Chapter 61 Mining and transporting ore

“Many thanks, Senior De Molinos!”
“Gratitude to the Immortal Master!”

The mortals and cultivators of Lunford Town prostrated themselves, bowing deeply before Arius.

Had he not intervened, they would have either been worked to death or tortured beyond endurance under the tyranny of Blood Wolf Hall.

“The Wilson family will remember Senior Arius’s kindness for all eternity!”

The Wilson Ancestor knelt, his expression filled with gratitude as he gazed at Arius.

He had already resigned himself to death, willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of his descendant’s escape.

Yet fate had not forsaken them completely.

Arius’s arrival had not only extended his own lifespan by five or six years, but more importantly—

It had saved the majority of the Wilson family from destruction.

As for Arius’s breakthrough into the Level 1 Realm, the Wilson Ancestor was indeed shocked.

However, after experiencing such a catastrophe, he had no energy left to dwell on it.

Lunford Town had suffered too great a loss.

With Blood Wolf Hall’s arrival, the casualties had already exceeded ten thousand.

Of those, most had perished within the mines, their bodies broken by exhaustion and cruelty.

And among them—

The majority had been the elderly, women, and children.

With the survivors departing, Arius turned his attention back to the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators, who now stood as his slaves.

For the past month, the silver mine had been fully operational, and a large quantity of ore had already been excavated.

However, since the raw silver had not yet been refined, it had not been transported back to Blood Wolf Hall.

Now—

That task would fall upon the surviving enforcers.

“Do not think of slacking off!”

“Within two months, I expect every last piece of ore to be extracted!”

“Otherwise—”

“You will no longer have any reason to exist.”

Arius’s icy voice carried a chilling intent, sweeping across the dozen remaining Blood Wolf Hall enforcers.

Once, these same men had tormented, beaten, and enslaved the mortals of Lunford Town.

Now, they stood before him as slaves themselves.

A cultivator’s efficiency in mining was thousands—if not tens of thousands—of times greater than that of a mortal.

Even with only a dozen cultivators, they would easily match or surpass the output of the thirty thousand enslaved mortals who had once worked the mines.

However, even for cultivators, mining at full intensity without rest for two straight months would be an extreme burden.

Yet under Arius’s suffocating pressure, none dared to utter a word of protest.

Their resentment burned, but they had no choice but to accept their fate in silence.

Blood Wolf Hall’s enforcers were nothing more than a scattered, self-serving rabble.

Unlike Albigensians Sect, they lacked any real structure, discipline, or loyalty.

To enter Albigensians Sect, one needed to meet strict age and talent requirements.

If one did not qualify, there was still the possibility of entry via a “Rising Immortal Token”, though such methods were rare.

Blood Wolf Hall, on the other hand—

As long as one had a pulse and could cultivate, they were welcome to join.

It was a faction with no order, no standards, driven only by greed and brutality.

In truth—

Blood Wolf Hall’s methods were no different from those of the demonic sects.

The only reason they had not been eradicated was due to two key figures:

1. The Blood Wolf Hall Master, a late-stage Level 1 cultivator, who kept order through sheer strength.
2. Madam Scarlet Powder, whose connections with several Albigensians Sect enforcers had shielded the hall from destruction.

Had it not been for these factors—

Blood Wolf Hall would have been annihilated long ago.

The cultivators who had joined Blood Wolf Hall were nothing more than a mixed rabble—rogues, exiles, and even some who practiced forbidden techniques.

The Blood Wolf Hall Master had always been aware of this.

But his goal had been simple—

First, expand their numbers.

Then, once Blood Wolf Hall had grown large and powerful enough, he would begin purging the undesirables and establishing order.

It was a flawed strategy, filled with risks and weaknesses.

But it had one advantage—

They had numbers.

Blood Wolf Hall could barely be considered a major faction, at least in terms of sheer manpower.

However, its members had no loyalty, no faith, no unity.

If Arius were to enslave the disciples of Albigensians Sect, they would struggle and resist fiercely—many would rather die than submit.

But for Blood Wolf Hall’s cultivators?

They had joined without purpose and now lived without purpose.

Without strong leadership, they had no convictions, no reason to fight back.

As the enslaved Blood Wolf Hall enforcers carried their pickaxes and trudged back into the mines, Arius remained seated at the entrance, watching them without expression.

It wasn’t that he feared they would attempt to escape or slack off.

With the Slave Imprint burned into their souls, they would never dare defy him.

To remove such a mark would require a Level 2 cultivator—

And in this region?

Level 2 cultivators were scarce beyond measure.

Even within a thousand-mile radius, finding such a cultivator was nearly impossible.

In all of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, the only known Level 2 cultivators resided within:

1. Albigensians Sect, where they served as elders and protectors.
2. The Eight Great Families of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, each housing one or two reclusive ancestors.

Beyond these nine powers, Level 2 cultivators were almost nonexistent.

After all—

The spirit veins and immortal mountains capable of supporting a Level 2 realm cultivator had long been monopolized by these dominant forces.

Even a talented rogue cultivator would find it nearly impossible to break through in such an environment.

The only wandering Level 2 cultivators were those who had abandoned their cultivation path, resigning themselves to mediocre lives in spirit-starved lands.

Two days passed.

Then three.

Finally—

The De Molinos family’s forces arrived.

Led by Simon, a large procession of De Molinos family guards and retainers hurried toward the Silver Mine.

When they saw Arius seated upon the snowy ground, they immediately bowed deeply.

“Greetings, Ancestor!”

“Rise.”

Arius slowly opened his eyes, his gaze settling on Simon.

The reason he had summoned such a large force was simple—

They needed to transport the silver ore.

From Lunford Town to Purple River City, the path was fraught with dangers.

• Mountainous terrain and dense forests filled with bandits and raiders.
• Treacherous swamps and cavernous ravines infested with beasts and predatory birds.

If their escort force was too small, they would be easy prey.

Either the bandits would loot them, or the wild beasts would hunt them down.

By mobilizing nearly the entire clan, Arius ensured two things—

1. The ore would be transported quickly and safely.
2. Along the way, they could clear out bandits, raiders, and predatory beasts, solidifying De Molinos family control over the region.

Over the past six months, the De Molinos family had built roads, constructed bridges, and expanded their territorial influence.

However—

Many areas still remained lawless and untamed.

The reason?

The persistent presence of bandit clans, lawless raiders, and dangerous beasts that terrorized the countryside.

“The mining operation will continue under Blood Wolf Hall’s enforcers.”

“As for the transportation and refining of the ore… that will be your responsibility.”

Arius’s voice was calm, yet authoritative.

As he spoke, he activated his mana, causing the snow upon his robes to instantly evaporate into steam.

With this matter settled—

Arius had no further reason to remain.

His next goal?

Return to Purple River City.

There, he would make full use of his Mystic Treasure— the Mirror of Immortal Appraisal.

With the resources looted from Madam Scarlet Powder and Goat Child, he could refine, enhance, and upgrade his inventory.

And beyond that—

Even among the thirty enslaved Blood Wolf Hall enforcers, he had seized an assortment of spirit stones, treasures, and alchemical materials.

If he properly refined them all, he might even—

Break through to mid-stage Level 1!

 

Chapter 62: Writing an Encyclopedia, Survival is Hard

After giving final instructions to Simon and the others, Arius stepped onto the Three Talents Formation Flags. Surrounded by radiant hues, he swiftly soared into the sky and disappeared into the horizon.

Between Lunford Town and Purple River City lay hundreds of miles of rugged mountains, dense forests, and treacherous marshlands. Even a cultivator at the Organ Tempering Stage would need at least one or two hours to traverse this distance at full speed.

But now, having broken through to the Level 1 Realm and gained the ability to fly using his weapon for short durations, Arius returned to Purple River City in less than half an hour.

Descending into the courtyard, he immediately retrieved a Stabilizing Essence Pill and swallowed it.

Flying on a weapon was undoubtedly fast, allowing him to ignore terrain and travel at breakneck speeds, but the mana expenditure was immense.

Without the aid of pills or spirit stones, he estimated he could sustain flight for no more than forty-five minutes before running dry.

“Unless it’s an emergency, I should avoid flying whenever possible.”

Settling into a meditative posture within his courtyard, he casually took out a fragment of a spirit stone and activated the incomplete Level 2-level Spirit Gathering Array.

The moment the formation came to life, the surrounding spiritual energy surged toward his courtyard, slowly converging around him.

While absorbing the energy, Arius began taking stock of his spoils.

This operation against the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators had been highly profitable—four hundred spirit stone fragments and five low-grade spirit stones.

Among the loot, he had also obtained dozens of cultivation manuals.

For materials, there were two blocks of refined ironstone weighing over fifty pounds each, along with a pea-sized Ironstone Heart.

As for spiritual herbs? Not a single one.

That was to be expected. Most cultivators rarely purchased raw spiritual herbs. Not only were they expensive, but consuming them directly had subpar effects. Given the same cost, it was often more efficient to purchase refined pills instead.

Among the Level 1-tier artifacts, he had seized five in total—four of them low-grade, while the last one, the Soul Refining Banner, was of significantly higher quality.

