Chapter 141: Apprenticeship to Jeffrey Vallery, Carl’s
Courage
Hearing the old man’s words, Carl’s heart burned with excitement.
Deep down, he could sense it—This was his chance.
The Path of True Liberation—that was how the demonic cultivators referred to themselves.
If he could join the demonic path, if he could become a disciple of the Velmorian Sect,
Then his rise in Aragon Country would be unstoppable.
At first, Carl’s only goal had been to present Dylan’s severed head, hoping to secure a minor
position under the Abyssal Emperor.
But now—A greater opportunity had appeared before him.
The Abyssal Emperor was nothing more than a puppet, a mere pawn backed by the demonic
sects.
If Carl could join the Velmorian Sect, then one day…
He might not just serve the demonic path—
He might rise above it.
Perhaps even surpass the Abyssal Emperor himself and sweep across Aragon Country in his
own name.
The opportunity was right in front of him.
This time—
He would not let it slip away.
Without hesitation, Carl fell to his knees, his forehead slamming against the cold ground in a
deep, reverent bow.
“This disciple has long admired the Path of True Liberation!”
“If the elder is willing to accept me, I am willing to serve you as your most loyal follower,
dedicating myself to your guidance!”
“Aside from Dylan’s head, I have also prepared a special gift for you, Elder—please accept it as
my offering!”
After bowing three times and kowtowing nine, Carl reached into his storage ring and withdrew a
glowing golden herb, its surface flickering with runes of ancient power.
It was shaped like a ginseng root, but its skin gleamed with a golden hue, exuding a faint aura of
time itself flowing through it.
The moment the elder’s eyes fell upon it, his expression shifted—
A flicker of shock and recognition passed across his otherwise calm face.
“This is… a millennium-old treasure herb?!”
Carl caught the subtle change in expression and immediately seized the moment.
He respectfully offered up the herb, his voice sincere.
“This humble disciple came across this treasure by sheer luck, in an ancient ruin.”
“But I lack the cultivation and wisdom to make full use of it. Only an elder of your stature, a true
great master, is worthy of such a sacred treasure.”
“Please accept it, Elder. Otherwise, keeping it in my hands would be like letting a priceless gem
gather dust in the dark.”
Before the Velmorian Sect elder could even respond, Carl had already placed the treasure in his
hands.
The old man’s fingers curled around it instinctively—
Though his expression remained solemn and composed, his grip did not loosen.
His eyes studied Carl anew, and his tone softened, ever so slightly.
“You brat…”
“Though I have been branded a ‘demonic heretic’ by the so-called righteous sects, I have never
once stooped to thievery or forcefully taken what is not mine!”
“Do not tarnish my name!”
The elder paused, then slowly continued—
“Carl, I see great potential in you.”
“From this day forward, you shall be my registered disciple.”
“Once you break through to Level 2, you will become my official disciple.”
“And should you reach Level 3, I shall personally take you as my true successor.”
The meaning behind his words could not have been clearer.
Carl immediately understood, and without missing a beat, he kowtowed once more.
“This disciple greets his master!”
“This herb was destined for you, Master. It is both an offering of respect and a sign of my
devotion.”
“Please accept it, lest I suffer from inner turmoil and the birth of a heart demon!”
“If you refuse, Master, you will only be condemning me to endless suffering!”
Carl’s words were flawless—
They were designed not just to flatter, but to ensure the elder felt no obligation to reciprocate.
The greatest art of gift-giving was to make it seem as though the receiver had done nothing
wrong in accepting it.
No expectations. No strings attached.
Not even the slightest pressure to return the favor.
Just a disciple honoring his master.
And just as Carl expected—
The elder’s expression eased, his fingers tightening around the treasure before he slowly tucked
it away.
Though his face remained calm, his eyes glowed with satisfaction.
“Since it is my disciple’s heartfelt offering, how could I refuse?”
“But know this—this treasure is too valuable. I am not a greedy man.”
“For now, I shall hold onto it for you.”
“When your cultivation has reached perfection, when your path is free of all obstacles, I will
return it to you.”
The Velmorian Sect elder, Jeffrey Vallery, spoke with an air of righteousness, his expression one
of scholarly integrity.
With his measured tone and gracious demeanor, he resembled a true master of wisdom and
virtue—
A teacher devoted to guidance, not greed.
“Yes, yes! Of course!”
“Then I shall leave it in Master’s care!”
“And should I come across any more treasures that I am unworthy of holding, I will rely on you
to safeguard them for me as well!”
Carl’s voice brimmed with respect, his expression humble and obedient.
At the same time, he lowered himself once more, bowing deeply.
From this moment forward, he had a true patron.
But Carl knew one simple truth—
A patron alone is never enough.
Placing all one’s hopes on a benefactor was no different from handing over one’s fate.
To be nothing more than a pawn on someone else’s board…
That was unacceptable.
The real question wasn’t whether he had a powerful master.
It was—
How would he use this connection to further his own power?
How could he leverage this newfound support, step by step, until he no longer needed to bow to
anyone?
The strongest foundation one could rely on—
Was oneself.
Humility, submission, servitude—
They were only means to an end.
Everything he did, every bow he made, every title he accepted—
All of it was to one day rise above them all.
After spending some more time exchanging pleasantries with the seemingly benevolent yet
calculating elder, Carl finally took his leave from the Abyssal Emperor’s military camp.
When he arrived, he had been just another mortal cultivator—a mere Organ Tempering
practitioner.
Now, as he walked away—
He was the registered disciple of a Level 4 grandmaster.
A member of the Velmorian Sect.
The millennium-old treasure herb he had given away was indeed valuable—
Even Level 4 cultivators would covet it.
But its worth paled in comparison to what he had gained in return.
This wasn’t luck.
This was a calculated risk.
It was about understanding people—knowing when to offer and when to ask for nothing in
return.
Carl dared to take that gamble.
And he had won.
With his goal achieved, Carl summoned his corpse puppet—the refined corpse of the
Venomous Wraith Immortal—and vaulted onto its back.
Without wasting another moment, he raced back toward Yellow Heaven Stronghold’s domain.
His next move was already planned out.
Now that he had the support of the Velmorian Sect, even the Abyssal Emperor wouldn’t dare
stand in his way.
He had to seize control of Yellow Heaven Stronghold completely—
Expand his territory, consolidate his power, and increase his cultivation before Aragon Country’s
fate was decided.
As the refined corpse shot through the sky, Carl’s figure blurred into the mountainous expanse,
disappearing into the horizon.
As the sun rose and fell, Carl neared the stronghold once more.
The corpse puppet, though lacking the finesse of a living cultivator, still moved with terrifying
speed, making the journey seamless.
Without it, he never would have risked traveling through the wild, treacherous landscapes
between the camps.
As he approached Yellow Heaven Stronghold’s city, his eyes narrowed.
Waiting for him at the city’s outskirts—
Lucian.
His cousin, standing tall, his expression calm but resolute.
The moment Carl stepped onto solid ground, Lucian walked forward.
His tone was steady, unwavering.
“Cousin. You’ve returned.”
“It’s time we settled things—once and for all.”