Chapter 91: Staying behind the scenes will help you last longer

“Seize the Crown Prince… and command the entire kingdom?”

Lucian’s gaze lingered on Pyrelis, his thoughts momentarily caught in deep contemplation.

If he were strong enough, he could certainly hold Pyrelis as a puppet, using the banner of “Restoring the True Aragon Dynasty” to his advantage.

But if his strength was lacking, keeping Pyrelis in his grasp could easily become a disaster of unimaginable proportions.

After a brief moment of weighing his options, Lucian made his decision—he would secretly keep Pyrelis by his side.

Lucian had his own ambitions.

However, unlike De Molinos Carl, who would stop at nothing and trample anything in his way, Lucian pursued a path where his conscience remained unburdened—where every step forward was steady and firm.

“Crown Prince.”

“I propose a deal.”

“If you accept, you will remain the rightful heir to the throne—and perhaps, even have a chance to restore Aragon’s rightful rule.”

Lucian took slow, measured steps toward Pyrelis, his voice calm and indifferent.

Pyrelis’s brows furrowed slightly.

He did not fully understand what Lucian meant.

Just as uncertainty filled his mind, Lucian’s voice rang out once more.

“Crown Prince, I can help you rise again—I can help you reclaim your throne.”

“But in return, you must cooperate with me.”

“If my ambitions are realized, and I one day stand atop the Aragon Kingdom, then the imperial throne will rightfully belong to you—or to your heirs.”

“You can, of course, refuse my proposal.”

“But if you do, then I will have no choice but to kill you.”

Lucian’s voice paused momentarily, before he let out a quiet sigh.

“Do not misunderstand, Your Highness—I am not threatening you.”

“It is simply that I have no other choice.”

“Keeping you by my side is already a massive risk.”

“If you serve no purpose to me, then eliminating you is my only option.”

“In truth, whether or not you agree to my plan is irrelevant.”

“Given your current condition, you no longer have a choice.”

“But because you were once the Crown Prince of Aragon, I am offering you dignity—I am speaking to you openly and honestly.”

“And beyond that, I have never been one to force others into submission.”

Lucian’s voice remained steady and emotionless.

Pyrelis fell into silence.

He knew all too well—collaborating with Lucian could never be a good thing.

But when faced with life and death, in the end… he was afraid.

Back in the imperial capital of Castelara City, he had pride and resolve—he would rather die with honor than live in disgrace.

But after endless pursuits, after narrowly escaping death again and again, that unyielding spirit had been worn away.

Now, if he could survive, then of course—he would choose to live.

And besides, Lucian’s offer was… enticing.

A chance to restore his dynasty, to ascend the throne of Aragon.

Even if it all sounded like a dream, even if it reeked of false promises—

For a man who had been pushed to the edge of despair, even the faintest sliver of hope was still hope.

Even if Lucian was lying, what was the worst that could happen?

“Fine.”

“I accept.”

“Whether or not Aragon is restored—I do not care. Whatever schemes you have—I do not care.”

“I have only one condition.”

“In the years to come, if you rise above all and reign supreme over Aragon, promise me one thing—

Destroy the Eight Princes!

Make them suffer a fate worse than death—make their corpses kneel for eternity before the ancestral tombs of Castelara City’s imperial mausoleum!”

“If you swear upon Heaven’s Will, then no matter what you intend to do, I will support you, obey you, and follow your lead!”

“But if you refuse… then do as you wish—kill me, torture me… I won’t resist.”

The moment Pyrelis spoke of the Eight Princes, his expression twisted in rage, his emotions surging violently.

His hatred for them ran so deep that it had begun to consume his sanity.

Only moments ago, he had been fearful of death, desperate to cling to life—yet now, at the mere mention of the Eight Princes, his entire demeanor became deranged, warped with fury.

Had it not been for their rebellion, the Aragon Kingdom would have never fractured.

Had it not been for their rebellion, he would never have fallen into such disgrace.

Strictly speaking, the Eight Princes were his uncles.

They shared the same blood, yet when they betrayed him, they showed him no mercy.

Ever since the day Castelara City, the imperial capital, had been slaughtered by the heretic cultivators the Eight Princes had invited, they had done everything to erase him—sealing the kingdom’s borders, scouring every province for his capture.

And while they hunted him down, they had also been slandering him, smearing both his name and his father’s.

They told the people of Aragon that the disasters of the past were caused by his father’s incompetence, his own foolish rule—that the fall of the dynasty was Heaven’s decree.

The entire kingdom—its three provinces, seventy-two counties—had been flooded with their lies.

All of it was to justify their usurpation, to make it seem as though the Aragon Kingdom’s rightful heir had fallen, and the throne was theirs by destiny’s will.

Lucian listened to Pyrelis’s request without hesitation.

If he had the strength, then why not settle the score with the Eight Princes?

“Very well.”

“I swear upon Heaven’s Will, here and now.”

Without a moment’s doubt, Lucian made his oath.

After all, oaths sworn to Heaven only bound those at the Level 2 realm or above.

And besides—once he grew strong enough, dealing with the so-called Princes was already part of his plans.

Unlike De Molinos Carl, who sought to usurp the throne and declare himself emperor, Lucian had no interest in ruling openly.

What he desired was control from the shadows.

Rather than standing under the scrutiny of the world, it was far more effective to raise a puppet prince, one who bore the mantle of legitimacy, while he orchestrated everything from the darkness.

Besides—his strength alone was not enough.

To truly seize power, it would not be enough for him to grow stronger individually—he had to bring his entire De Molinos family into the picture, weaving their influence into the very fabric of Aragon.

With the power of an entire clan, he could subtly shape the kingdom’s fate, ensuring long-term dominion.

After all, one man’s strength—even at its peak—had its limits.

Unless he could single-handedly suppress an entire nation, he would eventually face an enemy of equal power—one backed by a colossal family or sect.

In that scenario, the solitary cultivator would always lose.

Strength alone could win battles, but in critical moments, the support of a family, a clan, or a faction could decide the outcome of war.

In the world of cultivation, true lone wanderers were rare.

Every powerful figure was either the head of their own force or backed by an empire or sect.

Seeing how easily Lucian accepted his demand, Pyrelis made his own vow in return.

Lifting his gaze toward the sky, he swore upon Heaven’s Will, binding himself with a blood oath.

Even though his cultivation was gone, he had once been a Level 2 cultivator—his existence had already been imprinted upon the Heavenly Dao.

Thus, his oath carried weight—if he ever betrayed his promise to fully cooperate with Lucian, then Heaven itself would erase him.

“A pleasure working with you.”

“Don’t worry—one day, you will not regret the choice you made today.”

Lucian spoke casually before turning his gaze toward the Old Diviner.

“Sir, take our honored guest and see to his injuries.”

“As for the others, spread the word that this man is a close friend of mine.”

 

Chapter 92: The Evil Cultivator, Hard to Give Up the Benefits

Lucian had complete trust in the Old Diviner.

Because the Old Diviner’s loyalty was genuine.

Over the years, he had aided Lucian countless times, offering both guidance and strategy.

And in return, Lucian had used his influence multiple times to save the Old Diviner from Carl’s grasp.

Eventually, the Old Diviner had become Lucian’s trusted advisor.

Carl, however, had never paid much attention to this.

To him, the Old Diviner had long since lost his value.

“Yes, Commander Lucian.”

After the Old Diviner led Pyrelis away, Lucian carefully concealed all the belongings he had taken from Pyrelis.

Fortunately, Dylan’s attention was elsewhere—he had no time to concern himself with the ruins here.

If Dylan or even Carl were to discover Pyrelis’s true identity, the consequences would be unthinkable.