This banner had once belonged to the infamous Madame Scarlet Powder, and though it was not quite a Level 2-tier artifact, its power was close.

Yet, contrary to expectations, it was not as overwhelmingly potent as one might assume.

Both fire and lightning were natural counters to the Soul Refining Banner.

Even a simple Fireball Technique had been enough to suppress and knock it out of the sky.

Arius had no plans to use the Heavenly Insight Mirror to refine and enhance the banner—it simply wasn’t worth it.

This thing was best kept as an asset to be sold off later. Alternatively, he could hold onto it and pass it down to a future clan member once someone in the family was born with spiritual roots.

Beyond weapons, spirit stones, and materials, he had also acquired a large number of pills from the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators.

However, most of them were low-grade elixirs like Essence Purification Pills, which were of little use to someone at his level. Even if he consumed them, they wouldn’t significantly aid his cultivation.

While the Heavenly Insight Mirror could refine pills to improve their quality, it was nearly impossible to increase their tier.

Technically, it was possible to upgrade a pill from a Body Tempering-tier elixir to a Level 1-tier elixir, but the resource cost was far too exorbitant to justify it.

Refining a low-grade elixir to enhance its effects only required mundane gold and silver.

But attempting to raise a pill’s tier? The cost would be astronomical.

For now, he planned to use ordinary currency to slightly refine these low-tier resources before storing them for future use.

They would serve well in nurturing the younger generation of the De Molinos family.

As for the cultivation resources taken from those Body Tempering Stage cultivators of Blood Wolf Hall, apart from spirit stones, most of them were already useless to him.

Fortunately, both Madame Scarlet Powder and Goat Daoist had yielded some valuable finds.

Though neither of them was particularly wealthy among Level 1 cultivators, they had still cultivated for nearly a century—there had to be some accumulated wealth.

After two to three days of meditation, fully replenishing his mana to its peak, Arius finally retrieved the Heavenly Insight Mirror and methodically refined and upgraded his most valuable resources.

Yet, despite the wealth at his disposal, he did not rush into cultivation.

Instead, he picked up a brush, unrolled a fresh scroll of fine spirit paper, and began writing—

A comprehensive compendium for the De Molinos family.

The territory surrounding Purple River City spanned a thousand miles. Though not a land of fertile plains, if advanced agricultural methods were implemented, it could still support tens of millions of people.

Yet, despite its vast expanse, the total population of villages, towns, and the main city combined barely reached three million.

Arius had previously studied the topographical maps of the surrounding region.

Out of this thousand-mile territory, only about four hundred miles consisted of arable land—suitable for farming and habitable for mortals.

As for the remaining areas? Swamps and sheer mountain cliffs. Even Level 2 cultivators would struggle to transform those lands into suitable settlements.

“Reclaiming the outermost five hundred miles of Purple River City’s territory… is still not enough.”

“Blood Wolf Hall… They must be eradicated.”

Arius continued to write, his brush moving swiftly across the fine spirit paper. He meticulously documented crop cultivation techniques, improved seed selection methods, and plans for irrigation infrastructure. At the same time, his mind was already strategizing how to completely eliminate Blood Wolf Hall and establish the De Molinos family as the new hegemon across ten thousand miles of land.

Once his family secured control over such an expanse, they wouldn’t need to expand any further for the foreseeable future.

Within this ten-thousand-mile domain, at least five thousand miles were suitable for mortal habitation. However, the total population barely reached thirty to forty million.

The primary cause of such low population density was, first and foremost, the harsh living conditions—many areas were infested with vicious beasts, and their terrain was too treacherous for mortals to survive in. The second reason was the sheer backwardness of agricultural production.

In the domains controlled by major sects and powerful clans, not only were spiritual veins abundant, but even the lands where mortals lived were fertile.

Moreover, these great powers possessed the ability to introduce advanced farming techniques.

Take Albigensians Sect’s vast dominion as an example—stretching across tens of thousands of miles, mortals there never suffered attacks from demonic beasts or rogue cultivators.

They never feared natural disasters.

If a drought occurred, Level 2 cultivators would summon wind and rain.

If storms or cold snaps threatened, sect elites would step in to neutralize them.

Although mortals under such major powers still suffered oppression, at least their lives were not constantly at risk.

But for the mortals living in Purple River City’s domain?

They had no powerful cultivators protecting them.

Instead, they faced disasters, calamities, vicious beasts, and rogue cultivators—all at once.

Those within the city and towns fared slightly better, but the villagers in remote settlements? Their death rate was horrifyingly high.

After another two to three days, Arius finally set down his brush.

Before him lay a thick tome—a completed Compendium.

If everything documented within could be successfully implemented, the population surrounding Purple River City could increase tenfold.

The larger the population, the greater the resource production.

Grain, gold, and silver—mundane resources might not mean much to an ordinary cultivator.

But to Arius, who possessed the Heavenly Insight Mirror, any resource held immense value.

 

Chapter 63: When a disaster strikes, be prepared

After finishing the Compendium, Arius summoned an elder from the clan and handed over the thick tome, instructing him to deliver it to Simon in Lunford Town.

The dissemination of this Compendium would be Simon’s responsibility as clan leader.

As the family’s ancestor, Arius had no intention of personally handling every minor detail.

With that matter settled, Arius seated himself within the Spirit Gathering Formation and officially began his cultivation session.

His goal: to break through to the Mid-Stage of Level 1 as quickly as possible.

Advancing to the Mid-Stage would greatly enhance his mana reserves and spiritual awareness.

Blood Wolf Hall’s retaliation was inevitable. Though he had two Five-Thunder Talisman Treasures at his disposal, an extra layer of strength could only increase his chances of survival.

According to Goat Daoist, the Hall Master of Blood Wolf Hall was currently in seclusion, refining his cultivation.

The reason? The Hall Master had obtained a Level 1-tier Breakthrough Pill.

This meant that his chances of reaching Peak Level 1 were at least ninety percent.

Once he emerged from seclusion, possessing Peak Level 1 strength, there was no doubt—he would come for the De Molinos family.

Of course, precisely because the Hall Master was attempting a breakthrough, he wouldn’t be surfacing anytime soon.

The process of advancing from Late-Stage to Peak Level 1 could take one to six months if successful.

If unlucky, it could stretch to a year or more.

“Hah…”

Exhaling a long breath, Arius instantly entered deep meditation, slowly absorbing spiritual energy and probing the bottleneck of Mid-Stage Level 1.

The seasonal cycle in Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture was highly unstable.

When Arius first returned to the De Molinos family, it had been deep autumn. Yet, six full months had passed before winter finally arrived.

And then, after just two months of cold, spring had barely begun when the weather abruptly turned scorching hot—plunging straight into the peak of summer.

The sun blazed like a primordial beast, suspended high above the heavens.

At first, the people of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture assumed this heat wave would pass within a few weeks—perhaps a month at most, before giving way to cooling rains.

But four months passed.

The heat only intensified.

Rivers dried up, exposing cracked riverbeds.

Lakes shrank into barren plains, while wells saw their water levels plummet.

Outside Lunford Town, the silver mine had been nearly exhausted, yet transport operations were still ongoing.

Because silver ore was critical to the De Molinos family, Simon had moved his entire command center into the mining site itself.

Inside the underground war room, elders and advisors gathered, their expressions grim.

One elder, leaning heavily on his wooden cane, his teeth nearly all gone, squinted as he spoke, voice filled with concern.

“Clan Leader… It has been four to five months since the last rainfall.”

“A great drought is coming.”

“The crops around Purple River City—they are all withering.”

“The main city is still holding on… thanks to its granary reserves.”

“But the towns and villages? They are on the verge of famine.”

“With the drought worsening, even the beasts and creatures in the mountains are dying off in massive numbers.”

“The forests are withering as well.”

“If we do not prepare in advance, widespread chaos is inevitable.”

“I have heard that in the Sullivan Clan’s territory, people have already begun to eat their own children…”

The war room fell silent.

The elder who spoke was seventy-three years old—an incredibly long lifespan for an ordinary mortal.

Even within the De Molinos family, where living conditions were comparatively better, his age was rare.

This was a world of immortals and cultivators, a world of miraculous revival elixirs and divine alchemical treasures.

But those things belonged to the strong.

For mortals, living to seventy was still an arduous struggle.

Even children born into noble families often succumbed to disease before they could speak their first words.

Those who survived childhood would still face sickness, injuries, and misfortunes.

Reaching adulthood was already a battle.

If they lived carefully, avoiding serious injuries or accidents, they might last until forty or fifty.

But once they crossed fifty, their bodies weakened.

A single fever in winter?

It could kill them.

Immortal pills? Divine medicines?

How many mortals could ever dream of such luxuries?

Only those who lived in county capitals and provincial cities of Aragon Country, or near the territories of powerful sects, had slightly better odds of survival.

As for those born in towns and villages? Simply living to adulthood was already a miracle.

The vast and magnificent world of cultivation—its boundless wonders, grandiose conflicts, and soaring ambitions—what did any of it have to do with mere mortals?

“Ah!”

