to see the final march of the war.
Roran’s mind flickered with the task he had been given. It was his job to ensure Arzan lost. If Arzan survived the beast wave, Roran’s mission would be to finish the job. But no orders had come yet. He had been keeping his distance, working as a spy for the Archine Tower, gathering any scrap of information he could. But the war—this war—was about to change everything.
His heart tightened with that thought as he moved further through the city, blending into the crowd. There was a tension building in his chest. He could feel it in his bones. Something was coming. Something that would mark a shift in the tides.
Then, he spotted it. A merchant’s carriage—one that he had seen before moving slowly through the bustling streets, while mingling with the crowd. Without hesitation, Roran melted into the crowd, slipping through the gaps between people, moving silently, until he was near the carriage. He quietly slipped into the back of the carriage like a shadow, unnoticed by those around him.
Inside, a man sat, his robes simple, his face nondescript, blending in with the ordinary merchant. Roran shut the curtain behind him and locked eyes with the man, who immediately handed him a sealed envelope.
Roran took the envelope and looked at it with suspicion. "What’s this?" he asked.
The man merely shrugged. “Your final mission. Read through it,” he replied.
Roran's eyebrows furrowed. "Final?" He frowned. "Just brief me about it."
The merchant’s smile faded, a frown replacing it. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Magus Veridia has deemed your work here unsatisfactory. You haven’t provided the information she needs. So, it’s time to end your duty in Veralt. Kill Arzan, and get out of the city.”
Roran’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. “What do you mean I haven’t provided good information?” His hand clenched around the envelope. “I’ve sent everything I could get my hands on. His powers—his strength in the battle. The forces he commands. Their strange power, like of a Mage’s. His bond with beasts—his friendship with them. I sent it all.”
The merchant’s face darkened, his voice now colder. “I don't know what you sent, but she's unsatisfied. She wanted secrets, his inheritance, his long term plans and the way to create those mana cannons. But you couldn’t provide that, could you?”
"I wasn’t in a position to get that kind of information. You can’t just—"
The man held up a hand, silencing him. “She’s given you time. And now, your mission has changed. Kill Arzan. Don’t waste time. This is your final task.”
Roran tightened his grip on the envelope, his words ringing in his ears. He opened his mouth to argue, but the merchant cut him off, his expression hardening. “Not my problem,” he said flatly. “Finish the task, and then get back to Vasper Forest. There’s a map in the envelope, and once Arzan is dead, the war will be over. You can sneak out after that.”
Roran paused, his gaze flicking back to the envelope, then back to the man. “Arzan is powerful. He’s also got too many powerful people around him.” His voice lowered. “I can’t even poison him. The maids taste everything he eats before it reaches him.”
The merchant’s patience snapped, his face contorted with frustration as he leaned in. “There’s a potion inside the envelope that should help you. But don’t just stand there like an idiot. Use your brain. Now get out of here before they start a curfew.”
Reluctantly, Roran nodded, his mind racing with calculations and contingencies as he slipped the envelope into his robes. With one last glance at the merchant, he exited the carriage, the weight of the task pressing down on him.
His pace quickened as he moved through the streets, the city’s streets still lively, unaware of the storm that was about to hit. Roran couldn’t afford to linger, and his mind kept wandering back to the impossible nature of the task.
Arzan wasn’t just a powerful lord—he was an enigma. A force to be reckoned with. Yet, there was no room for hesitation. He had his orders.
Roran made his way towards the estate, passing the workers and the occasional guard. The air felt heavy, almost oppressive, and he quickened his steps as he neared the building. It wasn’t his usual quarters he was headed for. No, today he wasn’t going to his room. He had something more pressing to deal with.
The estate was alive with activity—servants and maids moving up and down the halls in their usual rhythm. Their hushed whispers filled the air, but none of it was useful information. Roran slowed his pace, straining to catch anything that might reveal a weakness, a slip-up in the plan.
But nothing. The whispers were just that—empty sounds. Grimacing, he moved forward, turning left and right as he continued his search. And then, just as he was about to give up and retreat to his usual haunts, he spotted him.
A guard stood nearby, his stance casual, official but the gleam in his eyes told Roran that he had something to say.
As he approached, the guard’s face broke into a grin, and he whispered eagerly, “Big news. You won’t believe it.”
Roran leaned in, his interest piqued. “What is it?”
The guard’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer. “Lord Arzan apparently got unconscious. They say he’s in his room right now, being treated. I heard there was blood all around him in his room.”
Roran’s blood ran cold, his heart skipping a beat. Arzan unconscious? Blood all over the room? He felt the opportunity before him, and also the growing realization that this might be the perfect moment.
He didn’t know the details, but this was the break he had been waiting for.
Roran’s eyes widened in surprise. “What happened?” he asked, his voice tight, betraying his excitement.
The guard shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I wasn’t on duty, but yeah, I heard his situation is pretty terrible.” He looked around nervously, as if aware that even the smallest detail might cost him.
Barely able to hide the smile that crept onto his lips, Roran pressed a small bag of coins into the guard’s palm. “Thanks,” he muttered, then moved swiftly down the corridor.
Immediately, different possibilities came to his mind. The timing was perfect.
This was the best news he could have hoped for. Arzan, the man he had been ordered to eliminate, was in a vulnerable state. Roran’s thoughts churned with possibilities. Why had
Arzan gotten into such a condition? The most likely explanation was that he had tried to break through to the next circle of power, perhaps out of desperation over the war.
Roran knew that Arzan’s ambition was as large as his power. It made sense that, in his overconfidence, he might have pushed himself too far.
But the exact reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that Arzan was in a weakened state, and that was the opportunity Roran had been waiting for. A wounded lion was easier to kill than a healthy one.
He moved quickly, heading to a quiet corner of the estate, his mind now focused entirely on the task ahead. Roran carefully opened the envelope, ignoring the parchment inside. The information it contained could wait. His eyes were locked on the vial inside—a small glass container, filled with a viscous, black tar-like liquid.
A dark smile spread across his face as he held it up to the light.
2025-02-01 19:23:28 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 173
Some wars erupted suddenly, catching everyone off guard. Others simmered, giving you time to prepare—weeks, months, even years. But Kai often wondered, could one truly prepare for war, no matter how much time they were given?
It was a question he’d mulled over countless times in recent days. Now, as news of victory from Verdis arrived, his answer tilted toward "yes." Feroy’s detailed reports confirmed it: not only had they subdued the enemy forces with minimal casualties, but they’d also captured Baron Idrin. A man Kai was very eager to meet.
But before that, there was much to do. Being the central figure in a war meant being everyone’s go-to for answers—whether it was about weapons, supplies, the well-being of their soldiers, or calming the common folk to avoid an uproar. And those were just the major tasks. A thousand other matters tugged at his attention, each one demanding resolution.
Francis was a steady hand in all of this, yet even the seasoned administrator had no experience with war. For both of them, it was a constant learning process. Right now, they moved side by side toward the main meeting room, where the next set of plans would take shape.
Kai walked with purpose, his boots in sync with Francis’s quieter steps. The long hallway was lit with sconces. And at the end of the corridor, a pair of double doors stood.
As Kai approached, one of the waiting servants stepped forward, bowing
respectfully before pulling the heavy door open. Inside, familiar faces turned toward him: Killian, Gareth, Ansel, and a handful of others, including Francis’s assistants. They all stood as Kai entered.
He raised a hand, gesturing for them to sit.
“Let’s not waste time. Take your seats.”
The men complied, shuffling back into their chairs as Kai took his seat at the head of the table. Francis lowered himself into the chair beside him, smoothing out a piece of parchment before nodding at Kai, ready to assist.
Kai began without a preamble. “I’m sure everyone here knows that the first major battle of this fief war ended yesterday in our victory. And that victory has confirmed a few things for us.”
He gestured toward Francis, who immediately picked up the thread.
“First of all, the blood drinkers. We’ve confirmed their involvement. All of them were killed in the battle, so we weren’t able to interrogate any of them. Even Baron Idrin had no idea about their numbers—he only dealt with the three sent to him. But if they’re deploying three to support one baron, we suspect there’s an entire force of them in play.”
The murmurs began immediately, rippling across the room. Kai raised a hand, silencing the chatter with a sharp look. Francis, undeterred, continued.
“Secondly, Baron Idrin confirmed that four out of the other five major nobles—barons and viscounts—have sworn allegiance to Lucian. The exception is House Redmont,” he said, tapping a finger on the parchment. “They’ve chosen to remain neutral for now. Their lands are on the eastern border, far from the heart of the conflict. It seems they’re content to watch and wait.”
The room fell into a tense silence.
Kai nodded thoughtfully. “What else did he say?”
Francis adjusted his glasses, glancing at the report in front of him. “According to Feroy’s interrogation, not much beyond his own forces and territory. Baron Idrin’s knowledge about Lucian’s larger plans is… limited. He was too terrified of us killing him to lie.”
He paused before adding, “Apparently, the battle at Verdis wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. Idrin had originally planned to converge with Lucian’s forces. But after receiving support from the blood drinkers, he grew overconfident and rushed into the conflict, severely underestimating us. His plan was to take Verdis and hold it until Lucian’s forces arrived.”
Francis offered a dry smile. “As we all know, that didn’t go well for him.”
“He was a fool, which worked in our favor. But we can’t assume all our enemies will be that stupid,” Kai said as a matter of fact.
His gaze shifted to the map sprawled across the table, every corner marked with the positions of noble houses, cities, villages, and fortresses. The Sylvan Enclave was large—larger than he’d imagined. Seeing its vastness laid out before him, dotted with critical locations and choke points, reminded him of the immense challenge ahead.
He straightened, raising his head to address Ansel. “What do you have on House Redmont? Are they really going to stay neutral? We can’t afford any wild cards right now.”
Ansel met his gaze. “From what my men have gathered, Viscount Redmont is a cautious man. Paranoid, even. He hates taking risks unless he’s forced to. For now, he seems content to stay on the sidelines.”
Kai nodded slowly. “Keep an eye on him, though. Even if he doesn’t join Lucian, we’ll still have four noble houses to deal with. That’s more than enough trouble as it is.”
The men around the table nodded, and Kai’s brow furrowed in thought. Before he could say more, Killian leaned forward, gesturing toward two castles on the map.
“House Dorn,” he said, pointing to a location midway between Verdis and Lucian’s stronghold, Veyrin. “This castle here sits right in the middle of a straight line between us and Lucian’s territory. If they plan to make a stand, this would be the ideal location. It’s defensible and provides a perfect staging ground for the other noble houses to converge before launching an assault on Verdis—and then Veralt.”
Killian’s hand trailed west, to another castle. “If we move on Dorn quickly and take it, they’ll likely regroup here, at Cragfort. The distance would slow them down, forcing the other houses to take time gathering their forces.”
Kai stared at the map, Killian’s words sparking an idea. Slowly, the outline of a plan began to take shape in his mind.
“We could use that delay,” Kai said. “Instead of waiting for them to unite, we hit the other noble houses separately. Take them down piece by piece before they can combine their forces.”
“Would it be wise to split our forces like that, Lord Arzan?” Ansel asked.
Kai shook his head. “We wouldn’t split the core of our army. The main force stays intact. But smaller units—led by Enforcers—would move to harass the noble houses, disrupt their supply lines, and seize their territories before they could rally together.”
His confidence made the men pause, though their faces remained uncertain.
“Even with Enforcers, a small unit against thousands of men?” one of them finally asked. “How is that feasible?” It was Gareth.
“I know not all of you know the latest innovations Balen and his men have been working on.” Kai smiled faintly. “But trust me, there are many ways to achieve victory, even when we’re outnumbered.”
He glanced briefly at Balen, who nodded in acknowledgment, a proud smile tugging at his lips. The blacksmith’s workshop had been buzzing with activity–nonstop as he created weapons, armour and golems.
“Smaller forces would mean our enemies underestimate us, and when they do…” He let the silence stretch, a knowing smile crossing his face. “…we strike.”
The air seemed to shift, the weight of his words sinking in. He continued, “Moreover, golems and drones will move alongside us. We’ve already started to make a good number of them. None as big as Sentinel, but they’ll serve us well.”
“Other than that, we now have access to druidic magic. I’ve already sent it to the Mages under our command. Some have formed bonds with birds to keep an eye out on everything, reporting back to us. Coupled with Ansel and his sources…”
Ansel, seated near the back, couldn’t help but smile at that. His reputation as the head of Watchers was slowly spreading and his eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of being acknowledged.
Kai raised his hand, emphasizing his point. “With Ansel’s intel, we’ll have as much information as we need. Intel is key in any war. And I haven’t even mentioned our friends, the Lombards yet…”
At that, a murmur of interest rippled through the room. Many of them here knew what they were up to and had a hint about their fighting prowess.
“I’ve heard quite a few of them have the potential to be Enforcers,” Kai added with a grin. “And that will be a surprise for our enemies when they least expect it. With all of this on our side, we can’t lose.”
He allowed a moment of silence to pass, watching as his men absorbed the information. They had seen his strategies work before, but this time, it would be different. This time, they were not just fighting for survival—they were fighting to subdue and capture their enemies.
“Any questions or better advice?” Kai asked.
None of them spoke. One thing was clear from their silence—they trusted him.
“Very well then,” Kai said with a nod. “Let’s move onto the next topic.”
He leaned forward, spreading a new set of parchments across the table.
“The numbers we’ll be fighting against…”
***
The war council stretched on for hours, the kind of grueling meeting that weighed heavily on both mind and spirit. Kai found himself alternating between pouring over maps, discussing logistics, and strategizing troop movements. Every aspect of their defense and offense had to be analyzed in painstaking detail, from supply chains to potential vulnerabilities in their own ranks. By the end, his men left with clearer directions, though Kai knew one truth: no amount of planning could account for every variable.
And variables, he mused, were the bane of every tactician’s existence.
Of all the uncertainties, the blood drinkers were the most troubling. They were the only faction whose numbers remained a mystery. Ansel was still working on gathering intel, but Lucian—damn him—had hidden their existence well.
Kai stepped out of the war room, the weight of the meeting lingering on his shoulders as he walked down the dimly lit hallway. The sound of his boots against the stone floor echoed faintly, and Kiliian fell into step beside him, silent at first. Kai’s thoughts remained elsewhere, circling back to the biggest threat—the one overseeing the blood drinkers.
Feroy’s report had made it clear: the blood drinkers weren’t mere pawns. Their power put them at least on the level of knights, and the one leading them would undoubtedly be a lord. A creature like that wasn’t just a strong opponent—it was a nightmare. Blood manipulation, enhanced strength, and a resilience that made even his most powerful spells feel insufficient. If their leader closed the distance, Kai wasn’t sure his enchanted armor would hold against even a single blow.
He needed a solution.
Thankfully, he had one. The elder tree concoction he’d acquired from the elves was a game-changer. A gift, it had the power to strengthen his body in ways that bordered on the mythical and pushed him towards getting the power of an Enforcer. But its use came with a cost, one that would leave him vulnerable for hours.
Kiliian’s voice broke his train of thought. “Are you sure this is the right time to take it?”
“Yes. I need to be as strong as possible against the blood drinker. I won’t be able to reach another circle so soon—it’ll take too much time. This is the only way.”
Kiliian frowned, his concern evident. “I’m just saying… it’ll leave your body vulnerable, right? You said it yourself. Is that a risk you can afford right now?”
Kai nodded. “Twelve hours, that’s all. I’ll be in meditation until morning. Once it’s done, I’ll be able to open the vaults within my body. I haven’t experienced it before, but based on what I know, it will leave me in a strange state of pain as it remakes my body.” He paused. “But I believe I can handle it. And you know it's our best chance to lure in the rat.”
“Yes, I know that. I will make the preparation,” Kiliian murmured, though his tone carried a hint of unease.
As they approached Kai’s room, Kiliian glanced at the guards stationed by the door.
“Should I stay here and guard?” he asked.
Kai shook his head. “No need. You should check out the items I brought back for you from Sylvastra. There are a few concoctions in there for you and the Enforcers. Not as potent as the one I’ll be using—Elder Caelith wasn’t exactly thrilled about parting with mine either.” He chuckled at the memory of the elf elder’s barely concealed irritation. “I’ll see if I can get more over time, though.”
Kiliian nodded, though his eyes lingered on Kai for a moment longer. “Alright. Just… don’t push yourself too hard, Lord Arzan.” With that, he turned and strode away, leaving Kai alone.
Kai stepped into his room, closing the door behind him. His gaze swept over the space, taking in the shelves lined with books, the table scattered with notes and maps, and the familiar bed.
He moved to the center of the room and bent.
He shifted slightly, his legs crossed beneath him as he settled into the exact same spot where he’d awakened as a Mage in this life. It was strange to think about how far he’d come since that day. Back then, he’d just been desperate to get back his power of a Mage. Now, he was about to take a step that would change him forever—giving him the power of an Enforcer.
The thought was both thrilling and unnerving.
Every progression in power was accompanied by a mixture of anticipation and fear. But this? This was different. He wasn’t simply advancing; he was reinventing himself. After tonight, he wouldn’t just be the Kai of old, the man who had already lived one life and died. He would be reborn, stronger than he had ever imagined possible. A faint smile played on his lips at the thought.
Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out the vial. The liquid inside shimmered, catching the light like molten green. It was unnervingly beautiful—an almost hypnotic shade of bright green that seemed alive. Tiny golden flecks swirled within, dancing in lazy spirals as though the concoction had a will of its own.
Kai turned the vial in his hands, watching the liquid shift, the golden flecks glinting. A faint, sharp scent wafted from the uncorked vial—earthy and herbal but with a strange metallic undertone. He didn’t let himself hesitate.
Whatever doubts lingered had no place here.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, raising the vial to his lips. With one swift motion, he tilted it back and gulped the liquid down.
For a second, nothing happened. The silence stretched as he sat there, almost wondering if he’d made a mistake. But then his vision began to blur. A strange, cloudy fog seemed to seep into his eyes, shrouding the world around him in a murky haze.
It was subtle at first, but then he felt it—a deep, throbbing energy beginning to stir in his stomach. It wasn’t the familiar warmth of mana flowing into his core. The energy spread slowly, creeping through his body, touching his mana organs first before branching outward into every limb, every muscle, every vein.
And then the pain struck. Fuck…
It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was as if his very bones were being shattered and reforged at the same time. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, and his skin burned like it was being torn apart and stitched back together in an endless loop. The energy coursing through him wasn’t gentle or forgiving—it was relentless, surging and roaring.
Kai clenched his jaw, his hands digging into the floor as he tried to keep himself upright. The room around him disappeared; there was only the pain, consuming and overwhelming.
He could feel his body breaking, reshaping itself in ways he didn’t fully understand. Every cell felt like it was being remade, forced to adapt to something greater, something more.
His vision flickered again, and this time, strange lights danced in the fog—green and gold.
Despite the agony, a part of him clung to one thought, This is what it takes. This is the price of power.
He let the pain wash over him, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as his body continued to break and rebuild itself.
2025-01-30 17:47:49 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 64
Chen Ren froze as he looked up at the cultivator in front of him, who looked equally shocked. For a while, neither of them spoke, and time itself seemed to have frozen as they stared at each other.
A storm of thoughts whirled in his mind. Why was such a strong cultivator here? It was clear that the man wasn’t just some wandering rogue looking for recruitment—no, someone of his cultivation and roots could likely secure a spot in a Guardian sect if he wanted, at least as an outer disciple. So why had he come? What was his goal?
Before he could voice the question, the cultivator moved. His expression shifted from confusion to hostility in an instant, and he shot up from his chair, thrusting a palm strike toward Chen Ren.
Chen Ren’s instincts screamed at him, and he dodged just in time. Lightning arced through his body as he countered, but before he could land a blow, the man suddenly froze.
Then, with a choked gasp, he was slammed to the ground.
His eyes widened in horror as an invisible force bore down on him, pinning him in place. Chen Ren extinguished his lightning and stepped back, realizing what had happened.
Yalan.
She had focused her aura solely on the rogue cultivator, and now he was nearly kissing the floor under its weight.
Taking advantage of the situation, Chen Ren quickly moved to shut the door, ensuring no one outside would see or hear what was happening.
Yalan stepped forward, stretching out her limbs as if she didn’t just push a large man down. "Who are you to attack someone I swore to protect?" she asked and narrowed her eyes.
The man's breath hitched, his pupils contracting as he looked at Yalan and slowly, comprehension dawned on his face. He was in the presence of someone who could end him as easily as stepping on an ant.
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, panic flickering in his eyes.
Chen Ren glanced at Yalan and gestured for her to ease the pressure. A moment later, the weight bearing down on the man lessened, allowing his shoulders to relax slightly. But he still remained on his knees, clearly shaken.
He looked up at them, swallowing hard before speaking. "A meridian expansion realm master…" he muttered, almost as if confirming it to himself.
Chen Ren crossed his arms. "At least your qi perception is decent. Now, will you tell me what you're doing here? And why did you suddenly attack me?"
The man gulped, his eyes shifting to something between regret and fear. He looked like someone who had stepped into a place he never should have entered.
"My name is Hong Yi," he said at last. "I've been staying in the nearby Grassfield Village for a few months now. When I heard about a sect recruiting mortals and conducting aptitude tests, I got curious. Especially because I had never heard its name before."
He hesitated before continuing. "I… I thought it might be a demonic sect trying to gather sacrifices. Please, forgive me. I hadn't expected that such a powerful master beast would be behind it."
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. "Now you know. But I do wonder if you're lying."
Hong Yi shook his head frantically. "No, no! I swear, I’ve told you the truth!"
Chen Ren studied the man in silence, his sharp gaze searching for any trace of falsehood. Hong Yi fidgeted under the scrutiny, but his fear was genuine—or at least, he wasn’t putting on an act.
After a moment, Chen Ren nodded toward Yalan.
She immediately withdrew her aura, and Hong Yi nearly collapsed, sucking in a deep breath as if he had just escaped the jaws of death. Relief washed over his face, but before he could move from his kneeling position, Chen Ren spoke.
"You can’t leave yet," he said calmly. "I’m still curious about a few things, and it would be in your best interest to tell the truth."
Hong Yi stiffened but nodded quickly.
Chen Ren leaned against the chair "So, what are you doing in the village? With your spirit roots, I doubt you’re just some wandering rogue cultivator."
The man gulped, hesitation flickering in his eyes. "My situation is… complicated."
Chen Ren gave him a dry look. "You’re not the only one with a complicated situation here. Just talk."
A tense silence followed before Hong Yi finally sighed in defeat. "I’m a deserter from the Blood Iron Sect."
Yalan’s eyes narrowed. "A deserter? Why did you run away?"
Hong Yi hesitated, his fists clenching as if weighing whether to reveal the truth or not. But after a moment, he seemed to realize that hiding anything would only make things worse.
His shoulders slumped, and he spoke.
"It’s because I gained access to a meridian expansion realm cultivator’s inheritance."
Chen Ren’s eyebrows rose slightly, and even Yalan cast a surprise glance at him.
But neither interrupted, letting the man continue.
"It wasn’t an offensive technique, a cultivation manual, or even an artifact," Hong Yi added bitterly. "It’s… not something most cultivators would even have any use for."
Chen Ren noted the way Hong Yi’s hands curled slightly, the way his voice carried a trace of wariness—he clearly thought they were going to take the inheritance from him.
Maybe that was exactly what had happened in his sect.
Still, Chen Ren ignored those thoughts for now and asked the important question.
"What kind of inheritance was it?"
Hong Yi took a deep breath before answering. "The inheritance of a Puppet Master."
Chen Ren stilled. "Puppet Master…" he muttered under his breath.
The term stirred a distant memory—one of the many books he had read after coming to this world. It had been a small mention, barely a footnote, but he recalled the basics.
Puppets were another cultivation discipline, a rare and esoteric path that involved crafting constructs and fusing a part of oneself with them to establish control. It was an art that required precision, resources, and deep knowledge of formations.
It was a rare art—rarer than all three disciplines Chen Ren was currently learning. Puppet Masters weren’t just uncommon; they were almost myths, their techniques scattered and lost across generations.
And now, there was one kneeling right in front of him.
As he mused on this, Hong Yi continued.
"I found it during one of my adventures, deep beneath the caves of my sect. I don't know how, but the sect master found out about it soon after." His voice turned bitter. "At first, he was disappointed. My sect is a purely martial sect—they only house alchemists alongside their martial cultivators. A Puppet Master had no place among them."
He let out a dry chuckle. "But even then, it was still a novelty. Something unique. So for a while, I was treated well. They made me a core disciple and showered me with resources."
Yalan narrowed her eyes. "What changed?"
Hong Yi frowned, as if thinking back to something unpleasant. Then, after a moment, he exhaled.
"One of the elders… he didn’t like my sudden rise. So he reached out to an Established sect far in the south of the empire—one that already had Puppet Masters among their ranks." His voice grew darker. "And they made an offer. They promised my sect a fortune in resources, enough to help the sect master break through to the next realm… in exchange for my inheritance."
Chen Ren tensed, realising what might have happened. "But the inheritance you received isn’t something tangible, is it?"
Hong Yi gave a hollow smile. "No. It’s attached to my soul. It was knowledge—deep knowledge passed directly into my mind. I couldn’t just hand it over like an artifact or a scroll."
His hands clenched into fists. "So they gave me two options. Either I submit myself to the sect, allow them to strip every piece of knowledge from my mind, or they kill me and use an artifact to harvest my soul for it."
Chen Ren’s breath hitched, and his eyes darted toward Yalan.
"Do righteous sects even have things like soul-harvesting artifacts?"
"Some do. The line between so-called righteous and demonic practices is thin. And from what he's telling us, it sounds like his sect was willing to dispose of him for the sake of their leader’s breakthrough,” Yalan answered.
Hong Yi nodded grimly. "That’s why I ran. The moment I learned of their plan, I escaped as far as I could and hid myself in here, posing as an ordinary traveler. I barely leave my house, fearing that my cover might be blown."
He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "The only reason I came out today was because I thought you all were demonic cultivators. I figured I had to act before you did something terrible." He looked down. "I’m sorry for that."
Chen Ren barely heard him. His mind was racing.
A soul inheritance—especially one related to puppetry. That was a special kind of power. Power that intrigued him. He could think of countless cultivators who would go to any lengths for such an inheritance, not only because of the art of puppet making, but simply because it was a meridian expansion realm inheritance.
Those were far and few between in the whole empire. And judging by Hong Yi’s expression—the way he sat there, stiff and resigned—he fully expected to die here.
Fortunately for him, Chen Ren wasn’t one to force things.
His gaze shifted to Yalan, and with a mere thought, he mentally asked, What do you think?
Her response came almost instantly. I don’t think he’s lying, but yeah… his story is interesting. He’s lucky his sect hasn’t found him yet. He also can’t go to another sect since they might just turn him over. I doubt he’s in any position to trust someone.
Chen Ren nodded slightly. Yeah, but his power is interesting enough for me to want him.
Yalan’s voice turned dry. Don’t you know that would get the ire of an established sect?
I know, Chen Ren admitted, but a Puppet Master inheritance is too good to let go. Still, I don’t want to make a hasty decision before getting to know him.
He turned his attention back to Hong Yi.
"Your situation seems like a bad one to be in."
The man let out a short, humorless laugh. "I know. I live in constant fear of dying. The only thing I can do is work on my cultivation and my puppets—make sure I’m strong enough to face any trouble that comes my way. Or at least stall enough to run away again."
Chen Ren crossed his arms. "I don’t think that’s the only thing you can do."
Hong Yi frowned. "What else can I do?"
"Join my sect."
The man’s eyes widened slightly, but before he could respond, Chen Ren continued.
"I know we’re new, and you have your reservations. But if you join us, we wouldn’t give you away to anyone. And we’d make sure your rights are prioritized."
Even after hearing that, Hong Yi still didn’t look convinced. Chen Ren understood why.
The place barely resembled a proper sect. There were no grand halls, no established reputation—only Yalan’s presence might make it seem legitimate. To Hong Yi, it was probably just another risk. And not a good one at that.
After a moment, the man exhaled. "I need time to think about it."
Chen Ren had expected it. No one in their right mind, and had such risk and powers would be convinced that easily.
He nodded before pausing as another idea came to his mind. “How about this? In two days, come back here, and I’ll show you why you should join my sect. Bring your puppet too—I’d love to see it."
Hong Yi hesitated before finally nodding, though it was clear he was simply agreeing due to fear of dying.
Yalan, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke, her voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight.
"And don’t try to run away," she said.
Hong Yi flinched.
"We’re not going to contact your former sect or anything. If we wanted to do that, we wouldn’t be letting you go right now." Her eyes narrowed. "But if you do try to run, just know that tracking you down would be easy for me."
Hong Yi swallowed hard. "I won’t, Master—"
Yalan cut him off. "Yalan."
"...Thank you, Master Yalan," he said quickly, bowing. "Thank you for not killing me."
Then, without another word, he hurried away.
Chen Ren watched Hong Yi disappear through the door, then chuckled. "That's a strange way of saying goodbye."
Yalan turned to him, unimpressed. "Are you really planning to pick a fight with an Established sect? They won’t let go of the inheritance so easily."
Chen Ren’s amusement faded as he met her gaze. He knew she was right.
As a sect master, he needed to choose his battles wisely. A single misstep, and his sect could be crushed before it even had the chance to grow. But at the same time, he wasn’t someone who turned away from an opportunity just because it was risky—especially not when it had come knocking on his door without him even searching for it.
Still, caution was necessary.
"I need to understand the man more first," Chen Ren said. "I’m not planning on starting a war with a sect. But I do want him in the sect. Puppet Masters are rare, and having that kind of power in our ranks would help solve a lot of our combat power issues."
He crossed his arms. "That being said, I’ll only recruit him if I can make sure his former sect won’t come after us. That’s why I gave him two days. I need to understand his situation better before making a move."
Yalan studied him for a moment before shrugging. "Whatever. At least we’ve found one more good prospect for the sect. Let’s hope there are more."
Chen Ren smirked. "Let’s see."
The rest of the day, they continued their search, but it was fruitless.
They didn’t find anyone worth taking in—neither mortals nor cultivators. Some had potential, but their mindsets or circumstances weren’t a good fit for the sect. Others simply lacked talent or drive.
Still, Chen Ren didn’t lose hope. There were plenty of people left to evaluate, and with time, he was confident they’d find more promising individuals.
For now, they decided to resume the tests and interviews tomorrow.
***
Although the same problems persisted the next day—people lacking even basic literacy, some showing no real ambition for growth—Chen Ren managed to find a few individuals who seemed like they would genuinely stick with the sect. They weren’t necessarily the strongest or the smartest, but they had something else: determination. And in the long run, that was more valuable than raw talent alone.
But the real surprise came toward the end of the day.
Among the last few villagers he tested was a young man—just eighteen years old, with the rough hands and sun-darkened skin of a farmer. His name was Luo Heng, and up until this moment, he had lived his entire life believing that his fate was tied to the soil beneath his feet. He had never once imagined himself as a cultivator.
Yet, when Chen Ren examined him, he found that the boy had nineteen spirit roots. A far cry from the prodigies of great sects, but to Chen Ren, who was building a foundation from nothing, it was still potential. And potential was worth nurturing.
The moment Luo Heng realized what this meant, his entire face lit up in awe and disbelief. “I… I can cultivate?” he asked, almost afraid to believe it.
Chen Ren smiled. “You tell me. Do you want to cultivate?”
“Yes! Yes, I do!” Luo Heng said immediately, his voice shaking with excitement.
Even if the boy wasn’t literate, even if he lacked any prior training, enthusiasm like that couldn’t be ignored with his spirit roots. Chen Ren decided to take him in.
With that, recruitment was finally complete.
Chen Ren wasted no time in spreading the news. He sent word through the Chief Muyang, announcing the names of those who had been accepted. Some would serve in different capacities within the sect, but all of them were now part of it.
And the very next day, he gathered them all for their initiation ceremony—not just to welcome them, but to teach them something far more important.
A lesson that most sects ignored.
A lesson about the Dao—and why their sect would not focus solely on martial strength alone.
2025-01-30 17:42:30 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 63
Chen Ren looked at the duo of siblings. Zi Han and Zi Wen sat there—the latter was stiff, arms crossed, had his emotions masked with a stubborn face.
Chen Ren leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, and broke the silence with a calm but pointed question. “So, do you want to talk about why you left your sect?”
Zi Wen’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. The question seemed to hit a nerve. His gaze dropped to the ground, unfocused, as if sifting through distant memories.
“Do you really want to know?”
“If you and your brother are here, it means you at least have some hope of joining my sect. So yes, I’d like to know your background.”
Zi Wen snorted softly, his lips curling into a wry smile. “I was just dragged here.”
Chen Ren raised one eyebrow, exhaling through his nose. “You wouldn’t have been dragged here if you didn’t want to come. I like to talk straight, so why don’t you?”
Zi Han, who had been quietly drawing, paused. He looked up. “He’s right, Brother.”
Zi Wen sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He stared at the ground for a long moment, then shook his head. “Fine. It’s not like I have anything to hide.”
Chen Ren didn’t press him, merely waiting in calm silence. The quietness that stretched seemed to urge Zi Wen to continue. He glanced at Chen Ren, then back to the ground, his voice quieter now.
“It was a long time ago,” Zi Wen began, his eyes filled with nostalgia but the scrunch of his nose showed that the man was bitter for whatever had happened. “My parents took me to Lotus City. There was a sect there—Heavenly Lotus Sect—conducting aptitude tests. I was just a kid then, and I was...
fascinated by cultivators. The stories about them, their feats, how they could fight armies single-handedly, how they were practically gods walking among mortals. I begged my parents to let me take the test.”
Zi Han seemed to hold his breath while Zi Wen continued. Chen Ren guessed that even his brother hadn't heard the story in detail and knew only bits of it.
“My parents had no reason to say no, but I’m sure they expected me to fail. No one in my family had ever cultivated. Not even a trace of talent.” He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “But when fate plays its hand, even the impossible becomes possible.”
Chen Ren remained silent, his calm gaze unrelenting. Zi Wen met it for a moment before looking away again.
“They found I had spirit roots. Just a meager amount, but it was enough. They took me in. The Heavenly Lotus Sect was an Established sect. They didn’t take in just anyone, but they made an exception for me since they needed a specific number of disciples from the city.”
Zi Wen paused. “At the time, I thought I was the luckiest person alive. My parents were happy for me when I was taken in. I was excited too. I thought, despite my meager talent, I’d defy the heavens and reach the top.
The kind of foolish confidence only a child could have.”
Zi Han watched his brother with wide, unblinking eyes.
“But that confidence didn’t last,” Zi Wen continued, his voice heavy with old wounds. “A month in the sect, I learned just how far from the top I really was. I was at the bottom of the bottom. A servant.”
Chen Ren’s brows furrowed slightly, though he didn’t interrupt.
“They gave me tasks—sweeping the training grounds, scrubbing the hallways, fetching water. The kind of jobs that reminded you every day just how worthless you were. And even when I had time to cultivate, I barely made any progress. My talent… it was like trying to fill a broken jar with water.” Zi Wen clenched his fists. “Every day, my confidence cracked a little more. And then he found me.”
“Who?” Chen Ren asked.
Zi Wen exhaled sharply, his hands relaxing. “The son of one of the elders. He’d lost a fight to someone before and must’ve been looking to vent. I was weak enough, and I guess I looked pathetic enough to make a perfect target.” His voice turned hard. “We sparred. I lost—badly. And he laughed at me. After that, he decided I’d make a good punching bag. And that’s what I became.”
Zi Han’s mouth to interrupt. “Brother, you weren't just a punching—”
“I was one! Just one that didn't give up!” Zi Wen cut in sharply, his voice rising for the first time. He paused, his hands trembling, before continuing, softer now. “I kept trying. I learned every technique I could, cultivated every spare moment. But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried... I kept losing. Over and over. Until... I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I ran,” Zi Wen said quietly. “I left the sect and ran back to Meadow Village—home. My family was just happy to have me back. I told them I didn't want to be a cultivator, and they didn’t care about my failure. They just wanted their son back.” He forced a small smile. “I helped on the farms, became a hunter, and tried to live peacefully. Especially after I found Yuze.”
“The wolf.” Chen Ren said.
Zi Wen nodded, his face now lit with a soft smile. “Little Yuze. A stray beast wolf. Barely alive when I found him in a trap. I raised him, and he’s been my companion ever since.”
Zi Wen’s gaze returned to Chen Ren, his shoulders sinking. “That’s my story. Pathetic, I know. I actually came here because... I was curious about you. But now I know even someone like you wouldn’t want a cultivator like me—someone with no prospects, who ran away from the first real challenge they faced.”
Silence fell, heavy and unyielding. Zi Wen’s words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered.
Chen Ren studied him, his expression unreadable, but behind his calm exterior, his thoughts churned.
He thought of all the cultivators like Zi Wen—those who were cast aside, mocked, and crushed under the weight of expectations. How many had given up? How many were bullied into believing they were worthless by others who thought themselves superior?
Zi Han shifted closer to his brother, resting a hand on Zi Wen’s shoulder. “You know that’s not true, Brother.”
Zi Wen let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t lie. That is what happened. I gave up. I went back on everything that makes a cultivator—resilience, growth, strength. I abandoned all of it.”
Zi Han’s grip tightened. “No, you didn’t. You tried—”
“I failed,” Zi Wen snapped, cutting him off. “That’s what matters. I couldn’t overcome it. I ran. Doesn’t that prove I wasn’t cut out for it?” His voice cracked slightly, but he steadied it with a deep breath.
Before Zi Han could respond, Chen Ren spoke. “I don’t think you went back on what a cultivator should be.”
Both brothers turned to him, surprised. Zi Wen frowned, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t think you’re weak, and I don’t think you failed in the way you think you did. From what you’ve told me, you didn’t just roll over. You stood up every day and tried to beat that so-called young master. You kept going, even when the odds were stacked against you. That shows resilience.”
Zi Wen let out a hollow laugh. “Resilience doesn’t matter if you lose in the end.”
Chen Ren shook his head. “You only lost because the martial dao isn’t your path.”
“What?”
“You were walking a dao that rejects you—and you reject it—even if you don’t realize it yet,” Chen Ren explained.
“I don’t understand,” Zi Wen admitted, frustration creeping into his tone.
Chen Ren didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted to the door, where a wolf-shaped shadow lingered just outside. A smirk played on his lips as he turned back to the brothers. “I’ll explain it to you. But right now, I don’t think we have the time. Because there’s a long line of candidates waiting out there. So, for now, I’ll just say this—I don’t care about your past. What I care about is whether you’re ready to move forward. If you are, I’d be more than happy to have you and your brother in my sect.”
Zi Wen’s eyes widened slightly. “You… You would?”
“Of course,” Chen Ren said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But let’s be clear—I’d still need to conduct an interview first. No free passes, even for interesting candidates like you. If you pass, I’ll welcome you both into the Divine Coin Sect.”
Zi Wen hesitated, his mouth opening to say something, but Chen Ren held up a hand to stop him.
“And I know you’ve had bad experiences in your previous sect,” Chen Ren continued. “But let me make one thing clear—no one in the Divine Coin Sect will treat you like that. We’ll have strict regulations to ensure that stronger members don’t bully weaker ones. Sparring is for growth, not for venting frustrations or showing off.”
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “So, what do you say?”
Zi Wen froze. He looked at his younger brother, who was already smiling.
Zi Han spoke up before his brother could. “We’re in.”
Chen Ren gave a small nod, then glanced at Yalan, who sat, appearing for all the world like an ordinary cat. With that, Chen Ren turned back to the brothers.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s start the interview.”
Like with the candidates before them, Chen Ren’s questions ranged across various topics—goals, integrity, mathematics, and more. He wanted to see not only their capabilities but also their character.
Zi Wen was composed but cautious in his answers. His desire to rekindle his ambition as a cultivator shone through, though there was a lingering hesitation in his voice. His brother, Zi Han, on the other hand, surprised Chen Ren. Despite lacking spirit roots, Zi Han excelled in mathematical questions, answering them faster and more accurately than Zi Wen. His sharp mind compensated for what he lacked in cultivation potential.
Both brothers could read and write, which was another point in their favor. Their reasons for joining the Divine Coin Sect were honest and grounded: Zi Wen sought redemption and growth, while Zi Han, tired of his past as a guard and occasional bandit, yearned for purpose and belonging.
Chen Ren found himself nodding as their answers aligned with what he had in mind. The two might not be extraordinary by conventional standards, but they had qualities that could help build the Divine Coin Sect into something greater.
Finally, he inhaled and asked the final question. “This will be a hypothetical scenario.”
The brothers exchanged a glance, then focused on Chen Ren as he outlined the scenario—the same question about profiting during a war. As Zi Wen opened his mouth to answer, Chen Ren held up a hand, stopping him. “I’ll give you a different question,” he said, turning his attention to Zi Han.
Zi Han furrowed his brow, thinking deeply before responding. “I’ve never been in a war,” he admitted, “but if something like this is happening, there’s no point in siding with anyone. Instead, it’s better to stay in the shadows.”
Chen Ren’s eyebrows raised slightly in interest. “Why is that?”
“Because,” Zi Han said after a brief pause, “until the end, you don’t know who might win. You can make a bet on someone, but that’s always a risk. There’s no reason to take it when better options exist for making a profit.”
“What are these better options you mentioned?”
Zi Han straightened. “In war, the essentials are rations, weapons, manpower, and countless other supplies. Controlling those industries is the way to profit. You can sell to both sides using proxies, staying neutral and earning a fortune while others exhaust themselves fighting.”
Chen Ren’s smile deepened, a spark of approval lighting his expression. “Very well. That’s a good answer.” He turned to Zi Wen.
“As for you, I’m not going to give you a similar question.”
Zi Wen nodded cautiously, bracing himself.
“If you were given the chance to take revenge against the sect that cast you out,” Chen Ren asked. “Would you take it? Would you kill the young master who forced you to give up on cultivation?”
Zi Wen froze, his eyes widening. The question clearly caught him off guard. He glanced at his brother, who gave him a subtle, encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Zi Wen lowered his gaze, deep in thought.
“I won’t lie. If I became strong enough and that man stood before me again, I’d want to spar with him. To prove to myself that I could beat him.” He paused, his fists clenching. “But would I kill him? I don’t know. Revenge doesn’t drive me anymore. It’s been too long, and I’m not petty enough to chase after someone who might not even remember me. I’ve realized something: it’s better to focus on improving myself than wasting time on the past.”
Chen Ren gave a genuine smile, satisfied with the answer. “Very well. You’ve both passed. Welcome to the Divine Coin Sect.”
Zi Han’s face broke into a wide grin, and he immediately bowed low. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen!”
Zi Wen, more reserved, rose from his seat and bowed as well. Though stoic, there was a quiet sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”
Chen Ren waved his hand lightly. “You can both return for now. Once recruitment is complete, I’ll call for you.” He then focused on Zi Wen. “I know you have questions—about my spirit roots and what I said about martial dao not being your path. I’ll explain everything after recruitment is done.”