While Lucian secretly harbored Pyrelis, forging a Heaven’s Oath and solidifying their cooperation, far away—deep within the Murrican King’s Palace…

A man dressed in a black python robe sat before a massive sand table, his gaze heavy with contemplation.

This was King Marruis.

On the sand table, a detailed map of his territory was displayed.

Over the past two years of relentless struggle, his domain had been steadily shrinking.

His final battle against the Sea Sand King was now inevitable.

And unless some miracle occurred, his defeat was all but certain.

One year ago, King Marruis had attempted to break through to the Mid Level 4 Realm, using a “Living Pill” supplied by Valmorian Sect.

But despite the pill’s power, his attempt had failed.

Had it merely been a failed breakthrough, it would not have been catastrophic.

But not only did he fail, he also sustained severe internal injuries, causing his strength to deteriorate drastically.

Even at his peak, he had never been a match for the Sea Sand King.

Now, with his injuries, if he were to face him in battle, he would not last more than ten moves.

For now, the Sea Sand King remained unaware of his weakness.

But the moment war broke out, his condition would be exposed.

And when that happened…

The Murrican King’s Palace would be doomed.

“Your Majesty, as long as the mountain remains, there will always be wood to burn.”

“Perhaps… we should retreat from Aragon for now.”

A military strategist standing beside King Marruis spoke cautiously.

Abandoning everything in Aragon would at least ensure their survival.

But if they continued fighting to the bitter end, the Murrican King’s Palace would face complete annihilation.

After all, it wasn’t just the Sea Sand King who wanted him dead—the other six kings did as well.

The Murrican King’s Palace was already crumbling.

Hearing his strategist’s advice, King Marruis’s heart was filled with unwillingness.

His foundation, his cities, his entire domain…

Was he really supposed to just hand it all over?

Without his territory, with his limited talent, the chances of him ever advancing further in cultivation would become even slimmer.

He knew that if he stubbornly held his ground, he would eventually meet a gruesome end.

But even so—

“I refuse!”

“I refuse to accept this fate!!”

King Marruis let out a roar of helpless rage, his voice filled with frustration and despair.

His strategist sighed, shaking his head.

“Your Majesty… have you truly considered taking the path of heresy?”

“Compared to a strategic retreat, if you walk the path of the demonic, you will fall into the abyss—a place from which there is no return.”

“If you surrender yourself to the Valmorian Sect, you will become nothing but a puppet.”

“The moment they drain you of your worth, they will discard you like trash.”

“You know the Valmorian Sect’s ways.”

“Remember what happened to that small kingdom’s ruler years ago?”

“He succumbed to temptation, and sought refuge with the Valmorian Sect.”

“But in the end, after the sect fully controlled his kingdom, they chose to appease the righteous alliance of nations by handing him over.”

“And that ruler was at the Early Level 4 Realm…”

As he spoke, the Murrican King’s strategist’s tone grew noticeably heavier.

Standing as an observer, he could see far more clearly than the Murrican King himself.

The reason he dared to speak so bluntly, without fear of offending his liege, was because he had served the Murrican King for years.

His loyalty was beyond question.

And more importantly—he was a Level 4 cultivator himself.

Not just a strategist, but one of only two Level 4 experts in the entire Murrican King’s Palace.

It was this strength that gave him the confidence to speak without restraint.

“…Sigh.”

Faced with his strategist’s harsh truths, the Murrican King knew, deep down, that every word was true.

But letting go of power and wealth was never so simple.

Even though his territory had been cut nearly in half, it still provided him with an endless stream of resources every year.

Many commoners, when faced with crisis, struggled to part even with a few scraps of silver.

For the Murrican King, his wealth and dominion were not mere fragments of silver—they were golden mountains, a boundless empire of power.

He had climbed to Level 4, built his kingdom, and risen to his current status—he was not a fool.

He knew when to advance, and when to retreat.

But sometimes, power and ambition became like a mountain itself—once lifted, it could never be put down.

Taking glory and wealth was easy—but to abandon it all?

How many in this world could truly do that?

It was easy to understand the logic.

It was easy to speak of detachment.

But when the moment of decision arrived, everything collapsed into chaos.

“Strategist…”

“Give me some time to think.”

The Murrican King stared at the sand table before him, his tone neither agreeing nor denying.

But the strategist understood everything.

He knew—when the Murrican King said he needed time, his decision had already been made.

Whoosh—!!

Just then, a violent surge of malice tore into the Murrican King’s Palace.

“Your esteemed majesty, you must be suffering great distress right now, yes? Hehehe…”

A cold, eerie voice echoed from within the dark fog that swept through the hall.

At its core, a figure emerged—

An elder, hunched and bald, leaning on a twisted cane.

His presence was overwhelming, his cultivation immeasurably vast—without a doubt, he was a Level 4 grandmaster.

But more importantly—this was no ordinary cultivator.

Even at a glance, both the Murrican King and his strategist could feel the immense pressure radiating from him.

At the very least, this elder was at Mid Level 4 Realm—perhaps even stronger.

His aura was vile, his bald head gleamed with a dark crimson glow, and above him, a hazy mist of blood surged—

An unmistakable sign of a demonic cultivator.

“How dare a vile heretic intrude upon my court!”

“You must have a death wish!”

Even though he knew he was no match, the Murrican King’s strategist did not hesitate.

He immediately unleashed his treasure, activating the defensive formations of the Murrican King’s Palace, preparing for a life-and-death struggle.

Yet, the demonic elder showed no hostility.

Instead, he let out a peculiar laugh, laced with an unsettling charm.

“No need to be so tense.”

“The old man means you no harm.”

“The old man is a grand Elder of the Valmorian Sect.”

“And we of the Valmorian Sect… are more than willing to offer our aid and support to your esteemed majesty.”

“With the Valmorian Sect at your back, neither the Sea Sand King, nor the other six kings, will be anything more than mere insects before you.”

The demonic elder’s voice was slow, each word dripping with temptation.

“Your esteemed majesty… surely you long for the imperial throne?”

“Surely you do not wish to lose your kingdom, your wealth, your power?”

His words struck directly at the Marrius King’s heart.

 

Chapter 93 Murrican King’s choice, final dissuasion

“Your Majesty, do not be deceived by the honeyed words of a demonic cultivator!”

Seeing the wavering expression on the Marrius King’s face, his strategist immediately spoke up.

“How dare you, vile heretic! You dare step into the lands of the righteous and attempt to corrupt my king?! Die by the sword of justice!”

With a single motion, the strategist raised his hand—his lifebound treasure burst into brilliant radiance.

With the formation array of the Marrius King’s Palace empowering him, even at Early Level 4, he could still stand against a Mid Level 4, or even Late Level 4 expert.

Clang!

A dazzling sword light erupted, spreading outward from Marrius King’s Palace, sweeping across the entirety of Marrius King City.

A single strike from a Level 4 cultivator carried enough power to reduce an entire city to ashes.

At that moment, the very skies for hundreds of miles began to twist and tremble, as if responding to the battle unfolding below.

Inside Marrius King City, both cultivators and mortals alike turned pale with fear and confusion.

“A Level 4 grandmaster… is making a move!”

“Has a powerful enemy invaded Marrius King City?”

Some cultivators muttered anxiously.

Over the past few months, the conflict between Marrius King’s Palace and Sea Sand King’s forces had escalated to its peak.

The Marrius King’s imminent defeat was all but certain.

Even if Level 4 experts from Sea Sand King’s faction had chosen this moment to storm Marrius King’s Palace, it would not be a surprise.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

At that moment, pillars of light shot into the sky from within Marrius King City.

Each pillar represented a Level 3 cultivator from Marrius King’s Palace.

As one of the Eight Princes, the Marrius King’s foundation was considered weak—but that was only in comparison to the other Seven Kings.

