Chương 86: 1.85 What do you mean you are going to cheese through your cultivation journey?

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." Ning opened his eyes to the white ceiling. Then a man's impatient voice snapped him fully awake.

"Ugh!"

"Get dressed quickly," the man standing near the door cursed. He looked like a servant, but his attitude carried none of the respect a servant should have shown his master. His eyes were filled with disdain, and his tone was even worse.

"How can you still be asleep today? You really are good for nothing." Ning blinked. The servant turned away, clearly not interested in waiting for a response.

"Enter the main hall once you are ready. Your fiancée is visiting." Then he walked out, leaving the door half-open behind him. Ning sat on the bed in silence.

"Fiancée?" For a brief instant, something within his mind stirred. H̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶f̶i̶a̶n̶c̶é̶e̶. ̶ Oh, right. He had a fiancée. His name was Ji Ning. He was the former heir of the Ji cultivation family. Once, he had been the brightest star of the clan. When his spiritual root was first tested, the entire family had celebrated for three days and three nights. A mutated lightning spiritual root.

Even among rare spiritual roots, lightning roots were famous for their fierce attacking power and terrifying speed. His grandfather had laughed loudly before the ancestral tablets, and even the clan elders had looked at him with eyes full of expectation. At that time, everyone believed the Ji family would rise because of him. Unfortunately, heaven always seemed to enjoy envying talent. Although Ning possessed a mutated lightning spiritual root, his body could not properly retain spiritual qi.

No matter how much he absorbed, much of it scattered soon afterward, as though his root was a cracked vessel that could draw in water but not hold it. In theory, his spiritual root should have been comparable to a top-grade root. In practice, his cultivation efficiency was barely that of a low-grade spiritual root. The family elders had discussed his condition many times. Some believed the mutation was incomplete; others believed his meridians were unsuited to the violent nature of lightning qi.

Most simply sighed and stopped looking at him with hope. In only a few years, the former genius of the Ji family became the family's greatest disappointment. Ning slowly rubbed his forehead.

"What a strange dream I had," he muttered. In that dream, he had possessed a normal mid-grade spiritual root. Not amazing, but good enough. He had cultivated step by step, farmed spiritual fields, practiced spells, learned alchemy, trained his spear, and somehow lived a life that was tiring but strangely satisfying. Compared to this mutated lightning root that sounded impressive but worked like a defective spiritual tool, a stable mid-grade root suddenly seemed wonderful.

"At least that one didn't leak qi like a broken bucket." Ning sighed. Still, a dream was only a dream. Soon, he dressed himself properly. His robes were clean but not luxurious, and while they still carried the mark of a direct clan member, it was not made with the same spiritual silk as other main family members. The servants no longer bowed deeply when they saw him. Some lowered their heads only out of habit, while others did not even bother hiding the contempt in their eyes.

Ning walked through the corridor toward the main hall, ignoring the whispers behind him.

"That's him?"

"The former heir."

"I heard his cultivation hasn't improved much again."

"Then why is Young Lady Han visiting today?"

"Who knows? Maybe the Melting Heaven Sect found a cure for him."

"Hah. A cure? You think such good fortune would still fall on him?" The voices were soft, but cultivators rarely had truly poor hearing. Ning heard them all, but he did not lash out at them or anything. After all, arguing with gossip was like fighting mist with a sword. Even if one swung fiercely enough to look impressive, nothing useful would come of it. People had opinions about everything and anything; if he started arguing with them, they would only lower him to their level and beat him with experience.

Especially since today was a special day, today was the day his fiancée from the Melting Heaven Sect came to visit. Her name was Han Xue. Their engagement had been arranged by their fathers years ago, back when Ning had still been the genius of the Ji family, and Han Xue had only recently entered the Melting Heaven Sect. At that time, the agreement had been considered beneficial to both families. One side had a rising young talent with a rare lightning spiritual root.

The other had a daughter accepted into a major sect. A good match. At least, it had been. Ning entered the main hall to find it packed to the brim. The main family elders sat on both sides, their expressions solemn. Several branch family representatives had also arrived, no doubt eager to witness whatever important matter was about to unfold. Even some servants stood near the back, lowering their heads while clearly trying to hear every word. At the center of the hall stood a young woman in pale robes.