“Thank you.”
With that, the brothers left, leaving Chen Ren and Yalan alone in the room.
After the brothers had left, the room fell silent, save for the faint scratching of Chen Ren’s quill as he jotted down notes. Setting it aside, he turned to Yalan, who was perched lazily behind
“Looks like we got two good members,” Chen Ren said with a small smile.
Yalan stretched, her tail flicking lazily before she glanced at him. “One.”
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow.
“The older one might have some potential,” Yalan clarified. “But the younger one? He doesn’t even have spirit roots. At best, he’ll make a good worker. I doubt he’ll ever be of much use offensively.”
A low chuckle escaped Chen Ren. “Give it time. You’ll see.”
Yalan narrowed her eyes, studying him intently. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, Chen Ren?”
“Nothing much,” he replied, the corners of his mouth curving into a sly smile. “You’ll know in time.”
“Hmph.” Yalan snickered, hopping down from her place. “Always so cryptic. Fine, let’s continue with the recruitment then. Though I doubt your so-called optimism will bear any fruit.”
Chen Ren stood and stretched, motioning toward the door for the next candidate. “Who knows? We might just find another cultivator among these villagers.”
Yalan let out a dry laugh. “If we do, I’ll eat my tail. I’d be surprised if there’s another cultivator in this entire group.”
Chen Ren grinned. “Then let’s see whose predictions come true.”
As Yalan settled beside him, Chen Ren called out for the next candidate.
***
The smell of sawdust filled his nostrils. The man sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of his small hut, his hands deftly carving patterns into the wooden puppet in front of him. The puppet, no larger than a toddler, was detailed down to the folds of its clothing, its wooden fingers joined for mobility. A set of tiny symbols, snaked along its limbs.
“The balance is off. If the hand’s embedded here, it’ll throw off the leg’s flexibility... I need to realign this section—”
Knock, knock.
The sudden interruption made his hand slip, the blade nicking the puppet’s arm. His jaw clenched, irritation flaring as he set the carving tool down with a loud thunk. Rising to his feet, he stomped toward the door.
“Who dares—” He flung the door open, only to be greeted by the sight of a scruffy-haired boy grinning up at him. The boy barely came up to his waist, his patched-up shirt hanging loose on his thin frame.
“What do you want, little Guo?” the man growled, his tone sharp.
“Brother Hong,” the boy chirped, undeterred by the glare. “Did you hear? A sect’s recruiting people in Meadow Village!”
Hong’s eyes narrowed, his irritation giving way to faint curiosity. “A sect? What’s its name?”
“The Divine Coin Sect!” Zhou declared proudly, his grin widening.
“Divine Coin Sect?” Hong repeated, his brows knitting together. He rolled the name around in his mind but came up blank. “Never heard of it. Why are you telling me this?”
Zhou crossed his arms, clearly enjoying himself. “My mom said they’re taking mortals too. She told me to tell you because maybe you can join and stop sitting at home playing with your dolls.”
Before Hong could react, Zhou let out a loud laugh, turned, and sprinted away down the dirt path.
“Damn brat,” Hong muttered, shaking his head as he closed the door. He returned to the puppet, picking up his tools, but his focus was gone. The boy’s words nagged at him.
“A sect taking in mortals?” he murmured, his knife pausing mid-cut. “That’s... unusual. No sect worth its name recruits mortals, not even for menial work. That’s what outer disciples are for.”
His thoughts spiraled. “I’ve never heard of this Divine Coin Sect either. A new sect? Or...” A sudden chill ran down his spine as his mind conjured the worst possibility.
“A demonic sect.” The words escaped his lips like a curse. “They’re trying to gather mortals for a ritual sacrifice, aren’t they?”
The more Hong thought about it, the more convinced he became. “It’s too suspicious. A sect no one’s heard of, recruiting mortals? It’s either a trap or something worse.”
He glanced at the puppet on his workbench, its incomplete form seeming to mock him. With a sigh, he set down his tools and stood, grabbing his cloak.
“I need to check this out,” he muttered,
striding toward the door.
Once outside, Hong glanced toward the edge of the village, where the forest was. He took a deep breath, then tapped into his qi. The energy surged through his body, and with a leap, he disappeared into the trees, his speed a blur to the naked eye.
The dense forest whipped past him as he pushed his cultivation, covering miles in mere minutes. His mind raced as fast as his feet. If this really is a demonic sect, I need to find out before they harm anyone.
As the trees thinned, the sprawling fields of Meadow Village came into view. Hong slowed his pace, his keen eyes scanning the area. He didn’t have to look far.
A large crowd had already gathered in the village square, forming a line that stretched toward the entrance of the house. A burly old man stood at the front of the crowd, his hands clasped in front of him as he nodded and talked to the village men, who were clearly excited. Behind him was a small young woman—probably a maid. Around them were a group of kids, helping to keep the line in order because of the eager crowd.
Hong frowned as he approached the scene. “Looks like I’ve found them.”
As Hong found himself among the crowd, the murmur of voices reached his ears. Villagers whispered excitedly about two brothers who had been accepted into the sect. Snippets of conversation flitted past him,
“They say they had to go through an
interview... they say he is asking questions.”
“Must be nice to get in so easily.”
“Easily? I heard they answered a lot of questions.”
The more Hong listened, the deeper his frown grew. His confusion was mounting. He felt no trace of demonic qi in the air—none of the sinister energy he expected to find if this were truly a trap. Instead, there was an odd sense of anticipation and unease, but nothing outright malicious.
As he pushed closer to get a better look at the house where the so-called “recruitment” was taking place, a voice yelled at him..
“Hey! Get in line like everyone else!”
Hong turned to see an older man glaring at him, arms crossed. Several other villagers shot him similarly annoyed looks.
“I...” Hong started, but then quickly clamped his mouth shut. Drawing too much attention to himself could jeopardize his cover. With a reluctant sigh, he muttered, “Fine,” and shuffled to the back of the line.
He stood there, arms crossed, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him. People came and went from the house, most emerging with crestfallen faces. He could hear snippets of their disappointment.
“He said I didn’t have a spirit root.”
“He didn’t even take me for labor work...”
“Young Master Chen Ren said he’ll let me know through Chief Muyang.”
So, they’re not taking just anyone, Hong mused. He scanned the area again, his senses reaching out for even the faintest trace of foul play, but there was nothing. The people leaving were sad, not terrified. This... doesn’t feel like a demonic sect at all. So, what are they up to? Chen Ren, was it?
The line moved slowly, and with each step forward, Hong’s curiosity deepened. By the time he reached the entrance, his nerves were taut with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
Finally, his turn came, and he stepped into the room.
The interior was surprisingly bare. Two chairs, but the only other occupants were a man seated calmly behind a wooden table and a sleek white cat curled up at his feet. Her amber eyes fixed on Hong the moment he entered.
Hong’s gaze raked over the room again, looking for an aptitude stone or any other tools typically used in such tests, but there was nothing. No aptitude stone? he thought, his brow furrowing. How is he testing people then?
His sharp eyes flicked back to the man who was seated.
At first glance, the man—Chen Ren—seemed ordinary. Dark hair, robes that spoke of wealth—but not too much wealth, just the right amount. And the demeanor of a usual mortal, but as Hong extended his senses to probe him, he felt the unmistakable aura of a cultivator. It was subtle but undeniable.
So, he’s the real deal. But what’s his game?
“Welcome. Please, take a seat,” Chen Ren spoke up.
Hong hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Hong Yi,” he replied curtly, eyeing the man warily.
Chen Ren nodded, jotting something down on a piece of parchment. “Good. Sit down, Hong Yi. We’ll begin the aptitude test shortly.”
Hong barely suppressed a snicker as he lowered himself into the chair. No aptitude stone, no array... let’s see how you plan to pull this off. If this is your way of lying to people, then I will show everyone the truth.
Hong sat stiffly in the chair, his silver eyes locked onto the man in front of him. The calm behavior of this supposed sect leader was unsettling. There was no grand display of power, no oppressive aura to assert
dominance—just a quiet confidence. The white cat still sat at the man’s feet, its gaze unbroken as if it saw straight through him.
He suddenly rose from his chair and stepped closer, extending a hand toward Hong.
“What are you doing?” Hong asked, moving back—out of reach.
“Relax, this won’t hurt.”
Hong tensed as the man placed a hand on his shoulder, but to his surprise, no surge of qi invaded his body. He had been prepared to resist any attempt to pry into his cultivation base, yet there was nothing—no force, no invasive technique.
What is this?
Instead of focusing on the man, Hong’s attention drifted to the white cat. Something about the way it watched him sent a chill down his spine.
Chen Ren’s eyes began to shift, his brow furrowing, then his lips twitching in what might have been amusement or annoyance. After a moment, he removed his hand and crossed his arms.
“You have sixty-seven spirit roots,” the man said flatly.
Hong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing.
“And you’re in the qi refinement realm. First star.”
Hong’s breath caught, his eyes narrowing sharply. His concealment technique should have masked his cultivation base entirely. There was no way this man could have seen through it so easily.
“Why are you here?”
Hong’s eyes widened at that question. “How... How do you know that?”
2025-01-28 18:10:24 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 172
The explosion shook the ground as if the earth itself groaned in pain. The blast painted the air with a terrifying display of raw power, light and heat flashing like the anger of a god.
Screams tore through the battlefield, brief and haunting, as whole groups of soldiers vanished in a blink, their bodies burned to nothing. Steel armor and weapons melted into molten pools, glowing faintly as the echoes of destruction lingered.
The mana cannons fired again, their combined roar deafening as their blasts tore through the enemy ranks, wiping out over a quarter of their forces in seconds. Feroy had seen the cannons before—during the beast wave, when they leveled entire hordes. But watching them used against humans was different.
The destruction wasn’t just terrifying; it was unnatural. It felt as if the cannons themselves were forged by the death god, designed to remind mortals of their frailty.
Steel, spells, or numbers—it didn’t matter. In the face of this power, humans were little more than ash waiting to scatter.
The enemy hesitated, their line broken and their confidence shattered. For a brief moment, silence hung over the chaos—then a sharp voice pierced through the noise.
“Scatter! Don’t stay together! Spread out!”
The disorganized soldiers obeyed, their panic turning into desperate action. They scattered across the battlefield like startled ants, dodging the deadly precision of the mana cannons.
Feroy’s gaze flicked toward Baron Idrin, whose face was pale and tense as he barked orders no one could hear. For a moment, their eyes met, and Feroy caught the unease in the baron’s expression before he turned back to the fight.
“Archers and gunners, fire!” Feroy bellowed.
A rain of arrows and mana blasts followed, arcing through the air with deadly accuracy. The scattered soldiers avoided the concentrated blasts of the cannons, but the storm of projectiles picked them off mercilessly.
Those who thought themselves safe were struck down by the smaller mana guns Lord Arzan had developed—sleek, portable versions of the devastating cannons. Each shot hit its mark, tearing through armor and flesh with horrifying precision. The battlefield quickly became a sea of blood, the cries of the wounded and dying filling the air.
To sow even more chaos, the gunners targeted the horses. Panicked neighs echoed as the beasts collapsed, their riders thrown to the ground or crushed beneath trampling hooves.
The scene turned chaotic as men fell, some crushed under their own stampeding animals. Arrows and blasts tore through the enemy ranks, thinning their numbers with every passing second.
But Feroy knew the fight wasn’t close to ending. His sharp eyes caught movement among Baron Idrin’s Mages. They stood in tight clusters, their hands weaving chaotic patterns in the air.
In an instant, their chants bore fruit—blades of wind sliced through the air, glowing spheres of flame arced toward the walls, and jagged spikes of earth erupted from the ground, throwing debris and bodies alike into the air. The battle raged on, chaos fueling chaos, with no sign of stopping.
“Earth Mages!” Feroy’s voice thundered above the chaos. “Defensive formations, now!”
The defenders snapped into action, the ground responding to their commands as walls of stone and sturdy barriers rose to intercept the incoming magic. Jagged wind blades shattered against reinforced earth, and fireballs fizzled out, smothered by thick stone shields.
Yet, not all attacks could be stopped. Some broke through, slamming into the walls with deafening force. Archers collapsed, their arrows veering off course as they writhed in agony. Gunners dropped their weapons, succumbing to the searing heat of flame or the slicing fury of wind.
Behind the lines, the recovery teams worked tirelessly.
Priests clad in simple robes moved among the injured, their divine healing magic glowing softly as it mended flesh and sealed gaping wounds. Potion bearers hurried from one fallen defender to the next, pouring shimmering liquids into trembling hands.
The defenders were able to hold on even though the chaos became relentless. The church healers from behind, wove healing chants towards the injured and broken, healing them almost instantly, using the power of their goddess.
Feroy stood firm amidst the storm, his voice cutting through the roar of battle as he issued commands to every unit under his charge.
His eyes darted across the battlefield, taking in every detail—the crumbling formations, the scattered enemies, and the flickering hope in his men’s faces. The enemy’s numbers were dwindling, but they still pressed forward with desperation.
Fuck! This wouldn’t be easy.
Even so, Feroy felt it—a certainty in his bones. Victory was within reach. But the price would be steep.
His eyes narrowed, catching a flicker of ominous light among the enemy ranks. One of their Mages stood apart, hands glowing with a menacing aura. Feroy watched in dread as the ground beneath a cluster of enemy soldiers trembled, shifting unnaturally.
“What is—” His thought was cut short as the earth beneath the enemy burst upward with a surge of magic, propelling the group high into the air. They landed heavily on the wall’s walkways, sending shockwaves through the defenses.
Chaos erupted instantly. The distance they had relied on to protect the walls was gone.
Before the defenders could react, the enemy soldiers struck with ruthless precision. An archer’s scream was silenced as a blade pierced his chest. A gunner was thrown from the wall, his weapon spinning uselessly to the ground below. Shouts and cries filled the air as the defenders struggled to regain control.
Feroy’s heart pounded as he assessed the breach. His gaze snapped to the enemy Earth Mages in the distance, their hands glowing as they prepared to launch another wave of soldiers onto the walls. He acted without hesitation, roaring to the cannon crews below,
“Focus fire on the enemy Mages! Stop them before they send more!”
Without hesitation, Feroy sprang back into action, turning to confront the invaders who had breached the walls.
Five of them stood before him. The five tall men moved their weapons as if to show off, cutting and striking through the air.
Their eyes burned with malicious intent as they charged him all at once.
Feroy spun his spear, intercepting their advance and driving them back a few steps. But the narrow confines of the wall walkways left little room to maneuver, forcing him to rely on precise movements and his enhanced reflexes.
The attackers moved in unison, coordinating their strikes one after another.
Feroy ducked under a scything blade, twisted to parry another, and pivoted to avoid a thrust aimed at his side. The press of their numbers made it increasingly difficult to hold his ground.
He considered summoning his flames, the magic pulsing in his core, eager to be unleashed. But the risk was too great—one misstep in these tight quarters, and he could harm his own defenders as much as the enemy.
Just as one of the invaders raised his sword for a killing blow, a shout rang out behind Feroy.
"Knight Feroy, we’ll handle it!"
A young man and woman rushed onto the walkway, their weapons flashing as they threw themselves into the fray. The man, wielding a longsword, charged headlong into the enemy formation. His companion followed close behind, her heavy axe carving through the air with killer force.
The pair fought with practiced harmony, their movements perfectly synchronized. The man parried a blow meant for the woman, opening up an opportunity for her to swing her axe in a devastating arc. The men faltered under it, unable to keep up with the duo’s coordinated attacks.
When the woman’s axe smashed through the defense of one attacker, the other struck the killing blow without hesitation, his longsword finding its mark.
Feroy took the opportunity to turn his attention to the remaining two invaders. One lunged at him, a reckless attack that left the enemy’s stance wide open. Feroy ducked under the swing and countered with a quick thrust to the man’s thigh, sending him stumbling. With a flick of his wrist, Feroy’s spear found its target again, ending the threat.
The last invader hesitated, glancing at his fallen comrades. It was all the opening Feroy needed. He surged forward, delivering a precise, lethal strike that left the man crumpling to the ground.
The immediate threat neutralized, Feroy turned to the young duo who had aided him.
The young man, Eron, stood tall and lean, his spiky brown hair disheveled from the fight. Sharp green eyes gleamed with confidence as he wiped his blade clean. His companion, Tiara, was shorter but sturdily built, her fiery red hair tied back in a braid that swung with every movement. Her blue eyes burned with the same fire that had fueled her strikes.
Both had been found during Verdis’ desperate search for Enforcers, their raw talent quickly molded into capable fighters. But they hadn’t unlocked their affinities yet.
"Good work," Feroy said with a curt nod. "But stay on high alert. You’re both still just Grade 1."
Eron grinned, his confidence undimmed. "We’ll be fine, Knight Feroy. These guys weren’t much of a challenge."
Tiara smirked, resting her axe on her shoulder. "Yeah, we’ve got this."
Feroy frowned, his expression hardening. "Don’t be overconfident. We haven’t seen the blood drinkers yet."
At the mention of the blood drinkers, the smirks faded from their faces. Eron’s grip on his sword tightened, and Tiara’s fiery confidence dimmed, replaced by a cautious determination.
"We’ll be ready," Eron said, his tone more measured.
Feroy nodded. "Good. Get back to your positions and stay alert," Feroy commanded, his eyes scanning the battlefield below. They scrambled quickly.
A thunderous explosion shook the walls.
Feroy tightened his grip on his spear and turned his gaze back to the chaos. The battlefield was alive with destruction. Mana cannons fired relentlessly, their blinding blasts carving through enemy ranks and leaving smoldering craters. Mages hurled fire and ice with abandon, their spells painting the field in flickering light. Defensive barriers shimmered and cracked under the onslaught, the air vibrating with raw energy.
Near the command post, Baron Idrin was a stark contrast to the chaos.
His pale face was tight with fear, his posture rigid as he shouted orders no one could hear over the deafening cannons and clashing weapons. His eyes darted about, frantic and searching, his every movement betraying a man on the verge of fleeing.
Feroy caught it—a subtle shift of weight, a hesitant step back. Idrin was already testing his escape.
"Eron! Tiara!" Feroy’s voice cut through the din like a blade. The duo, locked in combat with an enemy soldier, glanced up at once.
He gestured toward the baron. "Watch him. If he runs, stop him."
They exchanged a glance, swiftly finished their foe, and nodded with confidence. With them watching the baron, he could focus on more important parts of the battle.
Before Feroy could take in more of the battlefield, a shiver ran down his spine. The air grew heavy, suffocating, like the moment before a predator’s strike. Instinct flared—something was coming.
He spun sharply, narrowly avoiding the crimson blade that sliced through the air where his neck had been. The weapon had appeared from nowhere, like it had been born from the shadows themselves. Feroy staggered back, spear in hand, ready.
Before him stood a creature from a nightmare—a blood drinker. The dark creature’s pale face twisted into a smug grin, his glowing crimson eyes alight with cruel hunger. The air around him seemed to ripple with menace.
"You can turn invisible," Feroy said, his voice low, testing the waters.
The drinker hissed, his fangs gleaming in the dim light as he perched unnaturally on the wall’s edge. "I didn’t think you’d dodge that. Impressive."
His voice wasn’t very pleasant to listen to—rough, grating and just annoying.
Feroy’s muscles tensed, every fiber of him prepared for the next attack.
There was no time for words. In the blink of an eye, the blood drinker lunged, a blur of liquid shadow aimed straight at him. His speed was unnatural, almost impossible. But desperation sharpened Feroy’s reflexes. He threw himself back, his spear snapping up just in time to meet the monster’s advance.
The spearhead gleamed in the moonlight, catching the creature’s predatory gaze for a fraction of a second. Feroy held his ground, his weapon a barrier between him and the nightmare that sought to end him.
The blood drinker halted, cocking his head a ninety degrees unnaturally, his grin stretching wider. "You aren’t normal," he hissed. “No ordinary human should be able to keep up with me.”
Feroy ignored the taunt. Instead, he focused, channeling mana into his spear. Flames roared to life along the weapon’s shaft, their heat distorting the air. With a quick step forward, he lashed out.
The blood drinker’s eyes widened for the briefest moment before his hands moved in a blur, conjuring blades of blood from thin air.
They streaked toward the spear, colliding in a burst of sparks and crimson mist. Feroy didn’t stop. He dashed along the wall, weaving through the projectiles as they exploded around him, his eyes locked on the nightmare.
The creature sneered, parrying Feroy’s strike with unnatural precision and countering with a slash of a blood blade. “I’d love to taste your blood,” he growled.
Feroy ducked beneath the strike, the heat of his flaming spear scorching the air between them. As he rose, he spotted movement behind the drinker—Eron and Tiara, weapons raised, preparing to attack.
But then, his instincts screamed. Another blood drinker materialized in the air, a dark blur coming toward them.
“Behind you!” Feroy barked.
The duo spun just in time to meet the new threat. The clash of steel and claws rang out as they engaged the creature. Feroy’s eyes darted to the far side of the wall, where yet another blood drinker wreaked havoc. This one tore through Mages and gunners with brutal efficiency, his goal clear—destroy the mana cannons.
A sharp pain stung Feroy’s cheek. He flinched back, a blade of blood grazing him and snapping his focus back to his own opponent.
Gritting his teeth, Feroy let the flames from his spear spill over, wrapping around his arms like molten chains. He pressed forward.
There was no room for error—not against a monster like this.
He fought with an almost artistic cruelty, manipulating blood into sharp blades, explosive blasts, and grotesque, living constructs that lunged for Feroy. Each attack was met with fire. Feroy burned through every assault, his flames consuming the blood constructs before they could reach him.
Finally, the blood drinker loomed close, his pale face inches from Feroy’s. It darted his tongue out, as if to take a taste of Feroy. The latter dodged the disgusting organ by moving his head backwards.
“I’ve never seen someone like you. This is going to be fun. So, your lord hides secrets. I never thought I’d see a mere human wield the power of a Mage. When I’m done here, I’ll tear you apart piece by piece.”
In an instant, the blood drinker disappeared, vanishing in the air.
Feroy twirled his spear, the flames dancing along its length, their light casting jagged shadows on the blood-soaked walls. He locked eyes with the creature who appeared in some distance, his smirk steady and cold.
“You talk too much.”
Before the blood drinker could respond, Feroy surged forward, his spear slicing through the air in a fiery arc aimed straight for the creature’s heart.
Flames roared around him, scorching the blood blades the creature conjured. Each swing of his spear sent sparks flying, lighting up his focused face.
Then, a shift came over him—a dizzying, feverish clarity.
The noise of battle faded, distant cries and clashing steel becoming nothing more than a dull hum. The only thing that mattered was the drinker, sharp and clear before him. Feroy grinned, his body suddenly sharper, movements quicker, as his mind slipped into the battle fever Killian had warned him about.
In this state, there was only the fight. He leaned into it until he could only see the blood drinker.
The creature snarled, leaping into the air and summoning sharp blood blades to rain down like falling stars. He dodged them easily. His spear flowed with precision, always staying one step ahead, pushing the blood drinker back, his once-confident sneer twisting into frustration as wounds began to mark his pale skin.
"Enough!" the blood drinker hissed, pulling back slightly. "You’ve wasted enough of my time. Now, prepare to die."
With a growl, the blood drinker slashed his wrist, dark blood pouring out and forming into a massive serpent. The beast’s fanged mouth snapped, charging toward Feroy with deadly speed. His eyes widened as he sprang back, the serpent crashing into the ground where he’d been moments before. The walls offered no safety, so Feroy raced to the edge and leapt down into the courtyard below.
His landing was brutal, pain shooting through his body as he hit the ground hard. Gasping for breath, he reached for a healing potion. But before he could drink it, he heard the faintest sound of movement behind him.
He froze. A blood blade hovered just inches from his throat.
"Put it down," the drinker whispered venomously, stepping closer. "You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side, and your time has come."
Feroy didn’t move, keeping his spear tight in his grip, his glare unwavering. "I haven’t lost yet," he muttered, his voice dripping with defiance as he lowered the healing potion slowly. The blood drinker stepped forward with a mocking smirk, his victory close.
"You’re going to die, whether you like it or not," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "I know death can be unpleasant, but don’t worry—even in death, you’ll serve me well." He tilted its head, crimson fangs gleaming as he stepped closer. "I’ll drain every last drop from you."
But before it could strike, a loud cracking noise echoed beneath his feet. The drinker froze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as it glanced down, then back up at Feroy.
The corner of Feroy’s lips curled into a sly grin.
"You talk about death too much," Feroy growled. "Hope you like it."
With those words, the ground beneath the blood drinker exploded in a thunderous blast.
The hidden potion trap activated with devastating force, sending the drinker crashing into the stone wall with a sickening crunch. The sound of snapping bones filled the air, followed by the rattle of debris as it rained down on the battlefield.
Feroy coughed, the shockwave making his ears ring. He quickly uncorked a healing potion and downed it, his body absorbing the bitter liquid. He pulled himself to his feet, gripping his spear tightly, and moved toward the crumpled form of the blood drinker. The creature was sprawled on the ground, his legs completely shattered, dark blood pooling beneath it. His eyes fluttered open, seething with rage and desperation.
The creature was still alive, at least above the waist.
Feroy’s face hardened as he looked down at the blood drinker. "I don’t even feel bad about this," he muttered, raising his spear high. With a burst of flame igniting at the tip, he plunged the weapon forward. The fiery blade pierced the vampire’s neck, severing its head cleanly from its body. The head rolled to the side, and the battlefield grew eerily quiet for a moment.
Sweat trickled down Feroy’s forehead as he wiped his face, glancing at the scorched earth where the blood drinker had once stood. "Zorgar was right," he murmured, recalling the precautions they’d taken. "Lining the ground with explosive potions inside the gates... just in case we lost."
Feroy’s gaze shifted toward the wall, where another blood drinker lay slain. His body was riddled with wounds from the gunners and Mages' relentless fire. The two remaining Enforcers were still locked in battle with the last blood drinker, their focus unwavering as they dodged and countered its vicious attacks.
Feroy hesitated for a moment, tightening his grip on the spear as he considered jumping in. But after seeing the Enforcers work with the support of the gunners and archers, he decided against it. "They’ll manage," he muttered to himself, turning his focus back to the battlefield as he moved up the walls through the stairs.
The chaos was starting to die down. Enemy mages lay scattered among fallen soldiers, their bodies lifeless. The tide had turned, and it was clear—victory was theirs.
Amidst the chaos, Feroy's eyes locked onto
Baron Idrin, who was struggling to control his panicked horse.
His face was pale, the nobleman's grip faltering as he fought to regain control. The baron’s earlier ambition, the dream of a prosperous factory, was long gone—replaced by the instinct to flee in the face of crushing defeat.
Not on my watch. No, you aren’t fucking leaving.
With a grunt, he vaulted down from the castle wall and surged forward, cutting through the battlefield with precision. The soldiers and warriors parted before him like the sea, no one daring to challenge him as he advanced.
Baron Idrin caught sight of the charging figure, his eyes widening in panic. He spurred his horse, urging the creature to run faster, but Feroy was already on him. He hurled his spear. It flew true, striking the horse square in the chest. The animal let out a pained whinny before collapsing to the ground, throwing Idrin from its back.
The baron hit the dirt with a thud and scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to flee. But Feroy was faster, closing the distance with purpose.
A sharp kick to the baron's side sent him crashing back to the ground, gasping for air. Feroy grabbed him by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground as he glared into his terrified eyes.
"You picked the wrong enemy," Feroy growled.
Idrin sputtered, his voice shaking with panic. "Let me go! Duke Lucian will—"
Feroy silenced him with a deadly calm. "Lucian will have a fate much worse than you," he said, his words cutting through the baron's rambling. "Nothing you say will save you, so shut up and act like a good prisoner."
The baron’s lips trembled, and he opened his mouth again, but froze when Feroy raised a hand as if to slap him. Idrin flinched, his anger dissipating into fear. Feroy’s attention turned toward the battlefield, where the battle still raged. People were locked in vicious combat, some still fighting to the death, others attempting to escape the chaos.
Feroy raised his voice, his tone carrying over the battlefield. "Everyone! I have captured Baron Idrin! The battle is over! Surrender now, and we will spare your lives!"
His commanding words echoed across the field, demanding attention. Every eye turned toward him, then to the baron, and finally to the wreckage around them—the fallen soldiers, the shattered walls. The message was clear.
Baron Idrin, defeated and broken, raised his arms in surrender, falling to his knees. His last shred of pride shattered.
One by one, the remaining soldiers dropped their weapons, their resistance faltering. Slowly, they sank to their knees, raising their hands in submission.
With that, the siege ended. Arzan's forces had secured their first major victory.
2025-01-28 18:04:23 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 62
Zi Han’s steps were quiet as he moved along a narrow dirt path.
The forest was calm, eerily calm in this area and no one dared to walk through it. Sunlight peeked down through the trees, creating a patchwork of light and shadow that covered the ground.
On his back, he carried a sturdy bow—not because he expected trouble, but because years of guarding the village had taught him to always be prepared.
The path sloped upward, leading to a small hill that overlooked the forest. Zi Han didn’t hurry. He knew what he would find at the top.
As he climbed, the hill’s crest came into view, and there, lying in the dappled sunlight, was the massive form of Little Yuze.
The wolf was resting, its dark obsidian fur shining. Its chest rose and fell slowly, the rhythm steady but marked by the strain of healing wounds. Even now, it bore the marks around its chest and throat from the fight with that cultivator, Chen Ren.
Beside the wolf, leaning casually against its side, was Zi Wen. His older brother sat with his knees drawn up, arms draped loosely over them as he gazed at the sky above. His face carried that familiar, faraway look, the one Zi Han had seen countless times before. It was as if Zi Wen’s body was here, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Zi Han didn’t call out to him. He knew better. Instead, he kept walking, his footsteps crunching faintly on the scattered leaves and twigs. He only stopped when he was a few paces away.
Finally, Zi Wen stirred, his sharp eyes flicking toward Zi Han as if snapping back to reality. He straightened slightly, one hand brushing against Little Yuze’s fur.
“Is it lunch already?” Zi Wen asked casually, as though he hadn’t just spent hours daydreaming on top of a hill.
Zi Han shook his head. “No. It’s still hours away.”
“I thought so.” Zi Wen stretched, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight. He glanced briefly at the bow on Zi Han’s back before looking back up at the sky. “For a moment, I was worried I’d wasted half the day and didn’t even catch anything worthwhile.” He paused, then turned his eyes back to Zi Han. “So, why are you here?”
Zi Han crossed his arms and met his brother’s gaze. “Do you really not remember? I told you last night—it’s time to go.”
Zi Wen frowned, his expression darkening. “I’ve already told you my answer. I’m not applying to another sect.” He leaned back against the wolf’s side, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Zi Han. You’re young. These sects only care about spirit roots, background, and what you can offer them. They’re selfish. And if you can’t meet their standards, they’ll toss you aside like garbage.” His voice hardened, his words laced with bitterness.
Zi Han sighed, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “First of all, I’m in my late twenties. I’m not that young. Second, you’ve been saying the same thing every time this comes up. And third, the village chief said this is different. Young Master Chen Ren specifically asked for us—for you—to be there.”
Zi Wen snorted. “Different how? That cultivator is only interested in Little Yuze. Nothing else.”
Zi Han shrugged, glancing at the wolf, which let out a low grunt, almost as if agreeing with Zi Wen’s words. “Maybe. Little Yuze is special enough to draw attention. But you know as well as I do that Chen Ren didn’t kill us. Any other cultivator would’ve done it without hesitation.”
Zi Wen didn’t respond immediately. His frown deepened, his gaze shifting to the wolf at his side, whose teal eyes remained closed in rest. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He sighed. “Yeah, I do. But—”
Zi Han cut him off this time. “Not only that, he killed the locusts, Brother Wen. Nothing we tried worked against them. Our traps, our fires—none of it made a difference. But in less than a week, Chen Ren wiped them out. And not just that, he let the village chief harvest the poison. Chief Muyang traded it with nearby villages that were struggling with those nests, and you know how much it helped everyone.” Zi Han stepped closer, his voice quieter but more pointed. “He didn’t ask for anything in return. No payment. No tribute. And he wasn’t sent by a sect to do it either. He did it because he wanted to help us.”
Zi Wen hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked down at his hands. For a moment, the only sound was the soft breeze rustling through the trees. He looked as if he was deep in thought, considering everything that has happened so far. “So, what are you saying? That he’s different from the others? That he’s not like the usual cultivators?”
“Yes,” Zi Han said and his eyes steady as they met his brother’s. “And we should give him a chance. I know you don’t like your current life. You have never enjoyed being just a hunter.”
Zi Wen scoffed lightly and shook his head. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing, Zi Han? You’re trying to say I’m unhappy. But you’re wrong. My life is peaceful—spending time with Little Yuze, hunting when I need to. What more do I need?”
Zi Han took a step closer and crouched down.
“Maybe you have had enough peace, brother. I know you. You’ve never been content with just this. You’re not happy. You’ve always had ambition—you just buried it under all this talk of peace. And you’re not the only one.” He took a breath. “I have ambitions too, Brother Wen. I’ve just never talked about them. I don’t want to spend my entire life as the guard of this village. I want to try for something bigger, and this might be our chance.”
Zi Wen stared at him.
“I’m going, brother. Even without spirit roots, I’ll try. If they’re taking mortals, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a place there. You’re free to stay, but I hope you won’t.”
With that, Zi Han turned, his steps slow as he made his way back down the hill. Although he knew he couldn’t change his brother’s heart, a part of him clinged onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, Zi Wen would listen to him. But he’d been wrong, even if he’d said everything he wanted to.
Therefore, he kept walking.
The path he’d come from seemed longer now. He sighed. But before he had gone far, he heard the sound of his brother’s voice calling out.
“Wait, Zi Han!” Zi Han stopped and turned around. His brother was already on his feet, shrugging the dust off of his pants and he hesitantly looked up. “I’m… coming with you.”
Zi Han’s lips widened at that. “Then hurry. I heard a lot of people are already gathering there.”
Zi Wen gave a faint grunt, glancing back at Little Yuze as if seeking some silent reassurance before taking a step forward.
The wolf got up with him.
Together, the two brothers and Little Yuze started walking down the hill.
***
Chen Ren stood on the wooden balcony of one of the buildings he owned, his arms crossed as he surveyed the crowd gathered below. The sight before him was more overwhelming than he had expected. Over two hundred people had shown up, their voices blending into a sea of chatter and excitement that echoed across the courtyard.
The crowd was diverse—young parents with their children, curious villagers, and even the odd elder, all gathered for one reason: the chance to test their aptitude for cultivation.
The majority of the crowd he saw were teenagers, some barely in their early teens, standing nervously beside their parents. Chen Ren noted the hopeful gleam in their eyes and the way their parents hovered protectively, their expressions a mix of pride and anxiety.
In the Kalian Empire, the process of the aptitude test hadn’t been the easiest to get done. For that, they’d needed a root stone; a tool that was known to detect spirit roots. When touched, it would light up in response to the presence of spirit roots within a person, and the intensity of the glow would indicate the strength of those roots.
It was a simple yet effective method, but one rarely accessible to the average villager.
Aptitude tests were conducted only once every three years in designated cities or sect strongholds, and the cost and journey involved deterred many families from participating. The odds weren’t in their favor either—only one in a hundred people might possess spirit roots. For most, the journey wasn’t worth the risk of crushing disappointment.
Moreover, only guardian sects and a few established ones had the required capital to get a root stone. For the majority of sects, they didn't have the resources to conduct an aptitude test and could only take in the scraps of the bigger sects. Fortunately, he had no need for such a stone with Yalan's presence.
Chen Ren knew he was making a bold move by hosting this test here, in a place where no sect had ever bothered to hold such an event. But he also knew the potential it held—not just for the people gathered here, but for himself.
This wasn’t merely an act of charity or goodwill. After today, one of his most pressing problems would be solved: the lack of manpower for both his business and his budding sect.
As he leaned forward slightly, scanning the crowd, he felt the kind of energy that he could use to his advantage, but first, he needed to bring some order to the chaos. He walked around, descending the stairs and reached the front of the crowd, who’d big smiles plastered on their faces.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his voice. “Everyone, please calm down!” His words cut through the noise, and the crowd gradually quieted, all eyes turning toward him, a lot of the teenagers tried to take a better look at him while getting to their tiptoes. “I know you’ve been waiting for this chance to see if you or your children have the talent to join our sect or even the intelligence to work alongside us. The tests will begin shortly.
“But first, I need your cooperation. Anyone over the age of fourteen is not eligible to participate in the test—this is a strict requirement. Secondly, please form a line. There’s no need to push or shove; everyone will get their turn.”
The crowd began to shuffle, the parents guiding their children into some semblance of a line while others stood among themselves. Chen Ren could feel the anticipation building again, but now it was tempered with order. No one wanted to anger a cultivator. Even still, half of the crowd still stood unorganized, pushing each other to get to the front.
Chen Ren turned toward Chief Muyang, Xiulan, and Anji, who stood nearby with expectant gazes. “I’ll start the test soon. Make sure everyone forms a proper line and send them in one by one. With this many people—and I’m sure more will come once word spreads—we might need to continue tomorrow. For now, let’s begin.”
The trio nodded in unison, quickly stepping into action to organize the crowd. Satisfied,
Chen Ren stepped toward the small wooden building that had been prepared for the test.
Inside, the room was simple yet functional, with a single chair in the center and a desk pushed against the far wall. Yalan, in her beastly yet graceful form, lounged on the desk, her amber eyes half-lidded in boredom.
Her tail swayed lazily behind her as she tilted her head.
“Did you see anything interesting out there?” she asked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.
Chen Ren lowered himself into a chair opposite her, the slight creak of the wood breaking the silence. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “They all seemed ordinary. No visible signs of a special physique or unique characteristics. But who knows? Maybe we’ll uncover a hidden bloodling or two.”
Yalan flicked her tail with a soft thump against the desk. “You’re awfully optimistic,” she said, smirking. “I suppose a sect leader needs to be.”
Before Chen Ren could respond, the door creaked open, revealing the first pair of entrants: a middle-aged man and a teenage girl. Both bowed deeply before stepping inside, their movements stiff with nervous respect.
Chen Ren straightened in his chair, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.
“Are you both here to take the test?”
The man quickly shook his head, his hands gripping his hat tightly. “No, young master. I am just a farmer, content with my life. But my daughter…” He gestured toward the girl, his voice trembling slightly. “My daughter, Zushi, has dreams of something greater. She wishes to take the test.”
Chen Ren studied the girl for a moment. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white, but her eyes—they were sparkling with hope. “Very well,” he said, gesturing toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit here.”
Zushi moved quickly, and lowered herself into the chair. Chen Ren glanced at Yalan, who nodded and then he rose gracefully from his chair. Stepping forward, he put his hand lightly on Zushi's head.
“This will only take a moment,” he said, his voice soothing yet firm.
Zushi nodded, her face taut with anticipation. She seemed like she expected a light to come out of Chen Ren's hands, but nothing happened for a few seconds.
Moments later, Yalan’s voice echoed in Chen Ren’s mind. She doesn’t have a spirit root. She’s destined to remain mortal.
Chen Ren exhaled softly. This is going to hurt. He pulled his hand back and took a step away.
The room grew quiet as Chen Ren looked at Zushi, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hope. He nodded solemnly, his eyes softening as he looked at the girl. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, “but you don’t have spirit roots.”
The words struck like a hammer. The girl’s lip quivered, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as her shoulders hunched forward. She looked as though she was moments away from breaking down entirely. Her father placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was clear he had anticipated this result, though it did little to ease the sting.
“It’s okay, Zushi,” he said softly. “Let’s go back home.”
As they turned to leave, Chen Ren raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks. “Wait,” he said and that made both of them freeze on their spot. “Before you go, I have something to say.”
They turned back toward him. Her father’s eyebrows frowned in confusion while Zushi’s somber expression turned to one of hope.
“Although you don’t have a spirit root, the Divine Coin Sect is unique,” Chen Ren explained. “We don’t just accept cultivators. Mortals who can contribute meaningfully to the sect are just as valuable to us. If you’re interested, you can stay and take an interview to see if you qualify as a mortal member.”
Zushi’s teary eyes widened in surprise. “Can I really get in?”
“Yes. If you’re able to pass the interview, we’d be happy to have you.”
The girl’s father looked at Chen Ren with a deep bow, gratitude flickering in his weathered face. “Thank you, young master,” he said sincerely.
Zushi straightened her back, her tears forgotten. “I will do my best,” she declared, her voice steadier now.
Chen Ren gestured for her to sit back in the chair. “Let’s begin, then.”
As he got comfortable in his own seat, Chen Ren’s thoughts drifted to the purpose of this interview. In his previous life, back on Earth, interviews were the backbone of building trust and competency within organizations. He had adapted the process to fit the Xianxia world, asking questions that tested not just knowledge but also character, critical thinking, and adaptability. A sect wasn’t just built on raw power—it needed loyal, capable people to function and thrive.
So, he started with a simple question. “Do you know how to read and write?”
Zushi nodded hesitantly. “I know how to read, but… I have trouble writing.”
Chen Ren made a mental note of her answer, his expression neutral as he moved on. The questions varied in scope, covering basic maths, logic, and personal values. “If you were trusted with a task by a sect elder and caused an issue that might jeopardize the sect, what would you do? Would you inform the elder or try to solve it yourself?” he asked, testing her integrity.
“I would inform the elder immediately,” Zushi replied confidently. “If I try to solve it myself and it gets worse, the punishment will be far worse. I will rather accept my shortcomings.”
He nodded, scribbling a tick mark besides her name on a parchment before moving onto the next question that tested her ability to think practically.
“Alright, Zushi. Let’s try something a little more difficult. Picture this, you’re in a room with three levers. Each lever controls one of three fireplaces in an adjacent room. You can only enter the room with the fireplaces once. How do you determine which lever controls which fireplace?"
Zushi took a deep breath, furrowing her brow as she began to consider the problem. She took some time, her fingers moved as if she was playing the scenario in her mind.
Finally, she spoke. "I would pull the first lever and leave it on for a few minutes. Then, I’d stop and pull the second lever. That’d be all that I’m doing in that room. Then, I would enter the room with the fireplaces. The one that is still warm but unlit is controlled by the first lever. The one that’s lit is controlled by the second lever. The one that’s cold and unlit is controlled by the third lever."
Chen Ren nodded, pleased. Alright… She could think logically, do very simple math, she knows her structures when it came to sect values, and maybe one more question.
“Let’s say there’s a war between two cities over resources. How do you think you could make a profit from it? And what do you think are the most important resources during such a time?”
Zushi furrowed her brow, deep in thought. The question clearly caught her off guard, and she chewed on her lip as she considered her answer. Finally, she spoke. “I think I could contribute by supporting the side I believe is most likely to win,” she said cautiously. “As for resources… weapons. A war needs weapons.”