“Second Granduncle, you’re far too old to be moving around like this!”

“The journey from Purple River City to here spans several hundred miles!”

“If something happened to you on the way, how would I ever explain it to the clan?”

The moment Simon spotted the hunched elder, leaning heavily on his cane, he hastily dropped his work and rushed forward to support him.

But the old man waved him off, shaking his head stubbornly.

“My body is still strong! You don’t need to worry about me…”

“I’m here to talk to you about the drought!”

“If this situation isn’t handled properly, our De Molinos Clan will suffer a heavy blow!”

“Starving people will do anything!”

“Our clan’s territory is huge now—we are responsible for the lives of millions!”

His voice grew heated, almost agitated.

If millions of mortals rioted, even a Level 1 cultivator would take a long, long time to suppress them.

And even if the De Molinos Clan dared to slaughter hundreds of thousands of starving refugees, Albigensians Sect would never let them get away with it.

For the sect, famine and rebellion were one thing—they might turn a blind eye to suffering and chaos.

But if a single clan dared to brutally massacre countless mortals to maintain order?

Then, under the banner of righteousness, Albigensians Sect would be the first to wipe them out.

“Sigh…”

“Second Granduncle, I am already working on a solution.”

“I’ve instructed our clan members to purchase grain from the territories of the Sullivan Clan, Song Clan, and Benn Clan.”

“My next move is to expand Purple River City.”

“I plan to relocate all villagers and townspeople from the surrounding region into the city.”

“This will make distribution and relief efforts easier while also clearing out our thousand-mile territory.”

“And if desperate refugees from other lands try to force their way in, they will starve to death long before they reach us.”

“Simply put—my plan ensures that our own people will not descend into madness and rebellion.”

Simon spoke in an unwavering, calm tone.

Ensuring the survival of the mortals within De Molinos Clan’s rule was already an act of benevolence.

As for the people beyond the borders of Purple River City?

Even if the entire world collapsed, Simon would not care.

“As long as you have a solid plan,” the old man said, nodding slightly.

“But this drought… is likely only the beginning.”

“Not just for Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, but for all of Aragon Country.”

“You need to prepare for what’s coming!”

There was a distant look in the elder’s clouded eyes.

When he was a child, he had personally witnessed a great famine.

That famine had only affected an area of ten thousand miles—a fraction of what was happening now.

And yet, it had reduced entire provinces to ruin.

But this time?

This time, all of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture was suffering.

Perhaps… all of Aragon Country.

And in a land without a single dominant power to maintain order…

A disaster of this scale could only lead to one thing.

An even greater era of chaos.

 

Chapter 64 Carl, Becomes a Bandit

Hearing the elder’s words, Simon felt a growing headache.

If all of Aragon Country erupted into chaos, then the De Molinos Clan would inevitably be caught in the storm.

“Damn it…”

“Second Granduncle, please—just go back and rest.”

“I will handle this.”

Supporting the old man, Simon carefully escorted him out of the mine tunnel before returning to his endless pile of pressing matters.

While the De Molinos Clan wrestled with the growing crisis, far away at the edge of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, deep within the vast wilderness spanning tens of thousands of miles, De Molinos Carl had become a different man.

He had left the De Molinos Clan six months ago.

Now, his face was covered in unkempt stubble, and his once-pristine armor was nothing more than a collection of tattered scraps.

Behind him stood hundreds of crippled and wounded soldiers—men who had once numbered in the thousands but had been whittled down by hunger, exhaustion, and war.

“Chief… our food supplies will last only one more day.”

“The drought has swallowed not just Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, but also the surrounding provinces—all of them are turning into barren wastelands.”

“If this continues… I fear…”

A scarred, bronze-skinned De Molinos Clan youth hesitated, his face full of unease.

If they ran out of food, then the Yellow Heaven Stronghold, which they had fought so hard to establish, would collapse overnight.

When De Molinos Carl left the De Molinos Clan, he had taken with him a group of loyal servants and younger clansmen—setting out to forge his own path.

At first, survival was difficult, but they had managed.

And when the drought struck—devastating the land, withering crops, and drying up water sources—his people suffered immensely.

Even so, De Molinos Carl had relied on his martial prowess, his foresight, and his sheer determination to carve out a foothold at the edge of the prefecture.

From a mere band of outcasts, he had grown his forces into a fearsome army of twenty thousand bandits—the infamous Yellow Heaven Stronghold.

It was all part of his plan.

First, he would gather power as a bandit leader, slowly amassing strength and resources.

Then, he would seek a way to allow mortals—those without spiritual roots—to step onto the path of cultivation.

But fate was merciless.

Just as his stronghold was beginning to take shape, disaster struck.

The drought—an unstoppable, unrelenting force of nature.

For ten days, he had led his people in retreat, trying to escape the worsening famine.

The original site of Yellow Heaven Stronghold had already been abandoned—its wells dried up, its fields turned to dust.

The villages under its protection had perished—their people either starving, dying of thirst, or fleeing to the cities in search of salvation.

Now, the once-mighty bandit army had been reduced to a few hundred starving, broken men.

And there was nowhere left to go.

De Molinos Carl had considered returning to the De Molinos Clan.

But Purple River City was at least hundreds of thousands of miles away.

He and his people had arrived in this desolate land through an accident of fate—a stroke of heavenly misfortune disguised as fortune.

During their early travels, they had triggered an ancient teleportation array left behind by a powerful cultivator.

In an instant, they had been transported—flung across vast distances, landing in this hostile frontier.

At the time, they had rejoiced, believing it was a divine opportunity, a blessing from the heavens.

Now, looking back?

It had been a curse.

If they had been closer to the De Molinos Clan, they might have survived.

But now?

Now, there was no way back.

So De Molinos Carl had no choice but to press forward, leading the remnants of Yellow Heaven Stronghold through hell itself.

Inside, he was drowning in fear, frustration, and desperation.

But on the outside?

He remained unshakable.

He was their leader.

And leaders did not falter.

Looking at the youth before him, who had just finished delivering his grim report, De Molinos Carl forced out a boisterous laugh, raising his head to shout to his people.

“Have you all forgotten?!”

“Does the heavens not always leave a path for those who seek it?!”

“Fear not, my brothers!”

“This is merely a passing storm!”

“I will lead you out of this abyss, out of this despair!”

“And when the time comes—we shall rise like a tempest!”

“One day, Yellow Heaven Stronghold shall sweep across Aragon Country, shaking the very foundations of the world!”

“When I ascend to the rank of kings and lords, you—my brothers—shall share in my wealth and power!”

“Endure! Persevere!”

“All of this suffering—it is only temporary!”

His words resonated across the barren wasteland, carried by the wind to the last remnants of his broken army.

Starving, wounded, and near their limits—

They clung to his words like a dying man clung to hope.

And for now—that was enough.

De Molinos Carl wiped the dust from his face, his voice high and resolute, trying to inject energy into his weary followers.

But after his passionate speech, only a few weak responses came in return.

He understood.

The men of Yellow Heaven Stronghold were exhausted.

They needed food. They needed water.

Even Level 1 cultivators couldn’t survive indefinitely without sustenance—let alone mere mortals.

Only Level 2 cultivators and above could truly subsist without food and water for extended periods.

But even among Level 2 cultivators, some still indulged in mortal food from time to time.

A poor diet, an empty stomach—even cultivators could suffer mental instability or, in extreme cases, fall into cultivation deviation.

For mortals?

If they didn’t eat, they simply died.

Speeches were fine. Rousing morale was fine.

But in the end—he had to produce actual results.

Otherwise, his authority as leader would collapse.

De Molinos Carl’s grip tightened on his sword.

With a single swift motion, he slashed his own warhorse’s throat.

The steed let out a final shudder, blood pooling beneath it.

Then, he raised his voice again—this time louder, firmer.

“Brothers!”

“Eat the horse meat. Rest well tonight.”

“I swear—I will lead you out of this darkness and into a new era of glory!”

“Not only that! I have traveled these lands before.”

“Eight hundred miles from here, there is a small city—Cordova City!”

“In that city, there is meat without end, wine in endless supply, and women of all kinds!”

“So hold on! Endure!”

“If we can make it eight hundred more miles, we’ll reach a new beginning!”

It was a lie.

Cordova City?

There was no Cordova City.

He had made it up on the spot.

This wasteland at the edge of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture was a barren hellscape, devoid of resources and unsuitable for any large-scale settlement.

At best, one could find a village of a few thousand or a stronghold of ten thousand—but a proper city?

Impossible.

He had fabricated the name to buy time—to keep morale stable for just a little longer.

Eight hundred miles meant several days of marching.

And in those days, as long as they found another opportunity, another source of food, another path forward. Then even if Cordova City never existed, his leadership would remain unshaken.

But if, after those days, there was still no hope—

Then Yellow Heaven Stronghold would fall apart.

As expected, the moment his men heard of horse meat and the promise of a distant city, a spark returned to their eyes.

The once listless, half-dead soldiers seemed to wake up.

Killing one horse wouldn’t be enough to feed hundreds.

But it was meat.

That alone was a miracle.

