Smoke curled lazily from the firepit in the heart of the mountain shelter, spiraling into the cold air like a silent prayer. The stone walls around them glowed faintly orange from the low flames. Morning hadn't yet touched the valley outside, but tension already simmered inside the cave.
Mu Chen stood near the fire, holding a cracked dagger in his hand. The edge was chipped. The grip was worn. The weapon had served its purpose… but just barely.
He stared at it, frustration on his face.
"Master…" he began quietly. "We've grown stronger. But we're still stuck. No proper techniques. No high-level skills. No refined weapons. We're fighting monsters with sticks."
Xuan Long stood by the mouth of the cave, arms behind his back, staring into the grey mist that floated between mountain ridges.
His voice was calm. "Just wait."
Mu Chen blinked. "Wait?"
"The world will bring us what we need," Xuan Long said, his eyes narrowing.
As if summoned by fate itself, a voice exploded across the valley.
"BASTARD! COME OUT! YOUR DEATH AWAITS!"
Mu Chen's eyes widened. He dropped the broken dagger and ran to the entrance.
A group of twenty-two figures stood just below their cliff shelter.
Two men radiated the power of Qi Vein Level 8—clearly elite elders of the Blood Fang group. The rest were red-and-black-robed bandits, armed to the teeth and seething with killing intent.
"They've come…" Xuan Long murmured, his voice devoid of surprise.
The two elders stepped forward, sneering up at the cave mouth.
"You dared kill my scouts, you worm?!"
"Hiding behind mutts and freaks? Come down and die like a man!"
Mu Chen clenched his fists and stepped forward, joined by the two demi-humans. Fury burned in their eyes.
"We'll wipe the laughter off your mouths," Mu Chen growled.
The bandits howled with laughter.
"Three mutts and a cripple?" one jeered.
"This isn't a fight, it's a harvest!"
Another spat on the rocks. "Let's finish this fast—I left wine warming at the camp!"
The air tensed. Qi swirled. Fingers touched hilts.
Mu Chen reached for his blade—but then:
"No."
Xuan Long stepped forward. His tone was not loud, but it silenced everyone.
"If you want blood…" he said slowly, "...take it from me."
And he walked forward.
The first wave of attackers lunged—four Qi Vein Level 6 warriors. They came with glowing talismans, wind blades, and fire techniques lighting up the dawn.
But as they reached him—nothing.
Their techniques crumpled as if striking water. Their blades bent as if hitting a wall of silk. Their movements stopped mid-air, distorted by invisible pressure.
In a heartbeat, they were dead—torn apart by the backlash of their own power.
Their corpses hit the ground with a dull, sickening series of thuds.
The laughter stopped.
The bandits stared in horror.
One of the elders snarled and launched himself forward, a palm glowing with blood-red qi aimed straight at Mu Chen's heart.
Xuan Long moved like a phantom, reappearing in front of Mu Chen.
The bloody palm strike slammed into Xuan Long's chest.
But he didn't move an inch.
"I told you to stand back," he said softly.
Mu Chen could only nod. He and the demi-humans retreated to the cave's edge, watching with wide eyes.
What they witnessed next would remain in their memories forever.
Xuan Long stepped into the crowd of enemies like a ghost of war.
Blades twisted in mid-air and turned on their wielders. Fire exploded in reverse, engulfing its caster. Lightning curved back and struck its summoner dead.
Every move the bandits made became their own undoing.
One. Two. Five. Ten.
They screamed. They ran. They died.
In mere minutes, the mountainside was littered with corpses.
Only the two elders remained.
Their pride had vanished, replaced by raw panic.
"You… You're not human…" one whispered.
Together, they launched a combined attack—Blood Fang Palm and a spirit sword blazing with pure qi.
Xuan Long didn't dodge.
He caught the spirit sword with his bare hand—then let the palm strike crash into it.
The sword shattered. The force of the Blood Fang Palm rebounded through the elder's body.
BOOM.
The sword wielder died instantly, torn apart by his own ally's power.
The last elder staggered back, eyes wide, blood dripping from his lips.
With trembling fingers, he pulled a crimson artifact from his belt. A sphere cracked with chaotic energy—fire, lightning, and wind all swirling within.
"DIE!" he screamed, hurling it at Xuan Long.
The sphere exploded into a devastating storm, the kind that could destroy a fortress.
But Xuan Long didn't move.
The storm reached him—and vanished.
Absorbed. Twisted. Neutralized.
Then something incredible happened.
Xuan Long lifted off the ground, rising gently, robe fluttering, aura deep and vast. He floated above the cliff, suspended by will alone.
To Mu Chen and the others, he looked like a god descending from the sky.
The elder dropped to his knees, eyes wide in disbelief.
"You… you can fly?" he whispered.
"I can do more than that," Xuan Long said quietly.
And then—he dropped.
Like a falling blade, he crashed down, and the elder was silenced forever.
The mountain was quiet again.
Not a single enemy remained alive.
Xuan Long stood in the center of the destruction, the wind blowing ash around him. He looked down at his hands—hands that had stopped blades, redirected lightning, and absorbed flames.
Power. Speed. Perception. Reflexes. All heightened beyond mortal limits.
But this wasn't cultivation.
It didn't feel like the slow, steady path of spiritual growth.
It was different.
It was raw. Born of blood, refined through death, sustained by survival.
"This isn't cultivation…" he murmured.
"This is something else."
And in that moment, he understood.
This body didn't follow the path of qi.
It devoured it.
The stronger his enemies… the stronger he became.
"And if I keep pushing forward…"
"This body will become divine."
He returned to the cave.
"Gather the loot," he ordered simply. "Distribute it among yourselves."
The others obeyed immediately, still trembling.
Loot Gained:
400 Spirit Stones
Mid-Grade Sword Skill Book
Poison Technique Manual: Crimson Dagger Mist
Illusion Scroll: Phantom Mirror Steps
Two Mid-Grade Weapons
One Damaged Artifact Core
Mu Chen held the poison scroll with shaking hands. It was more than he'd ever dreamed of possessing.
The demi-humans smiled—for the first time in weeks.
"This... this is more than we ever hoped for," Mu Chen whispered.
That night, they sat around the fire—reading, sharing, laughing.
Their journey had begun in desperation.
But now… they had hope.
Outside, beneath the stars, Xuan Long sat alone, gazing at the heavens.
"These," he said softly, "are just the first crumbs."
"Soon… I'll crush nations the way I crushed these bandits."