The Wealthiest Verdant Emperor (Xianxia - Litrpg)

[thepsyborg]

There are polls on this forum, yes.

I've never loved system apocalypse stories (with the exception of the highly-atypical Upheaval - A Gentle Apocalypse), so my preference would be for the second one. If you also plan to continue The Wealthiest Verdant Emperor, then far better not to have to keep track of two different litrpg systems simultaneously in your different ongoing works.

 

[Ardenox]

There are polls on this forum, yes.

I've never loved system apocalypse stories (with the exception of the highly-atypical Upheaval - A Gentle Apocalypse), so my preference would be for the second one. If you also plan to continue The Wealthiest Verdant Emperor, then far better not to have to keep track of two different litrpg systems simultaneously in your different ongoing works.

Click to shrink...

It isn't exactly system amidst the apocalypse. It has three power systems, system, apocalypse, and cards. But well, keeping track of two systems would indeed be hectic since my biggest and most complex work which I am still working on has a system too. The results were surprising to be honest, I thought people would want more of the hot-blooded, fast-paced, action action action story rather than the slow paced, minor slice of life story.

 

[Ardenox]

Spencer furrowed his brows, his unease growing as he glanced around the dense jungle. The stillness felt oppressive, and his sense of security was steadily eroding the longer he stayed. He had ventured deep into the forest to ensure no one would witness anything extraordinary if his system revealed something groundbreaking. But now, a subtle tinge of danger prickled at the edge of his awareness. Cautiously, he stood up, his eyes darting between the shadowy surroundings and the system panel.

Is it what I am thinking it is?

There was another panel just below the one which appeared.

[Plain qi: 0/21 +]

The 'plus' of this tab was grayed out as well.

Before Spencer could process the new system panel, a blunt force struck his shoulder, driving a sharp cry from his mouth. The impact numbed the area instantly, and he instinctively reached to pull back his clothing, wondering if his skin had been torn.

A stone rolled to a stop in front of him as a mocking voice called out from behind the trees, rising in pitch. "Oops, seems my aim was a little off."

The rustling of bushes followed, and Spencer realized it wasn't just one person approaching. The voice was amplified with qi, a deliberate move to ensure he knew they were there. It felt like a predator taunting its prey, reveling in fear before striking.

Who did I piss off? Spencer thought, his mind racing.

The Protection Squad? They were the only ones who came to mind. Narrowing his eyes, Spencer turned toward the sound. Through the gaps in the dense foliage, he could make out multiple figures—four, maybe five.

Yeah, I can't match them.

Without hesitation, Spencer spun on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction. He didn't care that it was taking him deeper into the forest—escape was his only priority. His mind flickered with a faint hope that the Grand Elder might save him because of his affinity. But another question loomed: How would she even find him out here?

As Spencer ran, his mind raced with frantic thoughts. He'd read about abnormally large divine senses in cultivation novels, but he didn't understand how they worked in reality. Did such senses exist here? Could they remain active constantly, or did their consumption scale with range, making cultivators keep them restricted? Or perhaps the Grand Elder truly was observing him but chose not to interfere in matters between outer disciples unless it was a life-and-death situation.

He had no idea, but it was clear by now that she wasn't going to save him, else with her prowess she could've easily done so. This is on me, he realized. I'll have to get through this alone.

Gritting his teeth, Spencer focused. He wasn't confident in his ability to execute the Windshadow Step—a movement technique he had yet to master—but he had no choice. He directed his qi into the skill's pathway, circulating it through the prescribed circuit. This better work, he thought, his body tensing as if to prepare for the surge in speed.

A faint current surged through Spencer's left arm, stiffening it just enough to prevent him from dodging a thorny plant in his path. The branches scraped against his skin, leaving shallow scratches as he rushed past.

I failed.

The backlash from his incorrect use of the Windshadow Step sent a mild jolt of electricity through his arm, leaving it tingling unpleasantly. It was a stark reminder of the consequences of mishandling a technique. In a battle, this kind of mistake could have been catastrophic—and if it happened to one of his legs right now, while running for his life, it could spell disaster.

Spencer gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push forward despite the stinging pain and rising panic.

Realizing their prey had chosen flight, the pursuing disciples immediately quickened their pace. Three of them activated their movement skills, with two breaking off to flank Spencer from opposite sides, while the remaining one pursued him directly.

Spencer threw a glance over his shoulder, his mind racing. He had no time for missteps. At the first stage of the Qi Gathering realm, he was practically at the bottom of the cultivation hierarchy. The way his pursuer was rapidly closing the gap, coupled with the efficiency of the flanking pair, told him all he needed to know: they were at least at the middle stage of the Qi Gathering realm—far out of his league.

I can't outrun them all like this. He knew he had only seconds to decide his next move, or he'd be cornered.

The improvement in the Qi Gathering realm primarily enhanced the amount of qi in a cultivator's dantian, along with the increased physical strength from refined meridians. This thought surfaced in Spencer's mind as he glanced at the additional system panels once more.

[Plain Qi: 0/21 +]
[Refined Qi: 21/21 +]

Skills executed by cultivators in higher stages of the Qi Gathering realm often outmatched those of lower stages due to the greater quantity of qi they could allocate to activation and usage. It was a straightforward advantage of having more energy to power techniques.