Even if horse meat was tough and unappetizing, at this point—

It was better than nothing.

They had been surviving off bark, dried roots, and whatever scraps they could scavenge.

De Molinos Carl had kept his steed alive for this exact moment.

As the leader, sacrificing his own horse for his men was a statement.

It strengthened their loyalty, it eased their desperation, and it solidified their trust in him.

Soon, the men of Yellow Heaven Stronghold were chopping down deadwood and building fires.

Before long, the scent of roasting meat filled the night air.

The smell was harsh, and the texture was tough—but to these starving warriors, who had been gnawing on dry tree bark for days?

This was no ordinary horse meat.

This was a divine feast.

Chapter 65 If I become an emperor in the future, I will give everyone a paradise

The horse meat hadn’t even fully cooked, yet some of the starving men from Yellow Heaven Stronghold could no longer restrain themselves.

They grabbed half-raw chunks and began tearing into them with desperate bites.

Carl’s warhorse had been a lean beast, and after skinning it and stripping the bones, there wasn’t much meat and organs left.

With hundreds of ravenous men, the entire carcass was devoured in less than half an hour.

Once they had eaten their fill, at least as much as the limited portions allowed, Carl distributed what little water remained, letting the men quench their thirst.

Then, standing tall, he raised his voice once more.

“Brothers—move out!”

Seeing that his men had regained a sliver of strength, he gave the order—

The caravan of the damned began marching once again.

The once lush forests were now lifeless wastelands.

Towering ancient trees, which once blocked out the sun, now stood dead and withered, their branches brittle, their trunks hollowed husks.

The ground—where shrubs and bushes once flourished—was now barren, stripped clean by desperate refugees and starving beasts.

The only reason the dead trees remained was because most people lacked weapons strong enough to cut them down.

Otherwise, even the bark and roots would have been stripped away long ago.

The few remaining green plants?

Those were poisonous—left untouched only because they carried deadly toxins.

Suddenly—

Caw! Caw! Caw!

A chorus of eerie cries echoed from above.

Black crows. Thousands of them.

They blotted the skies, their dark forms swirling above the desolate land.

But their cries were not normal.

They sounded like the wailing of infants, the mournful weeping of the dead.

Their presence cast an even heavier shadow over the already crushing despair.

“Chief… this is an ill omen.”

A hoarse voice spoke from beside Carl.

It was an elderly diviner, dressed in coarse robes, clutching an old eight-trigram compass in his hands.

This old mystic was the soothsayer of Yellow Heaven Stronghold—his only useful skill was reading the stars and weather patterns, which was why Carl had kept him around.

Hearing his ominous warning, Carl scoffed.

“Ill omen? Please.”

“It’s just a bunch of filthy scavenger birds. If we had any arrows left, I’d shoot them all down and make them into rations!”

As he spoke, Carl’s throat tightened.

It had been a long time since he’d tasted proper meat.

Even crow meat, no matter how foul, would surely be better than horse meat…

“Chief, be cautious with your words.”

The old diviner shook his head, his voice eerily calm.

“I am not speaking of an omen for Yellow Heaven Stronghold.”

“I speak of an omen for all of Aragon Kingdom…”

Carl barely reacted.

“An omen for Aragon Country?”

To him, it was nonsense.

Fate? Destiny?

All of it was meaningless.

He had never believed in the whims of the heavens.

His life, his path, his success—

All of it rested in his own hands.

Cultivators ascend to immortality not because of fate, but because they seize power for themselves!

Mortals rise to become emperors not because of destiny, but because of their ambition and will!

To hell with prophecies and superstitions!

If he had believed in fate, he would have stayed in the De Molinos Clan, living out his days as a comfortable, insignificant noble.

Instead, he had thrown himself into the storm, carving out a path of blood and steel.

Still, despite his internal disdain, Carl knew that the old mystic had his uses.

Even if he spouted nonsense, his ability to predict weather conditions was valuable for the stronghold’s survival.

So instead of dismissing him outright, Carl forced a polite smile and indulged him.

“Oh?”

“Then tell me, Old Master, what do you see?”

The diviner did not mind his skepticism.

He simply lifted his gaze to the blackened skies, speaking as if lost in thought—

Or as if uttering a prophecy to the wind itself…

Here’s the translated passage, keeping the tone and depth of the original:

“This great drought… it has scorched far more than just a million miles of land,” the old diviner murmured, his gaze fixed on the blackened sky.

“Beasts, livestock, men, rivers, forests—all are being consumed by destruction.”

“And yet, amidst this death and decay, the sky swarms with black crows.”

“This is an omen. A sign of the heavens’ decree!”

“There is an old saying—when a nation’s fortune runs dry, the world will bear witness to unnatural events.”

“The imperial fate of the Aragon Kingdom has reached its end!”

At first, Carl had merely feigned interest, his expression polite but indifferent.

But the moment the old man uttered the words—”Aragon Kingdom’s fate is exhausted, its mandate is at an end.”

His eyes sharpened.

The imperial dynasty was crumbling?

This wasn’t an ill omen—this was a golden opportunity!

The cycle of power turns. The throne falls to the worthy.

If the Aragon Kingdom collapsed, then a new dynasty would take its place.

And who was to say that dynasty couldn’t be his?

Carl’s heart burned with excitement.

“Good! Good! Excellent!”

In that instant, he suddenly felt that the old mystic’s words were pure wisdom!

When fate worked in his favor, then it was destiny.

When it did not?

Then his fate was his own to control.

Carl clasped his hands behind his back, staring up at the vast, storm-darkened heavens.

And then, unable to contain the fire in his chest, he roared out his ambitions—

“No power lasts forever! Dynasties rise and fall—this is the will of the heavens!”

“Aragon Kingdom has rotted from within! The sects have infested its heart! The warlords rebel!”

“This is not mere misfortune—this is divine judgment!”

“If I were emperor, I would end all chaos!”

“If I were emperor, I would grant the people true peace!”

His voice thundered across the wasteland, and for the first time—he did not merely think of survival.

He saw his true path.

He would seize the throne!

He would rise above all others!

He would carve his family name into the very foundations of history!

The De Molinos Clan would become the ruling dynasty!

It didn’t matter that he was weak now.

It didn’t matter that his forces were dwindling.

As long as he dared to dream, as long as he held his ambition like a sword before him,

Nothing could stop him.

“Chief—watch your words!”

The old diviner trembled, his face pale as cold sweat drenched his back.

It was one thing to say that Aragon Kingdom’s mandate was failing.

But Aragon Kingdom’s rulers still held power.

Across three provinces and seventy-two prefectures, all recognized the emperor as their sovereign—at least in name.

To speak such treason aloud—

Had there been even a single outsider present, Carl’s head would already be rolling across the ground.

But Carl merely scoffed.

“And? What of it?”

“Fear is for cowards, not for men who dream of greatness.”

He shook his head, looking at the diviner with a mix of amusement and disappointment.

“Enough of your trembling. Move out.”

And with that, he strode forward, leading his men deeper into the dying wasteland—

Toward his empire of tomorrow.

Far from the famine-stricken wilderness, in the lands of Purple River City, change was already in motion.

The sounds of hammers striking wood, saws cutting stone, and voices shouting orders echoed across the land.

Builders and craftsmen worked day and night, expanding the city walls, constructing new houses and roads.

Each day, endless caravans of resources and refugees flowed into Purple River City.

The once modest city of one hundred thousand had now swelled beyond three hundred thousand—and was still growing.

Were it not for the wealth of the silver mines, and the presence of Arius—their powerful ancestor—watching over them…

This population explosion would have already thrown the city into chaos.

Even now, daily conflicts arose—riots, theft, disorder.

To counter this, a proposal emerged from the young leaders of the De Molinos Clan:

Absolute Order. Absolute Force.

The policy was simple.

“All criminals, all disruptors—regardless of crime, no matter how small—shall be executed without mercy.”

“In an era of chaos, law must be enforced with an iron fist!”

“With overwhelming power, order will be absolute!”

The one who proposed this decree was a rising figure in the clan—

Justin De Molinos.

A man of the same generation as Carl.

Where Carl dreamed of conquest and empire, Justin embraced discipline, control, and ruthless efficiency.

Through blood and steel, he was shaping himself into a leader.

Even Simon had begun considering him as the next Clan Patriarch.

 

Chapter 66: The first descendant with spiritual roots, Doctor James

“Follow Justin’s plan.”

“In times of chaos, only harsh measures can restore order.”

Justin’s proposal was met with the approval of Simon.

The gathered elders of the De Molinos family also nodded in agreement.

In times of turmoil, any attempt at appeasement would only lead to further disorder.

“Justin, this matter is yours to handle.”

“This token is now in your hands. With it, you can mobilize five thousand of our family’s elite armored guards.”

“You must stabilize the situation swiftly—do not disappoint me.”

Simon’s voice was calm and measured.

At his words, Justin, clad in a simple robe and of unremarkable stature, nodded slightly. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, took the command token from Simon’s hand, and left.

Five thousand elite, battle-hardened armored guards…

Even if they were facing a riot of one hundred thousand refugees, these troops could crush them with ease.