Across the entire Aragon Kingdom, even among the great noble clans and sects that ruled over entire counties, most would have no more than two or three Level 3 cultivators.

Marrius King’s Palace, however, commanded over twenty.

And Level 2 cultivators?

They numbered in the hundreds.

At that moment, the entire strength of Marrius King’s Palace had been stirred.

“Who dares cause chaos in Marrius King’s Palace?!”

“Prepare the formation—battle positions!”

Under normal circumstances, when faced with a Level 4 grandmaster, no amount of Level 3 or Level 2 cultivators would make a difference.

But this was Marrius King City—his seat of power.

With the formation array of the palace reinforcing them, even a Late Level 4 master would find it impossible to escape unscathed—not without a Teleportation Talisman or other life-saving artifact.

“The dignity of Marrius King’s Palace shall not be trampled upon!”

A wave of Level 3 auras surged, their voices booming across the heavens.

Yet, even as the entire Marrius King’s Palace mobilized, the demonic elder standing in the midst of the dark mist remained completely unfazed.

“Hehehe…”

“You dare challenge me? Your so-called Marrius King’s Palace is not even qualified to face me in battle.”

“Your Majesty, your subordinates’ actions are not just provoking me—they are provoking the Velmorian Sect itself.”

“And before you choose your next words carefully, Your Majesty… I suggest you consider the consequences of angering my sect.”

As he spoke, a ghastly artifact materialized in his hand—a skull-shaped treasure, wreathed in eerie, flickering light.

Its surface was engraved with sinister and eldritch runes, each one pulsing with malevolent energy.

The moment the skull artifact was revealed, a terrifying aura exploded outward, suffocating everything within a thousand-mile radius.

This was no ordinary treasure—

It was a Level 5-grade artifact.

Though it was merely a fragment, a broken remnant of its former self, its power still vastly surpassed any treasure below the Level 5 level.

With this artifact in hand, combined with his own cultivation, even a Peak Level 4 expert would not dare claim they could suppress him.

“…What?!”

Both the Marrius King and his strategist were stunned, their faces filled with shock and disbelief as they stared at the Level 5-grade artifact fragment in the demonic elder’s grasp.

Among the Eight Princes, even the Sea Sand King, whose power ranked among the top three, might not even possess a fragment of a Level 5-grade treasure.

In the golden age of the Aragon Dynasty, when the imperial lineage still thrived, Level 5 cultivators once stood as pillars of the empire, and several complete Level 5 artifacts had been stored in the royal treasury.

But as the imperial bloodline declined, all those priceless artifacts were confiscated by the Alliance of Righteous Nations, under the guise of “strategic requisition.”

Had the Aragon Dynasty still retained a Level 5 master, or if it had enough Peak Level 4 cultivators, they could have resisted such demands.

But their foundation had already crumbled.

Defying the four leading forces of the Alliance of Righteous Nations would have led to the imperial lineage being wiped out overnight.

“Strategist Miller, stand down!!”

“This elder of Velmorian Sect is an honored guest!”

“Anyone who steps into my Marrius King’s Palace, regardless of affiliation or background, shall be treated as a guest!”

“How dare you be so disrespectful? Withdraw at once!”

The Marrius King’s voice thundered through the hall, his back drenched in cold sweat.

To oppose a powerful demonic elder, wielding a Level 5 artifact fragment, was akin to dragging the Marrius King’s Palace into the abyss.

Besides—the elder’s offer had already swayed him.

He could not bear to part with his empire, nor could he surrender the immense wealth and influence he still controlled.

And if he could leverage the Velmorian Sect’s power…

Perhaps he could even seize the throne of Aragon!

It was a gamble with the devil—a poisonous indulgence.

But once he achieved his goals, who was to say he couldn’t turn against the tiger and devour it himself?

To join the demonic path was undoubtedly dangerous.

But as long as he could consolidate his rule, as long as he advanced his cultivation—

Once he reached Peak Level 4, not even the Velmorian Sect would be able to control him.

And if he continued to cultivate, gathering capable subordinates, expanding his influence, perhaps one day he could even rival the Velmorian Sect itself.

As the Marrius King’s command rang through the hall, his strategist fell silent.

He understood now—his king’s will could no longer be swayed.

The fall of Marrius King’s Palace into the demonic path was now inevitable.

He wanted to argue further, to make one final plea—

But he already knew it was pointless.

“Your Majesty…”

“There is still time to turn back.”

“The Aragon Dynasty is in turmoil, your position is dire, but the demonic path is no salvation—not against the might of the Alliance of Righteous Nations.”

“If you take this road, you will become a pawn, a sacrificial offering for the Velmorian Sect.”

“And in the end, even if you survive to grow stronger, they will abandon you.”

“When that day comes, the Velmorian Sect will cast you aside, and the demonic path will never protect you.”

“Your Majesty, you must see the bigger picture.”

“I, Ramos Miller, have spoken my final words. May Your Majesty think thrice before acting.”

With a solemn gaze, Strategist Miller bowed deeply.

This was his final attempt.

He had served the Marrius King faithfully, not for power or status, but because the Marrius King had once saved his life.

If the Marrius King insisted on falling into darkness, then he, too, would follow him to the bitter end.

Even if it meant walking a road from which there was no return.

But—

His words fell on deaf ears.

The Marrius King paid them no heed.

His mind was set.

The imperial throne of Aragon—he would seize it at any cost.

With the resources of an entire kingdom, given enough time, he might even touch upon the Level Five realm.

To the Marrius King, this was not just about power or ambition.

It was about cultivation, survival, and the boundless resources he refused to give up.

And so, he made his choice.

He would remain in Aragon.

He would join the demonic path.

Not only for power and control—

But for his future as a cultivator.

 

Chapter 94 Justin, the future clan leader

“Ramos.”

“My decision is final. There is no need for further discussion.”

The Murrican King’s voice was calm yet unyielding, carrying a weight that left no room for argument.

Hearing this, Strategist Ramos Miller fell silent.

The moment he stopped speaking, the elder from Valmorian Sect let out a sinister chuckle.

Reaching into his robes, he slowly retrieved an intricately carved wooden box, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

“Your esteemed Murrican King, you have made a most excellent choice.”

“Inside this box… is yet another Living Pill.”

“And this time, its effects surpass the last one by at least a hundredfold!”

“As long as Your Majesty consumes this pill, you will never face another bottleneck until you reach the Peak of Level 4.”

“This Living Pill is but a token of our sincerity—a welcome gift from the Valmorian Sect.”

“From this day forward, Your Majesty shall hold the rank of Elder within our sect.”

“And this mere Living Pill? It is just the beginning.”

“Within two months, we will dispatch our strongest forces to aid Your Majesty in reclaiming the Sea Sand Palace.”

“Within ten years, we will help Your Majesty sweep across Aragon, ascending to the imperial throne.”

“So allow this old man to offer his congratulations in advance—to the future ruler of Aragon.”

As the Murrican King fell into darkness, as the Eight Princes waged their unrelenting war, the territory governed by the De Molinos family remained eerily serene.

With the natural disasters now past, the mountains, valleys, and rivers were beginning to awaken with new life.

Green grass and saplings broke through the once-barren soil.

The forests echoed once more with the sounds of birds and insects.

No one would have imagined that not long ago, this very land had been a scorched, lifeless wasteland—

A land where drought had claimed all life, where the beasts perished and the trees withered to dust.

But now, as if by the cycle of fate itself, the land had begun to flourish anew.

Within the grand hall of the De Molinos family, the elders and high-ranking members had gathered once more.

In the past, such councils were dominated by the clan’s senior generation, their decisions shaping the family’s fate.

But this time—

Among them stood a new generation of young figures.