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, waiting for more, but she hesitated. After a moment, she shook her head. “I… I can’t think of anything else,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chen Ren nodded thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “Weapons are important,” he said slowly, “but wars are fought on more than just the battlefield. Food to sustain soldiers, medicine to treat the wounded, and information to outmaneuver the enemy are just as vital.”
Zushi’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on her face. She nodded quickly. “I… I’ll remember that,” she said earnestly.
Chen Ren placed his hand on his chin and studied her and her answers. There was room for growth, but there was also potential. He’d seen enough.
“Alright, you can go now. We’ll notify you through the village chief whether or not you’ve been accepted.”
The girl and her father stood, bowing deeply in gratitude. “Thank you, young master,” the father said, his voice thick with emotion. The girl followed suit, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she struggled to contain her nervous energy.
Chen Ren offered a small nod of acknowledgment, watching as they turned and left the room. Once the door closed behind them, he turned to Yalan, who had been lounging on the desk with her tail swishing lazily in the air.
“She’s… poor,” Yalan said bluntly, her eyes narrowing in mild disinterest.
“I believe she’s decent,” he replied. “Not many around here know how to both read and write. She may not be extraordinary, but at least she tries to think critically. With proper training, she could become a good employee.”
Yalan yawned. “Sure, if you’re willing to invest the time. But let’s see if there are better candidates first.”
Chen Ren chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”
Before they could linger further on the subject, the door creaked open again. Chen Ren straightened in his seat as the second candidate entered—a middle-aged woman accompanied by a young boy who clutched her hand tightly.
The two bowed deeply as they stepped forward. The woman’s posture was stiff, and her eyes darted nervously around the room, while the boy clung to her side, peering at
Chen Ren with wide, curious eyes.
“Start, let’s see how this one would go,” Yalan said and they began.
For the next two hours, the process became a routine for Chen Ren. Villagers came and went, each hoping to find a spark of opportunity within the Divine Coin Sect. After conducting the aptitude tests, he found that not a single person had even one spirit root.
Disappointingly, even the interviews yielded little promise—most of the villagers didn’t know how to read or write, which came as no surprise. Education was a rarity, even in the cities, but the lack of basic skills posed a significant obstacle for Chen Ren’s vision for the sect.
Although he was willing to overlook such limitations for individuals who showed promise in other areas, very few demonstrated the curiosity or critical thinking he sought. Most seemed motivated by the prestige of joining a sect or the desire for stable work—reasonable goals, but not the mindset Chen Ren needed. He wanted people eager to grow, learn, and contribute, yet such candidates were proving increasingly rare.
Still, Chen Ren persisted, summoning one hopeful after another, patiently conducting the tests and interviews despite his mounting disappointment.
Just as he finished speaking with yet another uninspiring candidate, a commotion outside the room broke his focus. He frowned, glancing toward the door. The muffled sound of voices rose, followed by the unmistakable low growl of an animal.
“Should we go and see—”
Yalan was soon cut off when two familiar faces appeared in the doorway, both bowing towards him with stiff shoulders. Behind them, a wolf’s sharp eyes and bristling fur peeked through the door frame.
A grin spread across Chen Ren’s face as he leaned back in his chair. Finally, someone worth recruiting, he thought.
“It’s good to see you both,” he greeted.
The two brothers straightened. Zi Han, the younger, gave a slight nod, while his elder brother, Zi Wen, crossed his arms and grunted nonchalantly. Meanwhile, the wolf—Little Yuze—stood silently, its intelligent eyes watching Chen Ren carefully.
Chen Ren gestured toward the doorway. “Before we begin, can you have your wolf wait outside? As much as I’d like to see how obedient it is, this space isn’t ideal for animals.”
Zi Wen turned to the wolf. “Yuze, behave and wait outside.”
The wolf gave no sign of protest, trotting off obediently to settle just beyond the door.
Chen Ren’s eyes twinkled with approval. He nodded at the brothers, motioning for them to step forward. “So, you two want to join the sect?”
Zi Han replied with a simple, “Yes,” while Zi Wen grunted again, his lack of enthusiasm evident.
Chen Ren smirked slightly and fixed his gaze on Zi Wen. “I don’t think you need an aptitude test.”
Zi Han watched his elder brother, Zi Wen, with a raised eyebrow who looked equally surprised.
"You know?" Zi Wen asked, maintaining his eye contact with Chen Ren.
Chen Ren smiled and shrugged. "Hard to miss when the wolf is always trailing behind you, and I have a decent qi perception." He met Zi Wen's gaze, his smile widening. "You’re a cultivator."
Zi Wen’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t deny it. "Barely," he muttered. "I’m only in the body forging realm and on top of that, in the first star."
"How long have you been cultivating?"
"Twenty years," Zi Wen answered with a shrug.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, surprised by the answer. But before he could speak, Zi Wen added, "I haven’t really cultivated for nineteen of those years. The first year, I was in a sect. Tried to go against the heavens... but eventually, I accepted my fate and my meager talent."
"How do you know your talent is bad?"
Zi Wen scoffed, bitterness creeping into his voice. "I only have twenty four spirit roots."
At this, Chen Ren couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head. "So, you gave up on cultivating just because of that?"
Zi Wen’s frown deepened, and his posture stiffened and he clutched his hands by his sides. "There were other reasons, but yes, that was part of it. What’s so funny? Are you making fun of me?"
Chen Ren quickly waved his hands in a placating gesture. "No, no. Not at all. It’s just that I don’t think having fewer spirit roots really matters that much. I myself have only twenty one spirit roots, and in the past year, I’ve gone from the third star of the body forging realm to breaking through into the qi refinement realm."
The words hung in the air for a moment as Zi Wen’s eyes widened. He looked at Chen Ren, clearly trying to determine whether the young man was lying or telling the truth.
"Sit down," Chen Ren instructed, gesturing toward a chair before he could say anything.
"Before you have any questions, I’d love to hear why you left cultivation behind. And if you’re really interested in joining the Divine Coin Sect, we will start the interview after that."
2025-01-26 15:20:22 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 171
Feroy’s urgent and hasty steps carried him through the streets, crunching against the cobblestones sharp in the tense silence of the night. His breath came in measured bursts as he pushed himself forward.
Three guards flanked him, their eyes darting from shadow to shadow as they moved through the deserted streets. The news of the attack on the walls had spread like a wildfire, and the fear in the atmosphere could be felt by everyone.
The entire city had gone into curfew. Not a soul dared step out into the streets. Doors were slammed shut, windows sealed tight, and the quiet was broken only by the movements of the guards.
The city felt suffocating, as if everyone was expecting something terrible to happen. The destruction of the mana cannons on the wall had only made things worse. Feroy could feel it, the incoming doom.
As he neared the outer walls, the scene unfolded before him in grim detail.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he saw a portion of the wall that had crumbled. Blood stained the grounds, mixing with the pieces of the destroyed cannons.
Feroy’s heart clenched as he took in the scene. His pace quickened, and the guards following him did the same, their swords drawn, ready for whatever lay ahead. As he approached the area, he saw a group of guards standing around a bleeding man, tending to his wounds.
Feroy didn’t pause for long. His gaze, however, lingered briefly on the body covered by a cloth beside the wounded man.
He didn’t let himself dwell on the body for long. There was no time for that. His focus shifted back to the guard who was still alive.
He racked his brain trying to recall his name when it finally clicked and he knelt beside him. “Can you talk, Drennan?”
The man's eyes fluttered open, and he nodded weakly, his voice strained. “Yes, Knight Feroy... I can talk...” He tried to lift himself, wincing in pain, but Feroy placed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly urging him to stay down.
“No, don’t try to move,” Feroy commanded. “You’re wounded, but we need to know what happened.”
Drennan took a sharp breath, grimacing as he lay back, his face pale but his lips tightened as he spoke.
“I was on the wall, doing my usual patrol, when I saw something,” the guard began, his voice shaking. “A creature... dark, almost... like it was made of shadows and blood. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was fast. Before I could shout a warning, it... it killed Torric. Just like that. One strike and he lay bloodied. Then it attacked again. I thought it wanted to kill me, so I dodged, but the attack moved past me to hit the mana cannons. They didn’t stand a chance. I tried to reach for my horn, to signal for help, but by the time I did, the creature had already run off. It was too late, Knight Feroy."
Feroy placed his hand on the Drennan’s shoulder, trying to ease some pain, but the man's expression didn't change. He sighed while his brain processed everything he had been told, particularly the part about the creature.
“Blood drinker…”
Drennan nodded slowly, his eyes clouded with guilt. “Yes, Knight Feroy, it was dark, but... the description fits the information we were given. I couldn’t do anything.” His voice broke as he glanced down at his falled partner. “I’m sorry... I failed.”
Feroy squeezed the man’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize. No ordinary guard would have survived such an assault. You did. And that speaks to your skill. As for your partner... I will make sure his sacrifice isn’t in vain.” Feroy’s eyes hardened as he gazed at the covered body. “I’ll make sure we honor his memory. ”
As Feroy spoke, a distant sound caught his attention. The rhythmic clatter of wheels against stone echoed in the quiet night, growing louder as it approached. The guards around him stiffened, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons.
Feroy turned toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as a carriage rolled to a stop at the base of the wall. The door opened, and out stepped a familiar face, Zorgar.
“I heard about it,” Zorgar said, his voice cutting through the silence. “The mana cannons were destroyed.” He glanced over at the ruined wall and the bloodied ground.
Feroy nodded sharply. “Not just that,” he said, his tone clipped. “The walls were breached. We have to prepare for worse.”
Zorgar nodded. “We’ll have Earth Mages here soon to help with the repairs. Lord Arzan sent a few yesterday, and they’re raring to do something. I’ve already informed the Enforcers and Mages to be on guard. Our enemies should be on our doorstep any minute.”
At the mention of enemies, Drennan looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Enemies?”
Feroy’s gaze hardened. “Yes. Our scouts reported that Baron Idrin’s army is moving to capture Verdis. They’ve likely been planning this for some time. We need to get the city’s defenses ready. This is only the beginning.”
"From what we know, Baron Idrin has mustered around a thousand men to storm the castle. A dozen Mages, aided by these blood drinkers—those damnable creatures—will be leading the charge," Zorgar said and huffed.
Feroy’s gaze remained focused, his mind calculating the next steps. But as Zorgar finished speaking, Drennan turned to them with a look of deep regret.
"I’m so sorry about the mana cannons,"
Drennan said and shook his head regretfully. "I was on the wall. I should’ve made sure they were safe. Because of me, we’re going to lose more men trying to defend. We were counting on them, and now—"
Feroy cut him off with a raised hand. "You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault. You did your duty, and that’s all anyone could ask for."
But Drennan's gaze flickered between Feroy and Zorgar, confusion flickering in his eyes. The two men stood together, seemingly at ease, even as the enemy loomed at the city’s gates.
"But… the mana cannons… they were destroyed, and we have the enemy at the gates. More men are going to die to save the city, Knight Feroy. How can you both be so calm?"
Feroy smiled faintly, his eyes narrowing in a focused, determined look. "We anticipated this," he said simply. "Well, I should say, Lord Arzan did. He’s always several steps ahead. It was only natural for the enemy to target the mana cannons. Everyone knows about them, and with the blood drinkers in their ranks, it was clear they'd try to take them out first—especially considering their ability to fly and attack under the cover of darkness."
Drennan's eyes widened in realization. "So… what does that mean?"
Before Feroy could answer, Zorgar stepped forward, his tone matter-of-fact. "It means we were ready. Two days ago, in the dead of night, we replaced the mana cannons with decoys. The ones that were destroyed? They were nothing but worthless fakes."
Drennan blinked, his breath catching. "What…? But they were—"
"On the wall as cover. You can't do anything with them. The only reason they exploded was because they had explosive potions inside of them," Feroy finished. "And now, the enemy has no idea. They think they’ve crippled us, but in reality, they’ve played right into our hands. It’s only a matter of time before they realize their mistake."
Drennan’s shoulders sagged in relief. He let out a long breath, finally being able to release the tension he’d been holding in since he’d first realised the destruction that had happened.
But before the relief could fully settle in, a
sharp cry cut through the air, coming from one of the guards stationed on the walls above. "I see an army on the horizon. They’re on the move!"
Feroy’s eyes sharpened, and he turned toward the direction of the call. He exchanged a brief glance with Zorgar, who nodded in agreement. The time for hesitation had passed. The city was ready, and now it was up to them to teach their would-be invaders a lesson they would never forget.
"Prepare the men. We’re not just defending Verdis—we’re going to make sure they understand why they shouldn’t have come here in the first place."
With that, Feroy began to stride toward the gathering forces. Baron Idrin had no idea what awaited him.
***
Baron Idrin stood in the shadow of his forces, his eyes locked on the faint silhouette of Verdis in the distance. A thin, wraith-like outline against the darkening sky. The city, once a thorn in his side, was now ripe for the taking. He had fought tooth and nail for control over one of its villages, desperate to claim its mines. But now, the stakes were higher, and victory would mean so much more.
Duke Kellius had promised him this, and assured him that Verdis would fall into his hands once Count Arzan was crushed under their combined power. Now, he could almost taste the triumph in the air as his plans came to fruition.
Sacrificing that small village had been a necessary cost, one he had been more than willing to make. The reward would be the entire city—its resources, its strategic value, and most importantly, its people.
He smiled darkly at the thought of Arzan’s downfall. The city’s new Count wouldn’t stand a chance. The Duke had been right to trust in his abilities. Verdis would be his, and all of its secrets and riches would belong to him.
His grin faltered slightly when a silhouette swooped down from the sky and landed beside him. The sudden motion in the stillness of the night sent a brief shiver down his spine, and for a split second, he nearly recoiled. But he quickly regained his composure, eyes narrowing in irritation as he turned to face the figure next to him.
"I told you," Baron Idrin growled. "Stop coming up on me like that. You’re worse than a ghost."
The blood drinker standing next to him, ignored his irritation and spoke in a voice that carried both calm and menace. "The preparations are complete. The mana cannons have been destroyed. I was seen by a guard who barely avoided my attack, so they should be on alert now.”
Baron Idrin’s lips curled into a smug sneer. "I’m sure they must have gathered their forces already by now. But it doesn’t matter," he muttered dismissively, waving a hand in the air. "Without their precious mana cannons, they won’t be able to contest us. They have no strong Mages, and even if they did, we have the numbers and strength. This will be an easy victory."
He looked back to where his forces stood, a carefully orchestrated formation of soldiers, mercenaries, and Mages. Their faces were steely with resolve, their weapons at the ready. Idrin’s eyes swept across the ranks, noting the hardened expressions of the men who followed him—the loyal soldiers eager for bloodshed and plunder, and the mercenaries who would do anything for the right price.
And then there were the Mages sent by the famed Archine Tower. Mages whose power would give him a terrifying edge in this battle. But what really caught his eye were the blood drinkers standing at the front of the formation. There were two other than the one right besides him.
The creatures were like living weapons, their mastery of the blood manipulation unparalleled. They were each as powerful as peak second-circle Mages, and they answered only to him.
Idrin’s chest swelled with pride as he surveyed his forces. With his soldiers, Mages, and the blood drinkers under his command, he was unbeatable. There was no way they could lose now.
Baron Idrin took one last sweeping glance across his assembled forces, his eyes gleaming with the fire of ambition. The hour of conquest was upon them, and he could feel the thrill of victory swelling within him.
With his hand raised, he shouted into the crisp night air.
"Listen well, all of you! Tonight, we charge forward with all the fury we've known, all the strength we've built, and all the vengeance we've held back for too long. Tonight, we seize Verdis, and we take it by the throat! No hesitation, no mercy! We will show Count Arzan and all who dare stand with him that his rule ends now!"
The soldiers around him straightened, their grips on their weapons tightening until knuckles turned white. Their eyes gleamed with a shared hunger—a thirst for victory that burned just as fiercely as the fire raging in his chest. He let their energy fuel him, spreading like wildfire through the crowd.
"By sunrise," he continued, his voice rising like the first strike of a war drum, "Verdis will belong to us! And when it does, we will stand ready for Duke Kellius to drag that bastard Arzan to the guillotine. His name will be forgotten, erased like the coward he is, and his city will kneel to us! The people of Verdis will finally see the truth—that justice has come, that their torment ends here, tonight! The rule of tyranny falls, and it falls by our hands!"
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, watching the soldiers nod in fierce agreement. "Are you ready to fight, to take what is ours?"
"YES!" The chorus of their voices shook the air, and he could see the fire in their eyes, the unrelenting hunger for the coming battle. They were ready. They were united.
Baron Idrin grinned, his heart pounding with the excitement of impending victory. He swung himself onto his horse, his eyes locking on the distant city that would soon be his. "Then let’s take Verdis!" he shouted, his command a spark that set the forces into motion.
The charge began.
Idrin urged his horse forward, propelling himself into the beat. The loud sound of hooves echoed in his ears as his army followed suit, the ground beneath them trembling. The distant silhouette of Verdis grew larger with every stride, its walls looking like an obstacle before him. The anticipation clawed at his chest.
As they closed the distance, his thoughts raced. He could already picture it—Arzan’s lifeless body at his feet, the city’s defenses shattered, his name etched in history as the one who brought down the tyrant. His seat as Count would be secure, granted by Duke
Kellius, and with it, all the power he’d ever dreamed of. No longer would he be a mere
Baron, far from the capital, struggling to make his mark. He would be one of the rulers, standing at the very heart of the kingdom.
The air around him thickened with the promise of triumph.
But more than the power, more than the title, what drove him was the legacy. He would become the image of justice—someone who'd destroyed a tyrant and given the people what they needed. The people would praise him, they would see him as their savior.
In truth, Baron Idrin didn't care what Arzan had done for the people of Verdis. He didn’t care about the truth of the man’s leadership. What mattered was the perception of him. The city would fall, Arzan would fall, and in the ashes, he would rise.
Without the mana cannons, there was no way Arzan could defend his city. Even if the man had some clever tricks up his sleeve, it didn’t matter now. Baron Idrin had planned for everything, and he would take Verdis without breaking a sweat.
Soon enough, the forces slowed, their charge coming to a halt just outside the city gates. Baron Idrin looked up to the towering walls of Verdis, his gaze scanning the figures standing atop. A few of them looked back down at him, and his eyes narrowed.
There, standing at the forefront, was the one man he needed to kill first—Knight Feroy. He had gathered all the intel on Feroy’s movements, his rank, his influence. If they took him down, the rest of the city would crumble. Feroy’s head would be the key that unlocked the gates to Verdis’ surrender.
Idrin's heart thrummed in his ears. This was the moment everything would change. With Feroy dead, the city would be theirs. And with it, the world would know that Baron Idrin was a force to be reckoned with.
He raised his hand, signaling one of his Mages, and with a flick of the wrist, the Mage muttered an incantation. The air shimmered as the voice modification spell took effect, amplifying Idrin’s voice to carry far and wide.
He called out, his voice booming over the silent expanse, filled with a mix of menace and false compassion. “People of Verdis!” he shouted, his eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation. “I, Baron Idrin, am here to take the just revenge for the slaughter of my village, carried out by Count Arzan’s forces. I am sure by now, you all know the truth. The men guarding this city are responsible for the deaths of countless innocent lives.”
He paused for a moment, savoring the weight of his words, watching as the shadows on the walls shifted. “But you still have a chance! If you open the gates and surrender now, I will spare you. I will not only spare you, but I will reward you for your compliance. Your survival is within your grasp.”
The baron’s gaze hardened as he turned to face Knight Feroy’s silhouette on the wall.
“And as for you, Knight Feroy,” he sneered, “I advise you to surrender. There’s nothing you can do. Your forces are pitiful compared to mine. You can try to fight, but I’ll make your death quick. It’s your choice.”
His words echoed in the still night, the silence that followed stretching longer than he anticipated. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for a sign, a response—anything. But there was nothing. No movement from the city below, no response from the soldiers atop the walls. His patience thinned as he glanced toward his forces, a frown pulling at his lips.
“Well then,” he muttered to himself, irritation creeping into his voice. “It seems Verdis isn’t looking for the easy way out.” His eyes glinted with dark amusement, the thrill of battle rising within him. “Very well! We take it by force.”
With a final wave of his hand, he gave the order. “Charge!”
His forces surged forward, the clang of weapons and the sound of boots pounding the earth filled the air as they moved towards the city gates. Ropes and ladders were hauled up, soldiers scaling the walls. The siege had begun. Baron Idrin grunted, a twisted sense of satisfaction settling in his chest as he watched the chaos unfold.
But then, something caught his eye.
A movement atop the walls—something that didn’t quite fit. At first, it was just a flicker, a figure moving quickly, but then he saw it clearly. It wasn’t an archer or a soldier. No, this was something much more unusual. A man, standing at the far edge of the wall, began fitting a large mechanical device into place. Idrin’s heart skipped a beat, a chill running down his spine.
It can’t be…
His mind raced as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but the realization hit him like a slap right across his face. Mana cannon. His eyes widened. They couldn’t have rebuilt it so quickly, could they? They couldn’t!
Before he could process the thought, the device was locked into place. The figure operating it adjusted a few levers, and Idrin’s stomach dropped as he understood what was about to happen.
“NO!” he shouted, his voice a mixture of disbelief and rage, but it was already too late.
The beam of deadly light shot out from the device.
For a brief moment, the world was blinded—his soldiers, his mercenaries, and even himself—all of them lost in the blinding light.
He could hear the screams and the chaos as the beam tore through his ranks, the loud boom with the cries of dying men. His forces were caught in the blast, the shockwave scattering them like insects underfoot.
“What the fuck?!” he screamed on top of his lungs.
2025-01-26 15:09:16 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 61
A few days passed since Chen Ren’s arrival in Meadow Village, and as time went on, he slowly became accustomed to the peaceful surroundings. The relentless pace of Cloud Mist City, with its endless hustle and clamor, was replaced by a calm quietness that now seemed to settle into his bones.
While the city was vibrant and full of opportunity, there was something about the simplicity of village life—its unhurried days and open, beautiful skies—that made it grow on him. As the days passed, Chen Ren found himself appreciating the stillness more and more, realizing that it was somewhere he could build the foundation for what he wanted.
The cleaning of the houses had been quick. With the help of Chief Muyang’s men, and the reluctant cooperation of the bandits-turned-villagers, the once-neglected properties were now livable. The rooms were divided up, each person having their own designated space, though the children would be sharing, much to their displeasure. The houses were simple but functional, with enough space for everyone to settle comfortably.
Among the tasks he had in mind, the most
important was setting up rooms dedicated to his work. Therefore, he made one of the houses become his laboratory, the other his office. The laboratory was the place where he would experiment with new ideas—alchemy, arrays, talismans and product creation in order to advance his business. The office was a space where he could strategize, organize, and reflect on his next moves. He needed both of the spaces.
Having his own office, with the rustic, modest furniture arranged, filled him with a sense of accomplishment. It satisfied the part of him that had always dreamed of running his own business—a college graduate who had once spent hours looking for jobs, imagining what it would be like to one day sit behind a desk and make the decisions. Now, the office felt like a symbol of his journey. It was a place where he could take ownership, a place that grounded him in the vision of what he wanted to create.
But beyond his new responsibilities, Chen Ren’s focus was on three main things: cultivating, training, and researching ways to rid the village of the locusts that plagued the farmlands.
Despite his dao, which didn’t require him to cultivate in the ways that others did, Chen Ren still enjoyed the meditative practice of an hour spent in his star space. There, he would focus his mind, reaching out, hoping for some sign from the golden dragon that had eluded him since the tournament. He couldn’t help but feel the need to grow stronger—after all, in a world like this, danger was ever-present, and survival depended on strength.
As Chen Ren had learned firsthand, cultivation realms weren’t the only factors that determined success in a battle. Combat techniques, the ability to stay calm during battle, and clever tactics played just as critical a role.
He had quickly set into a routine, rising early each morning to practice his spear and palm techniques. And every time he put his skills into practice, he felt the growth–in his rhythm and even movements. The time to practise too felt perfect with the calmness in the morning.
Luckily, he didn’t have to spar with Yalan, whose strength would surely leave him nursing bruises for days. Instead, he had another target in mind—an unlikely one, but a target nonetheless. The locusts. They were the perfect combat targets for now.
Over the days, he had observed their behavior closely. He learned their patterns, how they would swarm in droves to devour anything in their path, how their movements were slightly erratic yet predictable once you understood the rhythm. The more he studied them, the more he realized he could lure them with food, both meat and anything sweet. And so, he began to attract small groups of locusts to the edge of the farmland, setting up the perfect battlefield for his daily practice.
At first, Chen Ren had considered just eradicating the locust while training. But quickly, he understood that while this was an excellent form of practice, wiping them all out would take months. The locusts were numerous, and killing them one by one, though effective, wasn’t a permanent solution.
He stuck to his original plan: gather information, find their weaknesses, and eventually devise a strategy that would rid the village of the plague once and for all.
The constant exposure to the locusts allowed him to cut through their bodies and gain valuable insight into their anatomy.
He took notes, observing their reactions to various stimuli, and piecing together patterns
in their behavior. While each small victory over a group of locusts brought him satisfaction, it was his afterstudy that offered the real rewards.
Still, it wasn’t until one evening, after countless trials, that he finally found what he needed—not from his knowledge of Earth, but from this Xianxia world itself. .
The very next day, Chen Ren set to work.
His hands worked fast and the occasional hiss of ingredients being added to the cauldron filled the air every now and then. He mixed herbs, ground powders, and added oils into the large cauldron at the center of the room. He could smell the crushed leaves, root juices and the fire of the caudron.
It was soothing in a way. Because the process had to be done carefully—he had already made a number of failed attempts, which resulted in an explosion or a reaction that sent smoke billowing out of the cauldron.
The ingredients had been tricky, and his understanding of the alchemical processes in this world was still limited. But after after countless failures, he finally felt like he was
getting somewhere.
His heart raced as the liquid inside the cauldron took on a shimmering, almost iridescent hue. He stepped back, wiping his brow, and looked down at the brew. There were no explosions, no violent reactions. It simmered peacefully.
“I finally did it,” he muttered to himself with a smile, the words barely escaping his lips. “No explosions this time.”
For a moment, he stood there in silence, watching the concoction slowly bubble. The mixture had finally stabilized, its rich purple hue swirling within the cauldron. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as he took in the result.
The basic alchemical book that Qing He had provided him was filled with information, more reliable than he had initially expected. He’d thought for sure he’d blow something up even this time—but so far, everything had held up.
"I guess every new alchemist goes through a phase of explosions," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "But at least I’m improving. Thanks to Qing He’s books, I’ve actually made some real progress."
He gave the mixture one last swirl, watching as the liquid shimmered in the cauldron.
Satisfied, he turned to a nearby box containing a set of particular herbs, his fingers grazing over them as he began gathering the necessary ingredients. The makeshift alchemical lab he’d created for himself was far from impressive, but it served its purpose. Books, dried herbs, powders, and jars filled with various concoctions cluttered the shelves, their disorganized state a reflection of the rush he had been in to set up a functional space for his experiments.
Though it wasn’t much, it was his. And that, he thought, was the most important thing.
As he picked up a bundle of red herbs, his mind wandered back to the task at hand—the locusts. His plan was starting to take shape. He needed something to make them go away, something that wasn’t just brute force. The solution he was crafting now would hopefully provide that.
Suddenly, the door creaked open behind him, and Chen Ren looked up to see Anji walking in, her hair tied back into a neat ponytail. She didn’t look surprised to find him in the midst of another experiment, though her eyes were curious.
“Tang Xiulan was asking if you were going to have lunch,” Anji asked respectfully.
Chen Ren gave her a brief glance. "I’m busy right now," he replied. "I might just eat dinner straight. Once this is done, I’m planning to meet with the village chief."
Anji nodded, but instead of leaving, she lingered by the door, watching him with quiet interest. Chen Ren turned back to his work, mixing the herbs carefully, adding a pinch of spirit grass to the bubbling concoction. As soon as it hit the cauldron, a puff of smoke rose from the mixture. He stepped back, pleased with the reaction.
Nodding to himself, he let out a satisfied sigh. But before he could celebrate his success,
Anji’s voice broke the silence.
“What are you doing, young master?” she asked, stepping closer. “Are you making a concoction for your cultivation?”
Chen Ren glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, it’s not for me,” he said, his voice light. “It’s for the locusts. I’m making something for them to eat. Poison.”
Anji looked down at the herbs scattered across the table, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Poison?” she repeated. “I didn’t know there was poison for locusts. And these herbs... aren’t they common?”
"Yes, I got someone to get the herbs for me,"
Chen Ren said, nodding in confirmation. "And you’re right about there not being a specific poison for locusts or pests in general. I’m actually following a recipe for poison meant for body forging realm beasts and then adding a few herbs that might make it lethal for the bugs."
He glanced at the cauldron. "Though, mostly I’m just following the recipe. In the end, it’s poison. It should work well."
Anji nodded, but her curiosity still lingered. "But why?"
Chen Ren straightened and wiped his hands on his clothes, his gaze fixed on the boiling concoction. "To get in their good books," he said with a small shrug. "Solving this problem will make the villagers feel more at ease with us. You know how they look at us right now. If I want to set up my base here, it’s paramount we get them to think we’re a force of good, not just outsiders causing trouble."
Anji raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "I’m not talking about that. You know that.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she thought of something. "There are better ways of accomplishing this, ways that cultivators are more likely to follow."
Chen Ren turned towards her, leaning slightly against the table. "Making them submit by force? A grand display of my strength?" His tone was dry, almost mocking.
"Yes, just that," Anji said without hesitation, meeting his gaze directly. "Why aren’t you going for it?"
Chen Ren let out a slow breath and shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "It’s not my path. I can’t do that. I’d cringe. And although my acting is good, there are limits to it."
Anji didn’t respond immediately. Her brow furrowed as she thought about his words, the silence hanging between them. After a moment, she spoke again. "I don’t understand."
Chen Ren turned fully toward her. "Think of it as dao. Every cultivator follows their dao, and there are principles in it. A martial dao person also lives by rules. Sure, there are those who don’t follow these principles, who oppress people, but I’m not going to be like that. My dao doesn’t allow that." He paused, rethinking his own words. "No, I won’t allow that."
He shook his head slowly, turning his attention back to the cauldron. "I know I could force them to submit, but that’s not my way. It’s not how I want to lead. And that's why I'm going this route." He paused for a moment before turning back to her, his voice quieter, almost as if testing the waters. "What about you? Do you have a path? Principles?"
Anji froze, her body stiffening as the question hit her. Her eyes darted to the floor as if searching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. Her lips parted again, but only silence came. After a long, drawn-out pause, she finally spoke, her voice a bit softer than before.
"I don’t," she said, the words slow and hesitant. "I don’t have a path. I think... I just can walk anywhere."
Chen Ren studied her carefully, his gaze unwavering. The uncertainty in her voice was palpable, and it was clear to him that this was a question she had never really asked herself before. He remained quiet, letting her words sink in. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound was the faint bubbling of the cauldron.
Finally, Chen Ren smiled, though it was a small, almost melancholic one. “Are you looking for one?" he asked.
Anji's eyes shifted as she paused, clearly lost in thought. She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve, as if trying to put her feelings into words. "I don’t know. I don’t think I’m worthy of moving on any path."
Chen Ren tilted his head. "Why is that?" he asked, his tone soft but probing, eager to understand her thoughts more deeply.
Before she could answer, the cauldron let out a puff of smoke, drawing both of their attention. Chen Ren turned toward it, and a satisfied smile spread across his face as he assessed the mixture within.
The concoction had taken on a deep, rich purple color—richer than the previous stage. A faint, almost eerie glow pulsed from within, and the air around it shifted with a herbal aroma.
The texture of the liquid was thick, almost syrupy, and the consistency seemed just right. It was the kind of poison that would be slow-acting but incredibly deadly to creatures with weaker vitality—like the locusts. Despite its strength, it didn’t look like much on the surface. There were no extravagant colors or unusual effects, but Chen Ren knew better than to judge it by its simplicity.
He leaned closer to the cauldron, inhaling the scent. "I believe it’s ready."
Turning back to Anji, he spoke. "It’s finally time to go and finish this locust problem once and for all."
***
The group stood silently atop the hill that overlooked the farmland. Chen Ren, Yalan, Xiulan, Anji, Chief Muyang and a few other villagers were all present, looking at the large swarm of locusts hovering just beyond the edge of the farmland.
The buzzing of the wings was now a constant, unsettling noise that filled their ears.
Chief Muyang stood slightly apart from the others, his hands clasped behind his back. He observed the locusts quietly before turning to
Chen Ren. "Young Master Chen, are you sure it's going to work?" His tone was respectful, but there was a subtle hesitation there, as if the chief still had his doubts about the strange method that Chen Ren had chosen to deal with the locusts. "Of course, I'm not doubting your knowledge or anything," he quickly added, as if to ease any potential offense.
"I think so. We just have to keep watching."
His eyes shifted slightly to the edge of the clearing, where a single dead locust lay on the ground. Unlike the others, its body was slick with a faint sheen of liquid, evidence of the poison he had crafted. Chen Ren’s gaze hardened as he observed it closely, anticipation building within him.
The moment he had been waiting for arrived slowly, creeping into view as a group of three locusts approached the dead body. They hesitated for a moment, their antennae twitching as they inspected the corpse.
He stood there, watching with a focused intensity as the locusts circled the corpse. A small thrill surged through him when none of them turned away, as he had feared they might. This was the first victory.
He could feel a subtle sense of triumph rising in his chest, but he kept his composure.
Then, one of the locusts leaned forward and took a cautious bite from its fallen comrade.
Another followed soon after, snapping at the body with urgency. The scene played out exactly as he had hoped—soon, all three were greedily feasting on the carcass of their own kind. Chen Ren had discovered during his observations that locusts were not only vicious feeders, but they would also feast on their own if one of them died—an instinct he planned to use to his advantage.
At the sight, Chen Ren allowed himself a small smile, the tension in his body easing as the plan unfolded in front of him. Xiulan, who had been watching intently, turned to him with a grin on her face. "They aren't being repulsed by the poison on the corpse," she observed.
Chen Ren nodded, the smile on his lips growing faint but proud. "I made sure to add herbs that the locusts feast on during my experiments. I also made sure the poison’s smell blended with those herbs. I don’t think they know what they’re eating.” His eyes never left the locusts, still watching them with keen interest as they continued to devour the corpse.
Chief Muyang, though impressed, looked like kept his thoughts to himself for a moment before speaking again. "It seems you've thought of everything," he said.
Chen Ren gave a small shrug, not wanting to let the moment become too celebratory. "It’s just a start," he said. "We’ll see how it goes
from here."
But deep down, he felt the satisfaction.
Chen Ren watched as the locusts, one by one, fell to the ground, their bodies twitching before they lay still. Within moments, the first group of locusts was dead, and more were following suit. The distant buzzing from the rest of the swarm grew louder as more of the locusts, attracted by the scent of the
poisoned bodies, swarmed toward the fallen.
They too began feasting on their comrades, only to meet the same grim fate.
"Keep watching," Chen Ren instructed.
Xiulan, standing beside him, gave a satisfied nod. "It’s working better than expected.”
Chen Ren stretched, feeling a small sense of pride in his work. "By tomorrow, the entire farm will be free of them," he murmured, already thinking ahead. He turned toward the village chief, who was still watching in wonder, his expression a mix of gratitude and disbelief.
"I’ll leave more poison for you," Chen Ren said casually, his eyes still on the dead locusts. Chief Muyang turned to him, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Young Master. You’ve solved such a large problem for us. If not for you, we would have been dead in a few months."
He saw Muyang’s eyes tearing up.
"You can still be dead," he said bluntly. That earned Chen Ren a confused look. "The farms will take time to recover. Planting crops will be a slow process. But I have an idea to solve that."
Chief Muyang blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of Chen Ren’s statement, but then his eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward.
"What is it, Young Master?"
Chen Ren took a breath and adjusted his stance. "Is the locust problem exclusive to your village?" he asked.
"No, not just here. But it’s not as bad in the nearby villages. They come from the nests that have been growing recently, because no cultivator has moved to burn them up. But even so, I know a few locusts make their way to the farms in these parts."
Chen Ren nodded, already having pieced things together. "Then I will give you a batch of the poison. Use it for the nests. Sell it to the nearby villages and get food in return. I believe that saving them from a potential catastrophe will make them eager to give you their crops willingly."
Chief Muyang’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. He seemed to consider the plan for a moment before his face broke into a smile. "That could work. If we can handle the nests and offer this to the villages... We might be able to get enough food to survive while the farms recover."
Chen Ren smiled, his plan coming to fruition. "Exactly. Not only will this help your village, but you’ll be in a position to trade with the others for the food you need. It will take some work, but I’m confident you’ll make it work."
The village chief nodded, deeply moved by
Chen Ren’s foresight. "I’ll make sure to use it wisely, Young Master. You’ve done more than we could have hoped for. Thank you, Young Master,” he bowed again. “No one has ever done something like this for our small village before. We are all in your debt." As he spoke, several villagers who had gathered around them also bowed in unison.
Chen Ren felt a sudden wave of awkwardness. The reverence they showed him made him feel like he was standing in the presence of Gods—or more like, he was the God, a feeling that didn’t sit well with him. He shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck, not quite used to being the center of so much reverence.
Yalan snickered quietly at his discomfort, watching the scene unfold with amusement. Chen Ren shot the cat a glance, narrowing his eyes slightly, but Yalan simply tilted her head, the playful gleam in her amber eyes unmistakable.
Ignoring the teasing cat, Chen Ren turned his attention back to the village chief, who was still bowing deeply. "I do want something out of you," he said.
Chief Muyang paused, looking up in confusion. "What, Young Master? I don’t think the village can give you anything. We are poor and have no mystical artifacts to offer."
Chen Ren’s expression remained serious as he looked at the old man. "Oh, you can give me something," he said cryptically, glancing at the gathered villagers. "Men and women."
The village chief furrowed his brow, confused. "What do you need them for? Building something?"
Chen Ren shook his head. "That will come, but no, I don’t need them as laborers," he said.
"I want you to send word to everyone in this village and the nearby villages that my sect, the Divine Coin Sect, will be recruiting members and checking for spirit roots in people. And even mortals can join us."
“Recruiting mortals? Young Master, you mean as servants? As laborers in your sect?"
"No, not as servants. Actual members, at the same standing as cultivators. Our Divine Coin Sect doesn’t discriminate. We see value in all. Whether someone has spirit roots or not, they are welcome. We believe every individual has something to offer, regardless of their cultivation potential."
Chief Muyang stood there for a moment, staring at him in stunned silence. It seemed the concept of mortal members in a cultivator's sect was foreign to him, something he had never encountered in his lifetime.
"You mean… mortal members?" the old man asked, still unsure. "But… in a sect?" He shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of the idea.
Chen Ren nodded firmly. "Exactly. Just get it done and you will know more with time."
Chief Muyang, though still a little confused by the idea, was now bowing once more. "I will get it done, Young Master. Give me three days, and I’ll make sure that there will be lines of people wanting to join your sect."
Chen Ren gave a satisfied nod. "Good. I’ll be waiting." He turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced at the group of villagers still standing around. Their faces were a mix of curiosity, hope, and disbelief, but Chen Ren knew this would set the stage for the future. His sect would grow—he could feel it in his bones.
As he and his group began to walk away, Yalan kept close by his side, her tail flicking lazily. "This will certainly be interesting," she mused. "I wonder if you will find diamonds in this coal mine."
2025-01-24 18:20:44 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 170
Kai’s gaze rested on Amyra as she sat across from him. Since the day they met, she had been a puzzle—an enigma wrapped in beauty and mystery. His mind often drifted to her, picking apart the pieces of what little he knew.
Her appearance alone was enough to spark curiosity. She wasn’t just beautiful in the way most would describe it—there was something otherworldly about her, something that seemed to transcend human standards. Her inhumanly perfect features, the soft glow of her skin, and those piercing eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of wisdom.
And yet, her appearance was only the beginning.
From the moment they entered the necromancer’s lair, Amyra had stood apart. Dead mana, a force that corrupted all life, had no effect on her. Where others struggled, she was untouched by its decay.
And then there was her genius-level aptitude for magic. One he had never seen before in anyone else.
He thought back to the battlefield, to the accounts of her unleashing her powers.
Dozens of dead mana fiends had been obliterated, their wretched forms wiped out in an instant. It had all been swallowed by a bright golden light. It wasn’t a spell he'd heard of, nor one that seemed possible for a Mage of her supposed level.
At every step of knowing her, his curiosity deepened.
Who was she? Was she the daughter of a Magus, perhaps even one of a Grand Magus? Or maybe a hybrid—a rare mix of human Mage and elf blood? Or was she something else entirely?
The questions buzzed in his mind, tantalizingly close to an answer that always seemed just out of reach. Part of him suspected that the truth was already there, lurking in the edges of his thoughts, but he refused to reach for it. Not yet. He needed proof, something tangible to connect the dots.
Now, as Amyra began to speak, he felt his chest tighten, a sense of anticipation mingling with tension. Whatever she was about to say, it would change everything. But outwardly, he kept his expression calm, listening intently.
Amyra’s soft voice came. “I grew up in a place far from here,” she began. “A place with no name. We just called it home.”
Kai leaned forward slightly, his curiosity mounting.
“It was in the heart of a forest,” she continued, “a vast stretch of tall, white woods that seemed to go on forever. That was where my clan lived, where we built our sanctuary. It was our home for two generations.” She paused, her eyes distant, as if seeing the woods again in her mind. But what came out of her mouth next surprised Kai. “In my clan, everyone had access to magic.”
His eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn’t hide his surprise. A clan where everyone was a Mage? That was unheard of.
Even among the famous Mage lineages, not everyone possessed the gift. There were always exceptions. And yet, here she was, claiming her entire clan had magic.
He held his tongue, knowing there would be time for questions later.
Amyra’s voice softened. “I wasn’t the daughter of the chief, nor was my family anything special. In the clan, we were simple Mages, living and waiting for our purpose to reveal itself.”
Killian, who had been silent until now, frowned slightly. “Your purpose?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
Amyra nodded at Killian’s question, but the movement was slow and deliberate, as though her mind was piecing together the right words. After a moment’s pause, she spoke again.
“In my clan,” she began, her voice softer now, “there was a long-standing prophecy. It was said that we had been gifted magic to prepare us for a time when the world would fall into darkness, a time when fiends would rise and threaten to consume everything. The story was passed down through generations, told every year during our gatherings.”
Without a beat, Kai and Killian listened intently, their faces impassive, but Kai’s mind was racing. A prophecy tied to an entire clan of Mages? The implications were enormous, and the tone of Amyra’s voice hinted at tragedy.
She exhaled deeply, her golden eyes lost in memory. “But where we lived—surrounded by towering white trees, shielded by nature’s grace—we saw no fiends. There were beasts, yes, but they were nothing unusual. There were no signs of dead mana or darkness, so I always assumed it was just that: a story. A fairy tale meant to remind us of the importance of our gifts, to stand against these creatures.