Following the same logic, Spencer wondered if he could do the same. Taking a deep breath, he refocused and attempted the Windshadow Step again. This time, emboldened by the presence of the new panel, he concentrated fully. The qi coursed through the skill's pathway smoothly, with no disruptions or backlashes, increasing his speed by a hefty margin.

No longer were the pursuers able to catch up to him as quickly, but the distance was still being shortened due to their higher speed. He could spot five people at times when he occasionally looked back to determine their location and move accordingly. It all clicked into his mind when he saw Ralph and one of the pursuers on his left. He was standing beside Kevin on the day when he was introduced to the disciples.

Protection Squad indeed. They sent their members to kill me? No, that would be too suspicious. Everyone knows I refused their offer not too long ago and also accepted to be in a battle indirectly against their leader. Perhaps they were sent only to rough me up? To let me know the consequences of crossing paths with them?

"Hey! What did I do? Why are you after me?"

Spencer yelled while dodging the plants, bushes, and various other occasional popups in his path as he continued running deeper into the jungle despite feeling his qi reserves dwindling. His pursuers were slowly but steadily catching up to him, but he couldn't help but feel calmer.

Isn't this what life had always been like? The thought crept into his mind. Running, dodging, barely staying ahead of the consequences of his actions... Life in the streets had been no different. There were always forces hunting you down, looking to exploit, humiliate, or hurt you. Orphanages weren't all the same; some took care of you like parents would, others... didn't. His hadn't.

"Stop and we'll tell you." One of them sniggered, his voice somehow loud enough to reach him.

But isn't roughing me up inefficient when it's not even time for my cave battle? Newcomers like me have it for free for some time, it's no use injuring me. If it's indeed like the cultivation worlds I've read of, it's possible I might be able to heal even from a broken leg in a month.

Spencer thought back to Ralph's actions on the carriage and made another speculation.

Could it be because I talked to Noella? Uhh, isn't that too childish? Using Protection squad for personal use, could he be someone higher up on their ranking?

Spencer refocused his attention on the circuit of his movement skill and imbued more qi into it. He succeeded at the first try, boosting his speed noticeably. Unfortunately for him, he was slightly late as one of his pursuers was close enough to launch a long range skill. At least, long range considering the Qi gathering realm.

Spencer only saw a flash from the corner of his eye before it landed on his back. For a split second, it felt like his entire back was engulfed in flames, but the pain wasn't as overwhelming as he expected. His clothes had absorbed most of the blast, but the lingering burn on his skin was enough to make his muscles spasm with discomfort.

Argh! The cry escaped him involuntarily, but he gritted his teeth through the pain, willing himself to keep moving.

This is not like the streets. The thought struck him as he pushed through the agony. No one throws fire at you there…

He couldn't have been used to it, but the pain itself was manageable still. His clothes had borne the majority of the impact. That was what long range skills were like in the Qi gathering realm. It took plenty of qi in the first place to allow the skill to persist outside of the body, and more on top of that to ensure it did enough damage by the time it reached the target.

Either the pursuer had miscalculated the distance between Spencer and themselves or they intended to fire another shot after burning through the layer of the cloth.

Spencer's breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed his qi reserves to the limit, increasing the circulation of his movement skill even further. The wind whipped past him as he sped up. The pursuers were not worried because their target was confirmed to be at Qi gathering level 1, even if he was at level 2, they were confident to be able to outlast him.

His muscles burned from the strain, and each breath felt heavier as he continued to fuel the Windshadow Step with his refined qi. It hurt. The refined qi was precious, something he had worked hard to accumulate, and using it so freely made him feel like he was risking too much. But the boost it gave was undeniable. I have to keep going, he thought, the sting of the qi consumption lingering in his mind. If the panel indeed did what he was thinking though, it wouldn't hurt as much. Spencer looked behind at his pursuers and focused on the system panel.

[Plain qi: 0/21 +]
[Refined qi: 4/21 +]

He tapped on the plus sign behind the refined qi, instantly feeling a surge of qi in his dantian.

[Refined qi: 5/21 +]

[Wealth: 5010]

So it takes 10 points of wealth for 1 point of refined qi?

It was an expensive exchange considering he could have plenty of meals with that amount of wealth.

This time he repeated the procedure with plain qi.

[Plain qi: 1/21 +]
[Wealth: 5005]

5 points of wealth for a point of plain qi huh?

This exchange was expensive, he resolved to only ever use it in a dicey situation like this one.With that decision settled, he turned his focus back to his dantian, filling the remaining space with plain qi. There was no need to spend extra on refined qi; its speed boost could easily be offset by using more of the plain qi. The added expense would still be far less than the cost of the refined qi.

Just as another long-range attack was about to strike his back, he surged forward once more, feeling only a faint warmth on his partially exposed skin. He could sense the circuit nearing its limits—there was only so much qi one could channel into a cultivation art before it began to collapse. This natural limit varied depending on the technique or skill, which, in some ways, was a blessing. Without it, the difference between a powerful offensive technique and a weak one, or a sturdy defensive art and a fragile one, would simply be determined by the sheer amount of qi funneled into the circuit.