These younger De Molinos family leaders ranged from thirty years old at the eldest, to only eighteen or nineteen at the youngest.

It was clear that the core leadership of the De Molinos family was undergoing a shift.

The old guard had grown weary with age—their time to govern was dwindling.

The next patriarch had already been chosen.

After countless internal struggles and power plays, the young Justin—the one favored by De Molinos Simon—had emerged as the undisputed successor.

And among the young elites gathered today, most had already aligned themselves with Justin.

Unless some great upheaval occurred, once Justin officially ascended as clan patriarch, these young De Molinos cultivators would serve as his core faction.

Seated at the head of the grand hall, Simon spoke, his voice measured and serious.

“The topic of today’s council… is the state of Aragon Kingdom.”

“I am certain all of you are aware—the unrest within Aragon has now reached an irreversible point.”

“Originally, the chaos of Aragon was expected to unfold over the next hundred years, perhaps even longer, before fully erupting into war.”

“But now—Sea Sand King and several other powerful warlords have begun to move.”

“It is highly likely that within the next decade, Aragon will descend into full-scale war.”

Simon’s sharp gaze swept across the council, his expression darkening.

The chaos of Aragon weighed heavily upon his mind.

Had the conflict remained distant, with a century to prepare, the De Molinos family could have steadily built its power, ensuring their survival through the storm.

But now—

With only ten years at best?

Even if the De Molinos family fought with everything they had, it was unlikely they could prepare adequately.

To avoid catastrophe, Simon had already begun making preparations for the worst.

If Aragon collapsed entirely, if war became unavoidable, then there was only one choice—

The De Molinos family must abandon the kingdom and migrate elsewhere.

Not long ago, Albigensians Sect had issued a new conscription order—

Demanding thirty thousand armored warriors, along with ten cultivators from the De Molinos family.

If things continued this way, the De Molinos family would not be able to endure much longer.

As soon as Simon finished speaking, an elderly De Molinos family patriarch, his hair sparse and his face lined with age, slowly opened his weary eyes.

His voice was weak, yet his words carried weight.

“This is a difficult matter.”

“Albigensians Sect is too powerful—facing their demands, our De Molinos family does not dare disobey…”

“Were it not for that child, De Molinos Noah, joining Albigensians Sect, securing a partial exemption from their conscription quotas, our situation would be even more dire.”

“I’ve heard that many small clans in Pyrenees Mountain County have already been completely drafted, their men sent to the frontlines, forced to fight and die for the Sea Sand King.”

“Our De Molinos family may still hold its ground for now, but as time passes, the war will only intensify…”

“When that time comes, our De Molinos family will face an even harsher fate.”

As the elder finished speaking, the expressions of the De Molinos family leadership darkened.

The constant demands from Albigensians Sect—the increasing conscriptions, the relentless resource extractions—had long bred dissatisfaction within the clan.

For years, the De Molinos family’s annual tributes to Albigensians Sect had already been considerable.

But now, in addition to those payments, they were forced to send soldiers, offer supplies, and even sacrifice their own cultivators to fight in a war that was not theirs.

Watching their hard-earned resources dwindle, their foundation slowly erode, none of the clan’s elders could remain indifferent.

“This problem… is solvable.”

“In fact… it is an opportunity for our De Molinos family.”

As the council wrestled with their dilemma, a calm yet unexpected voice suddenly cut through the hall.

The speaker was a short, dark-skinned youth, standing beside Justin.

His features were unremarkable, the kind of face that could blend into a crowd unnoticed.

But when he spoke, his voice carried an undeniable sense of confidence and conviction.

His name was Mervin De Molinos.

Once, he had been Justin’s greatest rival for the position of future clan leader.

But in the end, he had lost the contest.

Yet rather than succumbing to bitterness or resentment, rather than harboring jealousy or blaming fate, he had quickly accepted his role, choosing instead to ally himself with Justin.

Like all cultivation clans, the De Molinos family was not without its internal struggles.

But unlike some factions, the De Molinos family knew the limits of such conflicts.

Even those who lost were rarely eradicated—instead, they were often absorbed and repurposed, ensuring internal unity rather than destruction.

Had the De Molinos family been consumed by infighting, it would have long since perished into history.

As Mervin De Molinos’s words fell, the elders of the De Molinos family turned their attention to him, their curiosity piqued.

“Yaozong.”

“What solution do you propose?”

“Aragon is on the verge of collapse—if we misstep, our De Molinos family may be dragged into ruin.”

“Why do you say this is an opportunity?”

The voice belonged to one of the elder patriarchs, his gaze filled with doubt.

As soon as he spoke, many of the clan’s senior figures, as well as some of the younger leaders, turned toward Mervin, their expressions skeptical.

Only a few individuals—Justin, Simon  and a handful of others—seemed to grasp his meaning.

“It’s simple.”

“Rather than passively enduring the chaos that is coming…”

“We should embrace it.”

 

Chapter 95 Decision to plan everything

Hearing Mervin’s words, a few of the De Molinos Clan’s senior members showed a glimmer of recognition, but the majority remained skeptical.

Proactively embracing the chaos of war?

It was easy to say, but if the De Molinos Clan truly had the power to act so boldly, then there would be no need for this council meeting in the first place.

“Ahem!”

“Mervin, continue.”

As doubtful gazes filled the hall, Simon cleared his throat and spoke calmly.

With the patriarch’s approval, Mervin straightened his posture, his voice carrying more confidence as he continued.

“When I say we should embrace the chaos, I mean we must change our perspective.”

“Rather than waiting for the Albigensians Sect to come and forcibly conscript our men, the De Molinos Clan should take the initiative—marching to the frontlines under the banner of the Sea Sand King!”

“By doing so, we can train our forces in real battle while also expanding our military strength under the guise of serving the Sea Sand King.”

“This war will not last forever.”

“Whether the Sea Sand King wins or loses— it does not matter!”

“As long as our De Molinos Clan discreetly builds an army under his banner, we can avoid the relentless conscriptions from Albigensians Sect while simultaneously forging a battle-hardened force that will one day return to us!”

“Of course, this is merely my proposal—there may be flaws in this plan.”

“But by taking this path, we can preserve our clan’s foundation, while also ensuring the Albigensians Sect loses any excuse to demand more soldiers and resources from us.”

“Most importantly—there is a vast difference between voluntarily sending our forces into battle and being forced into servitude.”

“How we proceed… will be for the patriarch to decide.”

As Mervin finished speaking, he bowed deeply toward Simon  then silently stepped back.

Simon  Justin, and several other senior elders had already considered this strategy before.

Theoretically, it was feasible.

But there were many risks.

Still—outside of the De Molinos Clan, some factions, unable to endure Albigensians Sect’s constant demands, yet unwilling to abandon their ancestral lands, had already taken similar measures.

“Justin, what do you think?”

Rather than making an immediate decision, Simon turned to Justin, giving him the final say.

After all, within three to five years, the position of patriarch would be his—this was a chance to test his leadership, vision, and courage.

The De Molinos Clan’s options were clear.

1. Maintain the status quo—continuing to submit to Albigensians Sect’s demands while depleting their own strength.
2. Abandon their ancestral land—uprooting the entire De Molinos Clan and fleeing Aragon Kingdom.
3. Seize the initiative—following Mervin’s proposal, taking an active role in the war to strengthen themselves rather than be exploited.

Justin stood up, his expression firm.

“Patriarch, I have made my decision.”

“I, Justin, will personally lead one hundred thousand soldiers to the frontlines—to carve out a future for our De Molinos Clan.”

“As for our cultivators, they shall remain in the clan for now—we must not risk them needlessly.”

“To the outside world, we shall spread word that I am taking three hundred thousand elite troops, half of our cultivators, and vast amounts of wealth and resources.”