“I believed that… until reality slammed the truth in front of me. One day, without warning, fiends attacked our village.”
Her words hung in the air, and Kai tensed. When he looked to his side, he saw that Killian’s expression had darkened as well, but they both stayed silent, giving her space to continue.
“There were hundreds of them,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “The weakest of them were Grade 3 and the strongest were of Grade 7. Their strength, their savagery—it was unlike anything we had ever encountered. My clan fought with everything they had. Every Mage, every spell, every ounce of magic… and yet, it wasn’t enough. The fiends razed our village to the ground.”
Kai’s jaw tightened. The weight of her words pressed down on him, but he didn’t interrupt.
Amyra’s gaze fell to her hands, her fingers trembling slightly. “While my clan fought for survival, my uncle followed my mother’s command. He took me to the edge of the forest. He was one of the few who had ventured beyond our sanctuary before, so he knew the way. I didn’t want to leave, but he forced me to go. He told me someone needed to live—someone who could carry on the clan’s magic, someone who hadn’t yet gone through their awakening.”
Her voice cracked slightly, and she turned to look out the window. The tears in her eyes shimmered in the soft light, but she didn’t let them fall.
“I ran,” she said quietly. “I ran because I had no choice. I wanted to go back, to fight alongside my family, my clan. But I had no spells. I was powerless. And my uncle’s last words to me were to keep running. So I did.”
Kai and Killian exchanged a glance, their expressions solemn. Neither spoke, knowing Amyra needed this moment.
“I ran until I reached the human cities,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “I tried to blend in, but it was hard. I was just a child, with no food, no strength, and no idea how to survive. I lived on the streets for a year, clinging to the hope that someone from my clan would come looking for me. That maybe the attack hadn’t killed them all.”
Her voice faltered, and she shook her head slightly. “But that hope died with each passing day. And eventually, I decided to keep moving. To run not just from the fiends, but from my own thoughts, my own memories.”
She paused, her hands trembling once more.
“What I hadn’t realized was how cruel the world could be. On the road, I was kidnapped by a slave trader.”
Killian stiffened at her words, and Kai’s expression hardened, but Amyra pressed on.
“He put me in a cage like an animal,” she said. Kai noticed her tightened jaw and squared shoulders. “He taught me how to serve, how to be the perfect product to sell. He wouldn’t let anyone buy me unless they could pay his price. To him, I was precious property because of how I looked.”
Her hands curled into fists, but she forced herself to continue. “For what felt like an eternity, I stayed with him, waiting for the day he would finally sell me. But that day never came.”
Amyra lifted her gaze, her golden eyes meeting Kai’s. “One day, the necromancer found him. The trader tried to bargain with him, but he refused to sell me. So the necromancer killed him and took me instead.”
As Amyra's words trailed off, everything else fell into silence. She had shared the most painful parts of herself, the years of torment, the hopelessness, and the strength it took just to keep moving forward. Kai stood still, his heart heavy, his mind struggling to process everything she had said.
So, he did what he could. He stood up and
hugged her.
***
At that moment, Amyra’s tears began to fall,
unnoticed by her at first. The painful memories came back crushing down on her. No matter how she tried to explain it, there weren’t enough words to suffice how cruel it was. It was all too consuming—soul shattering. Soon, she felt the warmth of an embrace wrap around her.
Lord Arzan had moved to her side, his arms surrounding her in a gesture of comfort. She froze for a moment, surprised by the sudden closeness, before the floodgates of her emotions opened fully. She didn’t pull away—she didn’t know if she could. Instead, she let herself fall into his arms, finally allowing herself to feel the kindness and care she had long been denied.
His voice was a gentle murmur against the top of her head as he held her tight. “Thank you for telling me everything. I know it was hard for you.”
The words were soft, sincere, and something about them made Amyra realize how much she needed them. She had tried to hold it all in for so long, and now it was as though the weight of her past had been partially lifted, shared with someone who didn’t judge her for abandoning her clan.
Her hand went to her face, trying to swipe away the tears that had started falling. She hadn’t even realized how much she was crying until his arms were still around her, offering her silent support. Her shoulders shook for a moment more before she took a deep breath and finally managed to pull herself together.
Lord Arzan didn’t immediately release her. He kept holding her for a while, as if giving her the space to recover, to gather herself again. Eventually, she pulled back, wiping her eyes and looking up at him.
Her face was still flushed from the tears, but she met his gaze with a quiet resolve.
“You have questions, right?” she asked, her voice still trembling slightly, though she was trying to regain her composure.
He nodded, his expression gentle but curious. “Yes, I have a lot of them,” he admitted. “But I won’t overwhelm you with them. I just want to ask one thing for now.”
Amyra straightened slightly, her brow furrowing, bracing herself for another question that might bring up old pain. She had already said so much, but she owed him this answer—he had been there, after all, saving her life and giving her a new place to call home. She could tell he had been waiting for this question.
“I just want to know,” he continued softly, “Why didn’t dead mana affect you?”
Amyra took a deep breath, her thoughts going back to the forest, the spells her clan had placed on her soul, the years of confusion about her own identity. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking.
“It’s because my whole clan is like that,” she explained quietly. “I don’t know why. It’s not something we ever understood completely. But dead mana has never affected us. It’s as if we were born with a natural resistance to it.
That’s why our purpose was always to stand against the threat of dead mana when it would finally arrive. Despite that, we fell against its overwhelming power when the fiends arrived. Even with our resistance, no one in my clan was strong enough to take on a Grade 7 fiend.”
Her voice faltered slightly as the memories of her clan and their purpose washed over her again.
“The spell I used during the beast wave…” she paused, looking at Killian with a slight sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t a spell in the truest sense. It was something my clan inscribed on my soul long before I even understood what it was meant to be. It was a safeguard, designed in case of a fiend attack.
A way to survive, to fight back when no other option remained.”
She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as her gaze shifted to the ground. “All of us in the clan have something similar. A spell, a mark, an inscription on our souls that connects us to our purpose.”
***
Kal blinked in stunned silence, his mind racing to process everything Amyra had shared. His thoughts whirled, trying to connect the dots between what he had suspected and what he now knew for certain. A Mage who could withstand dead mana—this was unprecedented, a phenomenon that had eluded research for centuries.
He had seen the proof of her resistance in the beast wave and when he had retrieved her from the necromancer, but hearing it directly from Amyra put everything into an entirely different perspective.
He knew the theories, the years of research that had been undertaken, all the failed experiments and the countless lives lost in attempts to study dead mana and its effects.
Mages had tried to infuse themselves with it, but those who succeeded were corrupted, twisted into something no longer human.
They became weavers, horrific creatures that thrived on the very thing that destroyed so many others. The research had gone nowhere, stunted by the dangers, by the dead mana itself, and by the sacrifices made in its pursuit.
But now, standing in front of him, was someone who was living proof that it was possible to survive it. Amyra was a paradox, a mystery. How did it work? What made her different from all the others? And more importantly, could they replicate it? Could they somehow find a way to protect others, to harness this anomaly, and perhaps even use it to their advantage without giving away their humanity?
His mind buzzed with questions, each one more pressing than the last. His thoughts flickered to the elders’ warnings, to what Elder V’aleirith had said about his destiny as the Fatebreaker. The words echoed in his mind, that he’d change many lives as the Fatebreaker.
Amyra was proof of that. If he hadn't made the decisions he did, if he hadn't become Lord Arzan, she would have died—perhaps the last person alive who could resist the corruption of dead mana.
The weight of that thought pressed down on him. He had been blind to the significance of his actions, to the magnitude of what had been set into motion. But now, everything was different.
With Amyra alive, they had a chance.
Kal looked down at Amyra, a complex mix of gratitude and urgency in his gaze. He wanted to know more, to understand the full extent of her connection to the resistance against dead mana, to uncover the secrets of her clan and the mysteries of her body. But time wasn’t on his side. There was a war brewing in his territory, a war that required his full attention.
Every second spent here was a second closer to the chaos he had to manage. His territory, his people, needed him now more than ever.
"Thank you for telling me everything," he said softly, his voice sincere. "I know it was difficult, but you’ve given me so much to think about. You can rest now. I want to talk more about this, but right now, something else demands my attention."
Amyra nodded, her shoulders tense as if the trouble of her past and the revelation she had just shared had drained the strength from her. She was quiet for a long moment before looking up at him again.
"With your brother?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, "He's attacking my lands, trying to take over it. It’s... complicated. And there’s no time to waste." He hesitated, his gaze softening. "But that’s not something for you to worry about right now."
Amyra’s brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly. "Can I help? Like last time?"
Kal’s heart twisted at the thought of putting her back into harm’s way. He knew she had already proven herself in the beast wave, but this was different. This wasn’t just about surviving; it was about protecting something none of them could afford to lose.
"No, I’m sorry," he said firmly, though his voice softened with regret. "You’re too precious to be anywhere near a war. You’ll stay here, and I’ll assign an Enforcer to guard you."
Amyra opened her mouth as if to protest, but Kai raised a hand to gently silence her. He took a step closer, looking at her.
"Please understand," he continued, his voice serious but gentle, "your ability... it could change everything for for the world. I can’t risk losing you. I need you to stay here, safe."
"As for the war," he added, "this time, I’m not as worried as I was during the beast wave. We’ve prepared well. We have the forces, the strategies, and the resources to handle this. It’s not like before. There's no doubt we are going to win this."
***
Drennan, one of the guards on duty stood tall on the walls of Verdis, his boots steady on the stone battlements as he gazed out over the vast expanse of the grasslands.
The winds whispered across the plains, rustling the tall grasses. Above him, the stars dotted the sky in a blanket of dots, the moon casting its silvery light over the land. It was late, but the city below was far from asleep.
Even in the dead of night, half the city was awake, and the streets were alive with movement. Guards patrolled the walls, merchants hurried through alleys, and citizens lingered in the open spaces, their conversations coming in hushed whispers.
Everyone was scared. News of the fief war had spread quickly, and tensions were high. Duke Lucian Kellius against his own brother, Lord Arzan, Count of Verdis. The rumors had spread like wildfire, each one more absurd than the last, but the guard didn’t let himself get caught up in them.
He had seen the lord in person—how he stormed Verdis with his knights, how he had spared the enemy guards who had surrendered. The image of the man had been that of a god, a warrior leading his blessed followers with honor.
Since then, under his leadership, the city had flourished. New construction projects, infrastructure improvements, and a sense of purpose in the air had filled the people with a reverence for their lord that hadn’t been there before. Whispers might float through the streets, but the guard knew one thing for sure: those rumors weren’t going to shake the truth of what he had witnessed firsthand.
As he turned to check the perimeter once
more, his gaze swept over the city’s streets below. Guards were moving about, some pausing to exchange quick words while others made their rounds.
The sound of a yawn broke his thoughts, and he glanced to his left where Torric, a young guard who had only been stationed in Verdis for a few months, stretched his arms lazily.
"Ugh, I’m so sleepy," Torric muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I have to do this till morning? This is brutal."
Drennan shot him a sharp look, his gaze flicking toward the horizon where the dark shapes of distant mountains loomed. "You should keep your eyes open," he said. "We don’t know when the attack will come."
Torric chuckled, slinging his spear over his shoulder as he leaned back against the wall. "Do you really think it’ll start so soon?" He
waved a hand dismissively. "I believe any noble would be dumb to start a war with these bad boys here," he said, gesturing proudly toward the newly installed mana cannons.
Drennan followed Torric’s gesture with a raised eyebrow, his gaze settling on the gleaming mana cannons positioned strategically on the walls. They were a formidable sight—massive, arcane weapons designed to tear through any enemy forces that dared approach. And the hum of magic that radiated from them was a reassuring reminder of the power that Verdis now held.
"Yeah," Drennan muttered, though his tone held a certain edge. "But we’re not just waiting on them to do all the work. We’ll have to be ready for anything."
Torric nodded, though the skepticism still lingered in his eyes. "I suppose. But still, it’s not every day you see something like this. Count Arzan’s got the city well defended."
He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. The stillness of the night was deceptive. The war, the tension—it was all an undercurrent, something that hadn’t fully surfaced yet but was coming closer, like the storm before the rain.
The guard glanced at the mana cannons once more, a quiet pride swelling in his chest. He and Torric had both heard of their power—everyone in the city had.
They had even witnessed a demonstration a few weeks ago when a small group of bandits had attempted to raid the outskirts of Verdis.
The cannons had obliterated the attackers within moments, their mana-infused bolts ripping through flesh and stone alike. It had been a display of raw power, one that cemented Lord Arzan’s reputation as a ruler who would not be easily threatened. The sheer magnitude of the weapon was enough to instill a sense of confidence in even the most hardened soldier.
Yet, as Torric yawned and began to relax, the older guard's mind remained sharp. The war wasn’t won yet. He needed to be vigilant, not lulled into a false sense of security by the impressive defenses around them.
"Even then, we need to—" Drennan began, but his words trailed off as his eyes caught something in the distance, something small but significant in the dark expanse of the night sky.
A shadow flitted against the backdrop of stars, a silhouette that seemed too deliberate to be natural.
He squinted, trying to focus, to make out the shape more clearly. Was it a bird? A trick of the light? It was too high up, too fast.
"Hey, what’s wrong?" Torric asked, noticing his sudden stillness. "What are you looking at?"
"It’s nothing," Drennan muttered, shaking his head quickly. "I just saw something in the sky. Do you think we should inform the captain?"
Before Torric could reply, a sudden flash of movement caught his attention—so fast it was nearly a blur. It was too quick for the eye to track, and before he could even react,
Torric dropped to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed in an arc, splattering across the stone walls as his eyes widened in horror. Torric's stomach had been ripped open, a hole so deep and gaping that the scent of iron immediately filled the air.
"Shit!" Drennan shouted, fumbling for his sword, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for the healing potion, tearing open the vial with shaking hands as he scrambled to his fallen comrade. With desperation in his voice, he muttered, "Hold on, hold on, just hold on..."
But before he could apply the potion, a chilling sense of danger crawled up his spine. He froze, eyes widening as something moved atop the wall, silhouetted against the dark sky. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as a low, unsettling sound reverberated from the creature. There, perched with terrifying grace, was something he would never forget.
It was a creature out of nightmare, its form sleek and sinewy, humanoid yet distorted, like something caught halfway between life and death. Its pale skin was nearly translucent, veins black and pulsing beneath, and its eyes—those bloody red eyes—gleamed with an unnatural hunger, a cold malevolence that seemed to pierce through the darkness. It sat perched on the stone wall like a predator waiting to strike, claws curled into the stone beneath it, as if ready to leap at any moment.
Drennan’s breath caught in his throat. He had been informed about these creatures once the news of the war had broken out—nightmarish beasts capable of incredible speed and strength, able to drain a person’s life force with their fangs.
The Bloodrinkers were as elusive as they were deadly, and he had never expected to meet one like this.
Fuck… fuck… fuck!
Just as the guard opened his mouth to shout, warning the city, something flashed through the air—a glint of red that reflected the moonlight. Before he could react, a barrage of blood knives—sleek and sharp as arrows—came for him, cutting through the air.
Instinctively, he rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the blades as they tore into the stone wall behind him. His heart raced in his chest as he grabbed the healing potion once more, yanking the cork off and tossing it toward his fallen comrade. The liquid splashed across the wound, but he barely had time to hope it would work before another flash of movement split the air.
The attack wasn’t aimed at him. It wasn’t aimed at Torric either.
It was aimed at the mana cannons.
A moment later, the sound of a deafening explosion shook the air. The force of it rattled the walls, sending chunks of stone crumbling down as the powerful weapons were blasted apart, their mana-saturated cores erupting in a fiery display of destruction.
Drennan felt the blast’s shockwave ripple through him, knocking him back, but he clung to the ledge, his heart racing as he turned to see what the fuck just happened.
The Bloodrinker was still on top of the wall, its eyes flashing with cruel delight as the last of the mana cannons were silenced. And as the dust settled, the guard’s chest tightened in realization.
"We’re under attack."
His shout rang through the night, cutting through the panic that had begun to spread. "Enemies! Enemies are here!" he called, his voice hoarse as he struggled to his feet.
Just like that, the battle of Verdis started.
2025-01-24 18:15:36 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 60
Chen Ren’s eyes drifted over the vast farmlands that were stretched out before him. He had guessed the situation was bad, but he hadn't expected to see a sea of buzzing locusts.
Or, perhaps, he couldn't quite call them that.
Though they resembled the crop-eating grasshoppers that plagued farmlands everywhere. They were easily twice—some even thrice—the size of their smaller cousins, their bodies thick with muscle, their wings flicking in erratic movements. Their legs were tipped with sharp claws, and their mandibles gleamed wickedly as they chomped at the crops.
Chen Ren squinted, trying to make sense of the scene. These weren’t just any locusts.
These were beasts. What grade, he couldn't say. But his senses tingled with the unmistakable pressure of power, and he could tell—at the very least, they were solidly in the middle of the body forging realm. He had no doubt they were far more troublesome than the bandit-turned-guard had described.
He narrowed his eyes on the locusts for a while, taking in the massive swarms that covered the crops, flitting about in a chaotic dance of hunger and aggression. One thing that unsettled him was the sheer size of the creatures, and another thing was the way they moved—like soldiers, perfectly coordinated and terrifyingly efficient.
Turning away, he caught sight of the guard bandit again, who was now whispering to an older, burly man. The man stood nearly half a foot taller than the guard, his thick arms bulging under his clothing. As soon as they saw Chen Ren’s eyes on them, both men straightened. The older man moved to bow deeply in respect, but Chen Ren waved his hand to stop him.
"There’s no need for that," he said. "I have some questions."
The old man straightened again, his eyes meeting his. "Of course, my lord," he replied. "I'm the village chief here, Muyang. What is it you wish to know?"
Chen Ren's gaze flicked back to the locusts, narrowing his eyes. "When did those locusts first appear?"
The old man paused, clearly troubled by the memory. He raked his hand through his greyed hair, frustration clearly evident in his eyes. He hesitated before answering, as though it still haunted him. "They came out of nowhere, my lord. About a year ago. At first, we thought it was just a strange season, a few stragglers—nothing to worry about. But then, one day just before the harvest... they came in a swarm. A swarm like no other. They covered the entire farm, like a black tide that swallowed everything. We couldn't fight them off, no matter what we did. We couldn’t even drive them away."
Chen Ren's eyes narrowed further as he studied the man, who then lifted his hand, showing a deep scar along his palm. The scar was spiky, the skin still raw. "I got this from them. They don’t attack us here, but if we get too close to the crops... they turn on us. All at once."
Chen Ren’s eyebrows raised at that.
“They seem more like beasts than ordinary locusts," he said. "I doubt any of you would be able to do anything about them."
Chief Muyang sighed deeply, a weary, regretful look crossing his face. "That’s why we sent for a cultivator from the sects," he explained. His eyes flickered to the guard bandit, then back to Chen Ren, before a pause hung between them. "I heard from Zi Han that you are a cultivator. Are you the one sent by the sect?"
Chen Ren shook his head. "No, I wasn’t sent by a sect. I won a plot of land here in a tournament held in Cloud Mist City, and the deed to a good area was awarded to me." He glanced at Tang Xiulan, who rummaged through her bag before she passed the deed over to him. He took it and handed it to the old man.
He read through it carefully, his eyes scanning each line. As he reached the end, a spark of recognition lit up in his face. "Yes, this is right. You are indeed the landholder here," he said, looking back up at Chen Ren. "Are you going to live here from now on, my lord?"
"I might not be here all the time," Chen Ren replied, "but I do plan to set up a place for myself and my people here. It will be more than just a few buildings for various purposes."
Chief Muyang nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. Then as the chief of this village, I welcome you to Meadow. If you need anything, my lord, you may come to me. It would be an honor to serve a cultivator such as yourself."
Chen Ren inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Chief Muyang. I would like you to show me my place first, but on the way, I’d like to discuss something with you."
The village chief looked at him in surprise. "What is it, my lord?"
"Just about the bandit activities some members of your village are involved in, and how much you know about it. Based on how you interact with Zi Han, it seems you know more than you let on. I don't know if they told you, but I met them when they attacked my carriage, with little Yuze, the wolf."
At the mention of the wolf, the village chief's face fell, his expression darkening. He glared at the bandit guard standing beside him, fury and guilt flashing in his eyes.
Without warning, the village chief dropped to his knees, his forehead touching the ground in a deep bow.
"Please forgive us, my lord," he said.
***
Chief Muyang remained on the ground for a long while, his forehead pressed firmly to the earth. It was only after Chen Ren promised that he wasn't going to kill or cripple anyone that the man relaxed slightly and the weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders.
The apologies didn’t stop, however. As they moved through the village on their way to Chen Ren’s plot of land, Chief Muyang continued to mutter his regrets.
Chen Ren listened, but his mind was elsewhere. Truthfully, he had thought of punishing the bandits, villagers or not, because what they were doing was wrong. But as he walked through the village and saw the malnourished faces around him—people whose eyes lacked the spark of vitality, children who looked more like shadows than young ones—he reconsidered. His heart softened, if only a little.
A part of him knew what desperation could drive people to do, especially when their lives were so harsh. And while what they were doing was a crime, they hadn’t taken any lives. A punishment, especially for the villagers, would only sour his relationship with them, and that would undermine—ruin the larger plans he had—plans that required the cooperation of many in this village.
Chief Muyang’s continuous words of apology faded into the background as Chen Ren’s mind focused on his own thoughts. He needed this place to work, to run smoothly, and antagonizing them now would set things back.
When they reached the plot of land, the village chief all but rushed to leave, eager to put distance between himself and the tension of the situation. "If you need anything, my lord, please don’t hesitate to come to me," he said, before practically running off, as though fleeing from some unseen danger.
The people around them seemed to scatter as well, either out of fear or simply because Chen Ren was there.
He noticed the wary glances thrown his way when they were walking away—eyes that lingered just a little too long, then quickly looked away. The village hadn't seen many cultivators, and to them, he must have seemed like a rare, dangerous creature—a panda in a sea of mundane life.
But, he didn’t care. He had a task to focus on. The reason he had come here was to inspect his property, and that was exactly what he would do.
He walked toward the plot, the old homes slowly coming into view. It was a far cry from the wide courtyards and rooms of Tang Manor, that much was certain. But it wasn’t bad.
There were three houses in total, all two stories tall, their backsides open for whatever they wanted to do with them.
Chen Ren could see the potential immediately. The land didn’t end there, either. It stretched far beyond, towards the mountains and fields in the distance. If he wanted to, he could build further, creating something that might even resemble a sect's compound, with towering buildings and expansive courtyards.
But for now, he had to deal with an enemy he never liked—dust. It was everywhere on the houses, thick and persistent.
He looked at the nearest houses and decided to step inside. And just as he did, Yalan entered with the children, her little nose scrunching as she coughed from the dust.
She shot him a look, her eyes wide with distaste.
"I can’t live like this," she declared dramatically. "I don’t like stuff in my paws."
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, his gaze falling to her, before offering a small smile. "It’s temporary. We’ll get it all cleaned up."
Yalan immediately shot a glare at him. "You’ll get it all cleaned up," she corrected him firmly, her voice dripping with mock dignity. "Don’t put me and you together. You can barely clean up your own mess. Imagine cleaning all this.”
Chen Ren chuckled at Yalan's antics, enjoying the banter, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted as Xiulan entered, looking determined. "Young master, I can clean it up with the kids and Anji," she offered, looking at the place with a neutral gaze. If she was
repulsed, she didn’t show.
The kids, however, didn’t seem thrilled by the idea. All of their faces soured as they looked around the house. It was clear they weren’t eager to do any labor, and Chen Ren caught their eye.
"One house is okay," he said. "But there are three houses here, and you’ll need to set up a production place for our next products. It’ll be too much work for you all."
Tang Xiulan cleared her throat. "Then what are we going to do?"
Chen Ren leaned against the dusty wall, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "I’ll get men from the village chief. Those bandits… villagers," he said, pausing for a beat as he corrected himself, "They probably have some free time now that we intercepted their attack. I’ll put them to work here."
Xiulan seemed a bit skeptical. "Will they agree to it?"
Chen Ren smirked, confident. "I’d be surprised if they don’t. They’ll see it as a way to earn my forgiveness. And while they’re working, I can inspect the locusts."
The kids, meanwhile, had wandered off, inspecting the building curiously. Anji was leading the charge, poking her head around corners, while Yalan and the others explored further. Their energy seemed to pick up as they moved through the space, even if they weren’t thrilled about the idea of labor.
After a moment, Yalan seemed to walk back into the conversation, her tone suddenly loud and eager. "Do you want to solve the problem?" she asked, looking up at Chen Ren with bright eyes.
"Yes, it’s an easy way," he replied, not missing a beat.
Yalan tilted her head, still curious. "To do what?"
"Earn their allegiance," Chen Ren said simply.
Yalan snorted in disbelief. "Ain’t you being a cultivator enough? These people treat you like a god. Isn’t that enough?"
Chen Ren’s smirk turned into a more thoughtful expression, his gaze flicking back to the village in the distance. "A god they’re scared of," he replied quietly.
He knew full well the villagers viewed him as something more than just a man—someone with immense power and potential—but fear was the last thing he wanted to cultivate. He would rather have their respect, their loyalty, not just a shaky reverence that could collapse at the first sign of trouble.
Chen Ren took a deep breath, eyes scanning the land before him. He had always prided himself on using his strength wisely, and he knew that fear would only take him so far.
He had bigger plans—plans that required trust and loyalty, not submission through intimidation. He turned to Yalan. "Even if I wanted to take the easy route and just order them around, I can't build something lasting on fear. It will break one day. I need them to see me as a force of good, not just a powerful cultivator who demands their service."
Yalan’s ears twitched as she processed his words and her paws stretched. She wasn’t one to easily give up a chance for a good verbal fight, but she understood the larger picture.
After a beat, she spoke up. "Then do you want me to burn the locusts down? I’m pretty sure I can do it."
"No. That would burn away the ground too and they might run away before we can kill all of them. We’ll have to find another way. But for now," he glanced around at the group, "I need something to take my mind off things before we start making our next product and begin recruiting."
"Recruitment for the sect?" Xiulan asked.
Chen Ren nodded. "Yeah, we need more men before our next product is ready. I’d like you to stay here—this place needs organization and care, and the kids aren’t old enough to travel. As for Yalan..." He glanced at the feline, who was lounging nearby, seemingly indifferent, "Well, she’s... a cat to others." Yalan let out a huff at the comment, but didn’t argue.
Chen Ren turned back to Xiulan, his tone softening. "That leaves me and Anji. I still need to learn more about her, and we need more people—people who can work for us and help spread our products across the empire.”
With the conversation winding down, Chen Ren shifted his gaze toward the mountains in the distance, stretching his arms to loosen up. His mind was already working ahead. The locusts were just one problem, and he would deal with them soon enough.
"Either way," he muttered to himself, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It’s time to get some exercise against these beastly locusts."
***
As Chen Ren had anticipated, Chief Muyang quickly agreed to send men to help clean up the property, his eagerness revealing how desperate they were for any assistance they can give him.
After giving the orders, Chen Ren moved toward the farmlands, ready to confront the locusts. Yalan, however, didn’t come with him. "You can handle the locusts on your own," she had said nonchalantly, "I need to look over the village and its territories."
Chen Ren suspected it was just her way of marking her territory, but instead of her, he brought along Anji, someone he’d been meaning to spend more time with. The two of them stood at the edge of the farm, looking out at the vast stretch of crops, the buzzing swarm of locusts clinging to every stalk.
"So, what are you going to do, young master?"
Anji asked, her eyes scanning the scene.
"They look scary."
Chen Ren nodded. "Yeah, they do. But before I make any real plans, I need to see if the straightforward approach works."
Anji raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"
At that, his lips curled into a confident grin, his body surging with renewed energy. “Taking these pests head-on.” Without waiting for a response, Chen Ren launched himself into the heart of the farmlands, his bold presence drawing the attention of the nearest locusts.
The way they turned to him almost scared him.
Several of the oversized insects swiveled toward him, their serrated mandibles clicking in irritation. They hesitated only for a moment before charging, their small and pathetic bodies rushing forward like a living tide.
With a sharp exhale, he unleashed a torrent of lightning, rippling from his hands and scorching the air around him. The closest locusts didn’t stand a chance, their bodies instantly seared to ash, falling lifeless to the ground.
But the swarm was undeterred. More locusts surged forward, their snapping jaws gleaming like jagged knives. Chen Ren dodged and moved away, trying to maintain distance, all the while his fists lashed out, sending strikes, shattering exoskeletons and leaving broken skeletons. Yet, for every insect he felled, two more seemed to take its place.
Anji stood at a safe distance, her breath caught in her throat as she watched Chen Ren fight. His attacks were relentless and his leg movements were exceptional. Yet the swarm showed no signs of thinning.
Chen Ren knew fire would likely be more effective, but his lightning was enough to keep the locusts at bay—for now. Still, he could feel the tide turning against him, the swarm’s endless advance threatening to overwhelm his defenses.
Suddenly, like he had expected, a particularly large cluster of locusts, at least two dozen strong, rushed toward him in unison. Their jaws snapped hungrily, their advance a single, coordinated wave of aggression.
What the—
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. It was time to retreat. He couldn’t possibly take it all at once.
With a powerful leap, he vaulted clear of the swarm, landing uphill in a blur of motion.
“Young master! What are you doing?!” Anji called out, her voice a mix of alarm and confusion as he bounded toward her.
The locusts halted at the base of the hill, their advance stopping abruptly as if an invisible boundary held them back. Chen Ren glanced over his shoulder, his grin returning despite the tension. “They can’t follow us here. Let’s use this to our advantage.”
Chen Ren remembered what the village chief had said: the locusts seemed to have claimed the farm as their nest and wouldn’t move out of it, even when provoked.
Reaching the top of the hill without a scratch, Chen Ren glanced back at Anji, who was still watching him with a look of disbelief. "That was reckless," she said. "What if they were poisonous?"
Chen Ren shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. I bought potions for just in case, and nothing we know about them indicates they’re poisonous." He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting back toward the farmlands, where the locusts were still swarming, undisturbed by his retreat.
"Either way, I learned quite a bit from my fight with them."
Anji watched as Chen Ren stood there, looking deep in thought. "What did you learn?" she asked.
"Like I thought, they’re in the mid-body forging realm. They're fast, but if you focus, you can dodge their attacks. I can also kill them with my lightning, but there’s just too many of them. I won’t be able to handle them on my own."
Anji nodded, processing the information. "So, what do we do about them?"
"Even if I come up with a way to kill them all, there might be more around the forest. They could just return, and then we’re back to square one. We need a permanent solution to drive them out."
Anji’s eyes narrowed in thought. "Like what?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
Instead of answering immediately, Chen Ren turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "You have no idea? Haven’t been raised on a farm, I guess?"
Anji hesitated, the question catching her off guard. She paused, as if reflecting on her past before answering. "No, I didn’t grow up anywhere near a farm. I know the basics of farming, but nothing more than that."
Chen Ren gave a small nod, acknowledging her response. "Then I’ll need to think of something myself." He turned his attention back to the locusts, his mind spinning as he tried to think of a solution.
The locusts continued to swarm the farmlands below, but their presence didn’t seem as daunting now. As Chen Ren’s mind worked through the options, something clicked in his thoughts. The world around him was full of resources, and although he didn’t have knowledge of modern solutions like DDT or pesticides, that didn’t mean he was entirely without options. He just needed to approach this from a different angle.
His eyes widened slightly as an idea hit him. He turned quickly to Anji. "I might have a way. But to make it work, we’ll need to run some experiments."
2025-01-22 18:04:31 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 169
Rubert's breath hitched as he stood in the throng of people gathered outside the castle of House Kellius. Almost every adult in the city had come, and their faces were filled with tension and seriousness as they awaited the announcement. One of war.
For days, whispers had circulated through the streets, markets, and taverns, painting a grim picture. The people weren’t fools. They had pieced together what was coming—it only needed to be spoken aloud.
The signs were everywhere: mercenaries roamed freely, their presence unquestioned, while city guards patrolled with a frequency that suggested something was not right. Yet, even with all they suspected, Rubert knew the truth was far worse.
Beneath the surface of their speculations were a darkness that they wouldn’t be able to swallow. And Arzan Kellius, once celebrated as a hero for defeating the beast wave, was now accused of horrific deeds.
Rumors spread that he had allied with dark creatures and ordered the destruction of an entire village under Baron Idrin’s protection, all because of a small land dispute. However, Rubert knew these stories were false—a complete distortion of the truth. But what could he do? No one would believe him. No one would listen.
In the past few months, he had come to understand a harsh reality: he was powerless, just a bystander, unable to influence what was happening. He had no voice, and the one he had; he had to use it to command servants that were under someone else’s disposal.
It was devastating to say the least.
He silently watched what was unfolding before him, keeping his hands clenched together in front of him.
The whispers turned to a ripple through the crowd as motion appeared atop the castle wall.
Lucian stepped out, flanked by four guards.
The tall, imposing figures stood at the four sides. They all wore darkened steel armoy with House Kellius’ crest of a mighty rayan eagle. Their faces were hidden behind visors that had intimidating patterns, and their hands rested on the hilts of their swords. As always, they were poised for action, and their stance showed complete loyalty.
Lucian walked forward, his black and red robes flowing with each step, the silver embroidery shining in the sunlight. His dark, glossy hair caught the light, adding to his striking appearance. His tall frame looked even taller from behind, his shoulders straight and confident.
He raised his hand, and the murmurs from the crowd died down instantly. When he spoke, he used an amplified spell for his voice to echo through the square.
“Citizens of Veyrin,” he said. “You’ve heard of the events from the past week. My brother, Arzan Kellius, has fallen from grace. He has joined dark forces and burned an entire village under Baron Idrin’s protection—all over a petty land dispute.”
Gasps swept through the crowd. Lucian’s face grew stern. “Are the lives of common people so meaningless that they can be taken for such trivial reasons? Tell me! I think not. Through these acts, Arzan has shown his true nature to all of Lancephil—a madman and a tyrant who must be stopped.”
He paused, letting his words sink in, then smiled faintly as the crowd’s unease grew. “I know many of you still think of him as a hero, the one who fought the beast wave. I once believed in him too. I prayed to Goddess Lumaris for his strength so that he could serve our nation. But now I see the truth: his strength, the beast wave—it was all a deception, a scheme to seize power. And now, his true nature is clear for all to see. He is evil, inside and out, as I am sure you’ve realized.”
Lucian’s voice grew stronger, full of certainty. “I will not stand by while he slaughters innocents.”
Rubert’s heart raced as Lucian’s words rang in the air. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked back and forth between the people that had known this moment would come. He had tried to stop the young lord, begging him to reconsider. But Lucian was resolute, unwavering, and further argument would have cost Rubert his life.
Now, standing among the crowd outside the castle, he felt it’d have been better if he wasn’t alive to see this inhuman manipulation.
“And so, I will march,” Lucian announced, his amplified voice booming across the square, “leading the noble houses of the Sylvan Enclave—those who refuse to allow evil to rise in our lands. Together, we will bring my brother to trial and deliver justice to Baron Idrin and the countless souls he has destroyed. Will you join me?”
At first, only a few voices from the crowd called out, “Yes!” But soon, Rubert noticed servants from the castle, hidden among the citizens, raising their voices with enthusiasm. Their cries of support grew louder and louder, pushing aside any hesitation and whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Before long, the square echoed with chants of approval, as Lucian’s call for justice took hold.
Rubert’s chest tightened. He knew better than to believe Lucian’s righteous facade. Every word of that speech was crafted to deceive, painting Arzan as a villain to justify the coming bloodshed. Yet, to the gullible commoners, the lies didn’t matter. Sometimes, the appearance of righteousness was enough.
But Rubert understood what this meant for the people—especially the ordinary citizens swept up in this illusion. A fief war was never swift, and even if Arzan were outnumbered, his resilience against the beast wave proved he wouldn’t go down easily. The conflict would drag on, leaving destruction in its wake. And all these people who were willing to support Lucian? Forced conscription.
Anyone capable of holding a weapon would be dragged to the battlefield. Even boys barely old enough to be called men would be sent to fight, their lives sacrificed as pawns for nobles who cared nothing for them.
Rubert frowned, his gaze sweeping the crowd one last time before he turned to leave. He needed to get away, to clear his mind. He knew it was futile—how could anyone dissociate from something this vast, this inevitable? But he had to try.
As he pushed through the throng, a hand gripped his shoulder.
Rubert froze, a voice cutting through the noise. “It’s so unfair, isn’t it? That the crowd doesn’t even know who the real evil is.”
Rubert turned, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the man addressing him. He was of average height but carried himself with a confidence that belied his modest frame. His brown hair was unkempt, curling in uneven tufts and marking him as a foreigner. His clothes were simple, yet they seemed deliberately chosen to avoid attention.
Rubert looked down to take any hints of who this man was.
“What do you know?” Rubert asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Enough,” the man replied, his tone light but laced with meaning. “For one, it wasn’t Count Arzan who killed those villagers. The whole thing is a setup—a ploy to spark a fief war. But then, when have humans at the top ever been able to sit still without dragging the rest of us into their petty power games?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “The common people will bleed while they argue over who gets to wear the bigger crown.”
Rubert’s hands clenched at his sides.
Something about the man’s presence felt off. It wasn’t just his words, sharp and accurate as they were. It was the way he spoke to Rubert, as though he already knew him—as though they had met before.
“I feel like you share my sentiment,” he added, his smirk softening into a knowing expression.
Rubert hesitated but eventually gave a slow nod. There was a weight in his chest, a nagging certainty that he knew far more than he let on. And that, somehow, this man was far more dangerous than he appeared. Should he even be talking to him? He didn’t know.
"How do you know all this?" he asked, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention.
The stranger's smirk didn’t waver. “I have my sources,” he replied cryptically. He turned his gaze toward the crowd, his expression momentarily softening as he watched the citizens chanting Lucian’s name, unaware of the storm brewing over their heads. “Wouldn’t it be great if all of them could survive what’s coming?”
Rubert exhaled sharply, glancing at the sea of faces. “Of course it would,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “But that’s not in my hands. It’s in the hands of Duke Kellius, and no one—not me, not anyone—can talk him out of this.”
“Actually, it might be in your hands.”
Rubert stiffened, turning to face the man fully. “What are you talking about?”
The man shrugged, gesturing casually to the castle looming above them. “Not stopping the war—that’s already begun, and nothing can change that now. But there’s something you can do to shorten it. A short war means fewer lives lost, and things can return to normal sooner.”
“How can I do that? I'm powerless.”
The man met his gaze. “I’ll explain it to you and no, you aren't as powerless as you think,” he said, his voice lowering as the noise of the crowd swelled around them. He extended a hand. “But first, let me introduce myself properly. My name is Ansel, and I lead a group called the Watchers.”
***
Footsteps echoed in the silent corridor as Amyra approached her destination. The steady rhythm of her steps contrasted with the muffled shouts of guards training outside. Usually, their drills carried a disciplined cadence, but today, there was an undeniable fervor in the air, a tension that made her pause briefly by a window to glance outside.
She didn’t need to ask why—the entire castle was abuzz with it.
Word had spread like wildfire: Duke Lucian Kellius, the brother of Lord Arzan, had declared a fief war, seeking to wrest Veralt and Verdis from his sibling's control. Amyra didn’t know the finer details, only snippets overheard from the maids’ gossip. But even those fragments painted Lucian as a villainous figure, a man willing to stoop to any low for power. One of those bad people who just wanted to push and push until there’s nothing left but himself.
Still, Amyra shrugged those thoughts aside. She had faith in Lord Arzan. He was strong—she had seen it firsthand—and she believed he would rise to meet this challenge, as he always did. Yet, as she continued walking, her worry wasn’t about the war or the chaos it would bring.
Her concern lay in the conversation she was about to have.
Since Lord Arzan’s return, he had been preoccupied with war preparations, strategizing late into the night with Francis and Killian. Their paths hadn’t crossed, but she knew it was only a matter of time. He would ask her the question she had managed to dodge before.
But would she try to avoid it again?
Amyra hated revisiting her past, hated dredging up the memories she had buried deep. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t keep running from them, especially not from people who had shown her nothing but kindness and trust. They’d helped her, made her a part of who they were, and if she had to move forward, she knew that she had to face her past.
There was no one way one could hope for the future, all the while carrying dirty baggage; they should drop it somewhere—and maybe, this was her chance.
Her hands tightened into fists as she reached her destination, her heart pounding in her chest. The moment had come. Without hesitating further, she raised her hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door.
A familiar voice called out from the other side of the door. Amyra hesitated for a heartbeat before pushing it open, stepping into the room.
Lord Arzan and Killian were bent over a large map spread across a table, deep in discussion. Both looked up as she entered.
Arzan’s expression softened, a smile forming
on his face as he straightened.
“It’s good to see you, Amyra,” he said warmly, gesturing to a chair nearby. “Please, sit.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment, assessing. “You look better. I’m glad you were able to wake up. I’ve been worried.”
Amyra lowered her head slightly, a pang of guilt threading through her chest. “I’m sorry to have worried you.” she felt her eyes tearing up.
“You don’t need to apologize.” Lord Arzan waved her words away. “Whatever you did that day on the battlefield saved countless lives. If anything, it’s me who should be thanking you.”
She glanced up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice, but then his tone shifted, more thoughtful now.
“That being said,” he continued, “I have to admit—what I heard about that day, about what you did, isn’t something I’ve ever seen or even heard of before. At first, I thought it might have been some specialized spell, something particularly effective against creatures infused with dead mana. But to annihilate so many of them at once…” He shook his head. “That’s not something that can be done at your level, and I’m sure you know that.”
Amyra’s throat tightened, but she nodded slowly. “Yes… I’m aware.”
Arzan leaned back slightly, his expression still kind, but now tinged with curiosity. “Then, if you’re able, I’d like to understand. What happened that day? And more importantly… you, Amyra. I would like to know about you.”
She stiffened at the question, and he quickly raised a hand in reassurance. “Of course, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t press. I’d never hold it against you. But with the times ahead, any information—even something small—might help us. Anything you can share could be a boon.”
For a moment, the room was silent save for the noise of activity beyond the walls. Amyra’s fingers clenched in her lap as she wrestled with the decision.
Finally, she nodded. “I don’t mind talking about it. I’ve been preparing myself to tell you since I walked here.” She hesitated, her voice quiet but firm as she continued. “But… I need your word. Both of you. Swear to me that
what I share will not leave this room.”
Arzan’s eyes locked with hers, his expression solemn. “You have my word, Amyra. Whatever you say here will stay between us.”
Killian, standing tall and silent beside the map, inclined his head. “I swear it as well.”
Amyra let out a slow, measured breath, the weight of their assurances steadying her nerves.
Silence stretched between them as she gathered her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, tinged with a reluctance borne of painful memories.
“If I need to explain what I did back then,” she began, “then I have to tell you about my clan.” She paused, the words lodging in her throat for a moment before she forced them out.