Relieved that his current speed was sufficient to stay out of harm's way, he continued using his Wealth points to replenish his qi, immensely thankful for his past self who randomly thought of filling up his dantian, thereby unlocking the feature.

"He should've run out of qi by now, what's going on?"

One of the pursuers grumbled in frustration. The group had regrouped and were relying on their movement skills to keep pace with Spencer, knowing he was only running in a straight line. Flanking was useless unless someone was much faster than him.

This particular man was at the Qi Gathering Realm, Stage 3—the weakest among the group—and he was beginning to fall behind. He had only joined the mission because the leader's younger brother wanted some work done. Associating himself with the mission would make him appear more competent in the younger brother's eyes, potentially improving his future prospects, even if only by a small margin. But who could have predicted it would be this difficult? If he started lagging now without making any meaningful contribution, it was possible that the leader's younger brother would look upon him unfavorably, jeopardizing his future in the sect.

One of the leading pursuers, the one who had cast the fire-based spell, answered without turning around, his gaze still fixed on Spencer's retreating form. "There are various types of treasures that can let someone use qi beyond their limit. He might have one of them." The man glanced back at Ralph, his expression serious. "Whatever that treasure is, it's mine, got it?"

Ralph understood that his only advantage here was authority, not strength. The man making the demand had the highest combat prowess among them. However, given Ralph's background, coming across such a treasure was a simple matter. He nodded without hesitation, knowing there was no real loss for him.

Spencer could feel he was nearing his limit when a sharp pain shot through his meridians as he forced more qi into the circuit, urging him to ease off. Suddenly, his vision flashed white, a blinding veil that masked his sight for a moment before fading away. The brief lapse in focus allowed a thorn from a nearby bush to scrape across his leg, cutting into his skin.

Is this some side effect of overloading the circuit? he wondered. I didn't read about anything like this. Maybe it's a hidden cost of using the system?

Spencer didn't have the time to consider the cause of his vision blur—he couldn't afford to. His focus remained on the pursuers. The potential dangers lurking deeper in the jungle could wait. An immediate threat was more important to get rid of than the possibility of a relatively larger threat.

As he pushed forward, his eyes caught sight of a clearing up ahead. Instead of veering away, he maintained his straight path.

What if my vision flashes again? he thought, anxiety creeping in. What if it lasts longer this time? I don't want to end up with cuts all over my body, or worse, run straight into a tree.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see the man who had cast the fire-based spells accelerating. His teeth clenched in frustration. Ignoring the sharp burn in his meridians, he pushed more qi into his circuits.

Without warning, a wave of white flooded his vision once more, quickly followed by a kaleidoscope of colors. It felt like Murphy's Law in action—anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. But, at least he hadn't veered off from the clearing earlier. He kept running, relieved that no fresh cuts marred his skin.

Flashes of visions swirled in Spencer's mind, unlike anything he had experienced before. It wasn't just a single image; it was a cascade of scenes—fragments of memories that didn't belong to him. No, it wasn't like a movie. The memories, broken and disjointed, kept pushing their way into his consciousness. They were chaotic, incomplete, a jumble of moments that didn't make sense. Yet, despite their disarray, they felt undeniably his.

He knew, logically, that he had never lived through these moments, that these were not his experiences. But the connection was there, undeniable. It felt as though his existence had somehow accepted them, as if his mind had already associated the memories as him. The feeling was both forced and strangely natural, a paradox that made his head spin.

Among the chaotic whirl of fragmented memories, one stood out—a complete memory, a sharp contrast to the rest. A spark of hope flickered within Spencer as he focused on it. It was a cultivation art, clear and distinct in his mind. He felt as if he had known it for a lifetime, as though he had practiced it endlessly, honed it to perfection. The movements, the principles—it all felt so familiar, like something he had internalized to the very core of his being.

Unfortunately, Spencer wasn't prepared for the consequences of activating the cultivation art. He only knew the technique itself, not the external factors tied to it. The moment he tried to channel qi into his meridians, his consciousness was immediately suppressed.

He could still control the qi, albeit barely, with all the willpower he could muster. It followed an incredibly refined path, guided with a mastery that far surpassed his previous experience with movement techniques. It was as if centuries of cultivation knowledge flowed through him, the qi moving effortlessly through a circuit that stretched across his meridian network. The control was absolute, as though he had been practicing it for lifetimes.

The pursuers stopped, panting heavily as they immediately began spreading out while staring at the man they've been chasing. Spencer had turned to face them as soon as they caught up. His irises were nowhere to be seen; his black pupils had expanded, consuming the entire circle of his eyes, giving him an otherworldly, almost inhuman appearance. He had passed the area of clearing, back into the dense, untamed jungle, now surrounded by pursuers on all sides.

Due to the grace of the Bridge of Life and Death, a cultivation art known to be lost in the records of history had resurfaced out in the world.

'Predatory Flow.'

 

[Ardenox]

Do you guys prefer 'Predatory Flow' or 'Predator's Edge'? Do let me know, I'll change it deciding on the majority.
Another thing, this chapter may have a bad flow and the information may be inconsistent since I wrote it over the course of 3 months in too many sittings. I went through it while editing but if something still managed to evade my lousy checking skills do let me know.
Thanks for sticking through and continuing reading this novel.