“By doing so, Albigensians Sect will have no excuse to demand more from us in the short term.”

“Going to war may mean my death—which is why Mervin and the others must remain behind.”

“If something happens to me, the future of the De Molinos Clan shall fall to Mervin, and I am certain he will carry the family forward without hesitation.”

“For the De Molinos Clan to survive, for the De Molinos Clan to rise—”

This is the gamble we must take.”

“Across the Aragon Kingdom, and even beyond its borders, tell me—which great power did not rise from nothing?”

“Which one did not endure hardship, sacrificing generations before they could stand tall?”

“Even if we take the worst-case scenario, the De Molinos Clan still has our ancestor!”

Justin’s voice was resolute.

He had fully embraced Mervin’s proposal, and he was willing to step into the flames himself—to carve a path forward for the clan with his own hands.

“Nonsense!”

The moment they heard Justin’s intention to personally lead the expedition to the frontlines, several De Molinos Clan elders erupted in protest.

To them, Justin was already the undisputed successor—the “Patriarch-to-be.”

No clan leader risked their life in foreign wars!

“Elders.”

“I understand your concerns—I understand your fears.”

“But if we are to break free from this crisis, if we are to grasp an opportunity for the De Molinos Clan’s future, then I must go myself.”

“Our clan has many skilled commanders, battle-tested generals, and strategists capable of leading troops.”

“But this isn’t just about commanding an army—it is about navigating the treacherous tides of war, maneuvering between countless factions, ensuring that we survive while secretly growing stronger.”

“You elders may have the experience, but given your current conditions, you cannot afford the strain of such a campaign.”

“As for Mervin and the younger generation—they are capable, but they lack the years of experience needed to make the crucial decisions this war will demand.”

“That is why I must go.”

His voice echoed across the grand hall, firm and unshakable.

Many of the elders still wished to argue, but when it came to debate, they were no match for Justin.

And beyond that—

He was right.

Among all the De Molinos Clan’s senior figures, only Simon remained silent.

Because in his heart, he had already accepted Justin’s decision.

In fact, he supported it wholeheartedly.

He had always believed in Justin.

Compared to himself, Justin was younger, more brilliant, and full of potential.

He had not yet reached the heights of his cultivation, but if given the time to grow, he would surpass Simon in every way.

If he became a cultivator, and if he ruled the De Molinos Clan for a hundred years—or even longer—perhaps he could elevate the clan’s foundation to an entirely new level.

“I approve of Justin’s decision!”

“But within two to three years, regardless of the situation—Justin must return to the clan.”

Simon stood from his seat.

The moment his voice filled the hall, the entire council chamber fell into silence.

His authority within the clan was absolute—when he spoke, no one dared to oppose him further.

But his decision was not just based on trust in Justin.

No—he had his own plans.

If the De Molinos Clan could hold out for just two or three years, then his next move would begin.

Beyond the borders of Aragon, he would establish a second homeland for the De Molinos Clan.

Though the Aragon Kingdom stretched across millions of miles, an insurmountable distance for mortals—

For the De Molinos Clan, this was no longer an obstacle.

Not long ago, they had acquired a damaged flying ship from the Song Clan.

Though it was small in size, it could still carry thousands of people with ease.

And its speed rivaled that of a Peak Level 2 cultivator.

Without the Albigensians Sect siphoning their resources, the De Molinos Clan could repair the flying ship within three months.

And once it was ready—

Their plan could begin.

Simon had never placed all his hopes on a single path.

He always laid out multiple contingencies, ensuring that no matter what happened, the De Molinos Clan would never be left without an escape.

Even in the worst-case scenario, they would not be cornered into destruction.

With the final decision made, Simon ended the council meeting.

But rather than remaining in the hall—

He immediately hurried toward the secluded retreat of Arius.

 

Chapter 96: Migration of the tribe and insect breeding plan

Whether it was allowing Justin to march to the battlefield or the clan’s migration plan—

Both were critical matters that would determine the De Molinos Clan’s future.

Thus, Simon had to report everything to the clan’s ancestral patriarch—Arius.

Especially the migration plan—it would require a massive amount of resources and manpower. If executed poorly, it could severely weaken the clan, or worse, lead them into decline.

Beneath the serene moonlight, in a pavilion floating atop the central lake, Arius sat with several ancient scrolls in hand.

He was deeply engrossed in studying the arts of alchemy and insect cultivation.

The unrest in Aragon Kingdom was something Arius was keenly aware of.

For now, the chaos had not yet erupted in full force.

With his Level 1 Realm cultivation, he could still protect the De Molinos Clan, allowing them to maintain stability and grow in seclusion.

But once Aragon Kingdom fell into total anarchy, once the Eight Princes waged war without restraint for the imperial throne—

A Level 1 cultivator would be nothing more than cannon fodder.

To survive the turmoil, he had to reach Level 2—or at the very least, find a way to control forces at that level.

Based on previous predictions, Aragon Kingdom’s collapse should have taken decades, or even centuries to fully unfold.

But recent events had veered far beyond control.

Especially around the De Molinos Clan’s territory, where traces of demonic sects had begun to surface.

Aragon Kingdom was already descending into chaos—

And now, with demonic influences stirring the pot, the De Molinos Clan’s time was running short.

Even with his best efforts, Arius could at most reach Peak Level 1 within three to five years.

But to break into Level 2 in such a short span—

Even if he poured every resource into it, it would still be a monumental challenge.

And even if he had the resources, he would not dare recklessly push through.

Level 2 was the true foundation of the immortal path.

Any cultivator with even a shred of talent would prioritize stability when laying the foundation of their Dao.

The Five Grades of Level 2:

1. Flawed Dao Foundation – A crippled path; Level 4 is impossible.
2. Stable Dao Foundation – Level 4 is achievable, but breaking into Level 5 would be difficult.
3. Perfect Dao Foundation – Almost guaranteed Level 4, but further ascension remains uncertain.
4. Immaculate Dao Foundation – Said to be the key to overcoming tribulations and ascending to True Immortality.
5. Heavenly Dao Foundation – A legendary realm, rarely seen throughout history.

Arius had always held an unwavering pursuit of the immortal path.

Even if it meant slower cultivation, he would strive for perfection—aiming to forge an Immaculate or even a Heavenly Dao Foundation.

But before reaching Level 2, if he could not enhance his personal strength, then he had to turn to external forces.

To secure the De Molinos Clan’s survival, he needed Level 2, or even Level 3 power.

Thus, two immediate priorities surfaced:

1. Becoming a certified alchemist within the Pill Alliance.
   • This would attract powerful factions from Pyrenees Mountain County and beyond, drawing them to support the De Molinos Clan.
2. Cultivating battle assets—either through puppetry or venomous insects.
   • The art of puppetry, insect mastery, and beast taming were all methods to enhance combat power.

Throughout history, there had been puppet masters and beast tamers who could slay opponents far beyond their cultivation realm.

Among these paths, insect mastery was a subset of beast taming, but it had a much lower cost and less demand on one’s soul power than the puppet arts.

Of course, in terms of raw combat power, insect masters were weaker than true beast tamers or puppet masters.

Beyond these orthodox methods, there were also demonic techniques like corpse refinement and soul extraction, which were shortcuts to rapid power accumulation.

After all, in this world—

To kill across major cultivation realms with sheer personal strength alone was nothing short of a fantasy.

But through external power, it was possible to defy such limitations.

For example—

A beast tamer who controlled several Level 5 spirit beasts could easily suppress a lone Level 5 cultivator, even if their own cultivation was only at Level 4.

Similarly, a Level 2 or 3 cultivator with Level 5 tier beasts or puppets could stand on equal footing with Level 5 grandmasters.

