015 Get Down Here

  Zha Dong scowled as he pressed a hand to his throat. Though his demonic qi had sealed the wound, the lingering pain grated on his nerves. It wasn’t just the physical injury that infuriated him—it was the shame.

  A mere farmer.

  A pathetic mortal-born insect had drawn his blood.

  His fingers twitched with the urge to gut the brat, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. That wasn’t why he left.

  Sure, the farmer’s sneak attack had caught him off guard, and sure, he’d lost too much blood—but none of that was enough to make him retreat.

  No, it was something else.

  He reached into his robes and retrieved a small jade talisman hanging from a black string. A shiver crawled down his spine as his fingers brushed against it—it was ice cold.

  The Woe Detecting Talisman.

  A unique treasure of the Bones Devouring Sect, designed to forewarn its cultivators of imminent danger.

  That was why he ran.

  "Fuck," Zha Dong muttered under his breath. His fingers curled around the talisman as he tried to suppress his frustration. "If not for my hunch telling me to flee, I would have enjoyed more of my time."

  His lips curled in distaste. If he had his way, he would’ve stayed and butchered the rest of the survivors—slowly.

  But he wasn’t a fool.

  The Woe Detecting Talisman had only given a medium-level warning, but even that was enough for him to trust his instincts. Something powerful lurked in these lands. He could feel it.

  "The hell was that old man hiding in his village?" he muttered, recalling the rabbit he had killed earlier. "Tsk, probably some reclusive cultivator living nearby…"

  Zha Dong’s face twisted in displeasure. He had spent too much time toying with the villagers, wasting his energy needlessly. And that had nearly cost him his life.

  He clicked his tongue.

  "I should really keep my emotions in check."

  But even as he said it, he knew it was a lost cause.

  Demonic arts encouraged cruelty.

  That was the path he had chosen.

  With a sigh, he shook his head and adjusted his grip on his sword. He needed to find a place to recover, then return to the sect. Once he was stronger, he would come back and—

  He stopped.

  A cold chill washed over him.

  The hair on his neck stood on end.

  His breath hitched.

  Someone was watching him.

  Slowly, Zha Dong turned his gaze forward, and his blood ran cold.

  An old man stood ahead of him.

  His piercing eyes burned with a thick, murderous intent.

  Zha Dong’s fingers instinctively tightened around his sword. His body stiffened, every nerve in his being screaming at him to run.

  But he couldn’t move.

  The hunter had found him.

  ***

  **

  *

  I saw it… Not all.

  But I saw it.

  Through my Mind’s Eye, I witnessed an old man wielding a sword resembling a katana, fighting with every last ounce of his strength. His strikes carried the weight of a lifetime of experience, yet they were slow, labored.

  He struggled.

  It was inspiring… yet futile.

  When he fell, a cold sensation settled in my chest. So that’s how it is… I thought the rest of the survivors would follow soon after. Yet, even in the face of certain death, a young man picked up the old man's sword.

  Defiance.

  It was inspiring… yet futile.

  Those same words, again.

  And yet—

  The impossible happened.

  The boy made the demonic cultivator bleed.

  I almost laughed at the sight. The bastard actually bled. That reckless strike, so crude, so desperate—it worked. And then… the coward ran.

  So much for an expert of the Bones Devouring Sect.

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  "I am coming."

  I quickened my pace, locking onto his direction. He knows. The bastard must have felt something, a hunch that someone was chasing him. But I wouldn’t let him off that easily.

  A screen flickered in my vision.

  [Name: Fu Shi

  Quintessence: 32

  Players: 1/1]

  Quintessence.

  Random beasts kept throwing themselves at me, slowing me down. Not that I was looking for them. But I had learned a few things from this system—killing a first-stage beast was worth one quintessence, while a second-stage beast was worth ten.

  That meant this particular demonic cultivator…

  I licked my lips.

  More than a target of vengeance, he had become a scrumptious piece of meat.

  Ping! -20 Quintessence.

  Ping! Acquired: Teleportation.

  Oh?

  Now that was convenient.

  Righteousness? Wickedness? They were certainly important in the grand scheme of things. But for me, it was irrelevant when things became personal.

  I cared more about what I liked and didn’t like.

  And right now?

  I didn’t like that bastard still breathing.

  After all, I was a selfish and arrogant bastard.

  窗体顶端

  窗体底端

  Through Teleportation, I traversed a long distance in an instant. Damn, that felt weird. My feet barely had time to register the shift before I was somewhere else entirely. But I didn't waste time marveling at it.

  Judging from the trajectory of the demonic cultivator’s escape, I quickly discerned where I should intercept him. There. A narrow valley just ahead. He has to pass through here.

  So I waited.

  And lo and behold, the bastard arrived.

  Surfing on his sword like some smug, untouchable deity, he sped past me.

  I didn't let him.

  "YOU! GET DOWN!"

  My voice boomed with thick Killing Intent, shaking the air itself. I hadn't expected it, but I had unconsciously mixed my voice with Telekinesis. Maybe it was the raw manifestation of my mental power, saturating my every action.

  Old Fu Shi’s memories weren’t truly mine, but I could still replicate some of his skills—especially the ones that didn’t rely on qi. And Killing Intent? That wasn't something bound to qi alone. It was willpower, presence, authority.

  And at my peak, old Fu Shi had been an 11th-stage cultivator.

  Projecting a suffocating aura of death was simply second nature.

  The moment my voice reached him, the demonic cultivator stiffened midflight. His instincts screamed at him before his mind could catch up. A heartbeat later, his eyes locked onto me, confusion written all over his face.

  Good.

  I let my glare bore into him, sharp enough to carve through his bones.