 

[ptbptb]

Do you guys prefer 'Predatory Flow' or 'Predator's Edge'? Do let me know, I'll change it deciding on the majority.

Click to shrink...

Predator's Edge for me.

 

[Ardenox]

Spencer could feel everything happening around him, yet he had no control over his body. However, his senses had sharpened dramatically. He saw the world with startling clarity, the colors more vivid than ever before. He could feel the wind brushing his skin like a gentle caress, smell the faint aroma of soil and greenery with staggering intensity. It was overwhelming.

One of the pursuers lunged at him at the indication of Ralph. Everyone else readied their weapons, gripping it tightly in their hands, cautious about the reason why Spencer had stopped all of a sudden coupled with his unusual eyes and the aura he radiated.

The attacker executed a short-range movement skill, a technique ill-suited for escape but perfect for bursts of speed in combat. One moment, he was meters away; the next, he was swinging the blunt edge of his blade at Spencer's thigh, likely aiming to incapacitate rather than kill.

They don't want to kill me… Spencer realized as he watched the strike approach, his thoughts strangely detached. They're just trying to scare me into submission.

With his body no longer under his control, Spencer could only watch, his thoughts racing as the blunt edge of a blade arced toward his thigh.

Then it happened—a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. His leg shifted ever so slightly, the precision flawless. The blade passed harmlessly, missing even the faintest graze of his skin. Before the attacker could react, Spencer's elbow snapped upward, striking the disciple's jaw with calculated force.

The blow was perfectly timed, delivered at just the right angle with enough power to render the Qi Gathering Realm, Stage four disciple unconscious in seconds. It was effortless, efficient, and terrifyingly precise.

A few gasps escaped the crowd, the shocking display leaving the pursuers momentarily speechless.

In the Qi Gathering Realm, improvements primarily manifested as slight enhancements to physical attributes and expanded qi reserves. Neither of these advantages was insurmountable; physical strength could be countered with greater force, and larger qi reserves through efficient usage.

Watching the brief exchange unfold, Spencer began to see things more clearly. The raw precision and control exhibited in his body's movements weren't simply the product of a cultivation art—it was mastery, honed skill beyond the realm of brute force. This wasn't just about power; it was about perfection.

This is combat. Spencer thought, falling in love with the idea of perfection. With that sprouted another thought in his mind.

Qi Gathering realm must be the realm where it is easiest to jump across stages to battle.

With newfound clarity, Spencer began noticing finer details in the battle. He could feel the precise force applied in the earlier elbow strike—it was nothing extraordinary, just average strength. Yet, the impact had been devastating.

Fragments of knowledge about the Qi Gathering Realm resurfaced in his mind. The progression of the realm was methodical:

Stages one to three involved refining the meridians in the limbs—arms and legs. Stages four to six focused on the torso. Stages seven to nine refined the meridians in the head.

This meant the disciple's head—including the jaw—was equivalent to that of someone at Stage 1 of the Qi Gathering Realm, just like everyone else here. In this aspect, they had no advantage over him whatsoever. It was a revelation that tipped the scales of the fight further in his favor.

Spencer watched his body act with ruthless efficiency, picking up the blade and gripping it tightly in his left hand. Without giving the pursuers time to regroup, strategize, or attack, he struck first. Not having registered the reality, the second disciple fell as quickly as the first, crumpling to the ground after a precise blow to the nape.

"I didn't sign up for this. Ralph, you motherfucker! Hell to your protection squad!"

The third disciple, panic etched on his face, bolted toward the man with the highest combat prowess. Ralph followed suit, his expression twisted with anger. "Worthless pieces of shit," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "Who knew you'd all be this useless? Can't even handle a rank one, you greedy bastards."

Before they could regroup, Spencer's body moved again. He hurled the baton from the second disciple's hand with pinpoint accuracy. It spun through the air and slammed into the knee of the fleeing third disciple. The impact was brutal, forcing the knee sideways mid-stride, sending the disciple tumbling face-first into the dirt. "Mmph," came the muffled sound of his attempted protest, instantly silenced by the soft soil.

The strongest disciple had already started moving, sprinting toward the third disciple with a scowl etched deep on his face. He reached just in time, raising his sword to block a blow aimed at the vulnerable spine between the shoulder blades. As much as he loathed Ralph, he couldn't deny the importance of the Protection Squad. Climbing their hierarchy, even slightly, made acquiring resources significantly easier. While he loved money, he valued his life more—so he was quick on his feet to rescue the third disciple. Strength in numbers was their only chance.

The blade in Spencer's hand met the disciple's sword with a resounding cling, the impact reverberating through the disciple's arm. The sheer force of Spencer's strike caused his grip to waver as vibrations shot up his arm. In a way, it was because Spencer had swung the blade downwards while the disciple had only inserted the sword horizontally to block the blade, positioning him at a significant disadvantage.

Before he could recover, Spencer's knee shot already toward his head. Although he managed to raise his other arm to block, the force behind the strike was overwhelming, driving his hand into his own head and staggering him. Off-balance and disoriented, he failed to react as Spencer exploited the opening, delivering a precise blow to the tendons in his wrist. The disciple's fingers spasmed uncontrollably, the sword slipping from his grasp as his shaky grip finally gave way.