If five thousand elite warriors were not enough to restore order in Purple River City, then Justin had no right to be a candidate for the next patriarch.

Simon’s age was nearing sixty, and of late, he had begun to feel the weight of years pressing upon him.

His mind was no longer as sharp, and the burden of leadership drained him more than ever before.

He understood all too well that it was time to cultivate a successor.

Even though, as the patriarch of the De Molinos family, he enjoyed the finest sustenance and the care of skilled physicians, at most, he had ten or twenty more years to live.

A mortal’s life is fleeting—seventy years is already rare longevity.

Even if the De Molinos family’s ancestor were to grant him a longevity pill, Simon had no desire to remain in power much longer.

Since the age of fifteen, he had been groomed as the heir.

At thirty-five, he had formally taken the mantle of patriarch.

The De Molinos family’s leadership did not follow the rule of inheritance but that of competition.

In theory, any member of the younger generation could vie for the position.

Yet, in reality, most candidates were eliminated in the first round.

Many among the younger generation had no interest in the patriarch’s seat at all.

Becoming patriarch might seem like absolute power, but in truth, it meant dedicating one’s entire life to the family.

Simon had lived that reality—ever since being named a successor at fifteen, he had never known true rest.

Every day was consumed by the affairs of the De Molinos family.

Yet, under his rule, the De Molinos family had risen from a humble settlement in Nezier Town to becoming the undisputed ruler of Purple River City and its surrounding thousand-mile territory.

With an Elder of the Level 1 Realm watching over them and a massive silver mine under their control, the De Molinos family had completed their ascension during his tenure.

His duty, was now nearly fulfilled.

“Enough.”

“The silver mine is almost fully secured.”

“It’s time we return to Purple River City.”

Simon gathered a stack of sheepskin scrolls and paper records, then turned to the De Molinos family elders beside him.

His voice was steady—yet beneath it lay a quiet finality.

Meanwhile, within Purple River City…

Outside a modest wooden house, a young man in his twenties crouched on the ground, his face clouded with anxiety.

“Uncle Charles, don’t worry too much,” a girl of seventeen or eighteen said gently, her voice filled with reassurance.

“With Granny and the Physician here, everything will go smoothly—both mother and child will be safe.”

The man heard her words but remained silent.

Inside the wooden house, his wife was giving birth.

In this world, childbirth for mortals was often no less dangerous than a journey to the underworld.

The scarcity of women in Purple River City and the surrounding ten-thousand-mile region was not a coincidence—too many perished in labor.

Even among wealthier families, who could afford skilled midwives and physicians, childbirth was still a gamble with fate.

Only in the presence of a cultivator proficient in wood-element techniques, who understood both medicine and healing arts, could a successful birth be guaranteed.

Unfortunately, wood-element cultivation was one of the most difficult paths to master.

Aside from pill masters and those who had stepped into the Level 2 Realm, very few cultivators pursued the Way of Wood.

Of course, if a Level 2 cultivator was present, they could shield a mortal woman with their boundless spiritual power, ensuring both mother and child survived.

“WAAAH!!”

Just as Charles was drowning in anxiety, a clear, piercing cry rang out from inside the wooden house!

The instant the infant’s wail echoed into the night, a sudden gust of wind swept through the area.

Within that wind, the essence of heaven and earth surged, forming an inexplicable phenomenon.

“It’s born… and it’s a boy!”

“Mother and child are safe! The father may enter now!”

Even before the newborn’s cries had fully faded, a voice from within, the midwife—spoke with steady assurance.

A moment later, the wooden door creaked open, and a stooped figure emerged—Physician James, the healer.

A blind man with hollow, lifeless eyes, yet revered across the land.

Born sightless, James the Physician had once been just another forgotten cripple, until he encountered a wandering mystic who imparted secret knowledge to him.

From then on, his medical skills soared, and he became the most renowned healer within a thousand miles of Purple River City.

Even the Ashfell family’s ancestor, when refining forbidden living pills from cultivators, had sought his expertise.

To secure James the Physician’s help, Charles had exhausted his life savings—and even borrowed a significant sum from friends and relatives.

The blind physician walked slowly toward Charles, tapping his cane against the ground.

From within his robes, he withdrew a prescription, his voice calm and measured.

“Your wife’s labor was smooth, and there are no major complications—only a slight depletion of blood and vitality.”

“Follow this prescription. Brew the medicine morning and night. Within a month, she will recover fully.”

“However…”

The physician paused, his sightless gaze tilting ever so slightly upward.

“Though I am no cultivator, and I cannot see the world as you do… the phenomenon just now, I could feel it.”

“Your child… may have been born with spiritual roots.”

“If properly guided… he could walk the Path of Immortality.”

“These are the only words I have for you.”

With that, James the Physician tapped his cane against the earth, turning away.

At his feet, a vibrant, multicolored rooster—his guide—led him silently into the night.

“…That man is truly an eccentric,” the teenage girl muttered as she watched him disappear into the darkness.

But her thoughts soon shifted elsewhere.

Spiritual roots… the Path of Immortality?!

Yet Charles, the new father, paid little mind to the old man’s words 

In truth, the odds of being born with spiritual roots were slim.

Among ten thousand newborns, perhaps one might possess them—perhaps not even that.

He refused to believe his child had been so lucky.

Besides, though James the Physician’s medical skill was unmatched, he was, in the end, just a mortal.

How could a mere mortal possibly determine if a child had spiritual roots?

“Uncle Charles, why not report this to the family?”

The teenage girl’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“With a Testing Stone, we could know for certain.”

The Testing Stone—a special artifact used to detect spiritual roots in mortals.

Almost every major cultivation family possessed such a stone, as it was not particularly rare in the world of immortals.

A single fragment of spirit stone was enough to purchase one.

The De Molinos family tested their newborns at a set time each year, though most families found that the most accurate readings came when a child was three years old.

Just like Arius, who had his spiritual roots tested at three…

 

Chapter 67: The situation is getting worse and worse, and the people are suffering everywhere

“Mm.”

“We’ll talk about it later…”

“For now, I need to check on your aunt.”

Charles gave a slight nod at the girl’s suggestion, then stepped into the wooden house.

Within the De Molinos family, when a newborn arrived, parents were usually permitted to apply for early use of the Testing Stone.

As he entered, his gaze immediately landed on the pale-faced woman resting on the bed.

Despite her exhaustion, his eyes betrayed undeniable concern.

Fortunately, Arius had issued a decree some time ago:

— Any clan member who conceived a child would receive a reward.

— If the child was born safely, the family would be granted a substantial allowance for raising them.

Because of this, even though Charles had spent his last copper coin, he felt no fear for the future.

This is the benefit of belonging to a great family.

If his child truly possessed spiritual roots—even if it was only a pseudo-spiritual root—then there was a chance for him to train under the Ancestor himself!

“You’ve suffered… rest well.”

Charles was not a man of many words.

Though his heart overflowed with joy at the birth of his child and deep concern for his wife’s wellbeing, when he tried to speak, he could only force out a few simple sentences.

Five days later.

At the heart of Purple River City, in a secluded courtyard of ancient elegance, Arius opened his eyes.

His cultivation session had ended.

“It’s finally done…”

“Mid-Stage Level 1—hahaha!”

A deep, aged laugh echoed through the courtyard.

After half a year of grueling cultivation, and with countless resources at his disposal, Arius had finally broken through to the mid-stage of the Level 1 Realm!

During this time, he had also successfully cultivated the first volume of the “Concealment Technique”, reaching the entry-level threshold.

Now that he had grasped the technique, as long as he did not make a move, even a Level 2 cultivator would struggle to discern his true level!

This ability allowed him to shroud his cultivation, making it impossible for others to gauge his strength.

It also meant that, if necessary, he could pretend to be weaker than he truly was—or even fabricate an aura of overwhelming power.

Whether it was playing the weakling to bait stronger foes or masquerading as an untouchable expert, the “Concealment Technique” was undoubtedly a top-tier treasure art.

If he ever had access to enough resources, he could use the Mirror of Immortal Appraisal to further upgrade and refine the technique.

If he enhanced it enough times, it might even allow him to deceive the heavens themselves—perhaps even evade the legendary Three Calamities and Nine Tribulations!

“Hoo…”

Arius exhaled slowly, then pushed open the wooden doors of his courtyard, feeling rather pleased with himself.

At that moment, a small black beast, about the size of a house cat, darted toward him.

It was Heishan, his spirit companion.

The creature immediately rubbed against Arius’s leg, purring in a rare display of affection.

Clearly, it hadn’t forgotten Arius’s promise—to help it improve its innate potential.

Since receiving that enhancement, Heishan’s cultivation speed had skyrocketed.

Even though its access to resources remained limited, it had still managed to break through to the Early Stage of Blood Tempering!

However, after its brief moment of affection, Heishan suddenly froze.

As if remembering something urgent, the little beast darted to a corner, snatched up a jade slip in its mouth, and dropped it at Arius’s feet.

The surface of the jade slip shimmered faintly with spiritual energy, and if one looked closely, mystic runes flickered within.

Clearly… this was an item belonging to a cultivator.