“It started…”
2025-01-22 17:25:58 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 59
Zi Han shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. His excitement was barely contained as he stared at the stopped carriage just beyond the tree line. The low growl of Little Yuze—rumbled at his side, a sound that sent a chill through the group of ragged villagers gathered nearby.
Zi Han couldn’t help but glance down at the creature. Little Yuze was majestic, a wolf unlike any he’d ever seen—and he was certain, the wolf was unlike any that anyone had ever seen. No wolf can be tamed after all.
His pitch-black fur was shiny enough to make his fur appear as grey at times, but Zi Han knew the wolf was plain black except for the silver streak that ran boldly from his forehead to his tail. He had teal eyes. He’d never seen a wolf with such eyes, and his presence alone seemed to fill the group with confidence, even as hunger gnawed at their bellies.
It had been nearly a week since a carriage had passed through this desolate road, and the past days had been harsh. The village’s meager food stores were thinning fast, and aside from the few beasts Little Yuze had managed to bring down with the help of the village hunters, they hadn’t had a proper meal in days. Zi Han’s stomach twisted in both hunger and anticipation as he studied the carriage.
Fate, it seemed, had finally smiled upon them.
Zi Han turned to glance at the villagers, their gaunt faces and sunken eyes a grim reminder of their plight. They weren’t bandits, not in their hearts. They were farmers and laborers, forced into this life by the harsh will of the heavens. When Zi Wen, Zi Han’s elder brother, had stumbled upon Little Yuze as a pup—rescued him from a hunter’s cruel trap—it had felt like a blessing from the Agricultural God himself.
Now, Little Yuze was their greatest strength.
The past year had taught them well. Carriages like this one—sturdy, covered, and plain—were likely owned by small-time merchants traveling to or from the nearest market town. Zi Han knew the plan by heart:
Little Yuze would scare the merchant and any guards into fleeing, while the villagers would step in to claim whatever food, coin, or supplies they could. There would be no bloodshed, no senseless killing. They weren’t murderers—just desperate souls trying to survive the harsh cards the heavens had dealt them.
“Zi Han,” came the quiet voice of his brother Zi Wen. The older man stepped forward, his beard with white streaks tied in a knot right below his chin. “Stay calm. If they run, we take what we need and leave. If they fight… we’ll handle it.”
Zi Han nodded, clenching his fists to steady himself. He glanced once more at Little Yuze, whose nose twitched as if sensing something. The wolf’s tail flicked, his teal eyes narrowing toward the carriage.
Beside him, Zi Wen’s voice came in a whisper.
“Someone’s coming out.”
Zi Han’s grip on his knife tightened instinctively. He held his breath, the tension crackling in the air. But when the figure stepped out of the carriage, the breath he was holding released in a soft sigh of relief.
The man didn’t look like much of a fighter. He wasn’t fat—his build was lean and his height imposing—but there was a softness about him that told Zi Han everything he needed to know. The man carried himself with the casual ease of someone who’d never had to struggle for survival. His clothes were clean and finely tailored, his expression one of quiet detachment. He looked like the pampered son of some merchant clan, a man accustomed to wealth and comfort, not hardship.
Zi Han’s eyes darted to the carriage, expecting a guard or two to emerge. Surely no merchant would travel alone, not on these roads. But no one came other than a cat. Even the girl who had been driving the carriage remained seated inside.
A bad feeling wormed its way into Zi Han’s gut, prickling at his nerves. Something felt wrong. But he forced himself to stay calm. It would be fine. It always was.
“I don’t think anyone else is coming out,” he muttered to his brother.
Zi Wen, the broad-shouldered man, frowned. His black hair, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, swayed as he shook his head. “What do we do then? The man doesn’t even look afraid.”
Zi Han glanced at the supposed merchant again. The man stood relaxed, his eyes lazily scanning the woods, as if he had all the time in the world. There wasn’t even a flicker of fear on his face.
“Then we give him a reason to get scared,” Zi Han said. He gestured toward the wolf. “Little Yuze can handle it. Scare him off, then we’ll loot the carriage like always.”
Zi Wen grunted in agreement and turned to pat the wolf’s sleek black fur. Little Yuze stretched lazily before rising to his feet, his teal pair locking onto the man standing before the carriage.
“Little Yuze, you know what to do,” Zi Wen murmured.
The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a moment, it almost looked like he nodded. Then, with a powerful leap, Little Yuze sprang into action, his dark form cutting through the air as he launched himself toward the man.
Zi Han watched with wide eyes, his heart pounding with excitement. Any moment now, the merchant would panic, stumble back in fear, and flee.
But instead, the man remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable.
As Little Yuze’s claws slashed dangerously close, the man sidestepped with a fluid grace, his movements almost too quick to follow.
“What—” Zi Han’s words caught in his throat.
Little Yuze snarled, spinning mid-air to strike again. His claws lashed out, but once more, the man evaded with a speed that defied reason.
Before Zi Han could process what was happening, a flicker of light erupted from the man’s palm—lightning, crackling and alive. The man charged forward, his movements as precise as they were deadly, and struck Little Yuze square in the chest with an open palm.
The impact sent the wolf sprawling to the ground with a pained yelp.
“No!” Zi Wen’s cry was muffled as Zi Han clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, dragging him down behind the brush.
“Be quiet,” Zi Han hissed. Though his own mind went into a shock and his heart raced as he watched the man straighten, lightning still danced faintly around his fingertips.
“That’s a cultivator,” he said, the words trembling on his tongue. His face turned pale as he glanced at his brother. “Straight out of one of those sects. We—” He swallowed hard. “We just attacked a cultivator.”
Zi Wen’s eyes widened in horror.
“We’re dead,” Zi Han whispered, his voice barely audible. “We’re all dead.”
Zi Han's heart pounded in his chest as despair tightened its grip around him. His mind raced with the countless stories he had heard of cultivators—beings who walked the path of immortality, wielding powers that could crush mortals like insects. Tales of their indifference and cruelty filled his thoughts. He recalled a traveling nomad recounting how a cultivator had crippled a man for the simple mistake of stumbling in his path. Now, they had attacked one.
They had attacked one.
“What are we going to do?” a trembling voice whispered behind him.
Zi Han turned, his face pale. “I... I don’t know.” He heard the crack of his voice.
Another villager pointed toward the injured wolf. “Little Yuze... he’ll kill the wolf.”
Zi Wen’s jaw tightened as his eyes fixated on his wolf, lying prone on the ground. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “No. I can’t let that happen. If someone has to die, it’ll be me.” He stood up from where he was and prepared to leave to face the wrath of the cultivator.
Zi Han grabbed his brother’s arm, his grip firm despite the tremor in his hands. “Don’t be an idiot! Your life is far more precious than mine or Little Yuze.” He glanced back toward the road, where the wolf was struggling to rise, its legs trembling. Little Yuze’s eyes burned with hatred as he glared at the cultivator, but his body betrayed him. Whatever that lightning technique was, it had left him shaken, his strength drained.
Zi Han swallowed hard. Even if he hated to admit it, he knew the wolf wouldn’t survive. But they had to. They had fought too hard for survival over the past year, enduring hunger, disease, and the slow decay of their village. None of it would matter if they all died because of this.
A grim thought struck him, sinking its claws into his heart. If they offended the cultivator further, their entire village could be wiped out. His parents—frail and weary—wouldn’t survive the news of their deaths. Worse, the cultivator might not stop with them. The village was remote, far from the eyes of law and governance. Even if justice existed, no one would come to check on a tragedy in a forgotten corner of the world. And by the time anyone did, the cultivator would be long gone.
Zi Han was about to order everyone to run when a cold, commanding voice shattered the silence.
“I know you’re there,” the cultivator said. “Come out, or I will kill the wolf. Then I’ll chase you. You know I can do that easily.”
Zi Han froze. His breath caught in his throat as he turned to the villagers, their faces stricken with terror. The older men and women looked at him with pleading eyes, while the younger ones clung to each other, trembling.
Only Zi Wen remained calm, his eyes free from fear. Concern etched deep into his features, but it wasn’t for himself or the others. He knew that it was for Little Yuze.
Zi Wen looked at him. “What should we do now?” He asked the same question that had been raking in his mind the entire time.
Zi Han felt his throat tighten. His brother had always been the stronger of the two, in both body and will. But now, that strength was no use. Not against someone with powers straight from the heavens.
“You all can run,” Zi Wen said suddenly. “I’ll go out. He knows there are people, but I don’t think he knows how many. If I go alone, maybe...”
Zi Han’s eyes widened in panic as he grabbed his brother’s arm. “No! I can’t leave you here!”
Zi Wen’s eyes softened as he glanced back at Little Yuze, the injured wolf lying in the dirt.
“And I can’t leave him. If I run now, I’d be going against our bond. That’s not who I am. Just go, Zi Han. Save yourself. Stop being so stupid when the times want you to be brave. Do what you must, run!”
Zi Han’s grip tightened, his hands trembling with both fear and frustration. “I’m not leaving you! If anyone should go, it’s the others.” He turned toward the small group of villagers hiding behind the trees. “You all go! Get back to the village!”
But the villagers hesitated, their faces pale as they exchanged nervous glances. No one moved.
“We’re not leaving you two behind,” one of the older men said, his voice trembling but resolute.
Zi Han’s heart twisted in frustration. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They needed to escape, to survive. But as he opened his mouth to argue, a ripple of unease washed over him. The faint sound of movement caught his ear—too fast, too quiet to belong to any of the villagers.
He turned his head sharply, and his breath caught in his throat.
The cultivator was standing right in front of him.
Zi Han’s legs gave out beneath him, and he dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the man. The air around him pressed down, as if it were charged with invisible energy, and his calm, calculating gaze bore into them all like a hawk surveying its prey.
“You all were taking too much time,” the cultivator said. “So I decided to come find you myself.”
Zi Han’s mouth went dry as the man’s eyes swept over them. His casual stance didn’t hide the sharpness of his presence, like a blade hidden in plain sight.
The cultivator’s gaze fell on Little Yuze, then shifted back to the group. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on here? And when did bandits start taming wolves?”
***
Chen Ren stood in the middle of the road, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight before him. The group of ragged men knelt in front of him, heads bowed low. Even the wolf—an impressive beast with matted fur and a low growl—had lowered itself to the ground, its sharp eyes cautiously trained on him. It no longer glared with the anger he had seen before, but Chen Ren could tell it was still on edge, especially with his attack.
Behind him, Xiulan and the others stood in tense silence, watching the strange scene unfold. And for a few seconds, nothing happened. They all patiently waited.
It was Tang Xiulan who finally broke the stillness.
“What are we going to do with them?” she asked, her voice uncertain but curious.
Chen Ren glanced back at her, then turned his attention to the group. “Well, that depends,” he said evenly, his voice carrying enough authority to make the kneeling men flinch. “As you can see, they’re not the usual kind of bandits. At least, I haven’t heard of bandits taming wolves before. Or is that something common around here?” He directed his question at the group.
One of the men—a wiry figure with dirt-streaked clothes and desperation etched across his face—raised his head slightly. “No, Lord Cultivator,” he said quickly, his voice trembling. “Little Yuze was tamed by my brother when he was just a pup. It listens to him because of their bond.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to the wolf, then back to the man. “And you’re using it to loot and kill merchants and travelers?”
The man shook his head vehemently. “No, Lord Cultivator! We haven’t killed anyone! We just… we just use Little Yuze to scare people off so we can take their belongings. We swear, we’ve never taken a life, nor do we intend to.”
Chen Ren let out a low hum. “So you’re thieves, not murderers,” he said. “That at least makes things easier.”
The man’s face paled, and he stammered, “Lord Cultivator, please! Don’t kill us! If someone must pay for this, let it be me. This was my idea!”
Chen Ren’s lips twitched upward in a faint, humorless smile. “You can call me Young Master. I have a name and it's Chen Ren, and I’m not going to kill anyone. But I will hand you over to the village guards. I’m sure they’ll have plenty to say about this. What village are you from?”
The men exchanged uneasy glances before the leader mumbled, “We’re from Meadow Village, Young Master.”
Chen Ren’s brow lifted slightly. “Meadow? Well, that makes things convenient. I’m headed there myself. I’ll turn you over to the guards and let them deal with you. That should serve as an appropriate punishment.”
The men tensed. The one who spoke had his eyes widened at what Chen Ren said but he replied with nothing. He looked down on the ground as if contemplating something before finally opening his eyes.
“Young Master, that won’t work.”
Tang Xiulan, who’d already walked and stood behind Chen Ren, frowned. “Why not?”
The man looked at her, shame flickering in his eyes. “Because, Young Miss… I’m the one who leads the village guards.”
Chen Ren blinked, surprised, as Xiulan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re the guard captain?” she asked incredulously.
The man nodded, his face flushed with humiliation.
Chen Ren folded his arms, his expression turning cold. “If you’re the guard captain, why are you resorting to banditry? Explain yourself.”
“It’s a long story, Young Master,” the man said, lowering his gaze. “None of us here are actual bandits. I’m the captain of the guard, my brother is a hunter, and the others are just farmers. But after our crops were destroyed last year, we had no choice but to turn to this… this disgraceful path. It’s been like this for a year now. All our stored rations ran out long ago.”
Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t lie. The harvest this year wasn’t bad. I heard it myself from traders in the city.”
The man’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “It wasn’t the weather or anything like that, Young Master,” he said quietly. “It was… the locust swarm. They came last season, and they didn’t leave us a single stalk standing.”
Chen Ren frowned, his expression darkening. A locust swarm, so close to a village on the edge of civilization? He glanced back at Xiulan, whose face was set in a mixture of shock, confusion and pity.
“Well,” he said slowly, turning his gaze back to the kneeling men. “That does complicate things. But, locusts?” he asked. “Can’t you kill them?”
The man wiped a hand over his face, his expression a mix of frustration and despair. “We tried, Young Master,” he said, shaking his head. “But our usual methods don’t work against them. They aren’t normal locusts—they’re magical, like wild beasts. They’re too many, and they’re too strong. They tear through everything. Everyone abandoned the farms because of them.”
“And you sent word to the nearby lords?”
“We did,” the man said bitterly. “But no one came. They told us they’d send a cultivator from a sect to handle it, but… no one ever showed. It’s been months.” His voice broke, and tears spilled down his cheeks. “We didn’t know what else to do. We couldn’t let everyone starve.”
Chen Ren fell silent, his thoughts swirling. If what the man said was true, it wasn’t hard to guess what might have happened. A city lord could have intercepted the request, redirecting it to a sect as protocol dictated. But a mission to handle magical locusts? It wasn’t the kind of task that would appeal to a sect disciple. No glory, no treasures—just hard labor and frustration.
As he mulled over the situation, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.
“Don’t kill them,” Yalan said. “At least not the one with the wolf. He’s… interesting.”
Chen Ren clicked his tongue. “I’m not killing anyone,” he then addressed the group. “Lead us to your village. Especially your farms. I want to see these locusts for myself.”
***
The journey to the village was tense, the air heavy with unspoken fears. Chen Ren walked in silence, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself. He didn’t press the men for more answers, knowing that words wouldn’t matter until he saw the situation with his own eyes. Beside him, the group trudged along, their heads bowed like condemned prisoners on their way to the gallows.
Chen Ren’s gaze drifted to the wolf padding beside its master.
Despite its imposing size and wild appearance, the creature behaved like a trained hound. It stayed close to the hunter named Zi Wen, moving in sync with him. Not once did it growl or bare its teeth at the strangers surrounding it. Instead, it followed its master with a quiet loyalty, its sharp eyes constantly scanning its surroundings.
The sight was strange yet fascinating.
When the group finally reached the village, the heavy silence shattered. People began to gather, their voices rising with concern and anger. Villagers spilled into the narrow streets, their faces etched with worry as they called out to the men.
“Where have you been?”
“What’s going on?”
“Did you bring food?”
The questions came in a flurry, overlapping in a chaotic chorus. Chen Ren stepped forward, raising a hand to calm the crowd. His voice was loud and he demanded attention. “There will be time for explanations later,” he said. “Right now, I need to see your farms.”
The villagers hesitated, their questions hanging in the air, but they eventually stepped aside to let him pass.
No one dared to ask questions considering that it was a new face, and their familiar faces showed defeat.
Chen Ren led the way, while scanning his surroundings. The village was small and worn, its buildings leaning with age.
Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of struggle. The people were thin, their faces pale and gaunt. Children clung to their mothers, their wide eyes filled with fear and hunger. The hollow cheeks, darkened eyes, dry lips, shaky hands—they were all common in everyone around.
As he walked through the village, Chen Ren’s thoughts churned. Whatever these men might have done, it was clear they were part of this place. The way the villagers reacted to them—with familiarity and desperate hope—proved that much. They weren’t lying.
After a short walk, they reached the edge of the farmlands. Chen Ren came to an abrupt halt, his breath catching as his eyes widened.
What lay before him was devastation.
The fields, which should have been full of life, were barren and lifeless. The ground was stripped bare, as though something had scoured it clean. The few plants that remained were skeletal, their leaves riddled with holes and their stems broken. And in the middle of it all, hundreds of locusts hovered.
2025-01-20 16:58:43 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 168
Kai, Francis, and Killian walked up the winding staircase to the meeting room on the upper floor. All the while, they were silent—the air hummed with tension that needed no words to express, and each of them wore a hardened expression.
Amara stood at the base of the stairs, her eyes tracking their ascent. She made no move to join them, her hands clasped loosely before her.
Kai knew that this was not her battle and she seemed to understand that too. The weight of the matters they were about to discuss would only drag her into unfamiliar waters where she’d be a hindrance rather than help. When he looked back, she let out a small, resigned sigh, and turned away, granting them the space they needed.
With that, he moved upstairs. Soon, they reached the meeting room.
The room was anything but commanding, with its tall windows and a long, dark wooden table at its center. However, none of the men moved to take a seat. Kai, standing near the head of the table, gestured briefly with his hand. “Let’s begin. Francis, the report.”
Francis nodded immediately. He wasted no time on pleasantries or discussions of mundane progress in the territory.
“It started five days after you left, my lord,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “A day after Amyra woke up.”
Kai’s brows shot up, his focus shifting immediately. “Amyra woke up?”
“Yes.” Killian’s deep voice rumbled from where he stood to Kai’s left. “She’s recovering well and is being cared for. There’s no need to worry about her right now.”
Kai exhaled slowly, a flicker of relief crossing his face. He gave a small nod, letting the news settle before he waved for Francis to continue.
“Baron Idrin made his move,” Francis resumed. “He intimidated one of the villages near Verdis. I intercepted before things could spiral out of control and arranged for a discussion. But…” Francis shook his head. “It went nowhere. Idrin kept prodding, antagonizing, trying to provoke me. At the time, I thought he was stalling or setting up some scheme.” His voice dropped slightly. “I didn’t expect the truth. He was working with Duke Lucian all along.”
Kai’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing.
“Lucian… I knew he would do something, but I never imagined he’d go as far as to sacrifice an entire village.”
The weight of those words hung heavily in the room. Kai closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers brushing the corner of the table to ground himself.
“Lucian is playing the reputation game,” he said slowly after thinking it through. “He lost his chance to rise after the beast wave. I took that glory, and now he’s turning to dirtier tactics to claw it back. Aligning with Idrin, killing innocents, and framing me… it’s all calculated.”
“The men are ready,” Killian said. “Every day, I’ve drilled them in formations and strengthened their weapon skills. They’re prepared to fight, my lord. Whenever you give the command, they’ll march.”
Kai gave a slight nod but didn’t immediately reply. His gaze shifted between his retainers, his mind turning over the possibilities.
“We’ll march soon. But before we act, we need to know exactly what we’re up against. Lucian’s forces, his allies, his resources—everything. This isn’t just about us. The Sylvan Enclave won’t escape the ripples of war. No noble will be able to stay neutral in this conflict.”
“Baron Idrin has already pledged his allegiance to Lucian. That much is clear,” Francis said with a short sigh. “I’ve sent a courier to five other nobles in the Sylvan Enclave, hoping to secure their aid, but… For all we know, they’ve already sworn fealty to him too. House Kellius has ruled these lands for generations and your reputation is shaky right now, my lord.”
“It’s fine,” Kai replied. “With the Enforcers and the Mages we’ve gathered, I think we’ll manage. None of the nobles in the Sylvan Enclave have mana cannons or golems. That alone gives us an edge.”
Despite his confidence, Kai couldn’t deny the value of having more allies. His gaze drifted to the table, fingers tapping lightly. More allies are always good, but… He straightened, the flicker of doubt vanishing as quickly as it came. My forces, my strategy, and my territory’s preparations would be enough. Enough to face anything—whether human or Mage.
Still, Francis’s report tugged at him. The creatures. Strange. Inhuman. His jaw tightened as he turned to his retainers. “You mentioned the ones who killed the villagers. You said they were strange, inhuman creatures?”
Francis nodded, his brow furrowing. “That’s the rumour,” he admitted. “I’ve tried to gather more information, but there’s no clarity. Whatever Lucian’s using, he’s kept it well-hidden. I couldn’t get a single reliable witness to describe them clearly.”
Kai frowned upon hearing that. Lucian's alliance with Maleficia wasn't just a theory. He knew that for sure. But were these creatures always with him? Or did Regina send them for his aid? The queen’s interference couldn’t be ruled out. Either way, the source didn’t matter as much as the nature of the threat itself.
“What about their form?” Kai asked, “Were they humanoid?”
Francis frowned, thinking. “Yes, that’s what the rumors say. Humanoid, but…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Demonic.”
Kai's gaze sharpened, thinking through every dead mana race he could think of and finally, he let out a slow breath, singling out one of them that matched the description he had heard about. “Blood drinkers… Or blood suckers, if you prefer the term.”
Killian shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve never fought one.”
Kai’s lips pressed into a thin line. “They’re humanoid, yes. They can fly, which makes them especially lethal. And like Mages, they have their own hierarchy. Pawns, knights, lords, elders, and progenitors. Think of them like the pieces of a battle board game. But far more dangerous. They possess blood manipulation abilities and instincts honed for combat. A perfect blend of cunning and savagery.”
Francis grimaced. “They sound hard to deal with.”
“It depends on their rank,” Kai replied. “If it’s a group, it’s likely pawns or knights. But if Regina is involved… Then she won’t send weaklings. If I were her, I’d send someone competent. Strong. There’s a good chance we’re dealing with a lord.”
“A lord?”
“They’re equivalent to a fourth-circle Mage and a third-stage Enforcer. Not an easy opponent by any means. If Lucian has their aid… He can’t risk using them openly, not after framing me as being in cahoots with them. It would undo his entire scheme. But that means we need to watch for sneak attacks.”
Killian’s expression hardened as he nodded. “Understood,” he said. “So, what will be our next course of action?”
Kai let his mind wander, collecting his thoughts about the current situation.
“First, we send a report to the capital. It needs to detail everything—what’s happened, what we’ve discovered—and make it abundantly clear that we are not responsible for any of this. This is Lucian’s scheme.”
He paused, his fingers now tracing the paths on the map. “I’m certain he’s already sent his own version of events, claiming righteousness as his justification for war. He’ll dress it up with hypocritical platitudes, painting himself as the unwilling victim forced into action. That’s why we need to move quickly. If we’re too slow, his lies will take root.”
Francis frowned, his brows knitting together in thought. “And if the crown hesitates to act?” he asked.
“Then we’ll handle this on our own,” Kai replied firmly. “The moment the capital locks the borders for a fief war, our territory will be sealed off from aid. We have to be prepared for that inevitability.”
Killian leaned forward, his arms braced on the table. “And the offensive? Duke Lucian thinks we’ll be caught off-guard—left reeling while he strikes. But we can’t let him dictate the pace.”
Kai’s lips curled into a cold, predatory smile. “Exactly. Lucian believes he’s the hunter, but we need to remind him of one thing, we are the predators here.”
***
Regina lounged on the massive custom-made chair in her private study, one hand plucking plump grapes from a gilded platter as the other traced absent patterns across the sprawling map before her. The map, detailed to an almost obsessive degree, captured every road, village, and noble house of the Sylvan Enclave. Her crimson-painted nails hovered briefly over the two houses poised for war, her lips curving into a slow, thoughtful smile.
She looked up at her servant, Selwin, who entered the room.
“Report,” she commanded, her tone soft but laced with the promise of consequences if the answer displeased her.
Selwin bowed deeply, stepping forward without hesitation. “The rumors are spreading faster than we anticipated, my lady. There’s a growing intrigue around Arzan Kellius after the beast wave. His innovations—those mana cannons and Heat stones—have captured attention far beyond his borders. Even in the capital, his reputation has risen sharply after defeating Reyk in the duel. But…”
He hesitated, as if savoring the next part, then continued. “Now the narrative is shifting.
Whispers are taking root, claiming his meteoric rise is due to dark powers. It’s said that his unnatural ascent to becoming a Mage and his sudden strength are tied to forbidden arts. I’ve seen to it that the bards weave tales of his past—a weakling, a wastrel plagued by vein blockage, suddenly gaining power without explanation. The theories are... numerous.”
Regina’s smile deepened, a predatory gleam lighting her eyes. She plucked another grape, biting into it. “So, his reputation is finally faltering.”
Selwin nodded. “Yes, my lady. But the shift is slow. There are still those who refuse to believe it. Arzan’s victories, especially his role in protecting his city from the beast wave, have earned him stubborn supporters. Even the church has remained unusually silent—watching, but not yet intervening.”
Regina’s expression turned contemplative, her gaze drifting back to the map. “The church,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Their silence is telling. They know something is stirring.” Her fingers drummed lightly on the table. “And the fief war? How soon?”
“It will begin in less than a week,” Selwin replied confidently. “The tension is palpable.
The entire Sylvan Enclave is bracing for it, and it’s clear no noble will escape involvement.”
Regina leaned back, the chair creaking softly beneath her. She studied the map as if it were a game board, her thin fingers methodically arranging the pieces. At the center stood a lone king piece, surrounded by a menacing array of enemies. Her lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile. “Finally,” she murmured. “The scenario I envisioned is coming to fruition.
Did you send the message to get Amara to come back?” Regina asked. “That imbecile has the gall to flee to his territory of all places. If only she knew how hard I worked to suppress information about her... indiscretions.”
Selwin cleared his throat, shifting nervously. “I sent men to retrieve her, my queen, but... there’s no word from them yet.”
Regina’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Keep looking,” she snapped. “Do your job well, or I’ll find someone who can. It is imperative that I deal with that girl—and more importantly, ensure he dies. Only then can I move on to the next phase of my plan and place Eldric on the throne.”
The servant nodded hastily, but his posture stiffened as he suddenly hesitated.
“What is it now?” Regina asked, irritation flaring in her voice.
“There’s... one more thing, my queen,” Selwin stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the room seemed to press down on him as Regina’s small eyes fixed on him. “Rumors in court suggest the king may intervene in the fief war. It seems... he’s considering sending a herald to stop it.”
For a moment, silence gripped the chamber. The only sound was the faint rustle of the map under Regina’s fingers as her nails traced the intricate borders. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a tight line. Then, without warning, her palm slammed onto the table, sending the carefully arranged battle pieces clattering across the map.
“That damn lazy fool?” she spat. “Why now? Why, after all these years of neglect and indulgence, would he meddle now?” Her gaze darted toward the ceiling as though accusing some unseen force. “He abandoned the throne! He abandoned the kingdom! Why does he suddenly care about a war he has no stake in?”
Selwin flinched, his shoulders hunching instinctively as if her fury might lash out physically at any moment. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he tried to form a coherent response. “I... I don’t know, my queen,” he stammered, his voice shaking.
Regina’s expression twisted into something
darker, her fury simmering into cold calculation. She began pacing the room, the hem of her gown brushing against the floor in sharp, deliberate movements. “No matter,” she said sharply, her voice rising as she pointed a trembling finger at the servant.
“Intercept any orders he sends to halt the war. Any! Do you hear me?”
Selwin nodded hastily, his head bobbing like a puppet’s. “Yes, my queen.”
“And if he sends heralds,” she continued, her tone icy but laced with venom, “kill them before they reach the Sylvan Enclave. Silence them. The war must proceed at all costs. Lucian must win.”
He swallowed hard, his throat dry as parchment. “As you command, my queen.”
Her pacing slowed, and for a moment, her voice dropped, her usual composure cracking like thin ice. “If there’s even one mistake... even one... like with the beast wave—” Her words faltered, and her hand gripped the edge of the table as if to steady herself. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something unseen, as panic began to creep into her voice. “If even one thing goes wrong...”
Her breathing grew erratic, the rhythm of her words spiraling out of control. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a small vial resting on the edge of the table. The dark liquid inside swirled ominously, its surface shimmering faintly.
Regina fumbled with the stopper, her hands shaking violently, but managed to uncork it and drink deeply. The dead mana coursed through her, its bitter taste ignored in favor of the calming effect it brought. Her breathing slowed, and the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. She exhaled shakily, muttering under her breath.
“It will be fine. Everything will go according to plan. It has to.”
Her gaze snapped back to the servant, who remained frozen in place, his wide eyes fixed on the floor. He flinched as her focus landed on him, his body stiffening like prey caught in a predator’s gaze. “Why are you still here?” she snapped, her voice regaining its sharpness.
The man bowed hurriedly, his movements jerky and frantic. “Apologies, my queen,” he mumbled, backing away. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to leave, his shadow vanishing into the corridor as the door shut behind him.
Now alone, Regina turned back to the map. Her hand hovered over the scattered pieces before settling on the central king piece, the representation of Arzan. Her fingers curled around it, trembling with barely contained rage.
“This time,” she whispered, her voice low and venomous, “I will win, Arzan. You’ll die, just like your mother.”
Her grip tightened until the fragile piece shattered in her hand, shards splintering into her palm. The pain went unnoticed, her focus fixed on the broken remains that now littered the table. Blood mixed with the splinters, staining the edges of the map.
She stared at the ruined king piece for a long moment before a cruel smile crept across her lips. “Soon,” she murmured to the empty room. “Soon, you’ll fall—and everything will finally be mine.”
2025-01-20 16:54:21 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 58
Chen Ren looked outside the carriage, his eyes staring off into the distance as his mind raised thoughts about currencies.
On Earth, people had started with bartering—trading goods and services to meet their needs. It was a basic system, full of flaws, but it had worked at the time. Eventually, coins appeared, shaped and made differently depending on the culture.
The Romans had their denarii, the Chinese used cash coins, and other civilizations had their own forms of money. Then came paper money—light and practical for bigger trades. Nations worldwide adopted it, tying it to a global system where its value constantly shifted due to markets and politics.
In this Xianxia world, things weren’t too different, at least for mortals. Bartering had long been replaced by a currency system of copper and silver wens, minted officially by the emperor. These coins kept the mortal markets moving. In fact, a reliable system that everyone followed.
But for cultivators, the rules were different.
Their currency had always been the source of their power—Qi. More precisely, Qi in its solid form: spirit stones. These stones were like crystals, holding raw energy inside them.
Their worth wasn’t decided by people but by the power they carried.
Chen Ren didn’t know exactly how much Qi was in a single stone. All he knew was that low-grade stones had less energy and weaker power, while higher-grade stones held far more Qi and were much stronger. He didn’t bother with the details. What mattered was collecting as many spirit stones as possible—for himself, his sect, and the goals he had set.
Looking down at the bag in his hands, a small smile crept onto his face. He untied the leather cord and peeked inside at the glowing pile of low-grade spirit stones. The crystals were glowing under the sunlight. He couldn’t help but raise one into the air and closely observe.
Then, he got to work.
He counted them again and grinned. Ninety stones.
He’d started with an even hundred, but before leaving Cloud Mist City, he had spent ten to secure an official status for the Divine Coin Sect. It was a hefty price, and the loss still stung a little.
“Worth it,” he muttered, tying the bag shut swiftly.
For Chen Ren, getting official sect status wasn’t about pride—it was a smart move. An official sect wasn’t only prestigious; it was a shield against heavy taxes.
Now, he didn’t have to pay the steep 20% yearly tax the local authorities collected for the capital. Even better, as his sect’s rank rose, the taxes would drop further. If he could push the Divine Coin Sect to the rank of a Guardian Sect, he wouldn’t owe any taxes at all.
The thought stuck with him, especially when he considered sects like the Soaring Sword Sect. Their endless, fat wealth wasn’t just from their resources; their high status freed them from any tax obligations.
Chen Ren’s hand brushed the pouch of spirit stones tied to his waist as he sat deep in thought. Until a feline voice broke through the silence.
“What are you thinking about with that serious face? You look like you’ve just spotted a meridian expansion realm fish and can’t decide if you should catch it or let it swim away.”
Blinking, Chen Ren turned toward the voice. Yalan, his sharp-tongued feline companion, sprawled lazily across Tang Xiulan’s lap in the carriage. The pair of ambers glinted mischievously as her tail flickered.
To her left, the street children huddled together under a thick blanket, fast asleep. Up front, Anji held the reins behind the small window, her face set with extreme focus as she steered the carriage. She’d insisted on driving to prove herself, tackling the job without a word of complaint.
Chen Ren sighed, leaning back. Mentally, he replied to Yalan, “I was just thinking about spirit stones and how to turn our sect into a Guardian Sect.”
Yalan snorted, her whiskers twitching as if the idea amused her. “Our sect? Last I checked, I haven’t joined anything.”
Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile at her predictable attitude. She’d always been like this.
Shaking his head, he replied, “Stop acting like
you don’t care. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
Yalan opened her mouth, ready to speak, but Chen Ren ignored her, pulling out a notebook and quill instead. He began writing. The notebook was something he’d recently decided to maintain—a detailed status of his progress and plans.
The pages already contained his name, age, cultivation level, elemental affinity, techniques, and businesses like a status screen. After a moment of thought, he added a new section: Goals.
Uncover the secrets of the medallion and the golden dragon.
Explore opportunities for new businesses.
Expand the sect.
As he finished jotting down the last line, Yalan’s voice cut through his focus again.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s say I decide to help
you out. I need to know what I’m helping with. You’ve left your businesses behind to play sect leader, but if you want my help, I need to hear your plans—to see if you’re brilliant or just plain stupid.”
Chen Ren smiled wryly, his quill pausing mid-air. Yalan’s bluntness wasn’t new to him, but he also knew her well enough to see through her words. If she’d truly doubted him, she wouldn’t have stayed by his side this long.
Looking up at her, he replied, “First of all, I didn’t leave my businesses behind. They’re in capable hands. I’ll get reports on their progress every two months, and I trust they’ll run smoothly without me micromanaging. Second, as for plans...” He trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly to Tang Xiulan and the children sleeping soundly beside her.
“We do need to talk about that,” he admitted, his tone softening. “A sect isn’t built on ambition alone.”
Yalan tilted her head, her tail swishing as if to urge him to continue.
Chen Ren turned toward Tang Xiulan and put his hand on her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert despite the long journey.
“Xiulan,” he began, “I think it’s time we discuss what’s next—what happens when we reach Meadow Village.”
It took a moment for her to reorient herself before she nodded, sitting up straighter. “I’ve been waiting for this conversation, young master. I need to know what you expect from me.”
The air in the carriage grew heavier, but not with tension—with purpose. Chen Ren’s mind spun with possibilities, but now, it was time to turn ideas into action.
"Yes, the first thing should be setting up a base. We’ll hire locals to start construction on a proper sect building. I’ve already sketched out a few plans for that. Once the groundwork is laid, the second priority will be recruitment. You, Anji, and the kids are a great start, but we’ll need more hands—especially cultivators.
A sect without cultivators won’t last long. And if trouble comes, there won’t be many people to defend it besides me and—"
Before he could finish, Tang Xiulan interrupted, her voice calm but knowing.
“Yalan.”
Chen Ren froze, his eyes widening. “You know?”
Xiulan nodded. “I saw it during the tournament, when she tried to break the barrier. Others were panicking and running, but I wasn’t willing to flee, so I noticed.” Her gaze softened as she looked down at Yalan, gently patting the cat’s sleek fur.
Yalan stiffened slightly at the unexpected gesture, her amber eyes narrowing, but instead of snapping, she allowed it. After a moment, she spoke, her tone carrying an air of haughty amusement. “Well, my dignified self doesn’t have to pretend to be an ordinary cat anymore.”
Xiulan’s eyes widened, her hand stopping mid-stroke. A gasp escaped her lips as she bore her eyes towards the cat. “She... she can talk?”
Chen Ren chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin. “Well, there’s that.” He leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly. “Yalan is... sort of my mentor, or maybe master. Call it whatever you like. She’s also agreed to act as a defender for the sect.”
Yalan let out a small, approving hum, her tail flicking lazily.
“But,” Chen Ren continued, his tone growing serious again, “we can’t rely on just two people to protect the sect. That’s why recruitment is so important. We need people—dedicated cultivators—who can help us grow and defend this place when the time comes.”
Tang Xiulan sat silently, her brows furrowed in thought. After a moment, she spoke hesitantly, “But, young master, why would cultivators join our sect? I don’t mean to question you, but… we’ve built no real reputation outside of your businesses, and those are confined to one city. Most cultivators would prefer to remain rogue than join a new, untested sect. And the ones we do get would likely be—”
“The throwaways,” Chen Ren interrupted. “The ones no one wants. The so-called trash. And that’s fine. I’m not looking for cultivators with unique physiques or a large number of spirit roots. We can do a lot with those who have few spirit roots.”
Xiulan blinked, her lips parting to ask, “How?”
“Do you know how many roots I have?”
She hesitated, clearly wracking her brain for an answer, before finally shaking her head.
“No, I don’t.”
“Twenty one,” Chen Ren said simply.
Xiulan’s eyes widened in shock. “Twenty one? But that’s—”
“Abysmal?” he finished with a faint smile.
“Yes, I know. And yet, despite that, I’ve been growing faster than most would expect. If I can do it, why can’t someone else?”
Before Xiulan could respond, Yalan’s voice cut in. “Are you forgetting you’re an exception, Chen Ren? Your case isn’t something others can just replicate.”
“Maybe I am an exception. Maybe I’m not. But one thing I’ve learned about myself is that I’m not as special as I sometimes think I am. And even if I am special, I know for a fact that I’m not the only one. Do you really believe there’s only one esoteric Dao in existence? There are countless paths, countless ways to grow.”
Yalan’s tail twitched, but she didn’t interrupt as he continued.
“No one ever said cultivation has to be about fighting, popping pills like a drug addict, or meditating for centuries to progress. That’s just what the Martial Dao has popularized. But cultivation isn’t limited to that. We can think beyond it. We can create something different—a place where growth doesn’t come with the weight of expectations or the burden of conformity.”
Tang Xiulan’s shock slowly melted into contemplation, her gaze softening as she absorbed his words. “A different kind of sect,” she murmured.
Chen Ren nodded. “Exactly. A sect where anyone willing to work hard and think differently can find a place to belong—and grow.”
Yalan let out a soft, amused snort. “Well, that’s certainly ambitious. But I suppose
ambition is a good start.”
Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Ambition, a plan, and the right people. That’s all we need.”
Yalan tilted her head. “Mmm, not a bad thought, but finding people like that will be difficult. There's a reason they’re called esoteric Daos—rare and elusive.”
“We won’t know until we start looking. Besides, I’m not planning to rely solely on cultivators for protection.”
Xiulan and Yalan both tilted their heads, curious.
“You two already know my plans to bring mortals into the sect,” he continued.
They nodded, waiting for him to elaborate.
“We just need to give them tools to defend themselves,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Tools that can do real damage, at least against lower-realm cultivators.”
Yalan frowned, her ears twitching. “What kind of tools are you talking about?”
Before Chen Ren could respond, Anji’s voice rang out from the front of the carriage. “We’re nearing the village!”
Chen Ren immediately leaned out the carriage window, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The landscape opened up before him—a vast expanse of wide plains framed by distant mountains. A dirt road stretched out ahead, winding toward their destination. In the far distance, he could just make out wooden walls. Though they were still far away, his enhanced eyesight allowed him to spot the faint outline.
“Do you want to rest, Anji?” he called out.
She waved him off without looking back. “I’m fine! The village is close anyway. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll get there in forty-five minutes.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a deep, guttural growl echoed from the forest around them. The carriage shuddered to a halt, and the air grew tense.
The children jolted awake, their wide eyes darting around in fear. “What’s going on?” one of them asked, his voice trembling.
Xiulan leaned out of her seat. “What was that?”
“Probably a wolf beast,” Yalan said nonchalantly. She spoke through mind keeping the kids from finding her identity. “Low tier most likely. We didn’t hear of any stronger ones in this area. But wolves usually move in packs. If they’re around, it’s better to deal with them now before they start chasing us.”
“Stay inside.”
Chen Ren stepped out of the carriage, leaving them inside.
Yalan leaped out gracefully, landing beside him. She stretched, her claws extending slightly. “If they’re weak, you can handle them. If not, I’ll jump in.”
Chen Ren smirked. “Good to know you’ve got my back.”
The forest remained eerily silent for a moment, the growl from earlier still echoing faintly in their minds. Then, a rustling sound came from the underbrush, followed by the unmistakable sound of low growls.
Chen Ren tightened his grip on the weapon—a sleek spear with runes etched along its length for more piercing damage and durability, the gift from the city lord.
He glanced over his shoulder at Anji, who was frozen in place, her hands gripping the reins tightly. Her face was pale, but she wasn’t panicking, just waiting for instructions.
“Get inside the carriage,” he said calmly, his tone firm but not harsh. “I’ll handle this.”
Anji blinked, then nodded wordlessly, climbing into the carriage with a speed that belied her hesitation. The children huddled together, watching anxiously as the door shut behind her.
Just as Chen Ren turned his focus back to
the forest, another growl cut through the tense silence. It was louder, closer. His sharp eyes scanned the dense foliage, his muscles coiled like a spring.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The forest seemed unnaturally still, the usual sounds of rustling leaves and chirping insects absent. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, a dark blur shot out from the trees.
It was a wolf—larger than he’d expected. Its fur was pitch black, almost blending into the shadows of the trees, and its teal eyes gleamed with predatory hunger. It leaped from the trees, aiming directly at Chen Ren with its jaws wide open, sharp teeth glinting menacingly.
***
Haoran looked at the stack of letters piled high on the ornate desk in their office. These were the reports sent to their department from all across the Kalian Empire, a routine correspondence from every corner of the realm. Sorting through them had become a habit since they had taken on the role of one of the attendants to Princess Yanyue.
This practice wasn’t new; it was a system established by the previous emperor near the end of his reign. Under this system, every ruler—from the smallest village chief to the most powerful city lord—was required to submit a monthly report detailing the events within their jurisdiction. These reports covered everything from mundane administrative updates to notable discoveries, such as hidden artifacts or emerging talents.
The purpose was clear: to ensure the royal family remained informed of anything unusual or promising, no matter how remote or minor it might seem. From these reports, key information would be carefully cataloged, creating a detailed repository of knowledge that allowed the royal family to keep tabs on potential threats, opportunities, and the shifting dynamics of power within the empire.