She was beautiful. Her features were delicate, and her eyes were bright. The emblem of the Melting Heaven Sect was embroidered on her sleeve, and behind her stood several senior brothers and sisters from the sect, each one radiating cultivation far beyond the Ji family's younger generation. The moment Ning saw that lineup, he understood something. Han Xue looked at him.

"Ji Ning," she said. Her voice was calm and cold, carrying clearly through the hall.

"From today onward, our engagement is annulled." The entire hall fell silent. Ning stood where he was. His grandfather, seated near the front, looked at him with sorrow in his eyes.

"Ning…" Among the crowd, most people stared at him with hidden amusement. Some branch family youths lowered their heads, but their shoulders trembled faintly. A few servants looked genuinely uncomfortable. Only his grandfather and his younger sister, who was not related to him by blood but had grown up with him in the family, looked at him with real worry. For a moment, all attention fell on Ning. This marriage agreement had been made by his late father and Han Xue's father.

In truth, Ning and Han Xue had never shared much rapport. They had met a few times as children, exchanged some polite words, and then gone their separate ways. Calling them lovers would have been absurd; they were acquaintances at best. So Ning understood why she wanted to cancel the engagement. What he did not appreciate was the method. Han Xue had announced her arrival with great fanfare. The Melting Heaven Sect disciples had entered openly, and the entire Ji family had been stirred into excitement.

Many had thought she came bearing medicine, information, or perhaps some rare method that might help repair Ning's condition. Instead, she had arrived to tear apart the engagement in front of everyone. It was a humiliation of the highest degree. Ning was not worried about himself, but rather about how this would affect his grandfather. For a brief moment, something surged within Ning's chest. He wanted to challenge her.

He wanted to declare that in three years, he would personally visit the Melting Heaven Sect and defeat her before everyone, restoring his grandfather's honor and proving that today's humiliation had been a mistake. The thought burned fiercely. It was hot, reckless, dramatic, and seemed extremely satisfying. Then Ning paused. Wait. Why? He looked at Han Xue. Then he looked at the Melting Heaven Sect disciples behind her, whose cultivation dwarfed nearly everyone in the Ji family.

Then he looked at his own body with his defective spiritual root. Challenging her right now would not be courageous, just self-destruction. Ning took a breath. The heat in his chest cooled.

"Okay," he said. The hall froze. Han Xue's expression changed slightly. Ning nodded calmly.

"If that is what you wish, then so be it. The engagement was arranged by our parents, and we did not have much of a relationship in the first place. If you are unwilling, forcing the matter would only make things unpleasant for everyone involved." The silence became even deeper. Several elders stared at him. The youths who had been waiting to enjoy his rage looked confused. His grandfather blinked. Even Han Xue's senior brothers exchanged glances, as though the performance had suddenly gone off script.

Han Xue narrowed her eyes.

"What?" Ning tilted his head.

"You wish to break the engagement, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then I agree."

"…"

"…"

"…" The hall remained silent. Ning felt a little confused. Was there a problem? From Han Xue's perspective, this was understandable. She was an up-and-coming talent of the Melting Heaven Sect. If she married someone with his current reputation, she would inevitably be mocked. In a cultivation world where talent and prospects mattered greatly, her unwillingness was not difficult to comprehend. The way she handled it was unpleasant. Very unpleasant. But the decision itself was not irrational.

Since it was so understandable, could someone explain why everyone was staring at him as if he had started speaking in tongues? Did everyone expect him to lash out? It was not hard to see that the senior brothers who had come with her were very eager for a reason to "persuade" him. Han Xue stared at him for several breaths.

"You do not seem angry."

"Should I be?"

"You were publicly humiliated."

"So you knew that and still did it, huh?" The words slipped out before Ning could stop them. Han Xue's expression stiffened. Ning coughed lightly.

"What I mean is, you do not wish to marry me. I cannot force you to marry me. Even if I could, that sounds like a terrible marriage for everyone involved." Han Xue blinked her eyes at that. For once, her cold expression showed a trace of uncertainty. Ning continued in a calm tone, "However, since the agreement was made by our parents, the annulment should also be recorded properly. Please leave behind a written document. Both sides can stamp it, and the matter will be settled cleanly."

After a long silence, Han Xue finally nodded.