"Stay back!" the strongest disciple shouted, his voice firm as he warned Ralph, who was heading toward the fight. He didn't even glance at the sword he had dropped, his focus entirely on retreating.

He quickly regrouped with Ralph, the two now standing side by side, both staring at Spencer in horror. The precision and overwhelming strength behind Spencer's attacks weren't lost on the strongest disciple. That kind of skill wasn't unheard of, even for someone at Qi Gathering Realm Stage 1—but it required a lifetime of training in efficient power management and countless battles to refine timing to such a degree. Yet, the reports they'd received claimed Spencer was from Earth. Could the reports have been incomplete?

"Are you sure we've got the right person?" he growled through clenched teeth, his sharp glare fixed on Ralph.

"Are you doubting me?" Ralph glared back, he wasn't one to let others push him around. "Do your job properly, and I'll make sure you're rewarded with their share as well," he added, gesturing dismissively at the fallen disciples sprawled on the ground.

As the third disciple began to lift his head, still groggy from his earlier tumble and unaware of the near-disaster he had just escaped, Spencer's foot came down with a heavy stomp, driving the disciple's face back into the ground, the sheer force rendering him unconscious instantly.

Spencer's expression remained indifferent, cold and detached. Without pausing, he surged forward in another short burst of movement.

"Use every defensive measure you've got!" the strongest disciple barked. In the blink of an eye, his hands turned an ashen gray, the telltale sign of a hardening technique. Ralph, panicked and desperate, pulled out a small spherical trinket and crushed it without hesitation. The response came instantly, forming a shimmering golden film around his body—a protective shield, judging by the fear still etched across his face.

Meanwhile, the strongest disciple gripped a talisman tightly, channeling his qi into it. A faint glow enveloped his hand as the talisman activated. Spencer chose to attack the other disciple first, stabbing the blade straight into his chest. Ralph moved back, scared of engaging head on with Spencer. He was, after all, a rank three as well, one of the lowest ranks in the group.

The scene unfolded differently than anticipated. As his blade descended, it struck the disciple's hardened hand with a clang. The gray surface cracked slightly, but it held firm, showing no signs of giving way beyond those tiny fissures. Unfazed, the disciple countered immediately, launching a punch with his other hand. He didn't seem to care whether the blow physically reached Spencer or not, focusing entirely on his attack.

Spencer reacted quickly, pulling the blade back and positioning it defensively. The punch itself fell short of connecting, but the faint glow surrounding the disciple's hand extended outward, forming a spectral apparition of his fist. The glowing projection hurtled forward with the same speed and force as the original punch, slamming hard into the blade before vanishing into a puff.

Spencer's other hand wasn't idle. While blocking the gray-fisted disciple's spectral blow, he hurled the sickle he'd taken from the third disciple straight toward his opponent's head. The disciple instinctively raised his hardened, grayed hand to block the incoming sickle, creating a brief moment of obstruction in his own vision. Spencer seized the opportunity, swinging his blade low with practiced precision, aiming at the legs. He noticed that his own movements were in no way excess, such that the disciple before him wouldn't be able to see any movement past the wall of hand he established before him.

The disciple, relying on sight and sensing no movement beyond the sickle, failed to anticipate the strike. He shouted in frustration at Ralph, "Do something, asshole! You're not getting out of this scot-free if I go down!" His confidence in his defense blinded him to Spencer's feint.

While the sickle was successfully deflected, Spencer's blade found its mark. The strike severed the disciple's left leg cleanly before embedding deeply into his right thigh.

"ARGHH!" A guttural scream ripped from the disciple as pain surged through him, robbing him of balance. Spencer didn't hesitate, relinquishing the lodged blade and grabbing the severed leg by the ankle. With calculated movement, he swung it toward the disciple's head. Despite the overwhelming pain and panic, the disciple reflexively raised his hand to block the incoming blow, disrupting its momentum. Spencer moved to follow up with an uppercut aimed at his chin, but he found himself rolling away instead.

A thin, glowing blade of pure energy swished past, missing him by inches. The razor-sharp construct, launched by Ralph, continued on its path, slicing through the outstretched hand of the disciple blocking his severed leg. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering onto the disciple's face as his howl of agony echoed through the jungle. Overwhelmed by the combined trauma of losing his leg and hand, he collapsed to his knees, clutching the injury with his remaining hand.

"You don't curse me like that!" Ralph snarled, his face contorted with rage as he glared at both Spencer and his fallen ally.

"Ralph, you asshole! I curse your entire bloodline!" The wounded disciple spat, fury momentarily numbing the searing pain in his body. "This fight is more important! Do you want to live or wallow in your pathetic pride, you fucking pig?"

Ralph had decided to not care about his arm while launching just because of his previous words, he would've never agreed to the mission if he knew what a fucktard teammate this person was. Alas, he couldn't have known, as Ralph had only joined in the most recent batch of admissions.

His skin on the hand was still grayed, covered by a faint layer of gold, despite that the blade of energy managed to slice the hand, showing how powerful the artifact Ralph used was. A pity he wasn't an ideal teammate.