  "Get down here. Stop floating on your damn sword."

  The sheer contempt in my voice was palpable. The bastard deserved a fate worse than death. A hundred deaths wouldn't be enough. But even for a decently skilled demonic cultivator like him, he still only had one life.

  And I was about to take it.

  He hesitated for a moment but then did as I ordered. As his feet touched the ground, he straightened his back, trying to look composed.

  "Forgive me, Senior," he spoke smoothly, without a hint of fear. "I was in a hurry. If you needed anything, I am Zha Dong of the Bones Devouring Sect."

  I nearly rolled my eyes.

  Oh, how kind of you to introduce yourself, asshole.

  The way he so smugly declared himself a demonic cultivator was beyond stupid. His confidence in his Sect's power was painfully obvious. He actually thought that flashing his name would make me back off.

  "Zha Dong, my ass."

  He didn’t even look me in the eye after introducing himself. Instead, the bastard turned his back on me. No gesture of respect. No acknowledgment. No ‘face.’

  That?

  That was disrespect.

  Of course, something as petty as that wouldn’t normally offend me.

  But this?

  This was perfect.

  Because now, I had a justifiable reason to rip him apart.

  And I was about to teach him exactly who he had just messed with.

  ***

  **

  *

  Zha Dong didn’t even bat an eye.

  The old man stood there, radiating an imposing presence, but Zha Dong found it amusing more than anything. The bastard lacked cultivation entirely. How ridiculous. How laughable.

  He thought, perhaps with a touch of amusement, just how lucky this presumptuous old man was.

  If his circumstances allowed it, he would have already gotten down and beaten the old fool to a pulp. Maybe even killed him just for wasting his time. How dare a crippled old man—one with a shattered Dantian, no less—stand before him so boldly?

  Who did he think he was?

  "Get down here, or else…" the old man said, his voice laced with a finality that suggested this was his last warning.

  Zha Dong raised an eyebrow. Was this fool really threatening him?

  For a moment, the thought crossed his mind that maybe—just maybe—this was some eccentric expert playing tricks. That might have been a concern. But the moment he reached out with his Spiritual Sense, any worry he had instantly disappeared.

  He could feel it.

  The old man’s Dantian was utterly destroyed. There wasn’t even a hint of qi circulation.

  Zha Dong couldn't even be bothered.

  A sneer tugged at the corner of his lips.

  "Or else what, old man?" he mocked, still standing atop his sword, completely dismissive of the threat before him.

  This wasn’t even worth his time.

  ***

  **

  *

  My patience was running thin.

  I knew that stink-eye the demonic bastard was giving me. The sheer disrespect was enough to make my blood boil.

  "You will regret it," I spat. "…big time."

  And so, I ascended.

  Slowly, steadily, I levitated into the air with my telekinesis. My rise was deliberate—an act as pretentious as it was effective. It was a play, a bluff… but one that worked.

  Zha Dong finally gave me the attention I deserved.

  His eyes widened slightly before narrowing in suspicion. Then, reverently, he lowered himself, carefully adjusting his flight so that he was beneath me. The arrogance in his gaze had been replaced by a forced humility.

  "Forgive me. I must be blind. I haven’t recognized senior’s profound cultivation."

  Ah, there it was. The fear.

  He was making assumptions. Good. Let him believe I was something beyond his comprehension.

  Flying with a sword was something cultivators could only achieve at the 4th stage. But flying with qi alone? That was an entirely different level—something only 8th-stage cultivators and above could do.

  So, to him, I must have seemed like a monster.

  Hilarious. I wasn’t even in any stage.

  But I wasn’t about to correct him.

  "Do you remember the white little bunny you just killed?" I asked, my voice carrying the weight of something far greater than a mere question.

  Zha Dong remained silent.

  I could feel it—the unease creeping into his mind. His instincts were screaming at him.

  "It was mine," I said simply.

  And just like that, his ominous premonition became reality.

  The change in his expression was quick—fear, understanding, then pure, unfiltered panic.

  With a sudden burst of qi, Zha Dong shot forward, his sword carrying him at incredible speeds. He flew with all he had, fleeing like a desperate rat.

  But.

  "Like... I... said, GET DOWN HERE!"

  Ping! -3 quintessence.

  Through my experiments with quintessence, I had learned something useful—it was flexible. As long as I had it, I could substitute it for qi.

  And it was powerful.

  I channeled it into my telekinesis, amplifying its strength momentarily. The invisible force surged forward, seizing Zha Dong mid-flight.

  His body locked up. His qi faltered.

  With a single wave of my hand, I pulled him from the sky like a ragdoll. He came crashing down, eating dirt and dust.

  I teleported next to him in an instant.

  "DON'T LOOK UP," I said, my voice calm but edged with absolute malice.

  "STAY RIGHT THERE."

  His body trembled.

  "IF I SEE YOU TWITCH EVEN A LITTLE, I SWEAR, I WILL PLUCK YOUR TEETH, YOUR HAIR, YOUR EYES, YOUR LIMBS, YOUR NIPPLES, YOUR GENITALIA."

  He let out a strangled breath. His body was frozen—not just from fear, but because he knew I wasn’t bluffing.

  "AFTER THAT, I WILL MAKE SURE YOU ARE STILL ALIVE WITH MY SECRET ART. DO YOU KNOW WHY?"

  I crouched beside him, my breath hot against his ear.

  "IT'S BECAUSE I STILL HAVE MORE TO PLUCK OFF YOU... YOUR BONES FROM YOUR RIBS, YOUR LIVER, YOUR INSIDES..."

  Zha Dong whimpered.

  Ah… Now this was fun.