This jade slip was a message sent by Goat Child.

Since Arius had been in seclusion, and since Goat Child could not linger too long within the De Molinos family estate, he had entrusted Heishan to guard it.

Arius picked up the jade slip, slowly immersing his divine sense within it.

At once, lines of text surfaced in his mind.

At first, the contents seemed unremarkable—mostly standard reports from Goat Child.

But as he reached the final lines, Arius’s brow furrowed slightly.

Something wasn’t right.

The jade slip’s final message was from Goat Child—and its contents were grave.

The Blood Wolf Hall Master had successfully broken through to the Peak of the Level 1 Realm.

And upon learning what had transpired in Lunford Town, his rage knew no bounds.

According to Goat Child’s estimate, once the Blood Wolf Hall Master had fully stabilized his cultivation, he would personally descend upon Purple River City to annihilate the De Molinos family.

At most, he needed two to three months to consolidate his power before making his move.

And yet…

As Arius glanced at the date of the message, his expression remained calm.

It had already been two months since Goat Child had delivered this warning.

Which meant—

The Blood Wolf Hall Master could arrive at any moment.

Yet, despite this revelation, Arius showed no concern.

A mere Peak Level 1 cultivator was nothing to him.

Once the Blood Wolf Hall was eradicated, the De Molinos family would have an unshakable foothold in the Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture.

Casually stowing away the jade slip, Arius turned toward the courtyard entrance, intending to stroll through Purple River City to observe how the city had developed over the past six months.

But just as he was about to step forward—

A hurried figure dashed toward him from the distance.

“Ancestor!”

“A joyous occasion—a great joyous occasion!!”

“We have a newborn in the clan… with True Spiritual Roots!”

The voice belonged to Simon.

The usually composed elder could barely contain his excitement.

A child born with True Spiritual Roots—even without an Ascension Order—could directly join Albigensians Sect as an inner disciple, or even a core disciple!

If this child could break through to the Level 1 Realm within Albigensians Sect, there was a real chance to become the disciple of a Level 2 cultivator!

If that happened, the De Molinos family’s influence in Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture would grow exponentially.

At that point, even the Blood Wolf Hall would be nothing.

Even the Eight Great Families of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture City would have no choice but to show the De Molinos family respect!

“Oh?”

Arius’s brows lifted slightly.

“A descendant with spiritual roots at last?”

“It seems my birthrate incentives are working.”

“Pass down my decree—increase the rewards for childbirth even further!”

“As for the child… take me to see him.”

A pleased smile formed on Arius’s face.

It had been a hundred years since the De Molinos family had produced a genuine spiritual root cultivator.

Hearing his ancestor’s words, Simon hesitated, his excitement dimming slightly.

For the past six months, Purple River City had expanded twice, accommodating the refugees fleeing the ongoing disasters.

The De Molinos family still had plentiful silver mines, but no matter how much silver they had—

They could no longer buy grain.

If the De Molinos family pushed childbirth incentives too aggressively, they might not be able to sustain their growing population.

Simon hesitated for a moment, then clasped his hands and reported the dire situation to Arius.

Arius listened, his face calm and unreadable.

Throughout the history of Aragon Kingdom, once every three hundred years, a great calamity would strike.

It was almost as if Heaven itself had arranged these trials, mirroring the Three Calamities and Nine Tribulations of cultivators.

When the Aragon Royal Family was at its peak, they could swiftly dispatch cultivators to suppress these disasters.

For the past thousand years, despite droughts and floods, the common people had never truly tasted despair.

But for the last four hundred years, the Aragon Royal Family had been in decline.

Even the Aragon Emperor himself had vanished—his fate unknown.

Now, the royal family lacked the strength to combat the growing crises.

The major factions of Aragon Kingdom certainly had the power to intervene—

Yet, instead of lending aid, most of them were either indifferent, focusing only on their own territories—

—Or they were too busy fighting amongst themselves, locked in a shadow war of influence.

And if this calamity worsened…

Not only the common folk, but even low-ranking cultivators—those in Skin Tempering and Blood Tempering—would find their very survival threatened.

“Let’s just hope… this disaster passes soon,” Simon muttered.

The situation in Purple River City was growing precarious.

The only reason the city’s order had not collapsed was because the De Molinos family still controlled the grain stores and the water supply.

And because their elite armored guard force stood ready.

Any who sought to incite chaos—

Had already been silenced.

 

Chapter 68: Peace and safety every year

But there was one problem—

The De Molinos family’s grain and water supply were also being rapidly depleted.

At this critical juncture, the De Molinos family had to start limiting population growth.

Encouraging childbirth was one thing… but what about the excess number of ordinary mortals in Zichuan City?

They couldn’t just slaughter them all.

Executing a few rioters and agitators was one thing—no one would question such measures.

But if they couldn’t provide a solid justification, and the number of slaughtered mortals exceeded one hundred thousand, then the so-called righteous sects and virtuous factions would undoubtedly come knocking on the De Molinos family’s door.

“Ancestor, if this great famine continues…”

“Our family could still afford to support the birth of several tens of thousands of new clan members,” Simon spoke cautiously.

But within his gaze, a cold glint flickered—

Grain and water must not be wasted.

If they wanted to raise tens of thousands of new De Molinos descendants, then some mortals would have to disappear.

A man who had risen to his position did not dwell on concepts like good and evil.

Only profit and loss mattered.

As of now, Zichuan City housed a population of nearly two million.

After two phases of expansion, the city had been divided into three sectors:

• The Core City – The heart of the De Molinos family’s domain.
• The Inner City – Where the elite armored guard and household servants resided.
• The Outer City – A gathering place for ordinary mortals and lesser cultivation families.

For Simon, removing several tens of thousands of mortals and replacing them with the bloodline descendants was the most practical solution during this time of crisis.

Getting rid of so many people?

A simple matter.

All that was needed was to engineer a few ‘accidents’.

As long as the disappearances were gradual, even Albigensians Sect and the other major factions would not pay much attention.

“Forget it…”

“For now, put a hold on the childbirth incentives.”

Arius waved his hand dismissively, rejecting Simon’s proposal.

Deep down, he still retained a sliver of humanity—not much, but enough.

After all, these were tens of thousands of lives.

If wiping them out brought immense benefits to the De Molinos family, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Survival and expansion were nothing but a struggle of life and death.

But in the end, even if hundreds of thousands of new children were born, at most, only a handful would possess spiritual roots.

Once the famine ended, they could always resume the policy.

“Ancestor is benevolent and wise! Ancestor’s judgment is unmatched!”

Even though his proposal had been denied, Simon did not seem disappointed.

He was a man who placed family interests above all, but he was no heartless demon.

To casually slaughter tens of thousands of mortals just to conserve resources for a future generation…

Even he found the idea somewhat unsettling.

After all, those mortals weren’t De Molinos family enemies.

They hadn’t wronged the De Molinos family in any way.

Killing them simply to redirect their food and water toward increasing the De Molinos bloodline…

The logic made sense—but it still felt unnatural.

Moreover, the De Molinos family was still considered a righteous clan.

Reputation and appearances mattered.

“Ancestor, this way, please.”

“The child is at the Pavilion.”

Simon bowed respectfully, then led Arius through a series of stone-paved paths, until they arrived at an imposing new structure.

This was the De Molinos family’s newly constructed Testing Pavilion—

A grand hall, large enough to accommodate thousands at once!

At this moment, a crowd of De Molinos family elders and clan members had already gathered within, waiting in anticipation.

A child with True Spiritual Roots was not heaven-defying, even within Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture.

But it was still an incredibly rare talent.

Even Albigensians Sect struggled to recruit a single cultivator with Profound-Grade Spiritual Roots once every ten years.

As for Earth-Grade Spiritual Roots…

Such talents were once in a century.

In fact, the gap between Earth-Grade and Profound-Grade was far greater than the gap between Profound-Grade and False Spiritual Roots.

Those born with Earth-Grade Spiritual Roots were almost guaranteed to reach Level 2.

And if they worked hard, combined with some luck, they might even step into the Level 3 Realm—

Or, against all odds, reach Level 4.

“The Ancestor has arrived!”

“Clear the way!”

Simon’s voice boomed across the hall.

Instantly, the gathered clan members parted, clearing a direct path for Simon and Arius.

“Greetings, Ancestor! Greetings, Patriarch!”

A wave of voices echoed in unison.

At this moment, every gaze in the hall turned toward Arius—

The De Molinos family’s legendary figure.

As the gathered clan members bowed in reverence, Arius stepped into the Pavilion, his presence commanding silent awe.

Inside the grand hall, a young man in his twenties stood frozen, his face filled with disbelief and confusion.

In his arms, he cradled a newborn infant, only a few days old.

Seeing the young man’s dazed expression, an elder of the De Molinos family quickly whispered,

“What are you waiting for? Pay your respects to the Ancestor!”

“Ah—Ancestor!”

“Greetings, great Ancestor!!”

Snapped out of his trance, the young father jolted upright. He hurriedly tried to kneel and bow, but Arius raised a hand slightly, stopping him.