Of course, the system wasn’t perfect. Not everything made it into the letters. Talents were often concealed, kept hidden by their families or patrons to protect them from royal scrutiny—or exploitation. Ancient ruins weren't informed about, not letting the royal family get their hands on it. And then there were the lords who deliberately withheld vital information, preferring to keep their findings to themselves rather than share them with a royal family that had, over time, become little more than observers.
Still, the letters were a window into the empire’s pulse, and Haoran knew better than to overlook them. Even the smallest detail could hold the key to something extraordinary—or disastrous. With a quiet sigh, they picked up the first letter, the seal still unbroken, and began to read.
It was already well into the day when the attendant found himself still sorting through the mountain of letters. Some reports were dry, simply confirming the usual—everything normal, no disturbances to report. Others, however, contained more intriguing tidbits.
One lord in the northern region, Zhang Ma, mentioned a mountain that had been destroyed—possibly a result of a clash between high-realm cultivators or a battle with a powerful beast. The lord had little proof, but the attendant found it noteworthy. Another report detailed the discovery of a new ghost ruin on the western side of the empire, while others spoke of skirmishes between the barbarians and the border lords.
As the attendant moved through the letters, one report from the City Lord of Cloud Mist, Li Baolong caught his eye. For a while, the letter seemed uneventful, just like the others—nothing but routine updates. He half-expected it to be the same as always, filled with trivial matters.
But as he reached the middle section, the attendant's eyes widened more with every passing line. It started innocuously enough—just a mention of a demonic cultivator on the loose, then the annual tournament. But then, the mention of an unexpected turn of events in the tournament caught his attention. A cultivator, once insignificant and unknown, had killed the demonic figure—Gu Tian. The report said the cultivator was blessed by the golden dragon itself and had even earned the nickname of “Dragonheart.”
The attendant blinked, unsure if he had misread it. He read the passage again, his heart thudding in his chest. Then he read it one more time, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. There were no disclaimers, no signs of humor. It wasn’t a joke. It was written in an official report, which made it even more impossible to dismiss.
Lying in an official letter was considered a serious crime, one no lord would risk, especially not for something as absurd as this. No, this had to be true. He could feel a chill running down his spine as it settled in. A dragon—the dragon—had appeared in the empire after thousands of years.
The attendant didn’t hesitate. Normally, he would have set the letter aside, continued his work, and moved on to the next report. But this... this was far beyond his usual duties. The implications of this discovery were monumental, and there was only one person he needed to inform.
Without wasting a second, the attendant gathered the letter in his hands, his heart still racing, and left his chambers.
2025-01-18 13:20:06 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 167
Using a different type of magic was always a special experience. Each element and school had its own essence, its own flavor that lingered with the caster.
Kai could still recall the first time he cast a fire spell—the pleasant heat dancing on his palms, warm and harmless to him but devastating to his foes. The first gust spell he'd learned brought with it the exhilarating freshness of wind, as if he were suddenly a part of the sky itself. Over time, he had dabbled in many forms of magic. He didn’t specialize in all of them, but he took pride in mastering their basics.
Out of everything he had tried, druidic magic stood out as the most unique. It was about bonding, becoming one with creatures and the environment and not just controlling nature. Casting druidic spells felt as if he’d gained a whole new set of eyes. Or rather, numerous sets of senses.
At present, he was bound to a kraken. A massive, powerful creature like that wasn’t easy to subdue, and the process of establishing the bond had been exhausting. It had taken hours of combat, wearing the beast down until it was forced to submit. Even then, the best bond Kai could manage with his limited druidic skill was a mere First Circle spell: [Basic Bond].
The bond allowed for rudimentary commands and a faint sense of camaraderie, but not much else. He could share limited senses with the kraken—enough to know what it saw and felt—but the connection was tenuous at best. Worse, the kraken had retained enough autonomy to resist commands it deemed too outlandish. If he ordered it to ram itself into rocks, for example, it could simply refuse.
In time, that would change. Higher-level druidic spells could enforce more control and unlock greater synergy, but Kai wasn’t sure he’d ever reach that point.
Druidic magic wasn’t his strength, and he instinctively knew his affinity for it was lacking. Still, the [Basic Bond] served its purpose for now.
The wind whipped past his face as the kraken swam with speed, pulling the boat behind it. Kai sat at the back, gripping the boat’s rear for balance. Maintaining the bond wasn’t overly difficult, but it came with a mental strain he wasn’t used to. It was a strange, unpleasant sensation—being tethered to a slimy, tentacled creature and sharing its sensations.
"Are you okay, Lord Arzan?" Gareth’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Kai glanced at the knight, forcing a smirk. “Yeah. I just feel like I drank some ridiculously expensive alcohol.”
Gareth chuckled. “You won’t be hungover for long. The kraken is fast—too fast. We should reach the territory soon enough.”
Kai nodded, though his mind was elsewhere.
Gareth continued, his tone almost amused. “It’s already scared a few fishermen along the banks. You should’ve seen their faces. But the good news is, we’ll pass through all the noble territories before anyone can send word about this... unconventional ride.”
Kai let out a low chuckle at that, his grip on the boat relaxing slightly. The thought of causing a stir among the local lords with his bizarre method of travel was satisfying. For now, he could only hope the kraken would behave until they reached their destination.
“That would be for the best,” Kai said. “I don’t want any problems with more nobles when we’re already heading straight into trouble with a Duke.”
Gareth glanced at him, his expression taut, as if silently wishing Kai’s words were a joke.
Kai exhaled, leaning back slightly against the boat’s edge. “Winter’s just weeks away. If Lucian is going to make a move this year, it’ll be soon. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already stirred up something during my absence, and
Francis is barely managing to keep things in check. But I don’t want to jump to conclusions. We’ll see for ourselves soon enough.”
Gareth nodded, though the concerned look on his face remained. Kai could see the wheels turning in the knight’s mind, likely mulling over the weight of the days to come.
“Are you afraid of war, Gareth?” Kai asked, breaking the silence.
The knight hesitated, his gaze distant before answering. “Yes, honestly, I am. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But I’d be far more terrified if you hadn’t helped me unlock my gift, Lord Arzan. Now, aside from the fear of death, there’s just... responsibility. A duty to play my part.” He glanced at Kai, a flicker of gratitude crossing his face. “You gave me a new lease on life when you chose me to fight at your side. I’ll never forget that.
“I don’t know if you remember, my lord. But I first met you when you distributed the heat stones. A long time ago.”
Kai smiled. “Actually, I do. I remember your face when you received them.”
“Yes,” Gareth said with a chuckle. “I was just a miner back then, teetering on the edge of death with no food, no warmth, and barely any hope. Both my wife and I were suffering in that cold, but your help saved us. Not only did we survive, but I went on to become a knight. I never imagined I’d be where I am now, standing at your side.” He paused, his voice growing firmer. “These days, I feel ambition growing in my heart. And I know the only way to fulfill it is to gain achievements in the war to come... and to protect you.”
Kai felt something bubbling up in his chest. He didn’t know if it was the sentimental nature of saving lives when they were needed or the look on Gareth’s face. He let out a breath through his nose.
“I can protect myself, Gareth. Your job is to protect Veralt. Do that well, and you’ll rise in authority.”
Their conversation was cut short as Kai’s head snapped forward, his posture instantly alert. He rose from his seat, his gaze sharp as he scanned the river ahead.
“What is it, my lord?” Gareth asked, his hand instinctively moving toward his weapon.
“We’ve reached the Sylvan Enclave,” Kai replied, letting go of the conversation that happened. His eyes were on the path ahead. “If we keep going from here, we’ll pass dangerously close to Lucian’s territory. I don’t want that. We’ll stop here and travel the rest of the way by land. Veralt isn’t far.”
With that, Kai turned his focus inward, his mind reaching out to the kraken through their tenuous bond. He willed the creature to slow, his thoughts commanding it to stop.
The kraken let out a shriek, the sound resonating through the air as its massive body slowed in the river. The boat’s pace diminished until it finally glided to a stop along the riverbank.
Without a single word, they all got down cautiously, their boots crunching against the rocky shore. The area was quiet, devoid of people—a fortunate turn, given their unconventional method of travel.
Kai exhaled, releasing the strain of maintaining the bond. The kraken lingered in the water, its tentacles stirring faint ripples, as if waiting for further instructions.
“Fortunately, no one’s around to see this,” Gareth murmured, glancing warily at the water.
Kai nodded. “Let’s move. Veralt is close, and we’ve already taken enough risks for one day.”
As the group moved a bit far from the water, Kai turned to the kraken, its tentacled form writhing in the water. He raised his hand, his voice calm but commanding.
“Make a base around here. You’ll be needed soon.”
The kraken let out a piercing screech, the sound vibrating through the air in protest.
Kai narrowed his eyes, his tone firm. “Just do it. I’ll make sure to send you something nice to eat. You know what will happen if you don’t follow my command.”
The creature emitted an ugly snort, one of its massive tentacles splashing against the river’s surface before it finally relented. With a powerful dive, the kraken vanished beneath the water, the ripples fading into stillness.
Kai watched the water for a moment, his thoughts lingering on the tenuous bond they shared. It’s not a strong bond, but threats seems to be working for now.
He turned back to the group gathered behind him.
“Guess we’re walking from here,” Finn muttered, complaining at the thought.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gorak rumbled, his massive arms crossed. “Take it as exercise. We’re far stronger than we were before, anyway.”
Kai raised a hand, silencing the conversation.
“No, we won’t be walking.”
The group looked at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. Kai stepped forward, moving a short distance away from the group. He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar surge of mana coursing through him.
He reached deep into his reserves, visualizing the spell structure in his mind. Slowly, he began to bring it into existence. Threads of mana spun outward from his hands, forming an array in the air before him.
The spell structure gleamed, a complex design of concentric circles and intersecting lines, etched with runic symbols that pulsed with energy. The structure rotated slowly, growing brighter with each second as Kai fed more mana into it.
“[Tempest Steed Conjuration]”
With the spell’s name uttered, the structure pulsed one final time before dissolving into a swirl of wind.
The air shifted immediately, coalescing into three massive forms.
Three horses.
They were translucent yet solid, their forms rippling with wind. Their manes flowed with a constant breeze, and their eyes glowed faintly with azure light. And the size—they were quite taller than real horses, but still managed to neigh and imitate real ones.
The group stared in awe. Finnigan even covered his mouth.
“I’ve never seen a spell like this,” Gorak admitted from behind.
Kai exhaled, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “It’s a fourth-circle spell. Keeping three of them active drains a significant chunk of my reserves. They’ll last for about two hours, give or take.”
He mounted the nearest steed, its body giving way slightly under his weight before solidifying. Looking toward the horizon, Kai’s gaze hardened.
“We need to hurry. I want to reach Veralt as soon as possible. Get on these horses, let’s move.”
***
The walls of Veralt finally came into focus after two hours of riding.
Kai felt the strain of maintaining the conjured horses, his mana reserves drained to a point where he could feel the faint pounding in his temples. The horses, burdened with both human passengers and supplies, weren’t able to maintain their full speed, but they had done decently enough that the walls of Veralt were extremely closeby.
A small smile tugged at Kai’s lips as he gazed at the city. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this place.
Sylvastra had its own charm, and the thrill of travel always brought new opportunities, but Veralt had become home. The rhythm of life here, the city’s quirks, and its people had made their way into his routine.
On the walls, the flags of Veralt fluttered proudly in the wind, the image of phoenix brought a sense of familiarity to his mind. The guards stationed there seemed to recognize Kai and his party instantly, their postures shifting as they shouted commands to open the gates.
The heavy creak of the massive gates echoed through the air, a sound that Kai found oddly comforting.
Some guards descended from their posts, clearly intent on greeting him or offering updates. Kai, however, simply waved them off, urging his wind steed forward. “Later,” he said briskly. “I need to get to the castle first.”
As they moved deeper into the city, the streets came alive around them. The marketplace bustled with activity, vendors calling out their wares to passersby. Kai’s gaze swept over the improvements that had taken place in his absence. The roads that were ladened with potholes, were now almost entirely smoothed and paved. The work of the Earth Mages had left its mark, with neatly aligned stones forming clean, sturdy paths. There were more merchants than their usual count who’d set up stalls.
And everywhere he looked, he was greeted with progress and energy. Yet, as he observed more closely, he noticed something amiss.
Conversations at the market stalls were quieter than usual, the laughter of the children seemed slightly forced, and there was an unusual tension in the air. Groups of people stood clustered together, their heads bent as they spoke in hushed tones. A woman glanced nervously over her shoulder before disappearing into an alley, her steps quick and deliberate.
Kai’s smile faded as his gaze froze, taking in the undercurrent of unease creeping its way through the city. Something’s wrong.
As Kai rode through the streets, he noticed the change in the way people reacted to his presence.
Normally, his appearances would bring cheers or words of encouragement from the city folk. They would yell his name and people would even start celebrating his arrival. Claps and smiles always brought some sort of soothing to him whenever he was out in the city.
Today, however, there were only respectful bows, given as per custom, and furtive whispers behind hands. No voices rose in celebration, and no smiles greeted him. Instead, their gazes lingered on him. Some
even looked angry.
Kai’s unease deepened. Something is really wrong. Something terrible has happened.
He glanced back at his companions, their expressions mirroring his own concerns. Without needing to say a word, he urged the group to pick up their pace.
“Let’s hurry,” he said.
The others nodded, falling into step behind him as they approached the castle. By the time they reached the gates, Francis was already waiting for them, flanked by Kiliian and, to Kai’s surprise, Princess Amara. Clearly, word of his arrival had spread quickly.
As soon as Kai dismounted, the wind horses dissipated into thin air, the mana structures unraveling into the breeze. His retainers bowed, but before anyone could offer a greeting or ask questions, Kai spoke, his voice sharp with urgency.
“What’s happening? Why is the city so tense?”
Francis and Kiliian exchanged uneasy glances before Francis finally stepped forward, his expression grave.
“Lord Arzan,” he began, “a village was attacked. Dead of night. It was a massacre.”
Kai’s eyes widened, his body tensing. “One of our villages? Near Veridis?”
Francis shook his head. “No, my lord. It wasn’t one of ours. It belonged to Baron Idrin.”
Kai’s mind flashed to Baron Idrin, trying to remember his face. He knew he was a neighbour and had been there at the count ceremony, but there hadn't been enough time to make more than aquintaintences with him. “I guess people are tense because it was so close by, but who exactly was responsible for the massacre?”
Francis’s breath picked up as he placed his hand on his chest.
“That’s not the worst part, my lord. The entire village was slaughtered—men, women, children—all of them, save for the village chief.”
Amara stepped forward. “And he was left alive for a reason, Lord Arzan. To send a message.”
Francis looked at Amara and back at Kai.
“What message?” Kai asked.
“The village chief, the only one left alive, claims the attackers were… strange. Inhuman creatures. They left him with a message, saying it was you, Lord Arzan, who ordered the massacre. They’re tying it to the recent land disputes with Baron Idrin.”
Kai froze. Me?
“I didn’t do it. I wasn’t even here.” He tried to keep his calm, although his mind churned in anger.
Amara stepped forward.
“Yes, but that’s exactly how the rumors are spreading. They're saying you’re in league with dark creatures, that your recent strength comes from some sinister source. It’s the kind of tale that spreads like wildfire.”
Before Kai could reply, Amara inhaled sharply.
“And it doesn’t end there. Duke Lucian has publicly declared his support for Baron Idrin. While no official word has come yet, Sylvan Enclave is abuzz with one rumor— Duke Lucian is preparing to avenge the innocent lives lost.”
Killian, standing at Francis’s side, crossed his arms with a steeled gaze. “Which means,” he said, “we’re about to face war.”
2025-01-18 12:46:44 +0000 UTC
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Hello everyone, I would love to announce that I have opened up Annual membership in my patreon for 20 percent off. That means you would get 12 months advanced chapters for the price of 10 months. If you are interested please take a look at it and know that you would get the chapters of both Magus Reborn and Dao of Money.
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2025-01-16 08:13:27 +0000 UTC
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Epilogue - 2
Li Xuan’s fists were clenched at his sides as he tried to calm his raging qi. He forced himself to focus inward, but the violent energy refused to settle—which meant that his mind was far from balance. But his feet didn’t halter.
He had learned a long time ago that a cultivator’s qi mirrored their emotions, and this unruly force revealed a truth he didn’t want to face—he was not at peace. For the past two weeks, the turbulent energy had followed him like a shadow, throughout his
recovery period in his home.
The city lord’s estate, his home, should have been a place of comfort.
His mother had tended to him herself, applying medicinal herbs to his wounds, her soft hands working on him as they always did. She had even gotten pills from an affluent alchemist to help him overcome the paralysis that had gripped him after the battle. They’d worked on him efficiently.
“You did well, my son,” she had said, her voice filled with pride. “You stood tall against a demon. Few could say the same. You will grow stronger, I know it.”
It wasn’t the first time she had spoken such words. As a child, whenever he lost a sparring match against older or more skilled opponents, her voice had been his anchor, a balm for his wounded pride. Yet this time, her encouragement felt hollow, unable to reach the depths of his unease. He’d given her a nod, not commenting on the fact that no matter what, he had still lost.
His father’s reaction had been different. The disappointment in the city lord’s eyes had been subtle but undeniable, like a cold wind cutting through Li Xuan’s fragile sense of accomplishment. Though his father had accepted the truth—that his opponent had been the demonic cultivator who had terrorized the city and wasn't an easy opponent to face—Li Xuan knew the man had expected more. Expected victory, like he always did.
And perhaps that was what stung the most. His mother’s reassurances, his father’s quiet judgment, neither could quell the storm within him. The demon’s mocking laughter still echoed in his mind, the memory of his defeat replaying with merciless clarity.
He sighed as he paused mid-thought, his qi flaring for a moment before settling into its calm state. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he tried to steady chaotic thoughts. But annoyingly, the qi flared up once again.
This won’t work…
He needed control—over his qi, over his emotions, over himself. But the harder he tried, the more calmness seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers.
This wasn’t like him. The Li Xuan he had been before the battle, before the defeat, would never have let himself falter. But the Li Xuan of now—he wasn’t sure who that was anymore.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let his mother down. No matter how much he thrived to grow stronger, in the end, he had been weak. That realization gnawed at him, leaving an ache deeper than his injuries. In truth, he had also disappointed himself.
Hence, as soon as he had recovered, he had left for the sect, not wanting to stay in bed any longer.
The steps carved into the mountain shadowed before him, and he climbed them at an uncharacteristically slow pace.
He mulled over his defeat, the demon, his parents, and most of all, what his master would say when they met.
His qi flared wildly at the thought of his master, and it took every ounce of focus to suppress it. His master had entrusted him with a simple yet monumental task—kill the demonic cultivator, bringing glory to the sect and himself. But instead, Li Xuan lost. Lost in front of thousands, and he knew the sect would be buzzing with the news. A core disciple like him, bested by a body-forging realm demon, was nothing short of disgraceful, no matter the tricks the demon had employed.
What stung even more was the person who had killed the demonic cultivator in the end.
Less than a year ago, Li Xuan had defeated Chen Ren with ease. Yet now, Chen Ren had slain the demon Li Xuan couldn’t. And not just slain it—Chen Ren had gone further, forming a spirit contract with a dragon, a heavenly creature revered above all else.
It felt unreal, like a tale spun by drunken storytellers. But the traces of heavenly qi lingering in the air during his recovery had been undeniable. His father’s confirmation only solidified it. Chen Ren had done the impossible.
Step by step, Li Xuan climbed, his qi lashing out as his thoughts spiraled.
By the time he reached the sect gates, he felt drained, both physically and mentally. He barely remembered flashing his sect token to the disciples guarding the gate or the brief nod they gave him. He trudged through the inner sect towards his residence, his mind heavy with unease.
On the way, whispers reached his ears—disciples murmuring about his defeat. The rumors were exaggerated, painting his battle in horrifying detail. Some claimed the demon had nearly killed him. Others added embellishments, like how he had begged for mercy. He heard it all, though no one dared approach him.
Li Xuan knew why. They were afraid to be the first to step forward. But beneath that hesitation, he could sense the undercurrent of excitement. His defeat meant they could challenge him, using the excuse of "trading pointers." It was inevitable.
He had been in their place once, a fresh disciple eager to climb the ranks. Back then, he had fought and won every challenge with unshakable confidence. Now, that confidence was a distant memory. As he entered his quarters, Li Xuan clenched his fists, unsure if he had the strength to face the trials that awaited him.
Li Xuan's steps eventually brought him before
the imposing doors of his master's chamber.
He steadied his breathing and called out, "Master, Li Xuan is here."
"Come in."
As Li Xuan pushed the heavy doors open and entered, an oppressive aura washed over him, pressing down like a weight on his very soul. Instinctively, he fell to his knees and kowtowed, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His master's presence was overwhelming, a testament to the vast gulf between their cultivation levels.
The silence stretched until Master Xiaosheng's voice, sharp and cutting, broke through. "Li Xuan, I sent you to the tournament expecting victory. I gave you a task, yet you failed—not only in winning but also in succumbing to a demonic cultivator. Do you understand the shame you have brought upon the righteous path? For a disciple of my lineage to falter so pitifully, I am left questioning if your mother’s blood has truly weakened you."
The remark struck a nerve, and Li Xuan felt his qi swirl violently, mirroring the storm in his heart. But he forced himself to remain composed, suppressing the chaos within.
"Master," he said, his voice steady but tinged with regret, "I accept any punishment you deem fit. There are no excuses for my failure."
Master Xiaosheng’s gaze bore into him, cold and calculating. "You will receive your punishment once I have concluded the sect meetings." He paused, then continued, "But for now, tell me what you know of this Chen Ren."
Li Xuan froze at the mention of the name, his thoughts racing for the reason why his master was asking about him. The Chen Ren he had defeated a year ago and the one who had stood victorious in the tournament seemed like entirely different people. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke carefully. "Chen Ren is... confident, intelligent, and resourceful. I fought him before, but the man I faced and the one he has become now are worlds apart. He has grown immensely."
His master’s eyes narrowed. "Is it true he bonded with a dragon?"
Li Xuan hesitated. "I did not witness it myself," he admitted, "but there were enough credible witnesses for it to be true."
Master Xiaosheng frowned deeply at that.
"The sect wishes to bring him in. We need to learn more about the elusive dragons that have vanished from this world. Yet he rejected us."
The silence following that statement was thick, laden with his master's discontent. Li Xuan dared not speak further, silently contemplating the implications of his master's words. Months back, Chen Ren himself had taken part in the entrance exams to make his way into the Soaring Sword Sect, but now he didn't wish to do so. Why was that?
"That old fool Elder Yan even defended him,"
Li Xuan’s master sneered, cutting through his thoughts. "Said we shouldn’t force him, as if such a talent could be left to roam free! But mark my words, I’ll have a meeting to decide the sect’s official stance regarding this Chen Ren. Until then, I’ll be busy. Go train or meditate upon your failure, Li Xuan. When I’m done, I’ll inform you of your punishment. Just know this—fail me again, and you’ll need to find another master! Dismissed!"
Li Xuan didn’t wait for further dismissal. Bowing low, he turned and left the room, his thoughts swirling like the chaotic qi in his dantian.
There was nothing more to say.
But instead of returning to his chamber to rest and reflect, he let his feet guide him to a place that had always offered solace—the forest where he trained every day. The massive trees and rustling leaves brought a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt since the tournament. Because here, in the middle of the wilderness, he could forget everything else except the Dao of the Sword.
Drawing his blade, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The load of the sword in his hand felt familiar, grounding. He took his stance, letting the rhythm of his breathing align with the pulse of his qi. For a moment, peace overcame him.
But then, his master’s words echoed in his mind. Your mother’s blood has weakened you.
His grip tightened on the hilt as his qi swirled violently, breaking the fragile calm. He didn’t fight it this time. Instead, he unleashed it, lightning crackling in the air as his emotions surged unchecked.
His sword moved in an arc, slashing through a nearby tree.
The wood splintered, and the tree crashed to the ground, but Li Xuan didn’t stop. Strike after strike, his blade cut through trunk after trunk, each swing accompanied by bursts of lightning that scorched the earth.
“I am not weak!” he yelled painfully.
The forest became a battlefield, trees falling like soldiers under his resentful assault.
Lightning danced wildly around him, lighting up the destruction he wrought. Splinters and shards of wood flew in every direction, some cutting into his flesh, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He was lost in the craze, his qi spiraling out of control as his strikes grew faster and more erratic.
“I am not weak!” he shouted again, his voice breaking as his knees buckled.
Finally, the storm of lightning around him dissipated, leaving behind a hollow silence. Li Xuan dropped to the ground, panting heavily, his sword slipping from his grasp. His body ached, his qi drained, and as he looked around, he saw the devastation he had caused. The forest clearing was littered with felled trees, an entire stretch of wilderness reduced to rubble by his rage.
He took a shaky breath, his chest heaving as realization set in. His qi, now calm, pulsed faintly in his dantian. The anger that had fueled his frenzy dissipated, leaving behind an emptiness that was almost unbearable.
He whispered to himself, “I can’t keep doing this. If I let my anger rule me... if I keep losing control like this, I’ll become no different from the demonic cultivators I despise.”
Closing his eyes, Li Xuan took several deep breaths, each one slower and more deliberate than the last. He sat there amidst the destruction, the scent of charred wood and ozone heavy in the air, and began to meditate. He had to regain control—not just of his qi but of himself.
Because if he didn’t, he knew he would never rise again.
As Li Xuan sat amidst the carnage of the forest. His breathing steadied a faint clarity began to emerge from the storm of his emotions. He focused his thoughts, letting the silence of the surroundings seep into his mind. Slowly, like a trickle of water carving through stone, his anger gave way to contemplation.
Chen Ren.
The name echoed in his mind, sharper than the whispers he had heard on his way to his chambers. He thought of the man he had defeated not so long ago—a man who had seemed destined for mediocrity. Chen Ren had fallen, humiliated in their duel. Yet, instead of wallowing in defeat, he had risen stronger.
Far stronger.
He had fought and defeated cultivators far above his level, slain a demonic cultivator who had bested Li Xuan, and formed a spirit contract with a dragon—a feat that seemed like a legend told by elders rather than reality. The contrast between them felt like a chasm, and Li Xuan’s fists clenched as the truth settled deep within him.
Could I do it?
The question stabbed at his pride, but the answer was uncomfortably clear. Not like this. Not while anger ruled his heart and chaos consumed his qi. Not while he let his failures weigh him down rather than lift him up.
If he wanted to rise, if he wanted to reclaim his honor, he had to start from the foundation. Control his anger. Master his qi. Refine his swordsmanship. Only then could he think of restoring the pride he had lost.
Li Xuan exhaled slowly, his breath a plume of frost in the crisp mountain air.
Perhaps this is the will of the heavens.
The heavens, after all, did not allow anyone to ascend without trials. They struck down the promising, tested their resolve, and forged the worthy in the fires of adversity. Was this his trial? A hammer blow meant to temper him into something greater?
Shaking his head, Li Xuan rose to his feet. His body ached from the exertion, blood seeping from shallow cuts where splinters had pierced his skin, but he ignored it. He sheathed his sword, his grip firm and resolute.
“Chen Ren,” he muttered, “I will defeat you. The man who killed the demonic cultivator. Dragonheart.”
His gaze swept across the ruined clearing, the destruction standing as a testament to his emotions—wild, uncontrolled, and wasteful. That would not do. Not anymore.
“I will defeat you,” he repeated, louder this time, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “And I will reclaim my honour like a righteous cultivator should. Just you wait!”
The words hung in the air, a vow etched into the fabric of his being. With one last glance at the destruction he had wrought, Li Xuan turned and began the walk back to the sect, his steps steady, his mind sharper.
The path ahead would be long and arduous, but that was the way of the heavens. And he would tread it, step by step, until he stood above all—including Chen Ren.
***
Qing He turned the lock on the door of her tea stall with a soft click, pausing for a moment before stepping back to give the empty shop one last look. The late evening light filtered through the windows, showing off the worn wooden tables and the simple counter. Her eyes lingered at a particular spot near the window, where a solitary chair stood slightly askew, as if someone had just risen from it.
That was where Chen Ren always used to sit.
She sighed. “By now, he should be far away from the city. Off on his dangerous endeavour, building a sect of all things.” She shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I don’t know why, but somehow, I feel like he might just pull it off.”
Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to the golden dragon. A magnificent creature no one had bonded with for centuries, perhaps even longer. Yet, that brat had managed it. The sheer audacity of his achievement spoke of destiny—an immense, cosmic design Chen Ren seemed at the center of.
Destiny was not something Qing He usually placed much faith in. She had lived long enough to see it twisted by human hands. And yet, in this case, she could not deny the pull of something greater. The thought unsettled her, but it also brought a spark of curiosity.
She shook her head again, more firmly this time, brushing away the nagging thoughts. “Destiny or not, he has a long road ahead,” she murmured.
Her footsteps were soft against the wooden floor as she walked down the narrow staircase leading to her private quarters above the shop. The upstairs were quiet, and it was the complete opposite of the noise that usually filled the stall during the day. Her ears craved this sort of quietness.
She paused in front of her library, her fingers brushing softly over the spines.
Without hesitation, she entered it and selected a specific book out of the few dozens she had carefully brought with her to this mortal town. Her hand moved to the back of the bookshelf, pressing a hidden button. With a soft mechanical whir, the entire shelf slid to the side, revealing a secret compartment embedded in the wall.
Inside lay a small collection of books, their covers aged and dusty from years of concealment. Qing He knelt and carefully removed the topmost book, her fingers brushing away the layer of dust to reveal its intricate cover.
The cover was a masterpiece of detail and artistry, depicting the Four Heavenly Beasts.
At the top, the Crimson Phoenix soared gracefully. Opposite it, the Black Turtle coiled protectively around a serpentine dragon, its shell gleaming with emerald colour. Below them, the White Tiger crouched, its eyes fierce and intelligent, its stripes jagged like streaks of lightning—a symbol of martial might and unmatched ferocity. But it was the final figure in the centre that commanded Qing He’s attention—a Golden Dragon.
The dragon’s scales seemed almost alive, shimmering with a lustre that spoke of untamed power. Its piercing eyes glowed with ancient wisdom, and its sinuous body coiled as if ready to spring from the cover itself. The detail was so vivid, Qing He half-expected to feel the dragon’s aura emanating from the book.
She opened the book with care, the pages crackling faintly under her touch. The first image was a portrait of the golden dragon, its form rendered in stunning detail, surrounded by celestial clouds and rays of divine light.
Her eyes lingered on the image as she muttered, “It seems like I need to do some reading of my own for what’s to come.”
***
Book 1 over! Thank you so much for support!
2025-01-16 07:57:19 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 166
Kai felt a sprinkle of fear creep into him as he stared at the kraken in all its terrifying glory—a fear he knew well, one that surfaced before every major battle. Since healing his Mana heart, he hadn’t faced a creature this intense.
The battle against the Storm Sovereign had been a different matter, with the aid of the elders tipping the scales. Contrary to what he thought, now, it was just him, a handful of Enforcers, and a greenhorn Spirit Trainer.
He knew this fight wouldn’t be easy. Yet, whatever fear flickered within him, he managed to push it down as the kraken’s tentacles began to writhe.
He had no time to think.
Hundreds of them lashed out simultaneously, green, slimy, and tipped with edges sharp enough to rival a blade.
“Spread out!” Kai roared, releasing a volley of flaming arrows. The fiery projectiles scorched the beast’s slimy hide, leaving trails of smoke, but it didn’t falter. Instead, it screeched, a bone-chilling sound, and lunged into a relentless offensive. Gorak and Gareth met the charge head-on, their weapons glinting as they rushed toward the beast. Behind them, Raven and Finn positioned themselves as ranged support.
The kraken retaliated, dozens of tentacles surging toward Gorak and Gareth, intent on crushing them.
Kai’s mana flared as he conjured an [Ice Step] midair, shouting, “Jump!” The frozen surface materialized just in time for them to leap from it, narrowly avoiding the writhing appendages. Their blades gleamed with intent as they arced downward, aiming to sever the monstrous creature in half.
Before Gorak’s weapon could connect with the kraken’s hide, a tentacle snapped around his leg, flinging him backward with brutal force. Kai reacted swiftly, casting [Featherfall] to cushion Gorak’s fall. Gareth, meanwhile, activated his shadow abilities, slipping through the chaos of tentacles with incredible speed.
He closed the distance and drove his blade into the kraken’s stomach.
A gush of green blood splattered across the floor, but the brief triumph was snatched away as the wound knitted itself shut in moments. More tentacles surged toward Gareth, forcing him to dodge and weave with increasing desperation.
“It’s regenerating way faster than I expected!” Kai shouted. “Keep firing the exploding potions and arrows!” He didn’t bother checking if Raven and the twin acknowledged his order. Instead, he summoned [Wind Blades], guiding them through the air.
The blades sliced through several tentacles, severed pieces falling to the ground with heavy thuds, kicking up dust.
Kai’s eyes caught the tentacles regrowing, albeit slower than the wound on its stomach. That was a small advantage. Turning his focus back to the kraken, where Gorak and
Gareth had reengaged the beast, he locked onto its many eyes, gleaming with malice.
“Thanks for giving me so many targets,” he muttered under his breath, conjuring flaming arrows in the air. Not hundreds this time, but a few dozen—enough for greater control.
He fired the flaming arrows toward the kraken, but its tentacles shot up, blocking them before they could hit. Kai had expected this. With a wave of his hand and a steady flow of mana, he guided the arrows, making them twist and turn through the air. They darted between the moving tentacles, aiming for the creature’s vulnerable spots.
But the kraken wasn’t an easy target. Its massive limbs moved with surprising speed, slapping the arrows aside one by one. The clash of fire against the slimy tentacles lit up the cavern, but none of the attacks hit their mark.
Suddenly, a loud explosion echoed through the cavern. One of the potion bombs hit the kraken’s back, erupting in a burst of light and sound. The force shook the creature, its huge body reeling as it let out a deafening screech. Green blood oozed from the blast site, dripping onto the rocky ground below.
Kai didn’t waste the opening. With a sharp gesture, he sent three more flaming arrows streaking toward the kraken. This time, they moved faster, their paths more precise. The tentacles still tried to block them, but the beast wasn’t quick enough.
All three arrows hit their target, plunging into the kraken’s bulbous eyes.
The creature roared in agony, its cries bouncing off the cavern walls. Its body thrashed wildly, sending tremors through the ground.
Green blood rained down like a foul-smelling storm, covering Gorak and Gareth as they struggled to stay upright. Kai clenched his fists, his heart pounding. He knew one thing for sure—no matter how strong a creature was, its eyes were always a weak spot.
For a moment, he thought they were close to winning.
But then, the kraken unleashed a deafening cry—unlike anything they had heard before. It reached deep into their cores and stirred an instinctive terror. Kai’s eyes darted to his companions.
Gorak and Finn collapsed to their knees, trembling. Gareth barely managed to stay upright, his blade quivering in his hand. Raven and Claire clung to the cavern walls, their faces pale and stricken with horror.
Even Kai wasn’t spared from the kraken’s screech. A wave of dread crashed over him, clouding his mind and freezing him in place. The haunting cry echoed in his head, whispering insidious thoughts.
You cannot win. This battle was never yours to claim.
Kai clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he fought against the oppressive weight of despair. He forced his trembling hands into motion and cast [Refresh], sending a surge of mana into his body. The spell washed over him like a cold river, clearing the fog in his mind and banishing the fatigue weighing him down. Even the soreness in his muscles
faded.
“Snap out of it!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. “It’s just a sound! Fight through it!”
But his companions didn’t move. Fear rooted them to the spot, their eyes wide with terror.
The kraken seized the moment, its massive tentacles snapping forward like coiled springs, aiming straight for Gorak and Gareth.
Kai didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, summoning a [Flaming Whip] in his hand. The fiery lash crackled as he swung it with precision, severing the slimy tentacles in one powerful strike. The searing flames cauterized the wounds, preventing the severed limbs from regenerating too quickly.
More tentacles followed, slithering and thrashing toward his group. Kai knew he couldn’t rely on brute force alone. He extended his free hand, casting an [Ice Beam] that froze the incoming tentacles in mid-air. Frost spread rapidly along the writhing limbs, encasing them in an unyielding crystalline
shell.
The kraken roared in frustration, its immense strength cracking the ice as it struggled against its bindings. With a deafening crash, the frozen tentacles shattered, shards flying in all directions.
But Kai was already prepared. Channeling his mana, he unleashed a fiery explosion that engulfed the kraken’s exposed body. Flames licked at its slimy flesh, eliciting another ear-splitting scream as the beast flailed in agony.
The kraken’s retaliation was swift. Its remaining tentacles slammed into the cavern ceiling, dislodging massive chunks of rock.
Kai’s heart sank. “Damn it.”
The boulders hurtled toward him, too fast to counter. For a split second, he braced for impact.
Then, a crackling bolt of lightning tore through the air, shattering the falling rocks into harmless fragments. Kai turned, his eyes widening in surprise and relief.
Claire stood firm, her gaze steady, the Storm Sovereign glowing with raw energy by her side. Lightning danced around her, illuminating the cavern with an otherworldly light.
“Lord Arzan, are you okay?” she called out.
Kai nodded, brushing the dust from his shoulders. But before he could respond, the Storm Sovereign, an arrogant gleam in its otherworldly eyes, stepped forward. “Human, you need to do better as my trainer’s liege,” it said, its tone dripping with disdain.
Kai smirked, ignoring the jab. “Claire, go all-out. I’ll handle the rest.”
Claire nodded, the Storm Sovereign roaring as lightning surged from its antlers. Bolts rained down, striking the kraken’s tentacles as they flailed wildly. Taking the chance of the distraction, Kai used [Wind Embrace] to pull
Gareth and Gorak out of the kraken’s reach.
Both fighters stumbled back but quickly readied their weapons, eyes locked on the beast.
His eyes then shifted to the kraken’s massive body, its wounds already healing at an unnerving speed.
An idea struck him. His eyes narrowed as he formulated his plan.
With a quick gesture, he summoned a massive sphere of ice, hovering it above the kraken.
“Claire!” he shouted. “Strike it with lightning!”
The Storm Sovereign reared up, releasing a surge of electricity that tore through the ice ball. Kai didn’t let it crash down. Instead, he ignited his flames, melting the ice into a torrent of scalding water.
The boiling cascade poured onto the kraken, covering its entire body.
The beast shrieked, its cries shaking the dungeon as steam rose in thick clouds. It writhed, its movements growing erratic under the searing pain.
The Storm Sovereign stomped its hooves, releasing a powerful lightning strike straight into the kraken’s chest, sending it reeling backward.
“Now!” Kai shouted. Gareth and Gorak leaped forward, weapons flashing as they struck in unison.
Their blades sliced deep, cutting into the kraken’s core.
Before the beast could begin regenerating, Kai unleashed a massive wave of fiery mana, forming a [Searing Trap] that wrapped around the creature.
The flames burned brightly, keeping it bound in place. As the kraken thrashed, Kai used his wind magic to propel himself high into the air, landing on its massive head.
He locked eyes with the beast, his mana surging as he sent a thread of energy directly into its core. His voice was loud, talking to the monster in a dominating way. “Submit, or I will end you here and now.”
The kraken’s body trembled, its movements slowing as Kai’s mana bore down on it.
***
A man stood over the crumpled, bloody body of the village guard, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the dirt. He tilted his head slightly, as if inspecting the corpse for a moment before shifting his gaze to the small village nestled beyond the hill. A scattering of simple thatched-roof houses surrounded a modest central square, where a solitary well stood.
Smoke lazily drifted from a few chimneys, and the faint sound of livestock carried on the wind.
“It was easier to get in than I expected,” he muttered.
Behind him, another figure emerged from the shadows, a smirk twisting their lips. “These humans are pitiful. One little vein gets poked, and they bleed out like pigs.”
The first man shrugged, stepping over the body. “Makes our job easier.” His boots crunched softly against the dirt path as he began walking toward the village.
But before they could proceed further, faint footsteps caught their attention. A lone man was approaching, humming to himself, his lantern casting flickering light in the approaching dusk.
As the newcomer came closer and spotted the group, his cheerful demeanor vanished. He froze mid-step, confusion flashing across his face before it gave way to horror. His eyes widened as recognition set in.
“You—”
The leader of the group moved in a blur, faster than the man could react. A single, devastating punch landed square in his stomach, and the man crumpled, blood spurting from his mouth. He fell to his knees, gasping and trembling.
“Scream, and you’re dead,” the leader hissed, his voice sharp enough to carve through stone.
“P-please,” the man choked out. “I don’t want to die. I have kids... please...”
The leader crouched, his face inches from the man’s pale and blood-streaked face. “If you don’t want them to grow up orphans, you’ll tell me where the village head’s house is.”
Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks as he pointed westward, toward a larger house standing at the edge of the village. Its modest size and the faint glow from its windows marked it as the home of someone more important than the others.
“That one... that’s his house,” the man stammered, his voice barely audible.
The leader stood, nodding. “Good. You’ve done your job.”
The man looked up, hope flickering briefly in his eyes. “Please, spare my life...?”
Before he could finish, his head snapped to the side, cleanly severed from his body. Blood sprayed across the dirt as the man tossed the lifeless form aside. He turned to his followers, his gaze like ice.
“Get to work,” he commanded. “Kill everyone. No mercy. And if you’re thirsty, drink your fill—even from the babies.”
The group grinned, their eyes glowing with a predatory hunger as they moved toward the village, their shadows stretching long under the fading light. The quiet village, unaware of the terror descending upon it, would soon be drenched in blood.
The blood drinker glanced back at his group,
a cruel smirk on his lips. "Don’t stick around for long. Finish the job. I’ll deal with the chief myself."
His followers nodded silently, their expressions hungry and eager as they dispersed toward the houses.
The blood drinker didn’t spare them another glance, even as the first screams erupted from the darkened village. They pierced the night but he paid them no mind. He had a mission.
He strode toward the village chief's house, his pace unhurried. Reaching the modest structure, he kicked the door open with enough force to rattle the entire frame. The dull thud of the door hitting the wall echoed into the small hearth-lit room, where a man and woman stirred awake, startled.
A child between them began to whimper as the shadows of the intruder loomed large.
The village chief’s instincts kicked in immediately. One hand went protectively around the kid and the other darted for the knife resting by the bed. With a desperate yell, he lunged at the intruder, blade flashing in the firelight.
The blood drinker didn’t flinch. He allowed the knife to sink into his chest, stopping only when it met his ribs. He glanced down, a smile stretching across his face. "You’re weak," he murmured, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it with a sickening crack.
The chief cried out in pain as he fell to his knees. Behind him, the woman cowered, clutching the child close. The blood drinker’s cold, pale face turned to them, his eyes glinting like rubies in the firelight. The child’s cries grew louder, and the woman’s tears flowed freely.