"Fine." The document was prepared soon after. The engagement was annulled. Just like that, the situation ended. Of course, the rumors would not end so cleanly. By tomorrow, the entire Ji family would say that the former heir had been humiliated in front of everyone. By the day after that, neighboring clans would likely hear that Han Xue from the Melting Heaven Sect had personally torn apart the marriage agreement.

By next week, someone would probably add that Ning had wept blood, fainted three times, or even begged her not to leave. Rumors always spread quickly in this world. Cultivators and their boredom made sure of it. Ning could not stop that. What he could do was avoid making the situation worse. When Han Xue and her group prepared to leave, Ning still followed the clan's etiquette and escorted them out. His face was calm, his words polite. Since the matter was settled, there was no need to act like enemies in public.

The Ji family had already lost face. He did not need to worsen it. Han Xue glanced at him several times as they walked. When she stepped onto her white swan mount, her robes fluttering in the wind, she finally looked down at him.

"You are different from what I expected." Ning looked up.

"What did you expect?" Han Xue paused. A resentful youth. An angry, crippled genius. Someone who would shout, challenge her, curse her, or cling desperately to the broken engagement. Instead, he had calmly agreed. He even went as far as to request paperwork and escorted them out according to etiquette. She did not answer. The white swan spread its wings and rose into the air, carrying her and the Melting Heaven Sect disciples into the sky. As they flew away, Han Xue looked back once more.

Below, Ning stood at the gate of the Ji family estate, his robes moving lightly in the wind. For some reason, her brows slowly furrowed.

"… You really are different from what I expected." The swan vanished into the clouds. Ning watched them leave for a moment, then turned around and walked back into the estate. He had work to do.... Outside the illusion, the elders watching the second trial sat before the water-mirror. Unlike the first stage, the screen merely showed the disciples lying motionless across the floor of the second trial chamber. Some frowned in their sleep. Some trembled faintly.

Others clenched their fists, their faces pale as their minds were dragged through unseen trauma. Elder He Shou rested his chin on one hand and sighed.

"I find this part of the trial the most boring to watch." Lou Ren glanced at him.

"For you, maybe. For them, it is a nightmare. Literally." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. The second trial of the Heavenly Origin Tower was the Trial of Illusion. Unlike the Stairs of the Worthy, which tested foundation, endurance, and Dao heart through crushing pressure, the second trial reached directly into the mind.

Each disciple would be forced into an illusion based on something they did not want to face, something they feared, rejected, desired, regretted, or misunderstood. There was no single correct answer. Some disciples broke free by realizing they were in an illusion. Some defeated the fear placed before them. Some accepted what they had been avoiding. Others understood a hidden truth about themselves and woke naturally. And some never broke free at all within the time limit.

Hong Zeiling watched the motionless figures in the mirror with a serious expression.

"I want to see who breaks the illusion first," he said.

"If any of them break it on their own at all." He Shou yawned.

"True, but it's still so boring."

"If it was so boring, why do I remember you crying when we did our trial?"

"Crying? Me?" He Shou shouted.

"At that time, I was simply rubbing my eyes."

"Rubbing your eyes?"

"Yes. Because you took so long to wake up, I grew bored and yawned." Lou Ren snickered.

"Of course. That must be the truth."

"It is the truth."

"So your nose didn't run because you were bawling your eyes out?"

"That was poison qi leaving my body." Several elders nearby immediately turned their faces away, shoulders shaking. Hong Zeiling closed his eyes for a moment; today again, his patience was being tested. While the two argued quietly, Ling Xin did not join them. She sat with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on Ning's motionless figure in the water-mirror. At worst, Ning would fail this trial and be sent out. That would be disappointing, but not disastrous.

The tower tested the mind, but it did not kill a disciple for failing to wake from a nightmare. Besides, Ling Xin had enough confidence in her disciple to believe he would pull through somehow. Ning was cautious, strange, practical, and occasionally so reasonable that it became unreasonable. A normal illusion might frighten him. A difficult illusion might trap him. But if the illusion tried to make him do something stupid, Ling Xin had a feeling the illusion itself would suffer first.

She leaned back slightly, watching the mirror with narrowed eyes.