“It seems… I will have to leave the clan once again.”

Seated in the lakeside pavilion, Arius gazed at the lush spiritual herbs swaying by the water’s edge.

He calculated that if he harvested half of the herbs, he could use the Appraisal Mirror to enhance them, then sell them at cultivation markets in exchange for spirit stones.

To cultivate venomous insects, he would need an ample supply of resources.

Insect feed, insect nests, insect eggs—all of these required spirit stones to acquire.

The advantage of insect cultivation lay in its rapid development.

With sufficient resources, many venomous insects could mature within one to two years, even reaching Level 2 or Level 3.

However, individual insect strength was not the priority.

The key was swarm tactics.

A single Level 2 insect king leading an army of thousands of Level 1 insect soldiers could easily suppress a late-stage Level 2 cultivator.

While a single insect king might not stand a chance in direct combat, with countless insect soldiers, its true terror would be fully realized.

“Ancestor Arius, I seek an audience.”

Just then, Simon appeared at the lake’s edge.

Seeing that his ancestor was not in seclusion, but rather enjoying tea in the pavilion, his expression brightened with relief.

For the past few years, Arius had often been in retreat, forcing Simon to report matters through written messages.

Now, with the rare opportunity for direct counsel, he boarded a small boat, carefully crossing the lake to the pavilion.

Once seated, Simon meticulously reported on the clan’s affairs:

• Economic status
• Population statistics
• Overall development progress

Finally, he revealed the two most pressing matters—

1. Justin’s departure for war
2. The planned migration beyond Aragon Kingdom’s borders

Arius listened without much reaction to the news of Justin’s march to battle.

To him, young cultivators should explore the world—as long as they did not stray too far from the right path, he would support them as best he could.

However—

Regarding the clan’s migration plan, Arius did not give an immediate answer.

Instead, he slowly raised his gaze, locking eyes with Simon  and asked calmly:

“So—where do you plan to relocate the clan?”

 

Chapter 97: The Heritage of Corvalis, Harvesting Precious Medicines

Hearing Arius’s question, Simon did not dare delay his response.

He immediately bowed respectfully and answered,

“Ancestor, I plan to purchase a village on the border of Corvalis kingdom for our clan.”

“Corvalis kingdom shares a border with Aragon, and its national strength is formidable—there are even Level 5 cultivators among its ranks!”

“Among the Alliance of Righteous Nations, Corvalis kingdom ranks among the top ten in power.”

“Unless a full-scale war between righteousness and evil erupts, not even the Velmorian Sect—nor the Level 5 forces behind them—would dare provoke the Corvalis kingdom lightly.”

As Simon finished speaking, Arius nodded slightly.

Given the De Molinos Clan’s current foundation, it would be difficult to seize control of a major town so far away.

But purchasing a village and establishing a foothold?

That was well within their capabilities.

If the Aragon Kingdom’s unrest worsened, and remaining here became impossible, then relocating the clan to Corvalis kingdom would be a viable option.

And if the De Molinos Clan managed to stabilize itself during the war, or even rise to power..

Then their presence in the Corvalis kingdom would serve as a stepping stone for future expansion.

“Very well. Do as you see fit.”

“Corvalis kingdom is stable—conflicts between villages, towns, and prefectures are rare.”

“Our mortal industries can begin expanding into the Corvalis kingdom as well.”

“But Corvalis’s border lies millions of miles away from Pyrenees Mountain County—crossing multiple prefectures.”

“Even with a floating airship, a round trip would take an entire year.”

“If you plan to manage a settlement on the border, you must appoint a capable overseer to handle affairs there.”

Arius’s voice was calm, offering a few words of advice before allowing Simon to proceed.

Unlike Simon  Arius was not overly pessimistic about Aragon’s future.

To Simon  purchasing a village in Corvalis was about securing a final escape route for the clan.

But in Arius’s mind, this was simply another chess piece on the board—a preemptive step in expanding the De Molinos Clan’s influence beyond Aragon.

To become the strongest clan in the Aragon Kingdom was merely the first step in his grand vision.

With Arius’s approval, Simon felt a surge of confidence.

He had already made up his mind—within three years, he would relocate half of the De Molinos Clan’s strength to the Corvalis kingdom.

From a single village, they would expand into a town, and eventually… an entire city!

For Simon  this was not just a fallback plan—

It was an investment in the De Molinos Clan’s future.

In truth, he had considered this idea long ago, even before Aragon Kingdom’s turmoil truly began.

Compared to Aragon, where sect politics and warlords ruled the land, Corvalis kingdom was an absolute monarchy, where the imperial throne reigned supreme.

The current Corvalis Emperor was a Level 5 cultivator, and he was only five hundred years old.

Moreover, the imperial family of Corvalis had more than one Level 5 expert!

Within the Corvalis kingdom, no sect nor noble family dared to openly challenge the imperial authority.

Because of that—

The internal order of Corvalis kingdom was far more stable.

Absolute rule came with absolute control.

And while the imperial throne used its power to suppress noble factions, it also served to protect the common people, low-ranking cultivators, and minor sects.

To the Corvalis Emperor, the greatest threat was not mortals or low-level cultivators, but rather powerful sects and noble clans growing too influential.

Thus, in many ways, the Corvalis Emperor’s policies favored the common folk and low-ranking cultivators.

As long as one did not attempt to seize the throne, the imperial family of Corvalis would offer protection.

For a rising force like the De Molinos Clan, they were far too insignificant to be considered a threat.

That was why Simon had chosen Corvalis kingdom as their migration point.

He had no desire to overthrow or challenge the imperial authority.

After all—

Even if the De Molinos Clan grew a hundred times, a thousand times, or even ten thousand times stronger—

They still would not be able to shake the Corvalis kingdom’s foundation.

A Level 5 cultivator—a single person capable of ruling an entire kingdom—

This was not just an empty boast.

Even if Aragon Kingdom joined forces, bringing along every sect and noble clan in Corvalis kingdom except the imperial family—

In the presence of the Corvalis Emperor, they would still be nothing more than insects before a storm.

After conversing with Arius a while longer, Simon finally took his leave, his body weighed down by exhaustion.

He had no time to rest—there was still too much to be done.

As he hurriedly left the Lakeside Pavilion, Arius watched his departing figure, then slowly closed his eyes.

The next time he visited a cultivation market, he would purchase additional materials—

Then refine a batch of longevity pills for Simon and some of the elderly clan members.

As the De Molinos Clan’s patriarch, Arius was a cultivator, but he was no god.

He could not defy the natural order, nor could he grant mortals eternal life.

The only thing he could do was extend their lifespan, giving those who had contributed to the clan a few extra years of peace and comfort after stepping down from power.

Seated upon his wooden chair, Arius dozed off, waiting for night to fall.

When darkness descended, he would set out on his journey to Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture to conduct his trades.

With the war between the Sea Sand King and the Ming King escalating, many smaller cities—even some large ones—had shut down their cultivation markets and auction houses.

Resources were becoming scarce.

A once thriving trade network was now falling apart, leaving countless cultivators scrambling for supplies.

The evening breeze drifted across the lake, stirring the wooden pavilion with its gentle touch.

Even though Arius was not meditating, the spiritual energy of the world naturally gathered around him.

His Earth-grade spiritual roots gave him an innate advantage—

Even if he did nothing, his absorption rate still surpassed the dedicated cultivation efforts of those with merely Profound-grade roots.

Before long, the afternoon passed, and the sun dipped toward the horizon.

A golden glow bathed the landscape, casting its radiance across the mountains, forests, rivers, and buildings.

The crimson sunset stretched beyond the horizon, its fading light piercing through the clouds, illuminating the Blood Wolf Mountain Range in a sea of gold.