“Pathetic,” the blood drinker said, lifting his hand. Thin, crimson darts formed in the air around him, pulsing with a sinister glow. With a flick of his wrist, the darts shot forward, piercing both the woman and the child before they could scream. Blood splattered the walls, painting it red, and the room fell into a deafening silence, save for the crackling of the hearth.
The village chief, his face contorted in grief and rage, looked up at his family’s murderer.
"Why... Why kill them?" he croaked.
The blood drinker crouched down, his lips curling into a cold smile.
"You wronged the wrong person! Or rather, your baron did. And now, you’re going to pay for it."
With a casual flick of his hand, the blood drinker sent the man sprawling against the wall.
The chief groaned in pain, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He looked up, his spirit shattered.
"Just kill me," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes lingered on the lifeless bodies of his wife and child. Soon, a sob escaped his lips, and another followed, and another.
The blood drinker stood, towering over the broken man. "Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Please! Isn’t that what you want? Do it!”
“No," he said. "Someone needs to spread the story. To make sure it doesn’t happen again."
The chief’s eyes widened in shock.
“W-w-what?”
"Run. Tell everyone you meet—if you cross Count Arzan, you die."
As he spoke, flames erupted behind him, licking the walls and consuming the room in a fiery glow. The village chief scrambled to his feet, clutching his broken wrist, and staggered toward the door. He paused for one last look at the man who had destroyed his world, then fled into the night, his cries drowned by the roar of the flames and the screams echoing from the rest of the village.
The blood drinker stood in the inferno, watching the chaos he had unleashed, his smirk never fading. "Message delivered," he murmured before turning back toward the village, his blood-red eyes gleaming.
2025-01-16 07:49:05 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 165
Lucian’s sharp eyes scanned the space, narrowing as they landed on the figure seated leisurely at a table, a crystal goblet in hand.
The liquid within moved darkly, its coppery scent was unmistakably there, even at a distance. Lucian’s nose scrunched up involuntarily—revulsion crossing his eyes before he forced his face. He wanted to act indifferent to the sight before him.
But the stench... it was impossible to ignore. Rot and death hung thick in the air, emanating from the man before him like a shroud. No matter how many times Lucian had dealt with Shakran, the smell always made his stomach churn.
Shakran lifted his head lazily, his crimson eyes boring into Lucian. His lips curled up, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth that had stained faintly with the remnants of his last meal. “Lucian,” he drawled. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Have you already assembled your army?”
Lucian scoffed, and bit back his disgust. "Don’t talk to me as if you have any authority here, blood drinker. My army has been ready for months. Even the mercenaries I hired are still in place, draining my coffers every single day. It’s you who’s stalling. Why hasn’t it started? I want Veralt razed to the ground, and I want it now."
Shakran’s smile widened, his fangs glinting due to the flickering light of the single lantern that hung above. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the goblet lazily before taking another slurp. “Ah, Lucian,” he flared his nostrils. “Just as you don’t work for me, I don't work for you. I am here as a courtesy–a favor from Mistress Regina to assist you in this… quest of yours.”
Lucian bristled at the mention of Regina, but Shakran continued before he could speak.
"As for the delay," Shakran said, placing the goblet down with a soft clink, "you’ll be pleased to know it won’t be much longer. Tonight, under the cover of the dead of night, Sylvan Enclave will know terror. The screams will echo far and wide. When the chaos is at its peak, you can march your righteous forces into the fray. And as for this brother of yours..."
Shakran twisted his head like a mad man as his crimson eyes glowed even more. His smile widened. "I will handle him personally."
"No, you won’t."
“And why not?” Irritation dripped from Shakran's voice as he asked that.
"The spy from Archine Tower is already in position. When the war begins, he’ll take care of Arzan. With him gone, the rest of his forces will crumble like sand underfoot. From the reports, he’s the spearhead. Without him, this so-called fief war won’t last a single day."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Shakran’s face, quickly replaced by a sly smirk. "How utterly boring! I was hoping to have a go at him myself. It’s been too long since I’ve faced a worthy opponent and from what I have heard about your brother, he seems like the right choice."
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. "Do you think this is a game?"
Shakran leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his smile never wavering.
"It’s not," he said, his voice a low purr. "But hunting strong Mages? That’s a personal game of mine. And, of course, drinking their blood. There’s nothing quite like the taste of a Mage who has fought to their last breath."
Lucian’s jaw tightened, his disgust barely concealed. "If this spy of ours—or should I say assassin—manages to kill him, his body will be buried according to the customs."
Shakran tilted his head, intrigued. "How sentimental of you. I didn’t think you’d care for such traditions."
Lucian’s gaze turned icy. "I hate my brother," he said coldly, "but I’ll make sure his grave is made. Not for respect, but so I can look at it and revel in my victory. But if you do your part well, I might let you have your moment. You can suck him up before we bury him. Consider it... a reward."
Shakran’s eyes gleamed with unrestrained hunger, and his lips curled into a pleased grin. "Very well. You won’t be disappointed by tonight’s show, Duke."
***
Kai stood at the bow of the sleek wooden boat. The gentle current carried them forward. The only thing he heard was the sound of the water mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves from the dense forest flanking the banks. Over an hour had passed since they’d departed Sylvastra, leaving behind the ancient, wooden city of elves and its stoic elders with little fanfare.
The farewell had been surprisingly warm. The elders, including the once-grim Caelith, had bid them safe travels, their earlier tension seemingly replaced by cautious optimism.
Even so, the silence among Kai's retinue hinted at the uncertainty that had settled over them.
He’d waited until the boat was well underway before explaining his plan. The initial reactions had been mixed—not from lack of faith in his abilities, but from concern about the risks involved. And he could tell that his team was still not entirely comfortable with his decision.
“Are you really sure about this, Lord Arzan?” Gareth finally spoke up, breaking up the silence that’d engulfed them awkwardly.
“I wouldn’t have decided without careful thought,” he replied. “And I’ve already explained the plan to you in detail.”
Gareth hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, but we’ll be risking our lives for this, Lord Arzan. My life is fine to gamble, but I need to make sure that you’re safe.”
That earned a smile from Kai, his eyes softened just enough to erase some of his tension. “Gareth, I’m capable enough to look after myself. I know you’re concerned because we haven’t faced anything that’s challenging since the beast wave, but this will be a good test of our mettle.”
He saw the man open his mouth to respond, but before he could, Raven stepped into the conversation.
“Do we really need to test ourselves against the Reaper of the River?”
“Yes, we should. The rivers running through the Sylvan Enclave are vital, and I need eyes on them. Hiring a crew to patrol would draw too much attention. But if we can subdue the kraken and bind it with druidic magic, we’ll rule the waterways. With its strength, we’ll reach Veralt in less than two days instead of a week.”
Hesitation showed in Raven's face as she thought for some time, probably thinking of some way to change his mind. “I see the logic,” she said after a while, not finding anything. “I’ll keep an eye on the monster.”
The rest of the group remained silent, focusing on the river and any creatures that might sprang up from beneath the surface.
Kai took a deep breath. He hadn’t initially planned to confront the kraken so soon; it had been a far-off idea, spurred by Raven’s story of the creature. But Claire’s recent bond with a Grade 3 spirit had changed the equation. With two Spirit Trainers, seasoned Enforcers, and his own power, Kai doubted the kraken would stand much of a chance.
In preparation, they’d stocked the boat with an arsenal of alchemical potions used for battles. Sylvastra had no lack of herbs and alchemical materials and thanks to that, Kai had been able to prepare all of them just before they left. And with that, more possibilities churned, increasing his confidence due to the potent tools at their disposal.
He turned his eyes towards the river, squinting to notice it's sheer depth. Rather than the actual battle, their first hurdle was to reach the underground dungeon. Its location had been the major reason for no elf to subdue it before, but it didn’t limit Kai.
He had already gotten a way to breath without a problem under water and now, the remaining task was to put the plan into action.
The boat drifted to a gentle halt as Raven raised her hand, signaling the twins to stop rowing. The wide river was calm here, the only sound was the faint creak of wood and the soft lapping of water against the hull.
Ahead, a massive tree loomed over the river, its gnarled roots dipping into the water like fat fingers of an old man.
Raven turned back. “Lord Arzan, I believe this is the location. There should be an underwater cave here—it’s where the dungeon is supposed to be.”
Kai nodded, already reaching for the satchel beside him. He pulled out several small vials filled with a faintly glowing blue liquid. The potion, which was dubbed ‘Aqua Vitae’ had been prepared back in Sylvastra.
“Alright,” Kai said, distributing the vials. “Drink it. We’ll head underwater once it takes effect.”
Finn looked hesitant as he looked at the
simmering blue liquid. “What about the boat?”
“I’ll stay behind,” Finnigan volunteered.
“Someone needs to guard it and our supplies. No telling what else might lurk in these waters.”
Kai nodded his approval, passing the remaining vials. As they held the vials in their hands, Gareth furrowed his brow.
“How does this work?”
“Water contains oxygen, but it’s in such small amounts that humans can’t process it. Sea creatures, however, can. The potion creates temporary pores across your skin that absorb dissolved oxygen from the water, allowing you to breathe. It lasts for an hour, so don’t waste time. Also, we wouldn’t be able to talk under water, so use hand signs whenever necessary. Keep an eye on each other. Once we find the dungeon, it should be easy.”
The group nodded, albeit warily. Kai uncorked his vial and downed the contents in one gulp. The liquid was surprisingly warm and salty, making him wonder if he had used too much of the herbaster grass. Almost immediately, his skin prickled as though tiny needles were dancing across it. The sensation intensified, popping and itching, until it settled into a strange equilibrium.
As he adjusted to the potion’s effects, Kai drew a deep breath and cast [Wind Veil]. A translucent barrier of air came to life around each of them. A spell to help them enhance their visibility and improve their ability to move around in the water.
“Let’s go now.”
Raven was the first to leap into the river, her form disappearing with barely a splash. One by one, the others followed until only Kai and the twin guarding the boat remained. With a quick glance back, Kai dove in, the cool water enveloping him in an instant.
Beneath the surface, the world transformed into an ethereal realm of blues and greens.
Sunlight filtered through the water, creating shifting patterns that danced over the sandy riverbed. Schools of fish darted to and fro, shimmering like living jewels. A group of silvery minnows swirled in a ‘V’ formation, scattering as Kai moved closer.
He activated his [Mana Perception], sending out invisible pulses to search for the dungeon. Almost immediately, he felt it—a centralized concentration of mana deeper beneath the river. With a flick of his hand, he conjured a glowing [Lightball], its light cutting through the water and illuminating their path.
Kai turned to the others and gestured, signaling the direction of the mana source.
They nodded back in return.
They swam deeper, the light from the surface fading as they descended.
The world around them grew quieter, save for the rhythmic pulse of their movement and the faint hum of mana that Kai could feel in his heart. Strange underwater plants swayed gently in unseen currents, their tendrils brushing against the intruders. A crab the size of a dinner plate scuttled away, claws raised defensively.
The water grew colder, thicker, darker and heavier with each passing moment, and Kai could feel the subtle but relentless push against his body. Yet, the more they descended, the stronger the mana pulse became, resonating in Kai’s heart like a deep drumbeat.
After ten minutes of silent swimming, they finally reached it—a large opening. The edges of the cave mouth were encrusted with coral and faintly glowing bioluminescent plants, marking it like the maw.
Kai gestured to the others, pointing toward the entrance, and began swimming toward it.
The group moved cautiously. The water inside was darker, muffling even the faintest currents from the outside river. The walls were smooth and oddly uniform, as if carved intentionally rather than formed by nature.
Ahead, the terrain began to slope upward, and soon their heads broke through the water’s surface. They emerged into a massive cave. The group climbed out of the water, droplets dripping from their clothes and gear, and stood on solid ground at last.
Kai scanned the area as the others caught their breath. The faint glimmer of light from the cavern walls was just enough to see by, though the shadows danced menacingly in the corners. He focused on the overwhelming surge of mana deeper inside.
“We need to move,” Kai whispered. “I can feel a large source of mana up ahead—probably the core of the dungeon. Let’s not waste time.”
The group nodded, looking at each other tensely. But soon, their focus shifted back to the task at hand.
As they moved forward, their steps echoed faintly in the eerie stillness. Every single creak of armor or scrape of a boot against the rocky ground felt deafening in the oppressive silence.
Kai’s gaze darted around, his mana perception on high alert. Yet, as he had suspected, there was nothing. No movement, no sign of life. If the kraken truly resided here, it wouldn’t have tolerated any other creatures in its domain. Between its territorial nature and the dungeon’s inhospitable depth, it was unlikely that anything else could survive here.
After several minutes of tense walking, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber.
Kai halted, raising a hand to signal the group to stop. The room ahead was massive, its scale impossible to fully comprehend from their position at the edge.
A faint, pulsating glow emanated from its center, creating flickering shadows across the walls.
Before stepping forward, Kai turned to Claire. “Claire, stay at the back. I know you’ve got a strong spirit, but you’re not here to fight directly. Use your spirit to support us, and most importantly, stay safe. Your safety is paramount.”
Claire straightened at his words. “Lord Arzan, I understand. I’ve seen monsters up close during the beast wave. I believe I can handle myself.”
Kai nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile of approval. “Good. Just follow my lead.”
With that, they moved into the chamber, their footsteps echoing ominously. The air grew heavier, almost suffocating with the density of mana.
And then they froze.
The scene before them was more than they had anticipated. Towering in the center of the room, its tentacles coiled around a massive, glowing crystalline core, was the kraken. Green, mottled skin glistened under the glow of the crystalline core it protected. Its tentacles coiled and uncoiled slowly.
Fuck… It's massive.
The thickness of each tentacle was as thick as the largest tree trunk, and it spread to cover much of the cave floor. Two dozen eyes, shut in sleep, dotted its enormous, bulbous head.
Its massive size was intimidating, filling the room with a heavy presence even as it slept. The kraken’s body moved slightly, its breathing creating a low hum that seemed to echo through the air.
The core’s light gave it an eerie glow, highlighting scars and markings that crisscrossed its slick, scaled surface.
Kai raised a hand, signaling everyone to come to a halt, his eyes narrowing as he studied the beast. It hadn’t noticed them yet, its deep, steady breaths hiding the sounds of their careful movements. He leaned toward the others, speaking in a voice just above a whisper.
“Raven,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the massive creature, “throw the explosive potions on my command. The rest of you, stay on guard and hold your weapons tight. Claire, stay back—no matter what happens, do not come close.”
Everyone nodded. Raven took a few steps behind, and her hand went to her satchel, gripping the vials of explosive potion tightly.
Everything was calm when Kai stepped forward, raising his hands in the air.
Mana surged around him as he began constructing a spell. The chamber darkened slightly, the light from the core dimming as a swirling array of runes appeared in the air above him. The temperature rose sharply as flames began to coalesce into hundreds of blazing arrows, hovering in a precise formation above their heads.
Kai’s eyes narrowed as he adjusted the aim, ensuring the arrows would strike exactly where he wanted. And still, the kraken remained oblivious.
“Now,” Kai commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Raven hurled the explosive potions. The vials flew through the air and shattered when they came intact with its body, erupting into violent bursts of fire and acid. The explosion rocked the cave, and the beast let out a deep shudder.
It woke up.
All twenty-four eyes flickered open, their glow intensifying as they focused on the intruders.
A deafening, high-pitched screech echoed through the cavern, and the kraken’s massive tentacles uncoiled, thrashing wildly as it rose to its full, terrifying height.
Kai watched as the creature’s charred flesh began to regenerate almost immediately, the burned sections of its body knitting together with alarming speed. He didn’t hesitate.
“Before it heals completely, attack!” he shouted, releasing his spell.
The flaming arrows rained down, streaking through the air like a comet.
The kraken’s roar of pain and fury reverberated through the chamber as it turned its full attention to them.
The battle began just like that.
2025-01-14 07:13:58 +0000 UTC
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Epilogue - 1
The sun broke through the soft mist covering the mountains. Step by step, a lone figure climbed the stone stairs carved into the ancient rock, each step echoing gently in the quiet air. The man dressed in plain yet refined robes moved slowly, as though he wanted to enjoy every moment of the ascent.
He climbed until he reached the peak, where the world opened into a stunning view. Before him stretched a vast, serene land with swaying trees and crystal-clear lakes sparkling under the sunlight—a paradise that could leave any ordinary person breathless.
At the center of the peak sat another figure, his back turned, hands gliding over the strings of an old guqin. The mournful notes floated through the air, both beautiful and sorrowful, as if the instrument itself grieved its solitude in this heavenly place.
The man stopped and took in the sight. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, until the musician finally turned, a small smirk breaking the calm on his face. "I knew you’d come," he said. "But I didn’t expect it to take so long to find me. The cultivators of the Immortal Path aren’t as capable as I thought."
The man scoffed. "Your tricks around the mountains misled them. I killed those who couldn’t see through the illusions," he replied, his voice sharp. The air grew heavy with tension at his words, as though bracing for the fight to come. "Now, it’s your choice: join them in death, or hand over the medallion. I prefer talking before a fight, but my patience is running out. Don’t waste my time, Silver Jade. Give me the medallion, and I’ll spare you. I don’t want to kill you now that you’ve retired."
Silver Jade laughed softly, shaking his head. "Two hundred years in solitude, and people think you’re retired,” he said, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I can’t give you the medallion. That’s why I hold it, not you. In your hands, it would destroy the world. I’m sorry, but my answer is no."
"I thought you’d say that," the intruder replied, his voice cold. "Looks like I have no choice but to fight you."
As he spoke, the air buzzed with energy, and his body began to change. Shadows curled around him, his skin darkened and cracked like old stone, and horns twisted grotesquely from his forehead, reaching toward the sky. In moments, the man was gone, replaced by a fearsome demonic figure, radiating power and ready to bring destruction to the once-peaceful peak.
Silver Jade didn't even flinch seeing the transformation. “Every time I see that face, Jun, it makes me sick,” he spat, his voice steady but laced with contempt. “I should’ve ended you three centuries ago. But your master saved you when you chose the demonic path. Today, that mistake will be corrected.”
Setting his guqin gently to the side, Silver Jade’s eyes narrowed in focus. A jade sword began to form in his hands, its crystalline surface shimmering under the sun, its razor edge promising swift death. Without another word, he lunged at Jun, his movements fluid and precise, the strike aimed straight at his opponent’s chest.
Jun dodged effortlessly, a sly grin spreading across his face as he soared upward, his mocking laughter ringing through the air. “Oh, is this all you’ve got? That swing couldn’t even touch me!” he jeered, his tone dripping with disdain.
Silver Jade refused to be baited, maintaining his composure as he launched another flurry of strikes, each more calculated than the last. The two clashed high above the ground, their figures blurring as they danced among the clouds. Jun’s every dodge seemed almost lazy, his smugness infuriating as he continued his taunts. “Have you truly fallen this far? Where’s the strength you once wielded? You’re making this far too easy.”
But then, Silver Jade’s blade found its mark. The sharp edge slashed across Jun’s shoulder, and for a brief moment, triumph flickered in Silver Jade’s eyes.
That moment was fleeting.
Dark flames erupted from the wound, racing up the blade toward Silver Jade’s hands. He recoiled, dropping the sword as pain seared through him. “The dark flames…” he whispered, realising dawning. “You… you killed one of the phoenixes to refine them!”
Jun’s laughter echoed once more, darker this time, almost melodic in its cruelty. “Clever, but not quite right. It wasn’t one of the elders—it was one of its hatchlings. A small price to pay for power.” He raised his hand, flames curling and twisting around it with an almost sentient hunger. “These flames don’t just burn, Silver Jade. They heal.”
To prove his point, Jun flexed his shoulder, and the flames consumed the wound, stitching it together as though it had never existed. His grin widened. “Watch closely now—this is the power you’ll never have!”
With a flourish, Jun unleashed a barrage of dark fireballs, each crackling with destructive energy as they sped toward Silver Jade.
Acting quickly, Silver Jade conjured massive jade shields to block the onslaught. The fireballs collided with the barriers, their impact sending shockwaves through the air. But the dark flames burned too fiercely, melting through the jade like it was paper, forcing Silver Jade to twist and dive, narrowly evading the molten destruction.
Jun didn’t let go. A blade of dark fire formed in his hand, glowing ominously as he closed the distance between them. He pursued Silver Jade relentlessly, his strikes gaining speed and ferocity, flames trailing in his wake like a comet. Each clash of their weapons sent ripples of energy tearing through the sky, shaking the mountain below. Rocks crumbled, and the landscape buckled under the force of their battle.
Silver Jade, now pushed to his limits, could feel the strain bearing down on him. Jun’s relentless assault and the regenerative power of his flames tipped the scales heavily in his favor. For every strike Silver Jade managed to land, Jun’s dark flames restored him, erasing the damage and leaving Silver Jade struggling to keep up.
Realizing he was going to lose like this, Silver Jade gritted his teeth and decided to unleash his full power. He dodged another strike and shouted, “Jade Cage Domain!”
The world around them changed instantly. Large ripples of qi blasted out from the man, transforming the world around them. Jade crystals shot up from the ground, forming a glowing yet suffocating cage that surrounded Jun. Silver Jade smirked, confident that he had finally trapped his enemy. But as the jade crystals closed in, Jun’s face shifted. “Your domain is impressive, as always,” he admitted, even as he felt the danger growing closer.
Then Jun raised his arms, flames bursting forth with a fierce energy. “But my domain is nothing to underestimate either,” he countered.
As his power surged, flames spiraled around him, shaping into a terrifying figure—a massive, grotesque phoenix made of dark fire.
The dark phoenix let out a roar, its fiery wings spreading wide as it devoured the jade, turning it to ash in a brilliant blaze that lit up the sky. It rushed toward Silver Jade, ready to engulf him in its fury. The battle’s balance shifted at that moment, their domains clashing to decide their fates and the future of the realms they sought to either protect—or destroy.
The phoenix screeched, its blazing wings scorching the air as it dove toward the jade barriers, its fiery talons tearing through the constructs like molten blades. Energy crackled through the air as Silver Jade summoned a massive green barrier, using the last of his qi reserves to form a glowing shield.
“Burn!” Jun’s voice rang out, triumphant, as the phoenix tore through the shield. Flames consumed the jade domain’s core, and shattered fragments rained down like a storm. Silver Jade fell through the sky. The jade-covered mountain below crumbled, burying the instrument that the man had been playing under piles of rubble.
Jun stepped forward, the phoenix shrinking into a wisp of flame that returned to his hand, taking the shape of a dark, fiery sword. He smiled slowly, his sharp grin full of confidence, as he surveyed the destruction. But as the smoke cleared, his amusement faded.
From the wreckage, Silver Jade rose, encased in a full suit of jade armor. The armor shimmered with a soft glow, power that had saved his life radiating off it.
Jun tilted his head, his blade humming with dark energy. “Still alive? I’ll give you credit—I didn’t expect that. But you must know, this armor of yours—” he gestured with his blade, “—only delays the inevitable.” He stepped closer, his every movement deliberate and heavy with intent.
Silver Jade’s voice broke the silence, strained yet unyielding. “Demon, you can kill me, but you’ll never get the medallion!”
Jun laughed, low and cruel, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “Why not?” He spread his arms, his flame sword hovering near Silver Jade’s throat. “I only want it because it’s holding me back. Progression is my sole purpose—the reason I get up every morning. To ascend. The feeling of reaching the next level of power, breaking past limits... It's the greatest pleasure in the world. Better than any drink. Better than any whore in my harem.” His eyes burned with hunger. “I’ve been starving for that feeling for so long. And now, I’m finally about to have it again. Your righteousness won’t stop me.”
Silver Jade scowled, his fingers twitching as he growled through gritted teeth, “Die!”
Jun moved to cut off his head, but froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing as he caught the subtle shift in the man’s expression and the power stored within them. Realization dawned on him. “A forbidden technique, is it?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice.
“You’re planning to self-destruct. How noble.” He tilted his head mockingly, his grin returning. “But here’s the thing: I’ve got artifacts strong enough to survive it. And when you’re dead, I’ll go straight for your disciples—ah, yes, Lilan and Daomi, wasn’t it? Lovely names. I’ll make sure to hunt them down and kill them, one by one.”
Silver Jade flinched, his moment of hesitation betraying his resolve.
Jun’s smile widened, his blade flaring with dark fire as he prepared to strike. “So, tell me, hero—will you still throw your life away knowing I’ll rain hell on everything you’ve ever cared for?”
Jun’s blade hovered inches from Silver Jade’s throat, the dark flames licking the edges of the man’s shimmering armor. Silver Jade’s gaze hardened, his lips moving silently as if reciting a final prayer. Jun’s eyes narrowed, watching every twitch and flicker of emotion.
“Ah,” Jun said, his tone suddenly light, almost conversational. “You’re thinking of your disciples, aren’t you? Have you heard of them? You know Daomi, that little brat recently became a marquis. Got a shiny, new title, a wife and even have a daughter on the way. How charming.” Jun’s smile darkened.
“Do you want me to go there and wreak havoc? Burn their estate, watch their lives crumble? I’m very confident I can escape before the other domain holders arrive.”
The latter’s expression shifted, the anger giving way to something else—fear. He clenched his fists, his armor dimming slightly as his aura faltered.
Jun took a step closer, his smile widening as if savoring the man’s torment. “Ah, even for someone as old as you, someone who has seen more death than most, your disciples are still precious, aren’t they? How dramatic. So, what’s it going to be?” He leaned in, his blade tilting to reflect Silver Jade’s face. “You know me well enough to know I’m fully capable of keeping my promises. Just give me the medallion... and die. You’ve got five seconds.”
Jun raised his hand, counting down with deliberate slowness. “Five... four... three...” He sang the numbers.
“Wait!” Silver Jade’s voice cracked. “I’ll give it to you.”
Jun stopped counting, his grin returning. “Good. A wise choice.”
Silver Jade’s trembling hands reached into his robes, pulling out a medallion that glowed faintly. It bore unique carvings, its energy palpable even at a distance. He extended it toward Jun, who snatched it eagerly.
Holding the medallion up to the light, Jun’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “Finally...” he murmured, his thumb tracing its surface.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Jun,” Silver Jade said, his voice heavy with regret. “Your master picked you out when you were just a commoner, raised you to a position of power, and now you’ve betrayed everything he stood for—all for the sake of—”
Before the man could finish, Jun’s flaming blade swept through the air, cutting cleanly through his throat. Blood sprayed as Silver Jade’s body collapsed, the jade armor cracking and fading into dust.
“Immortality,” Jun said, finishing the man’s sentence with a smirk. He shook his head, muttering to himself, “I really need to stop killing everyone. My body count must be in the tens of thousands by now.” He chuckled darkly, his eyes returning to the medallion.
As he held it up, studying its patterns, a smile crept across his face. “Finally, I have one piece. Now, if only I can get the others fast enough...”
His words trailed off as a strange sensation washed over him. Jun’s eyes darted to his spatial ring, his smile fading slightly. Something was stirring inside.
With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved a small lantern from its depths. The artifact, made of dark metal and engraved with ancient runes, shimmered faintly in his palm. Inside, a tiny flame flickered, its light dimming with each passing second.
Jun frowned, holding the lantern up to his face as the flame sputtered, shrinking to a faint ember before vanishing completely. A sharp crack echoed through the air as the lantern’s surface split, thin fractures racing along its once-pristine surface.
His eyes widened slightly, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he muttered, his voice low, “that’s... surprising.” He turned the cracked lantern over in his hands, as if searching for answers. “Someone managed to kill Gu Tian and that old master of his. I didn’t expect that.”
Jun chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Guess you really do see something new every day, even at my age. But the question is...” He stared at the broken lantern, a spark of curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes.
“Who could’ve managed it? A master cultivator, perhaps? Some wandering genius? Or...” His lips curled into a wicked grin. “The one who holds the medallion.”
His gaze fell to the lifeless body of Silver Jade, still sprawled on the ground amidst the shattered remnants of his armor. Jun’s voice dropped to a whisper, filled with quiet malice. “Well, whoever it is that holds that medallion... their fate will be the same as his.”
He stepped over the body, his flaming blade dissipating as he slid the medallion into his robes. The air around him grew heavy with his oppressive aura as he glanced toward the horizon, his thoughts already racing ahead to the next step in his pursuit.
2025-01-14 07:04:00 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 164
The Elder Tree was an extremely special being. In a way, it was a cornerstone of existence. To call it a god wasn’t entirely accurate, but it wasn’t entirely wrong either—and Kai couldn’t think of a better word. Unlike the divine beings that were being worshipped across the human kingdoms, it neither had a church or demanded faith. Yet its presence was no less vital. Simply by existing, it exhaled mana, saturating the world with the lifeblood of magic.
Without the Elder Tree, the world would slowly suffocate, magic would dwindle until it was nothing more than some distant legend and it was a scary, scary nightmare.
So when Kai started to think about saving such a being—he realised one thing; this was one of the hardest tasks he’d ever taken upon. But if there’s another thing he knew about himself, it was that he didn’t give up when he put his mind into anything. Not even if it could cost his life.
He got into the process of thinking. He thought, and thought, until something clicked.
Kai realised that he had been thinking of it wrongly from the start. He'd been trying to find a way to revive this divine being to the point that he had overlooked the fact that even if the Elder Tree was special and one of its kind, it was still a tree.
And even if he didn’t know ways to revive a tree, he knew ways to create a new one.
But it came with its own complications. Still, Kai knew it was the only way forward.
With confidence, he stood in front of the Council of Five Tribes and looked at how their expressions shifted from excitement for his words to scepticism within seconds.
Flossbor, who’d been extremely optimistic about his arrival, looked at him and narrowed his eyes. Was he angry? Kai couldn’t tell. Next to Flossbor, Elder V’aleirith shifted in her seat.
Caelith openly sneered, his displeasure practically radiated off of him.
“You claim to have multiple ways to save the Elder Tree.” Caelith leaned forward with his sneer deepening. “Do you think we are fools, Arzan? We have devoted centuries to this task, only for you to claim you’ve solved it in a matter of days? And not only one way, but two?!”
Kai’s jaw tightened. He forced himself to exhale and turned his attention to Elder V’aleirith instead. Although she showed signs of confusion, Kai knew that she was aware of his intentions. Her calm presence, in fact, consoled a part of him.
She raised her hand to silence Caelith.
“Enough, Caelith. Let him speak. If nothing else, let us hear what Arzan has to offer.” she tore her gaze from the angry man and looked at Kai, her eyes softening in the process.
“What do you mean?”
Kai inhaled again. “We all have thought about ways to revive the Elder Tree, reverse its ageing and heal it so that the cycle could prolong. That approach, no matter how noble, only delays the inevitable. It would still be there. The cycle would continue, and the calamity would strike again. Maybe not in the next hundred years but in the next thousand years.”
The room fell silent. Even Caelith’s sneer faltered, replaced by a furrowed brow. The weight of Kai’s words hung in the air as he pressed on.
Kai wasn’t speaking like this for no reason. If at least the history of the elven population he knew was true, then the Elder Tree would have died at the end of the first golden era of magic. There still was a long time for that, so, it meant that the elves somehow were able to prolong and extend the Tree’s life. But, still, in the end, the world fell. The tree died, giving way to dead mana to pollute the last bit of pure mana.
That was obviously if the history he knew was correct.
At this point, he wasn’t so sure.
“What are you telling, young man?” Lirian, one of the elf elders who had been silent till now asked, her expression grumpy. “Speak clearly!”
“My plan isn’t to extend the Elder Tree's lifespan but to create a new one. It’s still a tree; and if it’s a tree, that means, it has a seed—it’s legacy. I don’t claim to know how to revive this one, but I do know how to plant another.”
That earned him multiple shock-filled gazes. Everything stilled before him when a voice spoke up.
“How exactly are you planning to do that? We don't have another Elder Tree seed.” Flossbor asked.
Kai met his eyes without hesitation. “First, there’s propagation,” he began. “We take fragments of the Elder Tree—its branches, buds, or bark—and plant them. Over time, they might grow into new trees, maybe multiple. I don’t know if they’d replicate the Elder Tree entirely, but even if they produce mana in smaller quantities, it would be a significant step forward.”
The council’s reaction to his words were immediate. They exchanged glances, and Kai sensed their thoughts shifting from scepticism to intrigue.
“That could work…” Flossbor muttered and locked eyes with him, and he immediately noticed the twinkle of hope. “I never thought of it like that, but would it really help? Propagation might not work with the Elder Tree, but we can certainly try.”
Kai allowed himself a small nod of satisfaction. The idea was taking root. But before he could speak further, another voice cut through the murmurs.
“But Flossbor, the Elder Tree is sacred!” Lirian shouted. She shook her head frantically. “We can’t cut it or take its buds. That’s blasphemy!”
Elder V’aleirith turned her gaze to Lirian. “And if we don’t try, the Elder Tree may not survive at all,” she said. “With its fragments spread far and wide, it wouldn’t truly die. It would live on, in many forms.”
Kai seized the opening and nodded. “Exactly. But I’d never act without the Elder Tree’s consent,” he said. “I’ll ask myself. If it refuses, the plan is off the table.”
Even as he spoke, Kai’s thoughts raced. He’d spoken to the Elder Tree before, and though its voice had been slow and distant, he’d felt its will. It was a being of preservation and balance. He was certain it would agree. The whispers among the council grew louder, a mix of doubt and cautious optimism, until Caelith’s voice sliced through the noise like a blade.
“You mentioned another method,” Caelith said, his tone cutting. “Let’s hear it. You claimed to have more than one.”
Kai turned to face him, meeting his eyes calmly. “The second method is far more difficult,” he said. “But if successful, it could end the cycle for tens of thousands of years. We need another Elder Tree seed.”
Caelith scoffed, his expression twisting with disbelief. “Another seed? Where do you expect to find something like that? Flossbor already mentioned we don't have something like that.” he snapped. “The Elder Tree is one of a kind. You could search the entire world, and you wouldn’t find another. I finally understand that you don’t grasp this entirely. Elder V’aleirith—”
Kai held his ground. “Maybe we haven't looked enough,” he said, cutting him off.
“We have looked everywhere. We elves have records of searching through this realm to find another seed of the Elder Tree, but we haven't found any traces of it.” Caelith frowned, shaking his head with a tired voice.
Kai’s gaze swept across the room before fixing on Caelith as he asked a simple question, “Did I say we need to look in this realm?”
Caelith froze. “What do you mean?”
“There are more planes in existence.”
Elder V’aleirith’s lips pursed. “Are you hinting at planar travel?” she asked. “You need to understand, Arzan, that while spirits can traverse into our world, the same does not apply to us. If we attempt to open a passage, it could create a tear in reality—one that might kill us. It’s a risk, one that I’m not sure even might work.”
Kai nodded. “I understand the dangers,” he said. “But I’ve studied the records of an eight circle Mage—a powerful human who dedicated his entire life to understanding the planes and their connection to our world. He was said to have found a way to travel freely between them.”
The council leaned in as Kai continued. “His writings spoke of small dimensions—intermediate spaces between the major planes. These act like floors in a tower, bridging the gap between our world and others. If we utilize these dimensions carefully, we could safely traverse to other planes without tearing reality apart.”
Elder V’aleirith’s eyes sharpened. “And what plane would you aim for, Arzan? Not all are survivable. The flame and water planes are inhospitable to beings like us.”
Kai nodded again. “I’m aware. But the earth plane is different. It’s rumored to be the plane with the highest concentration of mana in the cosmos, home to immense forests and trees that exhale mana like breath. If we can create a gate to the earth plane, we might find another Elder Tree seed.”
A murmur rippled through the room, the elders exchanging glances filled with doubt and wonder. Kai cleared his throat to gain back their attention. “Right now, I believe the fragment plan should be our priority,” he said. “But if it fails, I would personally take on the task of creating a gate to the earth plane.”
“Creating a gate to another world won’t be easy. Are you capable of it, Arzan?” Flossbor asked.
Kai met his gaze evenly. “Honestly, no,” he admitted. “Right now, I’m too weak. That’s why this isn’t our primary plan. But with time and strength, I believe I could achieve it.”
Flossbor’s expression softened into a thoughtful nod, and Elder V’aleirith’s lips curled into a faint smile. “It is as it is,” she said. “We sought one way to save the Elder Tree, and Arzan here has offered us two. Both are worth pursuing.”
She turned to the other elders, her gaze sweeping across the room. “By now, we’ve seen that Arzan is honorable and determined to save the Elder Tree, just as we are. For that, I propose that all of Sylvastra lend him its aid. Be it knowledge, labor, resources—or even we elders ourselves—let us support him in this effort. Do any here disagree?”
Kai blinked in surprise as Elder V’aleirith’s words sank in. What she proposed wasn’t just support—it was binding the entire elven nation to him, granting him their unwavering loyalty. It meant he could ask for anything, no matter how impossible it seemed, and they would give it their all to fulfill his request. The magnitude of it made him pause, his mind racing.
As he waited, the elders began voicing their agreements one by one.
“I have no objection,” Flossbor said firmly.
“Nor do I,” Lirian added.
The declarations came steadily, each elder nodding in turn. Kai’s eyes scanned the room until only Caelith remained. The elder’s sharp, contemplative gaze lingered on him, piercing as though weighing the truth of Kai’s resolve.
After a long pause, Caelith inclined his head.
“I have no objection,” he said finally. “Just make sure your words hold truth or I will personally bring my wrath on you.”
Kai couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, ignoring the last of Caelith's words.
With that, he had the full support of Sylvastra.
Elder V’aleirith’s face softened into a smile of her own. “Very well, then,” she said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “With this, Arzan Kellius is a true friend of the elves. If you need anything, you may ask, and we shall provide it.”
Kai hesitated for a heartbeat, staring at her as her words settled in. For some reason, it didn’t feel like a simple ceremonial declaration and he soon realised why it was so. This was her cue for him to lay everything he needed on the table.
He straightened, his hesitation evaporating. “Actually,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat, “there are a couple of things—beyond druidic magic—that I could use.”
***
After the meeting with the elders, Kai found that things went smoother than expected. The elves posed no resistance to his requests, granting him everything he needed from Sylvastra. He gained access to their extensive archives on druidic magic and spirit tamers, as well as rare materials like lightwood and herbs for alchemy. Additionally, they provided the ingredients necessary for crafting the Elder Tree Concoction.
Even the Elder Tree itself allowed its branches to be trimmed and its buds harvested. Kai planned to plant these fragments within his territory and the Vasper Forest, using them as a test to determine their effectiveness. If successful, the plan could be expanded globally.
With everything accomplished, he wasted no time in preparing to leave Sylvastra, eager to return to his territory. His people needed him, and the next phase of his responsibilities awaited.
Before his departure, however, he sought out
Elder V'aleirith, determined to learn more about his role as a Fatebreaker. He found her in a secluded glade, the quietness of the forest creeped up to him rather quickly.
But his feet didn’t falter, he walked towards her. For some reason, he knew that she was aware of him even before he spoke.
“Elder V'aleirith, I’ve been thinking. Does my lack of fate mean I’m the only one who can change the fate of the world? It doesn’t feel right to me. I think it must be more complex than that.”
She smiled at his question. “How do you think it works, Arzan?”
He crossed his arms, gazing upward at the canopy as he gathered his thoughts. “Fate isn’t isolated. A person’s fate must be interconnected with others. Humans constantly influence one another—through their actions, their choices. It stands to reason that their fates would work the same way.”
She nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in her
expression. “You are correct. As a Fatebreaker, you do not merely defy your own fate. You break the fates of all you touch, creating new possibilities for them. Every choice you make ripples outward, carving new paths for others to tread.”
Kai’s gaze dropped as her words settled over him, his thoughts drifting back to his territory.
He thought of the people whose lives he’d already altered. Amyra, for instance—she wouldn’t have survived the necromancer without him. And Veralt itself might have fallen to the beast wave had he not intervened.
He realized that his actions had already reshaped countless lives, diverting them from paths they might have otherwise walked. Sylvastra was another step in this journey, but it was clear that his influence hadn't reached a level where he could change the world's trajectory.
Elder V'aleirith's expression grew more solemn as she continued. “With you breaking the chains of fate and reshaping the lives of those around you, Arzan, you’ll have the power to unite people. They will follow you, and together, you might stand against the cycle and Maleficia.”
Kai frowned slightly at the term, thinking back to the vision the Elder Tree had shown him.
“The skeleton dragon.”
Elder V'aleirith nodded gravely. “Yes. Malefic, the harbinger of the end—a dragon that died long ago but refused to pass into the next realm. It lingers, driven by an insatiable desire to paint the world in dead mana, so it can rule over a land devoid of life. If I am correct, Malefic is still in slumber and has not stirred for an age. However, its followers work tirelessly to bring its vision to life. It sounds like you’ve already crossed pathed with them”
Kai’s jaw tightened as memories resurfaced.
“Yes,” he admitted. “And I will again, very soon.”
Images of Actra, Lucian, and Regina flickered in his mind—members of the shadowy organization that had been pulling strings from the shadows. For so long, Kai had fought them without understanding who or what he was truly up against. But now, he has a name—Maleficia. That knowledge alone eased a small part of his curiosity, though the weight of what it meant settled heavily on his shoulders.
Elder V'aleirith studied him carefully. “From the way you speak, it seems you expect to face them sooner rather than later.”
Kai nodded. “I believe so.”
She inclined her head. “Then I apologize for keeping you here for so long. I know the journey back to your territory will take days, and your people must be waiting for you.”
Kai shook his head. “It’s fine, Elder V'aleirith. Besides, I don’t intend to take the road back.”
Her brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Kai smirked faintly. “Before I came here, I studied the maps. The river that connects Sylvastra to Lancephil branches out into other currents, one of which passes near my territory. I plan to take a boat and travel that way.”
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “That would take a long time, even with the aid of magic. And such prolonged effort would exhaust you sooner or later.”
Kai’s smirk grew into a small grin. “I’m not planning to use magic for the journey.”
“Then?”
“Raven talked about a lot of creatures that reside in the river that I used to come here. I'm just going to find one of them and see if it's willing to let me test drudic magic on it.”
Hearing that, her silver eyes widened, first in confusion then with realisation at the meaning of his words settled.
2025-01-12 08:31:23 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 57
Chen Ren was able to get back to Cloud Mist City surprisingly fast. A part of him had wondered if the old elder might attempt to keep him as a disciple by any means necessary, but the man had been honourable.
Despite returning with a trove of rewards, Chen Ren couldn’t seem to sit in peace. News of his recovery spread quickly, and within days, dozens of invitations from both merchant and cultivation clans flooded in, each seeking his presence as a guest.
He rejected them all.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to build connections—he did. But his mind was preoccupied with questions about his future and the reality of his recent battle with Gu Tian. On the other hand, his businesses were flourishing, especially after the tournament, yet it didn’t feel like enough.
The memory of that fight lingered, a constant reminder that his strength had been insufficient. He had survived, yes, but only because of the dragon that was within him.
And even that power came with uncertainty.
He had no means of calling on it at will, no assurance it would come to his aid again. Worse, he couldn’t guarantee his body would survive the strain if it did. The thought left him restless.
There was only one path forward—he had to get stronger.