"Still," she murmured, "knowing Ning, whatever he is seeing right now probably isn't normal." Three days later, Ning was training alone in the mountains. The place he had chosen was a quiet valley behind the Ji family estate. Few people came here on ordinary days. The spiritual energy was not particularly dense, and there were no rare herbs or hidden caves nearby, which made it the perfect location for someone like him to train without attracting attention.

Because, believe him, whenever he tried to train within the clan compound, he stuck out like a lit torch. Ning stood beside a stream, slowly circulating the thin strands of spiritual qi he had painstakingly gathered. His progress was still miserable. The mutated lightning spiritual root inside his body still drew in qi quickly, but most of that qi slipped away soon after, leaving behind only a pitiful amount. It was like trying to store water in a cracked jar.

Ning exhaled slowly, forcing the irritation in his heart to settle. Anger did not improve his situation; what he needed was to find a solution. From what he could gather, a tier-three spiritual root restoration pill, or divine herbs like the primordial qi herb, said to enhance spiritual roots, might work. Beyond that, certain cultivation techniques may have had some effect.

"Do I need to go into dual cultivation to quickly improve my cultivation?" Ning sighed. With his predominantly yang spiritual root, dual cultivation was also a legitimate avenue. But he imagined his sister would not be pleased with that idea; she had always been the clingy sort. To improve his situation, he needed a higher cultivation base, but to cultivate higher, he needed his spiritual root to be whole.

"Alas, it's not like I would miraculously find a solution just sitting here." It was then that he felt a sudden wave of dizziness, as the qi he was circulating began converging toward a specific point near his chest. Then, suddenly, Ning felt as though his consciousness had been pulled into deep water. His body remained standing, but his perception sank inward, passing through layers of darkness before arriving at a faint blue light. When he opened his eyes again, an ethereal figure stood before him.

It was an old man. His body was translucent, formed from misty blue light that flickered like lightning trapped inside fog. His hair flowed behind him despite there being no wind, and his robes looked ancient, with cloud and thunder patterns embroidered along the sleeves. Though his figure was faint, his bearing was undeniably imposing. He stood with his hands behind his back, chin slightly raised, his back to the rising sun, casting a long shadow. The old man slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was deep and proud.

"After three thousand years of confinement," he spoke with grandeur, "I, Zhu Shang, am finally free." Ning stared at him. The old man lowered his gaze. His expression turned solemn.

"Junior." The surrounding mist trembled faintly, as though responding to his voice.

"Kneel." Ning blinked.

"What?" The old man's brows rose slightly, as though he had not expected that response.

"Kneel and acknowledge me as your master," Zhu Shang said.

"For three years, I have watched you. I have seen you endure disgrace. I have seen you persevere despite your cultivation stagnating. Even after losing your status, your engagement, and the respect of your clan, you did not collapse into madness. Your temperament is passable." He stroked his beard, his expression turning proud again.

"Although I was forced to absorb your spiritual energy in order to recover, you endured the hardship and remained unbroken. This old man is impressed. Kneel, and I shall accept you as my disciple." His voice deepened.

"To become the disciple of the Heavenly Lightning Monarch is a fortune countless cultivators could only dream of." Ning stared at him silently. For several breaths, he said nothing. Then he slowly processed the old man's words. Absorb. Your. Spiritual. Energy. Ning's expression went blank.

"So," he said slowly, "you were the reason my cultivation barely progressed, even though I supposedly possessed a mutated lightning spiritual root comparable to a top-grade root." The old man froze. It was because there was a sudden aura emanating from the junior before him, dark and all-consuming, that made him a̶f̶r̶a̶i̶d̶ reconsider. The dignified aura around him trembled.

"A-ah." Ning looked at him. Zhu Shang coughed.

"That was… a trial."

"A trial?"

"Yes." The old man nodded quickly, as though convincing himself.

"A trial. Naturally, a supreme inheritance cannot be obtained without hardship. Your three years of suffering tempered your will, polished your patience, and revealed your character." Ning drew the word out slowly.

"A trial." The old man's expression stiffened. Ning continued looking at him. The silence became increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, Zhu Shang's shoulders lowered.

"Fine. Fine. You caught me." The ancient spirit waved his sleeve, his mysterious bearing collapsing entirely.