As Arius gazed at the shifting colors of the sky, he slowly rose from his chair, feeling refreshed.

Walking across the lake’s surface, he arrived at the spiritual herb fields, casually harvesting a few precious plants.

Then—

Withdrawing some resources from the treasury, he enhanced the spiritual field, accelerating the growth of several ordinary herbs, transforming them into century-old treasures.

“Thirty century-old herbs… that should be enough.”

“At three to five lower-grade spirit stones per plant, I should make at least a hundred spirit stones.”

Using a low-grade storage pouch, Arius carefully stored the thirty precious herbs.

With the Appraisal Mirror’s enhancements, his single field of spiritual herbs was now producing more cultivation resources than the entire De Molinos Clan combined.

Had it not been for the need to maintain a balanced spiritual environment, he would have cultivated acres of these fields by now.

Unlike ordinary crops, spiritual herbs could not be grown in close proximity to one another.

Grain and vegetables could be planted in dense clusters, as long as they had enough space to grow.

But spiritual herbs were different.

Most of them required ample distance to prevent competition over spiritual energy.

In many cases, a single acre could only support a few dozen herbs—sometimes even just one.

Within the Albigensians Sect, cultivating a single Level 3-grade herb often required dozens of acres of spiritual farmland.

If herbs were planted too closely together, they would fight over limited resources, leading to stunted growth or total failure.

Otherwise—

A century-old herb would never be worth three to five spirit stones, or even more.

 

Chapter 98 Pyrenees County City, a Place of Extravagance and Luxury

After storing away the spiritual herbs, Arius activated the Concealment Technique.

Rather than suppressing his cultivation, he simply masked his aura and appearance, ensuring that his presence remained unnoticed.

With his Level 1 Realm cultivation, unless he encountered a Peak Level 2 expert or someone stronger, it would be exceptionally difficult for anyone to see through his disguise.

He took these precautions to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Clang!

With everything prepared, Arius did not use his Three Talents Formation Flag for travel.

Instead, he stepped onto a flying sword artifact and soared into the night sky.

Many Level 1 and Level 2 cultivators preferred sword-shaped or long, narrow artifacts for aerial travel.

It wasn’t just for style—

These elongated artifacts were inscribed with special runes, which reduced spiritual energy consumption and increased flight speed, making them ideal for long-distance travel.

Arius had only recently learned about this advantage.

This time, he traveled alone.

He did not bring Goat Elder along.

With the De Molinos Clan’s current foundation, at least one Level 1 expert needed to stay behind at all times.

If a hostile cultivator of similar strength were to attack while he was away, the consequences would be disastrous.

Though Goat Elder’s combat strength was average, he could still hold the fort using the Blood Wolf Hall’s formations.

As long as a Level 2 cultivator did not appear, he would be able to stall for time.

As the night deepened, the mountains stretched endlessly into the distance, shrouded in darkness.

High above, Arius stood atop his flying sword, his hands behind his back.

Like a meteor, he vanished beyond the horizon.

Across the vast wilderness, villages and towns were often separated by dozens, sometimes even hundreds of miles.

Beyond these populated areas, there were endless stretches of uninhabited land.

Under normal circumstances, these mountains and valleys would have been teeming with life.

Fierce beasts would roar, and predatory birds would cry into the night.

But after the great drought, the lands of the Aragon Kingdom had been drained of their vitality.

Large wild animals had disappeared.

Ferocious beasts, spiritual creatures, and even low-ranked demon beasts had been wiped out.

The mountains were eerily silent.

Apart from the occasional chirping of insects, there was nothing but emptiness.

Arius did not fly at full speed.

He conserved his energy, making brief landings to recover his spiritual power before continuing.

From Telles City to Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, the journey was tens of thousands of miles.

If he flew at full speed, he could reach his destination within a day or two.

But—

He had run out of Essence Stabilization Pills.

Without them, he had to travel in intervals, walking on foot to recover spiritual energy instead of burning himself out mid-air.

Once he left the De Molinos Clan’s territory, he became even more cautious.

Beyond the De Molinos Clan’s jurisdiction, many towns and villages had fallen into ruin.

Some had been abandoned entirely.

In others, the streets were empty, filled only with the remnants of what once was.

In these war-torn lands, able-bodied men had all been conscripted, leaving behind only the elderly, women, and children.

In the war between the Sea Sand King and the Murrican King, the ones sacrificed the most were not cultivators, nor were they the noble clans.

It was the common folk who paid the price.

The battlefield was a meat grinder.

Top-tier cultivators had the power to decide the war in an instant.

But instead of fighting themselves—

They sent wave after wave of ordinary mortals to die for their ambitions.

In comparison—

The mortals under the De Molinos Clan’s rule were incredibly fortunate.

The De Molinos Clan had used various means to protect them—

Defending them against drought and famine, and even resisting Albigensians Sect’s attempts to conscript soldiers.

Under the cold moonlight, Arius stood atop his flying sword, gazing at the desolate lands below.

All he saw were ruined villages, abandoned towns, and lifeless fields.

Only a few strong noble clans had managed to retain a semblance of order.

After six days, Arius finally arrived at the largest city in Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture—Pyrenees Mountain City.

The city’s scale was immense.

From afar, the towering walls stretched beyond the horizon—

Each brick and stone was forged from low-grade spiritual materials, inscribed with powerful formations.

Pyrenees Mountain City was home to millions, with over a hundred thousand cultivators residing within its walls.

Unlike the devastation outside, the interior of the city remained prosperous.

Here—

The streets were bustling.

The markets were lively.

The city flourished, untouched by the chaos beyond.

This was where the wealth of the entire prefecture accumulated.

On the surface, Pyrenees Mountain City was ruled by the Eight Great Families.

But in truth—

They were merely puppets of Albigensians Sect.

Of course—

If one of the Eight Families managed to produce a Level 3 cultivator, then Albigensians Sect itself might become their puppet instead.

In this world—

Power dictated all.

Nothing was ever truly absolute.

“ROAR!!”

A beast’s cry suddenly tore through the night air.

As Arius marveled at Pyrenees Mountain City’s prosperity,

A thunderous roar suddenly shook the heavens, its echoes reverberating across a thousand miles.

From the distant sky, a colossal lion—its body stretching over a hundred zhang—emerged from the void, pulling behind it a golden carriage as it descended upon the city.

The three-headed beast’s fur shimmered like polished gold, each strand gleaming as if it had been forged from divine metal.

As the morning sun bathed it in golden radiance, the entire lion seemed to glow.

More than its imposing form, what truly struck fear into those who saw it was its unmistakable power—

The aura of a Level 2 beast!

For a Level 2 demon beast to be subjugated as a mere beast of burden,

It could only mean one of two things:

The one inside the carriage was either a figure of unparalleled status—

Or someone whose cultivation defied imagination!

Whoosh!

In the blink of an eye, the golden lion soared past Arius, leaving behind only a whirlwind of spiritual force.

As his gaze followed the retreating carriage, he caught sight of a small, ancient banner fluttering atop the gilded roof.

Upon the weathered fabric, depictions of auspicious beasts danced in the wind, surrounding two archaic characters—

“Albigensians.”

There was no doubt about it.

Whoever sat inside that golden chariot was either an elder of Albigensians Sect—

Or a disciple of their esteemed True Inheritor lineage.

Albigensians Sect’s ordinary disciples were not permitted to leave the sect as they pleased.

For example, Arius himself—

Throughout his hundred years in the sect, he had only left three times:

• Once for a sect mission
• Twice for a secret realm expedition

Other than that, he had been bound to the sect, focused solely on cultivation.

But those of higher status—the core disciples, true inheritors, and sect elders—had no such restrictions.

For them, the sect’s rules were mere formalities, easily ignored.