Meanwhile, Spencer's body moved like a perfectly tuned machine, oblivious to the emotional chaos around him. Unconcerned by the narrowly avoided attack, he swiftly retrieved the sickle, showing no hesitation or fear. His precision and indifference contrasted starkly with what Spencer knew of himself. If he had control, he'd likely have faltered, taking a moment to gather his wits after such a close call—and doubted he could even perceive the incoming energy blade.

It took barely a second to pick up the sickle and throw it spinning towards the defenseless disciple who was in the midst of verbal conflict. By the time he realized it was too late, the blade had already cut through his neck, dislodging his head from the rest of the body.

 

[Ardenox]

This is my author's note from Royal Road for the previous chapter.

After a very long time, got no excuses here. Just, sorry. I may not be able to provide daily chapters like before, but it will at least not be once in 3 months like now either. Maybe a teenyyyy weeeeen bit more frequent.

And this one is for chapter 17, the one above.

I will definitely not be able to update it even at this frequency since I plan to start focusing on my other work. But like I mentioned before, it will be still be teeny weeny better than a 3 month gap. The reason I am switching over is that I don't feel this has a potential to earn anymore after I took a 3 month gap. //curses my lazy inconsistent self harshly// I hope I can be consistent with that novel and you like it. This chapter (both parts) came out quickly because, in a sense, I already had in mind what I wanted to write next. For the next chapter I only have a rough outline and don't wish to spend more time on it. I'll write it when I want a distraction from the other work and release the chapter once in a while, maybe a week or two, or a month? Sorry for my inconsistencies once again, and I hope I'll be extremely consistent with the next one. Next part will drop soon after a short break, got some urgent stuff to do. Cya, have a nice time reading.

 

[Ardenox]

If Spencer were in control, he would have avoided killing, striving to incapacitate rather than end lives. Watching helplessly, he couldn't even be certain if the other fallen disciples were alive—though he was fairly sure the first had only been knocked unconscious. Now, however, the line between life and death was irrelevant to the predatory flow controlling his body.

Spencer's mind wrestled with the conflicting thoughts of survival and restraint. He had always planned to stay low, avoiding unnecessary conflict in the cultivation world until he was strong enough to stand on his own and build a solid foundation of connections. He didn't want to draw attention or take risks before he was truly prepared.

As he moved toward Ralph, the fear on the latter's face was unmistakable, but his words didn't match his expression. Ralph stood his ground, his voice shaking with panic yet still laced with arrogance.

"Don't come near me! Do you not know who I am? You'll be killed without a body to bury if you harm even a hair on my body!"

The threat rang hollow in the air, his posture one of false bravado. Even with terror in his eyes, Ralph didn't drop his arrogant demeanor. In one hand, he gripped a sword-shaped artifact, feeding qi into it while taking a swig from a gourd with his other hand. Spencer didn't slow down. In an instant, he closed the gap between them, his fist shooting forward towards Ralph's face. Despite Ralph moving back his punch still connected. What happened next was that the golden film covering his body flared up, rebounding his punch with greater force.

Spencer darted back, creating space between himself and Ralph as he grabbed the blade and sickle from the fallen strongest disciple. Ralph, meanwhile, had finished charging his artifact, which radiated with a brilliant glow before releasing a blazing sword of energy toward Spencer. Yet, Ralph's efforts were in vain. Spencer's heightened senses and razor-sharp reflexes allowed him to shift just enough to evade the attack with ease.

Ralph epitomized poor judgment—a man with all the wealth in the world but no idea how to wield it, coupled with a lousy personality and an even worse sense of leadership. Spencer wasted no time, closing the gap in a flash. With both weapons in hand, he launched attacks at the detestable man before him. Unfortunately his strikes all rebounded, Ralph's defenses holding firm.

Ralph had already begun to run though it seemed like he was low on qi as Spencer could easily match his speed. Realizing his weapons were ineffective, Spencer switched tactics. He dropped the sickle and lunged low, targeting Ralph's legs. Within a few seconds, he managed to grab hold, sending Ralph tumbling face-first into the dirt.

Before Ralph could react, Spencer flipped him onto his back and straddled his chest. Without hesitation, he raised the blade and brought it down again and again.

Each strike of the blade rebounded, yet Spencer who was watching noticed something crucial—the light where the blade struck had dimmed ever so slightly with each impact. It dawned on him that his attacks were landing on the exact same spot on Ralph's chest, down to the smallest fraction of a measurement.

Gradually, a strange clarity washed over him. He could feel the rough, unyielding texture of the blade in his grip, the soft soil pressing against his legs, and the mingling scents of blood and fresh greenery filling his nostrils.

Did I just regain full control of my body?

[Plain qi: 0/21 +]
[Refined qi: 0/21 +]

Did I run out of qi? Spencer wondered. That was ridiculously fast—this cultivation art is absurdly expensive to use.

Though it might not have seemed like it, the entire sequence—from the moment the first disciple attacked to the point where he now sat atop Ralph—had unfolded in less than ninety seconds.

Spencer let out a weary sigh, realizing that whatever effect the skill had on him, it clearly hadn't accounted for such a method of qi recovery. What if the skill knew how to do it? Would I have ever regained control of my body? The thought was unsettling, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Now that control had returned, it brought with it a wave of excruciating pain—far beyond anything Spencer had anticipated. It surged through him relentlessly, as if his body was finally punishing him for the limits it had pushed itself to.