"I am a remnant soul residing in the earring you wear. In order to recover, I needed spiritual energy. Your body happened to possess a rare lightning spiritual root that was extremely compatible with me, so I absorbed the spiritual qi you gathered during cultivation." Ning's eyes narrowed. The earring. It was something left behind by his late parents. He had worn it for years because it was one of the few keepsakes he still had of them.

He had never expected that an old soul was hiding inside it, quietly eating his cultivation like a rat in a grain warehouse. Zhu Shang hurriedly added, "But I am not a bad person." Ning spoke flatly.

"Bad people would not proclaim themselves as such, you know." The old man grew more anxious.

"If I were truly malicious, I would have seized your body long ago. I would not have appeared before you openly." Ning considered that. It was not a completely unreasonable point. Of course, it could also be because even with his nascent senses, he could tell this figure was hazy, not at full power. Still, Ning did not feel the deep instinctive danger he would have expected from a truly hostile being. His intuition told him the old man was not lying. And Ning trusted his intuition.

Sometimes his intuition had been almost supernatural. It was not perfect, but it had saved him more than once. Right now, it told him that Zhu Shang was troublesome, irresponsible, somewhat shameless, and probably ancient enough to have forgotten basic social standards. But not evil. That did not mean Ning was pleased.

"If you have been inside my earring all this time," Ning said, "couldn't you have communicated with me earlier?" Zhu Shang blinked. Ning continued calmly, "If you had explained your situation, you could have absorbed spiritual energy slowly. I could have kept enough to improve my cultivation. As my realm rose, the amount of qi I could gather would also increase. That would have benefited both of us." The old man opened his mouth but had no words to offer. Ning looked at him.

"In other words, instead of destroying my reputation, ruining my cultivation progress, driving my clan to abandon me, causing my engagement to collapse publicly, and forcing me to spend three years being treated like worthless trash, you could have achieved a better result through basic communication." Zhu Shang's translucent face stiffened. The mist around him grew strangely quiet.

"You…" The old man swallowed.

"You really ask difficult questions."

"They seem like basic questions."

"That makes them worse." Ning folded his arms. Zhu Shang looked away.

"I forgot." Ning stared. The old man immediately raised both hands.

"Listen. I was a damaged soul with no physical brain. My consciousness was fragmented, my memories were unstable, and my thoughts were not functioning properly. I knew I needed energy, so I absorbed energy. That was the limit of my awareness at the time." He coughed, his voice lowering slightly.

"I did not deliberately plan to ruin your life." Ning stared at him blankly again. Actually, at this point, he had already understood the gist of the situation. If what the old man said was true, then what he had gone through was simply unfortunate, but with a solution now in sight, he had no desire to antagonize the man. As for why he was still staring blankly? It somehow spooked the old man, and after everything he had suffered, Ning considered it a little payback. Eventually, Zhu Shang sighed.

"This matter was indeed my fault." That admission surprised Ning slightly. A supreme expert capable of apologizing? Zhu Shang straightened his back again, trying to recover a fraction of his dignity.

"To correct this mistake, I will teach you my supreme art. Your mutated lightning spiritual root is not defective in the way your clan believes. Its nature is simply too violent and too specialized for ordinary cultivation methods. With the correct technique, you will be able to fully awaken its power." Ning's eyes shifted slightly. That was useful information. Zhu Shang lifted his chin.

"So, boy, become my disciple. Acknowledge me as master, and I will pass down the inheritance of the Blue Lightning Monarch." Ning was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed.

"What's happened is already in the past." Zhu Shang's eyes brightened.

"Good. You finally understand. Quickly, kneel and acknowledge me as your master." Ning looked at him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" The old man blinked.

"Can you tell me what you are going to teach me first?" Ning asked.

"Huh?"

"Before becoming someone's disciple, shouldn't I know what they are teaching?" The old man looked blank. Ning spoke very reasonably.

"Surely no one would accept a random person as master simply because they claimed to have supreme skills. I should at least know the cultivation path, the risks, whether the technique has side effects, whether it requires rare resources, and what obligations come with inheriting it." Zhu Shang wanted to open his mouth to refute, but it was too reasonable. He had been doing that a lot lately.