His cultivation was intertwined with his businesses, so the decision was clear. It was time to look beyond Cloud Mist City. His heart raced at the prospect. Expanding both his sect and his business wasn’t just a goal—it was a necessity. And it was exactly what he
had to do next.
“You’re leaving?” Tang Jihao’s voice rang with disbelief, his eyes widening.
Chen Ren nodded. “I’ve decided not to trouble the Tang Clan anymore.”
At his words, Tang Yuqiu, who had been sitting nearby, interjected, “You know it’s no trouble. A few months ago? Maybe. But now, a lot has changed. You staying here isn’t just fine—it’s a boon.”
Chen Ren offered her a small smile. “I understand, but I stayed here because I had nowhere else to go. That’s not the case anymore. I have responsibilities—both to my sect and my businesses—and Cloud Mist City is starting to feel too small for me.”
Tang Jihao crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “Too small? How so?”
Chen Ren leaned back and sighed. “I’ve done well with my stalls and perfumes, and I could keep creating similar products, but the growth would be slow. Until now, I’ve focused on the mortal market here, and it’s been successful. But I don’t want to be confined to one city. I want to expand across the empire and for that…”
“And for that?” Jihao asked, though his expression suggested he already knew the answer.
“For that, I need to build a factory, diversify my products, and, most importantly, establish my sect. Cloud Mist City isn’t the place for that. There's already Soaring Sword Sect here and there's no way I can take on it right now,” he said, having already thought about it in the last few days. “If I try to make pills or talismans here to sell, I’d be directly competing with them and as you know, I can’t take them on. I’d be crushed quickly. So, I need to look elsewhere in the empire—a place from which I can expand everywhere.”
Yuqiu opened her mouth to argue, but her father spoke first. “Are you going to the land you got?”
Chen Ren nodded. “That doesn’t mean I’m abandoning Cloud Mist City. I still have Heavenly Fragrances here, along with my stall. I’ll have people to manage them, and I’ll keep visiting to check on their progress. As you know, it’s not that far from the city, so I’ll be able to come and go easily. Especially with my cultivation, I’m far faster than any cart. But before I leave, I wanted to ask for something and talk more about the expansion plan.”
Tang Jihao tilted his head. “What do you want to ask?”
Chen Ren smiled sheepishly. “Tang Xiulan and Lihua. Mostly Xiulan since I want to take her with me as the manager of the sect. And in her absence, Lihua has agreed to stay behind and take care of the stall.”
The old, sickly man raised an eyebrow. “A manager, huh? That kid sure is talented, has a good head on her shoulders. When I first brought her to you, I didn’t expect things to take such a turn. But I believe it’s for the best.” He paused, then nodded. “Sure, I’ll let her go and give Lihua the freedom to manage your stall. You’ve helped Yuqiu a lot and killed that demonic cultivator. It’s the least I can do. But this sect of yours? When you first told me about it, I was apprehensive. Honestly, I still am. I don’t know how you’re going to make it work.”
Chen Ren smiled confidently, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “You’ll know soon enough,” he said, leaving Tang Jihao to shake his head in bemusement. Then, turning his attention to Tang Yuqiu, who wore a faint frown, he chuckled. “I thought you disliked me, but now you look sad about me leaving.”
Tang Yuqiu’s cheeks flushed faintly as she quickly looked away. “I’m not sad,” she retorted, her tone defensive. “I’m just... too used to seeing your face around.”
Chen Ren’s grin widened. “Don’t worry. You’ll still see it—just less often.”
He shifted topics seamlessly. “Either way, before I leave, I wanted to discuss the expansion plans for Heavenly Fragrances with you.”
At that, Tang Yuqiu’s expression shifted, her usual sharp focus returning. As Chen Ren laid out his plans—strategies to increase production, establish trade routes, and expand Heavenly Fragrances’ influence beyond Cloud Mist City—her frown deepened, though this time with thoughtful consideration.
She leaned forward, asking sharp questions and offering occasional suggestions. By the time the conversation wrapped up, her earlier embarrassment had vanished, replaced by a serious, professional demeanour.
“That’s ambitious,” she said finally. “But with the right resources and people, it could work.”
Chen Ren nodded, his confidence unwavering. “That’s the plan. I’ll leave the foundation in capable hands here and focus on building the next step.”
Tang Jihao, who had been watching quietly, folded his arms with a smirk. “Looks like you’ve thought this through. I’ll be keeping an eye on how far you can take it.”
Chen Ren met his gaze with a smile. “You won’t be disappointed.”
***
Chen Ren moved through the quiet, somber halls, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. The place where urns were kept—lingtang—was both imposing and serene, with corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with niches in the walls. Each compartment housed an urn, the final resting place for the ashes of someone who had once lived, laughed, and loved in the city.
A few others roamed the halls, their expressions a mix of grief and reverence. The muted murmurs of visitors filled the air, a backdrop to the faint scent of incense that lingered in every corner.
The priest walking beside him stopped abruptly, turning to him with a gentle smile. “It’s here,” he said, gesturing toward one of the walls.
Chen Ren nodded. “Thank you.”
The priest’s smile deepened, kind yet knowing. “I’ll give you time with it, Dragonheart,” he said softly before retreating down the corridor, leaving him alone.
Chen Ren let out a wry chuckle, unused to the title. His gaze swept across the compartments, each a reminder of lives lost and memories preserved. The lingtang was a public place, directly controlled by the city lord’s office, where the ashes of the departed were kept for families and visitors to honour them.
Today, Chen Ren was here to visit the urn of a man he hadn’t shared a good relationship with, Feng Ming.
Standing before the niche, he hesitated. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him.
Feng Ming had been no more than another arrogant young master, someone who had antagonized him in their every meeting. Yet, even as Chen Ren recalled their less-than-pleasant interactions, one thought remained firm in his mind—Feng Ming’s death had been unfair.
Did he deserve to die?
Chen Ren sighed. No, he didn’t. Feng Ming, like Cang Rui or Bai Shen, had been frustrating and pompous, someone Chen Ren had clashed with repeatedly. But for all his flaws, Feng Ming hadn’t deserved more than a lesson or a beating to humble him. Death was too cruel an end.
He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the urn nestled within the wall, a silent testament to the fragility of life.
Chen Ren stood in front of the small, unassuming urn, his expression unreadable.
He believed that every person had the capacity to change if given the opportunity. Sadly, Feng Ming had never gotten that chance. Gu Tian had taken that away, cutting down a life before it could take a new direction. Chen Ren didn’t feel guilt—Feng Ming’s death wasn’t his fault—but he felt a weight nonetheless.
“I know we didn’t have great interactions,” Chen Ren began. “And you would never know it, but I’m not the Chen Ren you knew. Still, even if I didn’t think of you as a friend, I couldn’t let Gu Tian’s actions go unpunished. I killed him. If your soul is still out there somewhere, I hope you find peace knowing that.”
He lit the candle in front of the urn, the flickering flame casting fleeting shadows on his face. Giving the urn one last look, he added with a faint, almost wistful smile, “Maybe we’ll meet in the next life and have a better relationship. I can at least attest to the fact that there is a next life. Until then... goodbye.”
Turning around, Chen Ren slowly made his way out of the lingtang.
In his previous life, he hadn’t believed in souls or reincarnation. Such ideas had seemed fanciful and far-fetched. But here, in this world of cultivation, spirits and souls were some of the most normal things he would encounter.
As he left, he silently hoped Feng Ming would find his rest.
When he stepped outside, the sight waiting for him brought a flicker of surprise to his face. A large carriage was parked near the entrance, its interior already bustling with familiar faces.
Tang Xiulan stood by it, managing the group of children he’d taken under his wing, Mei Lin, Chun and Jian. But what caught his attention most was someone unexpected—Anji. She stood on the side against the carriage, her eyes following him with a blank emotion in them.
Chen Ren’s gaze shifted to the young woman, his eyebrows raising slightly. Before he could say anything, Tang Xiulan followed his line of sight and smirked. “She wanted to tag along,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Is that true?” Chen Ren asked, his tone tinged with curiosity as he looked at Anji.
Anji nodded confidently. “Yes. I have no reason to stay in the city anymore. Miss Xiulan told me about your plans to establish a sect and how you’ll need more hands. So I volunteered.”
Chen Ren stared at her for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Bringing you along means one more mouth to feed. I would need a good release to allow you to do so.”
Anji rubbed her arms, not knowing what to say for a while before she lowered her head in an awkward bow. “I know a bit of hunting, so food won't be a problem and I know numbers, how to read and write, so I will be able to help out in the accounts. I know you have no obligation to bring me along, but I promise I won't be a burden, so please can I join you?”
Chen Ren looked at Anji, feeling a strange, unplaceable sensation as her words hung in the air. He wasn't sure about letting her come with him. He had ignored the signs with Gu Tian, but he wouldn't this time. Whatever he had observed of Anji had told him that the woman had a past and it wasn't ordinary. Just her knowing how to hunt and being literate meant that she was from a good family or even part of a sect. So why had she been living as a beggar? Her appearance also confirmed the fact as he could see that she looked far better than the average woman.
A lot of time cultivation had a way to improve your appearance as you remove impurities from your body, but despite that, Anji was a mortal. He couldn't deny the fact. But it simply made the mystery around her far harder to discern.
Should I let her in? Well, I doubt she can be a threat and before anything, I would need to know more about her.
As he thought more and more about his decision, Anji stood there with a mix of determination and vulnerability, waiting for his response. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening. “Okay. You can come along. Take a seat inside.”
Anji gave another small, awkward, but grateful bow before climbing into the carriage.
“She’s hardworking,” Xiulan remarked from beside him, her tone light yet approving. “I think she’ll fit in just fine.”
“Hopefully. We will need to learn more about her though,” Chen Ren replied, his gaze shifting to the three children gathered nearby.
“What about the others?”
“Not everyone wanted to tag along,” Xiulan explained. “Most of them have spent their entire lives here, so I left them under Lihua’s care. She’ll need help with the stall anyway, and they’re already settled in the servants’ courtyard at the Tang Clan.”
Chen Ren’s brow furrowed slightly. “And Qing He? She didn’t agree to come either?”
Xiulan shook her head. “No. She said she likes her tea stall too much to leave, especially for a village that hasn’t even been properly set up yet. Something about her old bones not wanting to take the journey.” She paused, then added with a small smile, “But she sent you books on cultivation disciplines and told me to remind you to visit her if you need anything.”
Chen Ren chuckled. “I’ll definitely need to see her once we move into the next phase of our plans.” He glanced back at Xiulan. “Did you pack everything?”
“Of course,” Xiulan replied with a confident nod.
Chen Ren smiled. “Then, let’s go.”
He reached for the carriage door and opened it, only to find Yalan already lounging inside. She looked up at him with a mix of boredom and irritation.
“You took forever in there,” Yalan said, yawning. “I got tired waiting for you.”
Chen Ren arched a brow. “Tired? You’re literally lying around doing nothing.”
Yalan scoffed and purred gracefully. “I’m preserving my energy in case some idiotic beast decides to attack us on the road,” she said in her usual elegant tone. “Anyway, enough talk. Let’s get going. We have a sect to build!”
Chen Ren chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed into the carriage. Questions, mysteries and a lot of thoughts filled him as he took his seat, but right now, he knew one thing.
His path on the Dao of Money had just begun and there was a lot for him to explore. But before that, it was finally time to build his own company.
2025-01-12 08:20:18 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 163
The Storm Sovereign unleashed a lightning bolt that tore through the clearing, lighting everything up in a mili-second. Everyone including Kai was blinded for some time. But soon, their shock recovered when the ground shook as a shockwave rippled outward, sending elves scrambling for cover.
Some cried out in alarm, while others quickly called upon their spirits in a desperate bid to defend themselves.
Kai didn’t hesitate. He threw up his hands, channelling his mana into a massive wall of ice. He needed distance from the Storm Sovereign to do anything at all.
The barrier rose swiftly, glittering in the storm’s eerie light. The lightning struck it with a deafening crash, shattering the wall into sharp fragments that rained down like shards of glass. The impact forced Kai back a few steps, his boots dragging against the dirt as he steadied himself.
"Get behind me!" he shouted, pushing his mana outward to form another shield. But before he could finish, energy flared around him as the elves began to act.
Elders called forth their spirits, summoning power to counter the rampaging deer.
From Caelith’s palm emerged a giant hawk-like wind spirit. Its feathers were completely silver, similar to the elder’s hair. Beside him, Flossbor summoned a massive earth spirit, similar to a buffalo, its rocky form shaking the ground with each step. Another elder from behind, who Kai didn’t know the name of, brought forth a storm spirit, a spirit that looked similar to a falcon, its crackling body mirroring the deer’s lightning.
“Hold it back!” Elder V’aleirith commanded.
The spirits surged forward, their power clashing against the deer spirit. But the creature was relentless. It roared, the sound echoing like thunder, and stomped its hooves.
Cracks split the ground, snaking toward the elves. Lightning leapt from its antlers, striking the advancing spirits with deadly precision.
Kai spun around and saw Claire frozen in fear, her hands trembling. With a sharp motion, he raised another wall of ice between her and the battle. "Stay down!" he barked. She nodded, pale. She was visibly shivering as she looked at the horror with wide eyes.
Turning back to the fight, Kai hurled a volley of fire spells at the deer. Explosions rocked the clearing as fireballs hit their mark, shattering the creature’s mana. But it quickly reformed, shaking off the attacks like they were nothing. The Storm Sovereign’s laughter came mocking. Lightning crackled around its body, lashing out randomly and scorching the ground.
“It’s feeding on the mana in the air!” Kai muttered, realization dawning. The creature wasn’t just powerful—it was pulling energy from the dense mana in the air, making it almost impossible to weaken.
But Kai wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.
The elder spirits fought eye-to-eye, all of them focused on a different aspect of the Storm Sovereign’s attacks. The wind hawk darted through the air, intercepting the lightning bolts, while the buffalo charged forward, its massive horns slamming into the deer’s legs to disrupt its balance. The falcon mirrored the deer’s own nature, unleashing bursts of lightning that clashed with its opponent’s attacks.
But the deer wasn’t done.
It roared again, and clouds spilt from its body, climbing into the sky. The atmosphere darkened as the clouds thickened, swirling into a massive storm.
"Protect yourselves!" Elder V’aleirith yelled as the first lances of lightning rained down, accompanied by a torrential downpour.
Kai gritted his teeth, reinforcing the ice barrier around Claire as lightning struck dangerously close. She crouched down, clutching her knees as the chaos intensified.
“Lord Arzan!” she called out, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not your fault,” he said firmly, his eyes locked on hers. “According to the rules of summoning, it wouldn’t have answered your call if it wasn’t interested in making a bond with you. This spirit has anger issues, that’s all. We need to beat it into submission, and it will respect you.”
Claire swallowed hard, her trembling hands clutching her knees. “But how can I—”
“You can,” Kai interrupted. “When I create an opening, you move in and try to form a bond. I’ll make sure you’re safe, no matter what.”
She hesitated, the fear still clear in her eyes, but soon, she nodded. “I’ll try.”
You’ve got to try, Claire, Kai inhaled deeply and gave her a quick nod before standing and stepping out from behind the ice wall. His voice rang out above the storm, commanding and unyielding.
“I’m going to create a spell to bind it. Distract its attention until I’m ready!”
Caelith sneered. “You reckless human! Because of you, we’re facing the wrath of a rare grade three spirit!”
Despite his words, he raised his hand, directing his giant hawk spirit to shield the others from the relentless lightning strikes and torrential rain.
Flossbor and the other elder with the falcon exchanged a glance before unleashing their offensive attacks. Flossbor’s spirit charged at the deer, its horns still focusing on the spirit’s legs. The falcon coiled through the air, sending extremely sharp gusts slicing toward the deer’s glowing form.
Elder V’aleirith stood further back, her fingers drawing patterns in the air as her star spirit hovered above her, its shimmering, celestial form casting a faint glow. Every time it touched the spirits, any damage they had taken healed.
Even Gareth and his mercenaries joined the fight. Lightning danced around them as they closed in, their weapons gleaming with the seals Kai ebbed as they struck at the spirit. But no matter how many blows landed, the deer’s form regenerated almost instantly, its haughty laughter echoing through the clearing.
Kai clenched his fists, his mind racing as he observed the battle. The elders and mercenaries were giving it their all, but the spirit’s ability to draw mana from the environment made it nearly invincible.
But it wasn't as if he knew no spells to control it.
A plan began to take shape in his mind, and he retreated to the back, his hands glowing as he began drawing a fourth-circle fire spell.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he chanted, the air around him growing hotter with each passing moment. Flames flickered to life, spiraling into the spell structure he was creating. The mana in the area seemed to shift, drawn toward his spell like a moth to a flame.
“Hold it off just a little longer!” Kai shouted in a strained voice.
The elders redoubled their efforts, their spirits clashing with the deer, keeping it off from attacking innocent elves who were still around but far, far away.
Claire peeked over the ice wall and watched the chaotic scene. The storm sovereign let out another furious wheeze, clouds gathering thicker above it as lightning arced in all directions.
Kai gritted his teeth, the spell structure beneath him glowing with fiery intensity.
Just a little more time, he thought, his gaze flicking toward Claire. “Be ready,” he murmured. “It’s now or never.”
The storm intensified, the deer spirit growing more agitated as Kai’s chanting filled the air. Its roars shook the ground, lightning flashing wildly in response to its anger. The elders struggled to keep it contained, their spirits pushing themselves to the brink.
Elder V’aleirith’s voice rang out above the chaos. “Arzan! Hurry, or it might retreat to its plane!”
“I’m almost there!” Kai shouted back, sweat dripping down his brow as he poured the last of his focus into the spell. The spell structure flared to life, glowing with an intense white heat. With a final chant, he released the magic, chains of white flames erupting from his palms and streaking toward the deer.
The fiery chains wrapped around the deer’s legs, torso, and antlers, locking it in place. It struggled and thrashed, but the chains tightened, forcing it to halt its rampage. Lightning flickered around its body, but the chains absorbed the strikes, glowing even brighter in defiance.
“Claire, go now!” Kai shouted.
Through the driving rain, Claire hesitated for a moment, her eyes wide as she stared at the bound creature. Its glowing eyes turned to her, filled with disdain and challenge.
“You aren’t strong enough to bind me, human,” it said with a wheeze.
Claire faltered but quickly steeled herself, her steps slow but deliberate as she moved toward it. “Maybe not right now. But I have the conviction to become stronger. I need to be a Spirit Trainer worthy of your power.”
The Storm Sovereign snorted, its form shimmering as it shook against the chains in an attempt to intimidate her. “Conviction?” it mocked and laughed. “Conviction alone won’t take you far. Power is coveted, fragile. It attracts danger. You will die.”
Claire stopped in front of it, rain dripping from her hair as she raised her gaze to meet its eyes. “If I die, so be it. I’m prepared for that. Nothing will stop me.”
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as the two locked eyes, a silent battle of wills. The deer studied her intently, its glowing gaze piercing, as though it could see into the depths of her soul. It tilted its head to sides, while keeping their eyes locked, slowly, another laugh echoed through the clearing.
“If your conviction is truly that strong,” it said, “then so be it. I will bind with you.”
Claire’s lips curved into a small, hopeful smile, but the spirit wasn’t finished.
“But only for one year,” it added.“This is your trial. If I find you unworthy, I will break free of the contract. Show me your conviction, girl. Prove to me you can hold power without faltering.”
Claire turned to Kai, her eyes seeking reassurance. He gave her a firm nod. “You can do this,” he said.
She faced the spirit again and nodded. “I’m prepared.”
The deer spirit let out a low rumble of approval. Slowly, the white chains binding it began to dissolve, the spell releasing its hold.
The creature’s form shifted, its mana swirling as it began to shrink. It lowered its head toward Claire, glowing sigils appearing around her wrist as the contract began to take shape.
The next few moments stretched and visibly their bond grew. Finally, the storm began to clear, the skies grew calmer. The deer spirit’s voice echoed one last time.
“Prove yourself, Claire.”
She nodded and placed her hand on her heart, breathing heavily. After all, the whole process wasn’t easy. Her adrenaline must’ve spiked. When the sigils faded, the deer spirit disappeared, its presence now residing within her.
Before she could say anything, Kai stepped forward. “Congratulations,” he said. “You are now a Grade 3 Spirit Trainer.” He couldn’t help the pride that swelled his heart. Claire did it. It had taken a lot from her, but she had done it.
Claire blinked. “Grade 3?”
Kai nodded, folding his arms. “Spirit Trainers are as strong as the level of the spirit they’re bound to. It doesn’t work like a Mage’s progression. Just by forming a bond with a Grade 3 spirit, you’ve gained immense strength. Even if it’s temporary. I believe you’ll prove your worth.”
Her eyes filled with gratitude as she turned to him and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Lord Arzan. I know all of this happened because of you. I’m eternally grateful.”
Kai simply nodded, his gaze shifting to Elder V’aleirith, who stepped forward. Her voice carried across the clearing, strong and clear. “Everyone, this year’s Rite of Binding has been an overwhelming success! Not only have our young ones forged bonds with rare spirits, thanks to Fatebreaker’s aid, but for the first time in centuries, we have a human Spirit Trainer among us!”
She gestured toward Claire with a proud smile. “And one who has bonded with a Grade 3 spirit, no less! This is a momentous occasion, one that deserves to be celebrated. Let us thank the Elder Tree for its blessings and rejoice tonight!”
The clearing erupted into cheers, the elves raising their voices in celebration. Spirits danced in the air, their glowing forms adding to the festivity as laughter and joy spread like wildfire.
Claire looked around, her cheeks flushed as the weight of her achievement settled in. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Kai giving her a small nod. “Enjoy the celebration,” he said simply before stepping back into the crowd, leaving her to soak in the moment.
The night turned lively with music, dancing, and feasting. And for just a little while, Kai felt like he could take a step back from thinking about how to save the world.
***
After the celebrations of the Rite of Binding, Kai put Claire in the hands of Flossbor who agreed to teach her the basics of being a Spirit Trainer and turned his attention to a far graver matter—How to save the Elder Tree.
It was an ancient anchor of life and magic that connected everything. It wasn’t just the forest’s heart but the wellspring of ambient mana that made spells and cultivation thrive.
Without the tree, the mana would stagnate, and dead mana zones would spread like a blight. The implications of its death stretched far beyond the forest, threatening the balance.
The elves had poured centuries of wisdom and effort into saving the tree, but their theories and attempts had all failed. If they had found even the smallest success, they would have already acted. The weight of this realization gnawed at Kai as he buried himself in their ancient tomes, searching for something—anything—they might have overlooked.
Days blurred together in a haze of reading and frustration. The ancient script of elven texts, once so captivating, now felt like an endless maze with no way out. Kai’s mind raced as he cross-referenced theories, his fingers tracing over faded diagrams of mana flows and roots. But nothing worked. Each path he explored led to a dead end, another failure to add to the pile of failed attempts by those who came before him.
His frustration grew into desperation.
The future he had glimpses of offered some reassurance. In the history he knew of, the Elder Tree hadn't died so early. But by now, he knew that his knowledge about historical events was fragmented and unreliable. Could he trust them? Could he afford to?
And then, when he had been about to give up, a thought sparked. A small, fragile idea nestled in the back of his mind.
It wasn’t anything the elves had documented, nor was it part of the knowledge they shared. No, it was something that came from him—his memories, his understanding of arcane knowledge.
It felt audacious, borderline impossible. But it was also their only hope. He poured all his time, trying to work on the idea until finally he felt like he had a definite way to do what the elves have failed to do in his previous life.
Two days later, Kai stood before the council of elders. Their faces bore the lines of age and worry, their anticipation tangible. He took a steadying breath before speaking.
“I’ve thought of a way to save the Elder Tree,” he began. “It isn’t a guarantee, and I can’t promise success. But it’s the only chance we have left.”
“What is it?”
“Well, actually, there's not one way. I have found two ways through which we can try to save the Elder Tree,” he said and prepared himself for the barrage of questions that was about to come.
2025-01-10 06:18:03 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 56
To Chen Ren’s relief, neither the City Lord Li Baolong nor the Sect Elder Yan Xiu asked him about the golden dragon. They focused solely on praising his efforts and rewarding him for his actions. He'd no idea why it was so. Were they simply making their own guesses or was it something else.
Either way, it was a blessing in disguise, as he still didn’t know how to explain what had happened.
True to their word, his rewards were presented immediately. He received a hundred spirit stones, an assortment of potent pills, rare herbs, and a vial of beast essence. He was also given a plot of land situated to the north of Cloud Mist City, near the border of this part of the empire. The location was remote, but Chen Ren saw potential in it. Even if it was some abandoned land, it was more than enough for him.
Afterall, he earned it and he deserved to use every bit of it.
For his cultivation manual, Chen Ren had already discussed his options with Yalan. They agreed on selecting a defensive technique. His current skill set lacked a solid method for blocking or mitigating attacks, and Yalan didn’t have a suitable technique to teach him. This reward filled that gap and would round out his fighting style.
When it came to picking a weapon of his choice, he went along with a spear. While he had initially considered a bow, remembering his original plan of focusing on ranged combat, he decided against it. The spear was more versatile—it offered range in close combat and the ability to keep opponents at bay. Furthermore, Chen Ren had been formulating ideas for creating a better-ranged weapon in the future, so a spear felt like the right choice for now.
Once the rewards were finalized, the Sect Elder wasted no time. “Come,” Yan Xiu said. “We’ll head to the sect now so you can choose your reward from the inner sect treasury.”
At those words, his excitement hit the roof. A sect’s treasury wasn’t a simple storehouse. The treasury of the Soaring Sword Sect would undoubtedly hold treasures of immense value—artefacts, rare cultivation techniques, and priceless materials that few could even dream of obtaining. Even in that, it wasn’t the outer treasury, rather, the inner one.
However, in his enthusiasm, one critical detail slipped his mind: how were they going to get there?
The Soaring Sword Sect was deep in the mountains, a three-to-four-day journey by carriage. Traveling on foot was faster, but Chen Ren doubted he could keep pace with someone as powerful as Yan Xiu. The elder could likely cover the distance in a fraction of the time, but Chen Ren wasn’t sure he could endure such a pace unless the elder deliberately slowed down.
As they stepped outside, Chen Ren glanced at Yan Xiu, who wore a calm expression. The elder’s confidence only deepened Chen Ren’s curiosity about what kind of journey this was going to be. For better or worse, he knew one thing: it wouldn’t be ordinary.
In fact, he kept mulling over the logistics of their journey until Elder Yan Xiu gestured for him to follow. The elder led him through the busy halls of the City Lord’s estate, finally stopping at the courtyard.
But as soon as they stepped outside, his eyes widened in disbelief.
There, shining under the sunlight stood a medium-sized ship, painted pristine white with the crest of the Soaring Sword Sect prominently engraved on its side. His first thought after disbelief was confusion—What’s a ship doing here? There’s no sea for miles.
Then, a fragment of the previous Chen Ren’s memory clicked into place. This wasn’t just a ship. It was a skyship, a marvel of cultivation engineering designed to float in the air. In other words, it was an open-air airplane, only powered by spirit stones and qi rather than engines.
Elder Xiu turned to him with an expectant look. “Get in.”
Chen Ren didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped inside, still gaping at the interior and the sleek, almost futuristic design of the vessel. The Elder followed him in, settling at the helm where a glowing red stone was embedded.
Without wasting another second, he placed his hand on the stone, and a swirl of qi emanated outward. The stone glowed faintly, and the ship shuddered for a moment before lifting off the ground.
As the skyship began to ascend, Chen Ren instinctively gripped the edge of his seat. The wind whipped past them, and the sensation of leaving the ground sent a surge of both excitement and anxiety through him. He felt his stomach churn in nervousness due to the open roof and lack of safety. Even as a cultivator, if he fell from such a height, he would suffer grievous injuries.
But within a minute, he realized his fears were useless.
The ship sailed smoothly, unaffected by turbulence. Despite the high speed, there was no sensation of jarring movement, and the wind, though present, didn’t disrupt his balance.
Relaxing slightly, Chen Ren turned to Elder Yan Xiu and asked, “Is there a [Balancing array] on the ship?”
The elder rubbed his long beard, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve guessed right. There are several arrays, actually. One for balance, another to shield against any storms or tornadoes, and a few more to ensure no one accidentally falls off.”
Chen Ren nodded, his interest piqued. “That’s fascinating.”
Yan Xiu’s smile widened. “It’s one of the treasures of our sect. Only top elders and disciples are allowed to use it.”
Chen Ren acknowledged the statement with a brief nod, though a small part of him wondered if this was another subtle attempt to sway him into reconsidering his decision about joining the sect. Still, he decided to let the comment pass, focusing instead on the breathtaking scenery below.
As the skyship glided effortlessly through the air, he looked down at the forests, rivers, and villages that passed beneath them. From this vantage point, the world felt vast and serene, and the experience was undeniably better than any airplane ride he remembered from his previous life. Especially with the wind hitting him in the face, and the clouds shifting when it moved through them.
The journey, however, was short-lived. Less than an hour later, the ship began to ascend sharply, heading toward the towering peaks of the mountains. Situated among the clouds, the sprawling expanse of the Soaring Sword Sect came into view.
Chen Ren leaned forward, captivated by the sight.
He didn’t know why most sects chose mountaintops for their bases, but one thing was clear: the panoramic view alone was worth it. If he were to guess,the choice of location had something to do with the potent qi this high in the air.
The ship soared effortlessly through the mountain peaks, and as they passed different summits, he noticed figures in flowing red robes moving along narrow paths or practicing on top of platforms. The robes matched what he recognized as sect wear, similar to what Elder Xiu had worn, and their vibrant colour stood out against the serene backdrop of the mountains.
He kept observing everything from afar when the view got closer.
Soon, the ship approached what Chen Ren assumed was the inner peak, its significance evident in the grandeur of the buildings and the intensity of qi emanating from the area.
With a wave of Elder Yan Xiu’s hand, the ship began to descend, the hum of its arrays softening as it lowered gently toward a wide courtyard in front of a grand three-story building.
Two figures stood waiting for them at the entrance. Their robes were a deeper, richer shade of red compared to the ones worn by the disciples Chen Ren had seen earlier. He immediately pegged them as inner disciples. As the ship came to a halt and they got off, both disciples bowed deeply to Elder Yan Xiu.
“Raise your heads,” Elder Yan Xiu said in a commanding voice. It wasn’t the usual friendly mask he had with Chen Ren. He gestured toward Chen Ren, who stood slightly behind him. “This young man here killed the demonic cultivator that plagued Cloud Mist City and earned the right to choose an item from the inner sect treasury.”
Both disciples straightened and turned their gazes toward Chen Ren. Their eyes widened slightly as they sized him up, a mix of curiosity and respect flickering in their expressions. After a moment, they nodded in unison and stepped aside, granting them entry into the building.
Elder Yan Xiu stepped forward, and Chen Ren followed, his eyes wandering as they entered.
The interior had an ancient, almost timeless quality to it, similar to the aircraft. The wooden beams were covered with carvings and faint traces of qi emanated from the walls. Protective arrays, probably. Chen Ren continued to look around but a voice took his attention.
“This way. The second floor holds artefacts appropriate for your level.”
Chen Ren nodded, trusting the elder’s guidance. He trailed behind as they climbed a spiraling staircase, his hand brushing against the smooth wooden railing. The craftsmanship of the building was exquisite, blending functionality with artistry in a way that only innovative cultivators could achieve.
But so was the silence and solace in the building. There were no guards, no bustling activity—just the two of them and the faint hum of qi-infused air. His eyes darted to the details around him: the glowing runes etched into the walls, the faint glimmers of light that danced across the ceiling, and the subtle hum of power that seemed to resonate from every corner.
“Elder Yan Xiu,” he began as they ascended, his curiosity getting the better of him, “why is it so quiet here? I’d expect a place like this to be heavily guarded.”
The elder glanced back with a knowing smile. “The arrays embedded in this building are more than enough to deter anyone foolish enough to try and steal from it. Only those with permission can pass beyond the first floor. Without it, the building itself will defend what’s inside.”
Chen Ren swallowed, nodding. It made sense, and the faint pressure of qi in the air served as a constant reminder of the power housed within these walls.
When they finally reached the second floor, the elder clasped his hands in his front.
For a treasure trove as significant as this, he had expected at least a few disciples stationed outside. Yet the elder didn’t seem concerned, stopping only when they reached a massive, intricately carved wooden door.
“Take your time,” Yan Xiu said. “Choose wisely. Every artefact here has been curated for disciples like you—practical, powerful, and invaluable in the right hands. But know that, you may choose only one artifact. Just one. Whatever you walk out with will be yours, but no more than that.”
Chen Ren nodded, swallowing his rising excitement. The elder pushed the door open, and as it creaked aside, Chen Ren stepped in—and froze.
Right in the center of the vast room, an enormous pile of coins shimmered in the faint light, glinting like a golden sea. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he could only stare in awe. It was almost as if he’d walked into a gold mine. But no, they weren’t the most valuable thing in the room.
Around the room, neatly arranged on shelves, pedestals, and stands, were weapons, manuals, and artefacts. His eyes wandered towards them, knowing they were the real
treasures.
Forcing himself to focus, Chen Ren walked toward the section with manuals first, reasoning that these might hold the key to unique cultivation techniques. He picked up a random scroll, unrolling it to read its name aloud.
“[Eternal Tide Barrier].”
He frowned, setting it aside and reaching for another. “[Storm Saber Technique.]”
One after another, he scanned through the names, his curiosity growing.
“All the manuals here are Earth-grade,” Elder Yan Xiu said, stroking his long beard. “Whatever you pick will aid your cultivation greatly.”
Chen Ren nodded, his eyes still glued to the books at hand.
Still, after reading through a few more of them, he set the manuals back on their pedestals. He was tempted, but his current goal was survival. He needed something practical—something tangible that could protect him in a fight.
Turning his attention to another section, he wandered over to the artefacts and weapons. Swords, staffs, copper disks, and even what looked like ninja stars were displayed neatly, each radiating a faint, mysterious glow.
As he inspected them, Chen Ren couldn’t help but hesitate. A part of him wished Yalan were here to offer advice. But he quickly dismissed the thought; there was no way the elder would have allowed her to enter, and hiding her presence would have been impossible.
His gaze roamed over the items until they landed on a piece of armour tucked away in the corner. Intrigued, he approached it and picked it up. To his surprise, it was lighter than it looked. The armour gleamed a dull silver, its surface etched with intricate runic inscriptions that pulsed faintly with power.
Elder Yan Xiu stepped closer, a hint of approval in his eyes. “That piece is called the Shatterguard Plate. Earth grade armour. A sturdy piece of armour, heavily enchanted. It’s resistant to most qi-based attacks and provides excellent physical protection. But that’s not all.”
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, waiting for the elder to continue.
“It has a unique enchantment,” Elder Yan Xiu explained. “In dire situations, you can activate it to… explode.”
“Explode?” Chen Ren echoed, his tone incredulous.
The elder chuckled. “Yes. Many cultivators who face demonic beasts or enemy cultivators find such enchantments useful. If they’re certain of their demise, they can activate it to take their foe down with them. A last resort, but a potent one.”
Chen Ren looked at the armour again, his fingers tracing the runes thoughtfully.
“Interesting,” he said. “I do need good armour, but I’m not sure if this is the right one for me.”
Elder Yan Xiu nodded, letting him mull over the decision. “Take your time. Choose wisely. An artifact is only as useful as its wielder’s intent.”
Chen Ren set the armor back gently, still unsure. There were so many options, and he only had one chance to pick the right one. He sighed quietly. It was a good piece, no doubt, but something gnawed at him. Could he really not do better?
His thoughts turned to the logic of countless Xianxia tales he had read in his previous life. In those stories, protagonists always seemed to stumble upon legendary artifacts in the most unassuming corners of treasure rooms like this.
A spark of inspiration lit in his mind. Turning away from the central displays, his eyes roved over the room, searching for something less obvious. That’s when he noticed it—a dusty box shoved into a dimly lit corner, its contents haphazardly strewn about. Necklaces and trinkets spilled over the edges like discarded junk.
Curiosity piqued, Chen Ren walked over.
“Those are just one-use enchanted items,” Elder Yan Xiu said, waving a dismissive hand. “Talismans in necklace form. They’re not worth much and certainly not suitable for someone like you.”
“It’s fine,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “I’m just looking.”
Kneeling by the box, he began sifting through its contents. As expected, most of the items were unimpressive—necklaces with faint enchantments, likely intended for quick escapes or minor attacks. Still, he didn’t stop.
He rummaged deeper, his hands brushing against cold metal, worn leather, and fragile beads.
And then, something hot touched his palm.
Chen Ren froze. His fingers closed around the object instinctively, and he pulled it out.
It was a large, irregularly shaped black gem, its surface glossy yet veined with faint red lines that glowed dimly, like embers smoldering in the dark. The heat emanating from it wasn’t searing but enough to make him grip it carefully.
“What’s this?” he muttered, turning the gem over in his hands.
Elder Yan Xiu’s gaze sharpened as he stepped closer, squinting at the gem. After a moment, he reached out and took it from Chen Ren, holding it up to the light.
“I… don’t know,” the elder admitted, his voice tinged with surprise. “I’ve never seen this before. It doesn’t seem to be a typical artifact. Judging by its shape and faint aura, it might be… a dead beast egg.”
“A beast egg?” Chen Ren repeated, his brow furrowing.
The elder nodded. “Yes, though if it’s here, it must have been considered useless. Likely dead for centuries, its energy long dissipated. I’ve no idea who would have placed such a thing in the treasury, or why.”
Chen Ren turned his attention back to the gem, now identified as a possible beast egg. His mind churned with possibilities. Could it really be dead? Something about it tugged at him, a faint, inexplicable feeling that there was more to this object than met the eye.
If the elder’s assessment was correct, why hadn’t anyone discarded it? Why was it even here among Earth-grade treasures?
His instincts screamed that this wasn’t ordinary. If Xianxia logic held true, then an overlooked “dead” egg could very well turn out to be something extraordinary.
Chen Ren turned the gem over in his hands, still feeling the faint warmth emanating from it. An idea struck him, and he glanced at Elder Yan Xiu. “What are you planning to do with this?”
Elder Yan Xiu furrowed deeply. “That thing? I’ll throw it away. It doesn’t belong here. Useless clutter in the treasury.”
Chen Ren smiled. “Then… can I take it? Not as my reward, but as a souvenir. I study alchemy, and I might be able to use it for something. Even if it’s dead, it could have its uses.”
The elder studied him, his gaze thoughtful.
“You’re an odd one, aren’t you? Fine, take it. Better than letting it gather dust or tossing it out.”
Chen Ren’s face lit up with a grin. “Thank you, Elder Yan.” He took it from his hand and carefully slipped the black gem into his pocket before striding back to the armour he had examined earlier. Without hesitation, he picked it up and said, “I’ll take this as my reward.”
Elder Yan Xiu’s lips curved into a slight smile. “A wise choice.”
Without wasting any time, Chen Ren donned the armor. Its snug fit surprised him, as if it were tailored for him, and its lightweight made it feel almost like a second skin. He rolled his shoulders, testing its flexibility, and found it perfect for combat.
Once satisfied, he turned to Elder Yan Xiu and gave a deep bow. “Thank you for this opportunity, Elder. I’ll make the most of it.”
He nodded, a rare flicker of respect in his eyes. “You’ve earned it. Few young cultivators are as brave—or as resourceful—as you.”
As Chen Ren straightened, Elder Yan Xiu hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Do you truly not wish to study under me? My guidance could help you learn more about the golden dragon that aided you.”
Chen Ren froze, the mention of the dragon sending a chill through him. He had known this would come up eventually, but not like this. Keeping his expression neutral, he responded with a question of his own. “How do you know I don’t already know about the golden dragon?”
Elder Yan Xiu chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. “I looked into your background. Nothing about it suggests you should possess the blessings of something so powerful. Dragons are legends, lost to time. For you to have formed a contract with one makes you... unique.
“One reason I offer you my discipleship is because the legend of the Dragonheart will spread. When it does, more sects will come looking for you. While I am amiable, many in the Soaring Sword Sect are not. They will use threats and force to claim you for themselves.”
The words settled heavily in Chen Ren’s mind. He had hoped to keep his connection to the golden dragon quiet, but with the tournament and its reveal, things were turning messy. He hesitated, weighing Elder Yan Xiu’s words about the other sects. The stories he’d heard of their politics and schemes didn’t sit well with him.
A sect backing might help stop anyone trying to take advantage of him, but did he really want that? He didn't think so. Joining a sect meant getting trapped inside it and not being able to progress his Dao of Money.
He met Elder Yan Xiu’s gaze firmly. “I appreciate your warning and your offer, Elder. But for now, I prefer to walk my own path.”
Elder Yan Xiu studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Very well. Just know that when the time comes, the doors of the Soaring Sword Sect will remain open to you. Though, what's your reason to reject my offer? I know City Lord Li hasn't offered you anything.”
Chen Ren nodded, debating whether he should tell the truth or not, but in the end, he decided that there was no use hiding the information since it would be easily accessible to someone like him. “Actually, I’m already part of a sect… though it’s an unofficial one that I’m building myself. So, I can’t enter any others.”
Elder Yan Xiu raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A sect of your own?”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I know other sects might come for me, but I believe my path is one I need to walk with people who truly trust me. If someone comes with bad intentions… Well, it just means I need to get stronger, faster.”
After a moment of thought, Chen Ren added with a wry smile, “Besides, I can’t run my businesses if I’m tied to a sect. Sect economies are a headache I don’t want to tackle right now.”
“Businesses?” Elder Yan Xiu asked, tilting his head and stroking his beard.
Chen Ren’s grin widened. “It’s something I’m passionate about. A legacy from my ancestors, you could say. I enjoy creating things, trading, and watching them grow. It’s a different kind of cultivation for me.”
Elder Yan Xiu thinned his lips. “You’re… unique, Chen Ren. I can respect your decision, even if it’s unconventional. Very well, walk your own path. One of the disciples guarding the treasury will escort you back to the city."
Chen Ren bowed deeply. “Thank you again, Elder Yan.”
As he turned to leave, the elder’s voice stopped him. “Wait. What’s the name of your sect?”
Chen Ren paused, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Divine Coin Sect.”
With that, he walked out, the treasure room’s grand doors closing behind him.
***
Elder Yan Xiu remained in the treasury, gazing thoughtfully at the now-quiet room. His fingers brushed the carvings of the nearest artifact as he muttered, “Divine Coin Sect… and the Golden Dragon. A rogue cultivator who rejects the offer of a Soaring Sword elder to walk his own path.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. It’s the first time anyone’s turned me down like this. What an intriguing young man.
Turning his gaze toward the array of treasures, his lips curled into a faint smile. “Interesting times are ahead of us. I suppose I should keep my eyes open and do some studying of my own.”
With that, he strode out of the treasury, the name of the Divine Coin Sect lingering in his mind.
2025-01-10 06:09:33 +0000 UTC
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