Spencer had Ralph completely subdued. The man trembled with fear, yet his eyes burned with undeniable hatred—a testament to his inflated ego. Spencer knew he couldn't squander this chance. He knew he wouldn't be able to live on after sparing a guy like this. Gritting his teeth and suppressing the searing pain wracking his body, he raised the blade high and slammed it down on the same spot.

This time, he noticed the glow dimming further, but it shifted ever so slightly—just a fraction away from the previous point of impact.

I have to be that precise? he thought, a flicker of doubt creeping in.

Precision wasn't his strong suit now, not with the overwhelming pain clouding his focus. Worse, without the heightened control of his earlier state, he wasn't nearly as efficient in channeling his strength. If he wanted to deal a decisive blow, he would have to sacrifice accuracy for sheer force.

Resolved to go all in, Spencer braced himself, enduring the relentless agony that battered his body. With a guttural roar, he swung the blade again, bringing it down with all the strength he could muster.

"Splurt."

A torrent of blood erupted from Spencer's mouth, nearly causing him to collapse. Weakness flooded his body, and the unrelenting pain gnawed at every corner of his consciousness. Yet, he couldn't stop—not now, not when the opportunity was this perfect. This wasn't his fault. They had come for him, not the other way around.

The blood sprayed across Ralph's face, forcing him to instinctively squeeze his eyes shut. None of it touched his skin, however, as it splattered harmlessly against the golden film protecting his body. Ralph shook his head to clear the mess, his eyes blazing with hatred as he turned his glare back to Spencer. In his rage, he failed to notice the subtle change—Spencer's pupils had returned to normal. Though with his skills and intellect it wasn't certain if he could notice it even in his normal state.

"You aren't getting out of this alive," Ralph hissed, his voice dripping with malice. The sheer evil radiating from his eyes only strengthened Spencer's resolve. This man had to be finished—there was no question about it.

Spencer silently thanked his decision to run so far into the jungle. The dense wilderness offered a shield of isolation; no one would think to search for them here, especially given how little time had passed since the break began. The Grand Elder wouldn't be calling the disciples back for experimentation anytime soon—there was still time.

"You came after me first," Spencer managed to rasp, his voice strained and unsteady. It was difficult to open his mouth to talk when there was blood looking to rush out of it every second, but he refused to stay silent. His grip on the blade tightened as he raised it once more.

Precision no longer mattered. He slammed the weapon down again and again, focusing only on hitting the same general area. Every strike chipped away at the golden film, his sheer determination overriding the agony tearing through his body.

Ralph's glare remained unwavering, his confidence climbing high as he watched his shield effortlessly deflect every one of Spencer's strikes. In his mind, victory was inevitable. He thought it was only a matter of time before Spencer collapsed from exhaustion, and when that moment came, Ralph would make his move. It had always played out this way for him.

His brother's treasures had made him untouchable among opponents of the same level, granting him an easy path to hunt demons, beasts, and humans alike. He was invincible—or so he believed.

"You think you had a choice?" Ralph sneered, his tone dripping with smug superiority, as if Spencer's resistance was meaningless. His dismissive response only fueled Spencer's rage, and his grip on the blade tightened.

Spencer didn't reply. He didn't need to. His answer came in the form of another brutal strike, this time with even greater force. Ralph's attention was entirely on Spencer, biding his time while continuing to talk.

"You had it coming," Ralph sneered, his voice laced with venom. "You rejected the Protection Squad's offer. Did you think we'd just beat you before the match at the end of free time? No, you idiot. We crush outliers every chance we get. They should submit before the match even begins, vacating their caves as an apology to the Protection Squad. The sect doesn't care if someone gives up their cave 'voluntarily,' even if they got it for free. And you—" Ralph spat, his hate-filled eyes boring into Spencer's, "you even dared to go after my future girlfriend, you fucking asshole. I'll beat the living shit out of you for that."

Spencer ignored every word. He didn't need to argue or justify himself—he just kept driving the blade down, over and over. The golden glow of Ralph's shield dimmed at a slower pace now since he wasn't striking the exact same spot anymore, but it was still weakening. Ralph, too caught up in his rant and blinded by rage, failed to notice this crucial shift. His hateful tirade spilled out unchecked, but Spencer was deaf to it, his focus locked on his goal.

Future girlfriend, huh? Spencer thought, his lips curling into a grimace. What a delusional idiot. I've seen the way she looks at you. People like you—spoiled, arrogant, used to throwing their weight around—always think the world is theirs for the taking.

Rage welled up in Spencer, searing through his mind like a wildfire. He couldn't hold it back any longer. He was born with nothing, had barely anything throughout his life, and when he finally had Selena, it felt like everything was worth it if it meant he got to be with her. Life unfortunately had different plans for him, throwing him another curveball, robbing him of that as well. Now, when he was told that he had a chance to get her back, someone had it out for him just because he didn't want to pay them the only thing he could use for advancement?

He could have spared that amount of resources, sure. But what if there was a time limit to saving her? What if at a critical moment he was short on exactly that minute amount of resources? Could he then forgive himself for giving into the demands of shits like these? Ignoring the blood that spurted from his mouth with each breath, he opened it to shout, letting his fury erupt.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I hate guys like you! You have everything—everything!—and you still choose to be an asshole! What the hell did I ever do to you? Huh? Was it worth it, beating me up over and over? I just got here, for crying out loud! Is it really worth targeting a guy who has nothing? Do you enjoy it that much?"