This boy had a rare ability to leave the Monarch of Lightning, a figure whose entire persona was built around crackling grandeur, completely speechless. In his imagination, this scene should have been simple. He would reveal himself. The young man would be shocked. He would declare his identity. The young man would kneel in tears. He would accept a disciple. Thunder would roll, fate would shift, and the legend of master and disciple would begin.

Instead, the young man had somehow turned the whole matter into an interview.

"Boy, do you know that I, a mighty Nascent Soul cultivator, was chased down by five other great Nascent Soul cultivators and fifteen Golden Core cultivators, and fought against them all, even defeating quite a few. Even when they thought they had killed me, I still survived. You should count your lucky stars that you could become my disciple." The old man bragged.

"Impressive," Ning muttered. Zhu Shang's chest lifted. It seemed this brat could still recognize greatness. In the past, who had not known his holy name?

"It's impressive how you angered enough people to arrange such a lineup." Was it wrong to act petty toward a being of such stature? It was. But Ning was simply in one of those moods today. Zhu Shang's chest deflated.

"You are really lucky that I owe you too much to get angry."

"That's why I'm doing it," Ning answered.

"Tsk. Such a cheeky child." The old man tsked, but in the end, he still appreciated the boy before him. Even knowing the truth, and aside from the minor jabs, Ning had not lost his composure. Similarly, despite being faced with an inheritance beyond most cultivators' dreams, he had not been swept away by the atmosphere. He was truly the perfect person to receive his inheritance.

Ning then asked about required resources, expected timelines, bottleneck management, combat applications, escape techniques, spiritual root compatibility, mental stability, possible enemies, inheritance obligations, and whether Zhu Shang's old grudges were likely to come calling before or after Foundation Establishment. With so much to cover, the old spirit had long since abandoned his plan of being a mysterious master.

"The first stage of the Grand Lightning Scripture is not about increasing cultivation speed immediately," Zhu Shang said, pointing at Ning's chest.

"It will further purify your root and harmonize your body with the sharpness of lightning itself. You can even devour various strange lightning of heaven and earth to further improve the quality of your spiritual root, and may one day reach the fabled Heavenly Spiritual Root."

"I see." Ning nodded.

"So, how about it? Are you, Ji Ning, ready to become my disciple?" Zhu Shang finally asked.

"Yes." Ning bowed....

"Next match, Ji Ning versus Fan Xiao!" The announcer's voice rolled across the arena like thunder.

"This is the final battle of the Rising Youth Tournament! The victor shall receive the Flowing Water of Yang, a rare treasure capable of nourishing meridians, strengthening the body, and repairing hidden injuries!" The crowd erupted. Across from Ning stood Fan Xiao, a black-robed swordsman with cold eyes and sharp brows. He looked like the very picture of a stoic and deadly swordsman. Ning gripped his war hammer. Among the myriad weapons of the cultivation world, Ning had somehow walked the Dao of the Hammer.

More specifically, war hammers. Back when his qi cultivation refused to progress smoothly, he had turned toward body cultivation instead. To train his mortal body, he had apprenticed himself under a blacksmith, since weapon refining was one of the few professions where having a strong body was practically mandatory. In other words, when cultivation had given him a cracked road, Ning had picked up a hammer and decided to smash open a new one.

"Begin!" The referee's voice fell. Ning moved instantly. Lightning surged through his veins as his body expanded into his lightning djinn form. Black lightning crawled across his skin, his muscles tightened, and his speed erupted like a thunderbolt, tearing through the clouds. In a single swift motion, he crossed the arena and raised his hammer high. [Thunder God's Hammer] Slam! The hammer descended with terrifying force. The entire battlefield shook.

Cracks spread across the stone platform, and the shockwave exploded outward, forcing several weaker spectators in the front rows to shield their faces. For a brief moment, it looked as if the battle had ended before it had even begun. But alas, things were rarely so simple. Since Ning had already revealed this move in a previous match, how could Fan Xiao be unprepared? As a pure swordsman, Fan Xiao excelled in two things. Offense and movement.

His attacks were sharper than most cultivators of the same realm, and his agility was even more troublesome. He struck hard, moved fast, and dodged whatever threatened him. It was a simple style, almost brutally so, but that simplicity was the very core of a swordsman. The sword was him. He was the sword. And the sword had already found the best path to evade and counterattack. Fan Xiao's figure blurred before the hammer landed.