“Be careful…”

“You’re holding a child—there’s no need for such formalities.”

With those words, Arius reached out, taking the infant gently from the man’s arms.

A subtle wave of divine sense swept over the child, and in an instant, Arius confirmed everything—

The baby’s bloodline, his potential, his aptitude.

Now that Arius had stepped into the Level 1 Realm, such an assessment was effortless.

“Excellent. True Spiritual Roots.”

At his words, the surrounding De Molinos family elders beamed with unrestrained joy.

Many of the ordinary clan members stared at the child with unconcealed envy.

To be born with spiritual roots…

A boundless future awaited.

Even those with mere False Spiritual Roots could escape the fate of mortals and walk the path of cultivation.

A child with True Spiritual Roots? That was something far greater.

“By the way, what is this child’s name?”

Arius turned to the young father, his aged voice calm yet warm.

Despite his gentle tone, the man remained visibly nervous, as though standing before a deity.

“R… Reporting to Ancestor…”

“We… w-we haven’t chosen a name yet.”

The young father stammered.

Arius was silent for a moment, then smiled slightly.

“I believe I have a fitting name…”

“This child is the first descendant in a hundred years to be born with spiritual roots in our De Molinos family.”

“From this day forth, his name shall be Noah.”

“Peace in every year, safety in every moment—Noah, may he live in peace.”

At the sound of his bestowal, the young father immediately dropped to his knees, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Thank you, Ancestor, for granting my son his name! Thank you, Ancestor, for your divine blessing…!”

The name “Noah” was more than just a name—

It was a blessing.

To the young father, Arius was no different from an immortal standing above the mortal realm.

To have a cultivator of such power personally bless his son…

He believed, with all his heart, that his child would grow up safely, healthily, and without misfortune.

Such is the heart of a parent.

The young father was not eloquent, nor was he particularly clever.

Yet his love for his son was undeniable.

He cared not for great achievements or for his son reaching unimaginable heights in cultivation.

He only wished for his child to grow up safe and well.

“Haha, good, good!”

“I told you—no need for such grand formalities.”

“Since you have no objections, from now on, this child shall be Noah De Molinos.”

Arius nodded with satisfaction.

Then, turning to Simon, he issued his next command.

“Ensure that the child and his father are well taken care of.”

Though Noah possessed spiritual roots, true cultivation could only begin at the age of three.

Some of the ancient sects possessed forbidden arts that allowed infants to cultivate from birth…

But the De Molinos family was far from having such heritage.

For now—

The child’s future was secure.

 

Chapter 69 Chaos, All Chaos

After handing the infant back to his father, Arius did not linger in the Testing Pavilion.

Amid the reverent farewells of his clan members, he clasped his hands behind his back and silently drifted away, his robes flowing in the wind.

Once outside, Arius activated the Three Talents Formation Flags, ascending effortlessly into the sky.

From above, he took a sweeping view of Purple River City.

The city had grown—expanded twentyfold—

Now housing a staggering two million inhabitants.

For Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, this placed Purple River City firmly as a mid-tier stronghold.

Had it not been for the De Molinos family’s silver mines, and the famine driving down the cost of human labor, constructing such a massive city would have been impossible.

Within the Core and Inner City, prosperity and order remained intact.

However—

The Outer City told a different story.

A heavy, oppressive atmosphere loomed over its crowded streets.

The entire Outer City was overpopulated, and at regular intervals, De Molinos family armored guards patrolled the streets.

The moment any unrest arose, the De Molinos family’s forces would immediately suppress it with an iron fist.

Currently, the De Molinos family’s standing military force consisted of:

• 1,000 elite cavalry,
• 20,000 heavily armored guards,
• 100,000 standard soldiers.

To prepare for the era of chaos, Simon had maximized the De Molinos family’s military strength.

But the De Molinos family did not stop there—

They had also absorbed the small cultivation families that had settled within Purple River City.

Through a series of strategic marriages, these smaller families were now entangled with the family’ bloodline.

Each of them possessed at least one or two cultivators at the Skin Tempering, Blood Tempering, or even Bone Tempering levels.

To solidify control, Simon granted these families the status of ‘De Molinos family Guest Elders’.

They were even given designated clan territories in the Outer City, further integrating them into the De Molinos family’s sphere of influence.

However, Simon’s true plan was far more calculated—

Within a few decades, these families would be completely assimilated.

Once their future generations were born with De Molinos blood in their veins, they would no longer see themselves as separate clans.

They would belong to the De Molinos family entirely.

At present, aside from Arius himself, the De Molinos family could mobilize over ten cultivators.

And as long as Arius remained the cornerstone of fear and power, these cultivators would remain firmly under the De Molinos family’s control.

For now—

Purple River City remained stable.

Stretching one hundred miles beyond the city, the De Molinos family had fortified the land with a network of:

• Fortified outposts,
• Beacon towers,
• Mountain strongholds.

Each fortified pass was garrisoned with both armored troops and cultivators.

Additionally, each outpost had been equipped with large siege crossbows, capable of wounding even Bone Tempering cultivators.

These defenses weren’t meant to fend off powerful cultivators—

After all, with Arius present, few would dare recklessly storm Purple River City.

Instead, the fortifications served a different purpose—

To prevent more refugees from flooding the city.

Within a hundred-mile radius of Purple River City, there still remained:

• Unspoiled freshwater sources,
• Arable farmland.

If managed properly—

And combined with the De Molinos family’s stockpiles of grain and water,

Purple River City could sustain itself for at least another two to three years.

In most cases, a great famine lasted around three years.

If the famine extended beyond that, even if Aragon Kingdom’s royal family did nothing, the major powers beyond Aragon Kingdom’s borders would eventually step in—

They would forcefully alter the heavens, reversing the famine’s effects.

Only when the disaster reached its peak, would the so-called righteous titans finally descend to “save the common people.”

Still, that was better than the alternative.

At least the righteous sects cared enough to save mortals and low-level cultivators.

If a demonic sect had ruled Aragon Kingdom—

The moment the famine began, they would have immediately slaughtered all refugees, refining their flesh and blood into living pills.

To demonic cultivators, addressing the disaster itself was unnecessary—

It was far easier to eradicate the victims than to fix the cause.

After all, mortals living under demonic rule were nothing more than cattle—

Expendable resources for their experiments.

Arius gazed downward at the vast lands below.

For now—

Everything within Purple River City’s one-hundred-mile territory remained relatively normal.

At least, for now, the land had not yet withered completely.

But he knew—

This was only the beginning.

Beyond a hundred miles from Purple River City, past the fortifications the De Molinos family had built—

Lay a wasteland of endless crimson earth.

As far as the eye could see, the land was barren and lifeless.

The trees that remained were twisted and skeletal, their bark either inedible or laced with deadly toxins.

The ground was littered with withered grass, and whatever edible roots or tree bark had long since been devoured by starving animals.

Along the dry riverbeds, piles of bones lay strewn in ghastly heaps.

Among them were human remains, the skeletons of ferocious beasts, and even the corpses of demon beasts.

Initially, Simon had assumed that the hundreds of miles of wasteland surrounding Purple River City would make it impossible for refugees to reach them.

Surely, no ordinary mortal could traverse such a land of death…

Yet, they came.

Tens of thousands of starving refugees, crawling their way through the barren lands, had arrived at the De Molinos family’s outer gates.

These were not ordinary survivors.

Those who had made it this far had done so through the darkest means possible—

Cannibalism.

Some had eaten their own children.

Others had preyed upon fellow refugees, slaughtering and consuming the weak.

They were no longer mere mortals—

They were beasts in human skin, stripped of all morality and reason.

Their instincts had reverted to something primal, their savagery laid bare.

And now, they had reached the gates of Purple River City.

The refugees threw themselves against the fortress walls, their screams echoing throughout the land.

Some wept and begged.

Some snarled with hatred.

Some prayed for mercy.

But the De Molinos family could not help them.

Purple River City was already stretched to its limits, barely able to sustain the one thousand miles of territory under its control.

There was no food left for the refugees.

No water to spare.

And more than that—

These people had lost their humanity.

Letting them into the city would only bring chaos and destruction.

“Please… please, let us in…!”

“We need water! We need food!”

“Damn it! Why won’t they let us through?!”

“These wretched noble families—brothers, let’s take the city by force!”

“Storm the gates! Take the grain! Seize the water! And the women too!”

A surge of madness overtook the crowd.

The chaos at every fortress gate erupted into a storm of rage and despair.

Curses, screams, and wails of agony filled the air.

It was hell on earth.

From atop the Three Talents Formation Flags, Arius watched it all unfold from above—

And could only shake his head in silent lamentation.

Even he could not save these people.

Upon the fortress walls, De Molinos family armored guards had already prepared their defensive formations.

Bows and siege weapons were loaded, mechanisms primed.

At the front, a commanding officer stepped forward, his expression grim.

With a booming voice, he issued the final warning:

“First warning!”

“Second warning!”

“Disperse immediately, or face the consequences!”

Creak… creak…

The siege weapons groaned as they were drawn back, ready to fire.

A long warhorn sounded from within the gates.