Ralph's sneer deepened, but Spencer didn't give him the chance to respond. His voice dropped, thick with cold, bitter anger.

"You know what? I think I finally get it. It is fun, isn't it? The sound of hitting, cutting, breaking flesh—it's satisfying as hell. Let's fucking see how satisfying your flesh is."

With that, Spencer slammed the blade down again, harder than before, his hatred giving him strength even as his body threatened to collapse.

At a certain point his blade gave out, likely due to constant rebound, resulting in conflicting forces in the middle of it, finally causing it to snap. Without hesitation, he discarded the shattered weapon at his side and switched to his fists. The moment his knuckles met the golden shield, he felt the searing pain of the rebound, but it didn't stop him. He kept punching, oblivious to the passage of time.

The skin on his knuckles had long since worn away, leaving raw, exposed flesh. Blood dripped freely, but Spencer was too consumed by revenge to care. His single-minded focus drowned out every other sense—he couldn't hear anything, and his vision grew hazy. All that mattered was the act of hitting. When his bones started to peek through the ravaged flesh, his twisted reasoning only spurred him on. A bone is sharper than flesh, he thought grimly, and kept swinging.

The manic glint in Spencer's eyes, coupled with the eerie grin that stretched across his bloodied face, finally broke through Ralph's arrogance. For the first time, Ralph felt fear—true, suffocating despair. Immobilized and drained of qi, his artifacts depleted, he could only watch helplessly as Spencer's fists rained down on him. His arms were free but they felt heavy, as if they didn't want to move, not after seeing how Spencer was using his.

When the golden film dimmed to a certain point, its surface began burning intensely. Every fist he rained seared the flesh behind the frontal part of it. The fire on Ralph's full body shield only served to fuel the one burning in Spencer's heart all the more fiercely. Another advantage of bones was that they were more resistant to fire than raw flesh.

Cling

The sharp sound of glass breaking pierced the air, and Spencer's bloodshot eyes locked onto the area he had been hammering relentlessly. The golden glow was gone, leaving behind an unprotected, vulnerable spot. Without hesitation, he reached for the shattered half of the blade lying beside him.
Ralph, too consumed with hate and despair to notice the shift, didn't see it coming as Spencer drove the jagged edge straight into Ralph's chest in one swift motion.

The man froze, his curses cutting off mid-sentence. His wide, horrified eyes dropped to the blade buried deep in his chest, disbelief and terror spreading across his face. The shield that had once made him untouchable was gone.

Looking Ralph directly in the eyes, Spencer licked his lips, a twisted satisfaction curling inside him, making him feel giddy. With a feral snarl, he withdrew the blade and drove it into Ralph's chest once more, uncaring whether it pierced his heart. Blood poured out in a torrent, splattering across Spencer's hands and the ground beneath him. The act, the feeling of the blade slicing through flesh, brought an insane rush of pleasure that seemed to drown out the pain coursing through his own battered body.

A laugh, dark and uncontrollable, escaped Spencer's lips, slowly escalating into a manic, almost delirious fit of laughter. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent forest, mingling with the wet squelch of the blade cutting through flesh, painting a ghastly picture to those who heard the sounds.

Clarity eventually crept back into his mind when the body he was sitting long went completely immobile, and cold. He stood up unsteadily, legs shaking from exhaustion and pain, suppressing a groan as he forced himself to move. Stumbling toward the other three disciples who still lay unconscious, he made quick work of ending their lives, his blade slicing through their throats in a swift, merciful gesture.

Finally, overwhelmed and drained, Spencer collapsed backward onto the cold earth, his body too battered and broken to hold itself up any longer. Just before the world around him faded into unconsciousness, a faint, fuzzy silhouette caught his blurry gaze.

It stood, suspended in the air against the light of the sun, its presence unsettling in its quiet stillness.

 

[Ardenox]

Below mentioned is how the technique works. It will be mentioned in the later chapters, not too far, so not really a spoiler anyway. But still, for the sake of it since it's in a future chapter regardless, I'll put it in a spoiler tag. If y'all still stay true to your votes then I'll change it after 3 days.

Spoiler: Skill details

• The skill suppresses the unnecessary parts of your consciousness and puts your body in an overdrive mode, stretching its limits. It is incorporated with highest end combat mastery along with proficiency in all types of weapons and cultivation arts.
• It only relies on attacking, defending and retreating. Not knowing how to lay down traps. It can't detect traps either, making it highly susceptible to them.
• It doesn't tap into primal instincts I should remind you, but incorporates the already programmed combat mastery of the skill into the body.
• It chooses targets based on the level of energy they emit, designed to go from low to high, making it easy to manipulate once figured out. Of course, there are also closest to farthest and other such parameters, but the level of energy takes precedence if the situation is not urgent.
• There is a higher level of this skill, one when the consciousness is trained to get used to the pressure and no longer be suppressed. One can make rational decisions in that state, holding a firmer control over the direction of the skill.

You can choose now. Thanks for reading, and have a good day.