In the next breath, he appeared to the side, sword intent rising around him like a cold wind from the heavens. [Sword of Heaven] His blade descended. A brilliant sword light tore toward Ning. Ning twisted his waist, dragged his hammer back, and met the attack head-on. [Thunder God's Hammer] Sword and hammer collided. For the next few moments, the arena became a storm of lightning and sword light.

Fan Xiao moved like a shadow dancing between flashes of thunder, while Ning advanced like a mountain wrapped in black lightning. Each time the hammer fell, the ground trembled. Each time the sword flashed, the air split apart. Ning dodged another sword-intent slash by a hair's breadth. This guy's automatic dodge-and-counter style was truly infuriating. But Fan Xiao was not the only one who could cheat. Ning exhaled, steadied his stance, and suddenly asked, "What drives you to such lengths?

Why forge yourself into a sword?" Fan Xiao paused. His cold eyes shifted, as though memories had been stirred from some deep place. His sword lowered slightly.

"Sword…" Fan Xiao murmured.

"Alas, it all began when my family was massacred by a demon cultivator…" The entire arena grew quiet, and even the wind seemed to stop. Ning's expression remained calm, but inwardly, he nodded. There it was. The monologue. Fan Xiao began speaking about his childhood, his ruined clan, the blood beneath the moon, the sword buried beside his father's corpse, and the vow he had sworn before the graves of his family. His voice was sorrowful yet heroic. The audience listened with rapt attention.

Several disciples even looked moved to tears. It was in that tender atmosphere, when Fan Xiao's monologue reached its very peak, that Ning moved. His hammer blurred forward, uncaring of Fan Xiao's widening eyes. Clearly, Fan Xiao had never imagined that someone would attack during his tragic backstory. Slam! Fan Xiao was sent flying across the arena, crashing heavily against the barrier. The crowd fell silent. Ning lowered his hammer and nodded thoughtfully. So, yes. That was another thing he had discovered.

Whenever he asked someone about their past, they stopped attacking and started reminiscing. More importantly, once the monologue began, everyone else seemed to accept it as a natural part of battle. The opponent spoke, and the crowd listened; even the referee was the same. Even the heavens seemed to dim the lighting for dramatic effect. In the first round, he had casually asked a spear-wielding youth, "Is that the spear technique of the Zhan family?" It had been small talk. Nothing more.

The young man's eyes had reddened immediately.

"My father once used this spear…" Half an incense stick later, Ning had learned about the destroyed village, the winter snow, the dying father, the wooden spear carved beneath moonlight, and the vow to rebuild a fallen clan. Then Ning knocked him out in the middle of his speech. At first, he thought it was a coincidence. Then it happened again in the third round. Ning had been on the losing end against a red-robed woman whose movements seemed to predict his every attack.

Out of curiosity, he had asked, "How do you know all my moves?" Her expression became proud and complicated.

"I have researched you since your first match…" Then she began explaining her entire preparation process, her childhood inferiority complex, her rivalry with her elder sister, and why defeating Ning would prove her worth to her clan. Ning listened for about three breaths. Then he won. By the fourth and fifth rounds, he finally understood the truth. When someone began explaining their tragic past and motivation in the midst of an epic battle, everyone seemed to think this was normal.

Ning alone had apparently not received the notice. So he decided he would be the one to teach the world that talking on the battlefield was not a free action. Or perhaps… he looked at his own hand. A terrifying thought rose in his mind.

"… Do I have a supernatural power?" A̶ ̶s̶u̶p̶e̶r̶n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶a̶l̶ ̶p̶o̶w̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶a̶t̶t̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶d̶u̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶c̶u̶t̶ ̶s̶c̶e̶n̶e̶s̶. A supernatural power to charm someone so thoroughly that they forgot to resist. Tentatively, he named it the Uninterrupted Assault Technique. He stared at Fan Xiao, who was still struggling to stand after being interrupted halfway through his tragic climax. This power was frightening. Truly frightening.... And so, Ning continued his journey.

From sect to sect, city to city, tournament to tournament, his surroundings changed. His companions changed. His cultivation rose steadily. But one thing never left him. Young masters. From the beginning of his journey until now, Ning had laid waste to countless young masters. At first, he had tried to understand them. Then he had tried diplomacy. Then he had tried avoidance. Then he had tried openly stating his background so that no one would mistake him for a helpless independent cultivator. None of it worked.