From behind the walls, fully armored cavalry awaited—

Prepared to ride out at a moment’s notice.

The De Molinos family was not so heartless as to slaughter the refugees outright.

But they would not allow the gates to be breached.

“Damn it all!”

“We’re dead either way!”

“Charge the gates!”

“Once we break in, there’ll be food—endless food! Water—unlimited water!”

“Wine! Women! Everything we could ever want!”

A towering brute, scarred and savage, brandished a massive iron hammer, his voice roaring over the frenzied masses.

With every word, his madness spread.

The crowd erupted into a frenzy.

From atop the fortress walls, the De Molinos family’s commander narrowed his eyes.

His gaze locked onto the instigator.

Without hesitation, he drew his bow.

A single arrow gleamed in the fading light.

And then—

He loosed it.

A death sentence.

For those who dared to challenge the De Molinos family—

There would be no mercy.

 

Chapter 70 Blood Wolf Palace Master, Sorrow All Over the Land

 

Swish—!

An arrow tore through the air, leaving behind a shockwave as it shot forward.

“Pfft—”

The massive iron hammer-wielding man, the one who had incited the refugees, suddenly jerked backward—

His chest pierced clean through by the sheer force of the arrow.

Blood spurted from his lips, his eyes widened in disbelief, and then—

He collapsed lifelessly onto the ground.

“This is the fate of those who dare to storm our gates!”

From atop the fortress walls, the De Molinos family’s commanding officer bellowed coldly.

The moment their leader fell, the horde of refugees broke apart like scattered birds, their courage shattered.

None dared to challenge the gates any further.

From above, Arius watched the scene unfold, before sighing softly.

Without another word, he turned, his Three Talents Formation Flags propelling him gracefully back toward Purple River City.

At this moment, within the ten-thousand-mile radius surrounding Purple River City—

The two million mortals under the De Molinos family’s rule were still faring far better than most.

Compared to them, those living under the control of the Blood Wolf Hall, the Sullivan family, the Song family, and other factions—

Might as well be living in hell.

Within the Song family, the atmosphere was one of turmoil and unrest.

The struggle for power had reached its breaking point.

The election for a new patriarch was fast approaching—

And the four branches of the family had already begun maneuvering against one another.

Inside the Song Family Patriarch’s Hall, an advisor knelt before the current patriarch, his voice grim.

“Patriarch, forgive my bluntness, but there are things that must be said.”

“Our Song family has fallen into a state of ruin—”

“And at this rate, we are on the verge of annihilation.”

His words were harsh.

Yet—

The Song Family Patriarch did not refute them.

Originally, he had sought to expand his territory, daring to intervene in the Ashfell family’s affairs.

He had even managed to wrest control of a five-hundred-mile region from the De Molinos family.

But now—

That same five-hundred-mile territory had been forcefully reclaimed by the De Molinos family.

Ever since Arius’s breakthrough, the Song family had lost everything.

His prestige among the clan had plummeted.

Even if the De Molinos family hadn’t retaken the land, it wouldn’t have mattered.

With water sources drying up and the land withering into wasteland, that territory had become useless.

At least the De Molinos family had been wise enough to withdraw their forces, concentrating their power within a hundred-mile radius of Purple River City.

Yet for the Song Family Patriarch—

That wasn’t even the worst blow.

Half a year ago—

He had made the worst decision of his life.

He had sold off most of the Song family’s grain reserves to the De Molinos family.

At the time, though the weather was dry, no one had expected the drought to escalate into the catastrophe it was now.

Now—

There was no saving him.

Even if he stepped down, the other three branches of the family would rip each other apart for power.

The internal strife was already too far gone.

The Song family’s fate was sealed.

“Patriarch, we should consider splitting the family.”

“We can take our branch and leave Lunford City—”

“And instead, seek refuge in Florence City.”

“Florence City has multiple cultivators at the Peak of Level 1, as well as many powerful experts.”

“There, we might preserve our bloodline—and even safeguard the Song family’s future.”

“No family in history remains eternally prosperous.”

“At the very least, we must ensure our lineage survives.”

The advisor’s words were calm and resolute.

Florence City—

One of the ten great cities of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture.

It was ruled by the Qiong family—

A cultivation clan whose heritage rivaled the Eight Great Families of the Prefecture Capital.

In their long history, the Qiong family had produced several Level 2 cultivators.

Florence City housed a population of seven million, and was protected by several large-scale Level 2 defensive formations.

Even a Level 2 cultivator attempting to storm the city would have a high chance of perishing.

For the Song family’s Patriarch, his branch still possessed a Visceral Refinement Realm cultivator.

If they were willing to lower themselves, they could pledge fealty to the Qiong family as vassals.

In doing so, they would secure entry into Florence City and gain the Qiong family’s protection.

But of course—

By becoming vassals, they would lose their freedom.

And perhaps, even their dignity.

“Enough.”

After a long moment of silence, the Song Family Patriarch exhaled slowly.

Then, his voice hardened.

“I will relinquish my position as Patriarch.”

“I will lead our branch and endure this humiliation.”

“We leave for Florence City—”

“And pledge allegiance to the Qiong family.”

Thus—

A family that had once stood proudly in Lunford City—

Would soon bend their knee in submission.

To become a vassal… or face annihilation?

For the Song family patriarch, the choice was clear.

Becoming a servant of another family was humiliating—

But not as humiliating as complete extinction.

As long as the bloodline survived, as long as his descendants had the will to rise again, there would always be a chance.

Someday, his lineage might shed their vassal status, and perhaps even rebuild the Song family.

It was not impossible.

“Pass down my orders!”

Having made up his mind, the Song Family Patriarch acted decisively.

That very night, he began gathering his branch of the clan, preparing to flee Qianyan City under cover of darkness.

Meanwhile—

Though the Sullivan family, the Benn family, and other factions remained internally stable, they faced an even worse crisis.

Unlike the Song family, these factions had never been as powerful—

And half a year ago, Simon had purchased most of their grain reserves.

Now, within the ten-thousand-mile region surrounding Purple River City, only two major territories still retained some degree of stability:

• The De Molinos family’s domain, centered around Purple River City.
• Blood Wolf Hall’s territory, ruled with an iron fist.

But the reason was clear—

One was protected by careful planning.

The other… was ruled by a tyrant.

Their deep foundations allowed them to sustain one or two million mortals for now.

And the man ensuring that control remained firm—

Was none other than the Hall’s Grand Protector, “Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist.”

Though vicious and unpredictable, his competence was undeniable.

From the moment the drought began, he had taken action—

Seizing control of every water source.

Locking down every farmable land.

To prevent refugees from entering, he had deployed armored forces, establishing fortified checkpoints across every major route.

He did not care for the lives of mortals.

To him, the only priority was maintaining a “manageable” population.

As for the surplus mortals and refugees?

He despised them.

In truth, he had considered simply exterminating them all with his venomous insects—

The only reason he hadn’t was because he feared drawing the ire of Albigensians Sect and other major powers.

It was not mercy, nor morality, that stayed his hand—

It was pragmatism.

And so—

While the outside world starved and perished, while famine corpses piled up like mountains—

Inside Blood Wolf Hall’s domain, the trees remained green.

The halls echoed with music and laughter.

It was a world untouched by suffering—

A fortress of excess and indulgence, built upon the bones of the starving masses.

Within Blood Wolf Hall’s grand palace, the scene was one of debauchery and excess.

Countless cultivators drank and feasted, indulging in the luxuries that only power could provide.

At the head of the hall, Ten Thousand Poisons Daoist sat beside another figure—

A man known to the De Molinos family—

“Goat Child,” the undercover spy.

Before them, a procession of mortal women—clad in thin silk garments—danced, their movements a display of allure and grace.

The air was filled with:

• The melody of instruments,
• The roar of laughter,
• The soft giggles of women,
• The sound of wine being poured.

The contrast between this lavish scene and the suffering outside could not have been more grotesque.

“No… please, not there…!”

A woman’s playful voice rang out, her tone teasing yet coy.

Her words sent the Blood Wolf Hall cultivators into howls of laughter.

It was a scene of sinful revelry—

But one man, Goat Child, remained silent.

He simply sat still, expression unreadable.

Then—

A suffocating pressure suddenly descended upon the grand hall.

The air grew heavy.

A chilling presence loomed at the gates.

And then—

A voice, hoarse and sinister, cut through the revelry like a dagger.

“Kekekeke…”

“Enjoying yourselves, are you?”

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

The man who entered wore a blood-red robe.

His head was partially bald, his skin wrinkled like dry parchment.

His eyes were narrow and sharp, like a venomous viper, and a hooked nose gave him the appearance of a predatory bird.

His lips parted, revealing yellowed, rotting teeth, and his very presence exuded a toxic aura.

He was not a man.

He was a serpent in human form.

And the moment he stepped into the hall, the very temperature plummeted.

This was the Blood Wolf Hall Master.

His cultivation had stabilized—

And now, he had returned.

At his arrival, every mortal and cultivator within the hall immediately fell to their knees.

None dared look directly into his eyes.

Even the rowdiest of warriors silenced themselves—

Because they knew.

The real monster had arrived.