Keeping a low profile made him a country bumpkin. Showing strength made him arrogant. Looking at them was courting death, and so was ignoring them. Eating quietly meant he was at the wrong table, and breathing near a beauty was apparently an insult to her dignity. At some point, Ning became genuinely curious about how young masters survived long enough to become adults. One day, while Ning was eating in a restaurant, trouble arrived again. A servant-like cultivator walked up to his table and spoke haughtily.

"Oi, you. Young Master Xian wants this table. Move along. Young Master Xian is the son of an elder of the Blood Wing Sect. You should count your lucky stars that an esteemed person like Young Master Xian even fancies your table." Ning looked down at his food, then up at the man. He could flip the table and finish the man right then and there. But as always, Ning chose diplomacy. For some reason, a tiny part of him still believed that one day, one of these situations might resolve peacefully.

That tiny part of him was very stupid, but Ning admired its persistence. It was his dream. So he stood up and prepared to leave. He had only taken a few steps when the same servant stopped him again. This time, behind the servant stood an extravagantly dressed young man with a beauty on each arm. His robes were lavish, his smile sleazy.

"You," Young Master Xian said lazily.

"I find you quite offensive for some reason. Break one of your arms, and you may leave." The beauties on his arms giggled. To him, this was clearly entertainment. Ning blinked.

"What?" He was not even being given a proper reason. Young Master Xian chuckled darkly.

"You filthy mongrel. I told you to break your arm. Looking at you makes my eyes sore. Or would you prefer my bodyguard, Miao Gong, to help you?" A burly cultivator stepped forward.

"You should know that Young Master Xian is the son of an elder of the Blood Wing Sect. You are getting off lightly. Break your arm and scram." Ning took a deep breath. At that moment, he already knew exactly how the rest of this would unfold. He would beat the young man. Then the young man would call his father. He would beat the father. Then the young master would call his grandfather. Ning had even had someone call their ancestor to chase after him once. Ning simply sighed and broke his arm.

For a body cultivator like him, this injury was no great matter. It was not even particularly painful by the standards of how he trained his body, which was truly masochistic. The restaurant went silent. Young Master Xian stared. For a moment, he looked genuinely unsure what to do. This was not in the script. Then he burst out laughing.

"So you do understand your place. Hahaha! Filthy mongrel, take this as your reward for being a good dog." He threw a few spirit stones onto the floor. Miao Gong and the beauties immediately praised him.

"Young Master Xian is so generous."

"As expected of Young Master Xian."

"Such mercy." Ning looked at the spirit stones scattered near his feet. Then he smiled.

"So, you are my next target." In the past few years, a rumor had been circulating. Multiple demonic sects had been destroyed lately, and it was said that this was because all of these demonic sects had enraged the heavens with their wicked practices, drawing divine retribution. But the truth was slightly different. It was not heavenly retribution. It was a single man.

"Hello, I would like to join the Blood Wing Sect." Ning smiled and registered himself as a disciple. There was another curious thing Ning had gradually noticed during his travels. The first sect he joined was destroyed by a demonic invasion. The second sect, where he became a guest elder, was destroyed by a massive beast tide. The third time, he joined a cultivation family as a dependent, and somehow, the family head gambled away the entire estate. To a chicken farmer. Ning was still not sure how that happened.

The fourth time, the same thing happened. After careful observation, repeated experimentation, and several unfortunate collapses of local powers, Ning finally discovered another one of his talents. Wherever he joined, that place eventually fell apart. Thus, instead of joining righteous sects and causing innocent people trouble, Ning began joining demonic sects instead.

After becoming a peripheral disciple, standing beneath the Blood Wing Sect's blood-red mountain gate, Ning looked up at the dark clouds gathering above it. His arm had already healed, and his smile was calm.

"Blood Wing Sect," he murmured softly, "nothing personal." Then he paused.

"No, actually, it is a little personal." He remembered Young Master Xian's laughter, the broken-arm demand, the spirit stones thrown at his feet, and the beauties praising his "mercy." Ning's smile became brighter.

"Blame your young master." For he was Ning. He was death, the destroyer of sects.... Thanks for reading~