The monastic life of cultivation was dull and monotonous.

Thus, when these high-ranking disciples and elders had time to spare,

They would descend upon Pyrenees Mountain City, indulging in pleasures, luxury, and excess.

It was precisely because so many powerful figures frequented the city that its atmosphere had become what it was today—

A place of indulgence, where extravagance and decadence reigned supreme.

The so-called righteous elders and sect enforcers, who stood above all others, preaching virtue and discipline within the sect—

The moment they stepped into Pyrenees Mountain City,

They shed their masks, revealing their true selves.

The ideals of justice and righteousness?

Nothing more than hollow slogans.

Most Albigensians Sect elders and enforcers had long lost hope of advancing their cultivation.

With their paths to immortality blocked, they had chosen to lose themselves in material pleasures instead.

Inside Pyrenees Mountain City, the streets stretched wide, lined with towering shops and well-kept roads.

Everywhere, merchants and cultivators walked in luxurious robes, their attire immaculate and refined.

There were no beggars, no vagrants, no refugees.

Not even a single impoverished soul could be found.

For three thousand miles surrounding Pyrenees Mountain City, there were no wandering refugees, no rogue bandits.

This was the work of the Eight Great Families.

Any vagrants who could be assimilated were absorbed into the city.

Those who could not be integrated were either forced to leave—

Or eliminated in secret.

This was a city of cultivators.

A place where power dictated all, and weakness meant erasure.

After all—

With so many high-ranking figures from Albigensians Sect frequenting the city,

It was unacceptable for the streets to be filled with beggars and filth.

A place where the weak could not exist.

That was Pyrenees Mountain City.

As Arius rode his flying sword, he approached the city gates.

Unlike ordinary mortals, he did not have to pay an entrance fee.

This was one of Pyrenees Mountain City’s unspoken rules—

As long as one was either:

1. A mortal of status, or
2. A cultivator at the Level 1 Realm or higher—

They were permitted entry without charge.

 

Chapter 99 Pyrenees County City is all about lucrative business

After entering Pyrenees Mountain City, Arius ceased his flight, choosing instead to walk through the bustling streets.

With his Late Level 1 Realm strength, he would have been a top-tier expert in most other cities of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture.

But this was Pyrenees Mountain City.

Even those weak, foundationless cultivators who had merely stepped into the Early Level 2 Realm knew better than to act recklessly here.

Within these walls, aside from the Eight Great Families and the powerful figures of Albigensians Sect,

It was not uncommon for cultivators from other prefectures and distant provinces to pass through.

Occasionally, even Level 3 Realm cultivators would visit the city.

In a place like this, flying without a solid backing was asking for trouble.

If one lacked the strength of a Level 2 expert, soaring through the skies might invite unnecessary disaster.

As Arius strode down the polished stone streets, he marveled at the cityscape.

Towering palatial structures lined the avenues, their ornate rooftops stretching skyward.

For a moment, he found himself momentarily dazed.

The scale and prosperity of Pyrenees Mountain City mirrored the grand cities of his previous life.

Even here, ancient puppet trains, carved with runes that glowed faintly with spiritual light, glided smoothly through the streets.

Above, hanging signboards, engraved with mystic formations, flickered with the radiance of shop names, drawing the eyes of passing customers.

People hurried about—

Some moved with purpose, their faces filled with determination.

Others walked wearily, brows furrowed in concern.

Those who resided within Pyrenees Mountain City all possessed status and background.

Their material lives were lavish, yet their pressures were immense.

Even among mortals, having connections and privilege did not guarantee stability.

Anyone who ceased contributing to the city’s prosperity risked being discarded.

Here, there was a merciless saying:

“Pyrenees Mountain City does not raise idle men.”

Among the countless cultivators, most bore heavy responsibilities.

Those who flocked to this city, both mortals and cultivators alike, came in search of a better life.

For mortals, struggling in Pyrenees Mountain City meant security—

No famines, no human disasters, no demon beast invasions.

Even if the Aragon Kingdom plunged into chaos or fell to demonic cultivators,

Cities like Pyrenees Mountain City would likely remain untouched.

After all—

Even if the forces of darkness loved to slaughter and massacre,

They would not wipe out every major city.

Most of the time, they targeted smaller, less valuable settlements,

Using massacres to ignite the battle fervor of their demonic armies.

Grand cities like this, however, were too valuable to destroy.

For cultivators, Pyrenees Mountain City was a sanctuary—

A place where spiritual energy was abundant and resources were plentiful.

Within Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture, the best cultivation location was, without question, the thousand-mile mountain range of Albigensians Sect.

But the second-best was Pyrenees Mountain City itself.

Of course, simply living in the city did not provide any cultivation benefits.

Only the designated cultivation dwellings, which were infused with underground spiritual veins, granted access to dense spiritual energy.

Renting one of these cultivation residences required a high price.

Even the cheapest ones cost two spirit stone shards per month.

The spiritual energy of Pyrenees Mountain City was carefully controlled.

Most of it was funneled directly into these cultivation dwellings, ensuring that only paying cultivators benefited.

Those who could not afford it?

They might as well meditate in the wilderness—

The spiritual energy there was no different from sitting on the streets.

The Eight Great Families, along with Albigensians Sect, controlled this system.

They ensured that no outsider could profit freely from the city’s resources.

Yet, despite the high cost, countless cultivators fought tooth and nail to settle here.

According to rumors—

With 900 spirit stone shards, one could purchase a permanent cultivation dwelling—the lowest grade available.

Purchasing a cultivation residence even came with a low-tier early-stage Level 1 cultivation manual as a bonus.

And if the owner perished, their descendants could inherit the residence for up to a century.

Of course—

For most Body Tempering cultivators, even those in the Organ Tempering Stage,

900 spirit stone shards was a fortune beyond reach.

Even small cultivation families, after accumulating wealth for generations, often struggled to afford such a purchase.

As Arius walked through the city, he observed its design, economy, and infrastructure.

His mind began formulating ideas.

Once he broke through to the Level 2 Realm,

And once the De Molinos Clan controlled more territories with spiritual veins,

He too would establish cultivation dwellings.

Renting cultivation residences… selling them to wandering cultivators…

This was a business of boundless profit.

Just from renting and selling cultivation caves,

Pyrenees Mountain City likely earned hundreds of thousands of lower-grade spirit stones per year.

Beyond low-grade residences, the city also offered:

• Mid-tier dwellings
• High-tier estates
• Personalized training courtyards
• Even private family estates for sale!

The Eight Great Families knew how to run a business.

It was no wonder that Albigensians Sect continued to support them,

Even allowing them to govern Pyrenees Mountain City in name.

Just as Arius was contemplating his own plans for the future—

“Come, gather around!”

“Freshly captured ‘Twin-Tailed Fox Maiden’ for sale!”

“Should she one day evolve into a ‘Nine-Tailed Fox Maiden,’ her power could rival that of the legendary Immortals!”

“Step right up! Don’t miss your chance! A once-in-a-lifetime deal!”

Unknowingly, Arius had wandered into a bustling market street where low-ranking cultivators gathered.

This street was off-limits to ordinary mortals, reserved exclusively for cultivators to set up stalls and run shops.

As soon as he heard the words “Twin-Tailed Fox Maiden,” his heart trembled slightly.

Fox Maiden?

Could it be a shapeshifter demon beast?

After all—

Even among Level 2 demon beasts, very few could take on human form.

Many had to reach Level 4, or even Level 5, before they could barely manifest a human shape.

Following the clamorous voice, Arius turned his gaze toward the source—

Only to find that the so-called “Twin-Tailed Fox Maiden” was nothing more than a common white fox with two tails.

Not even a demon beast.

Just a natural-born mutation—a wild animal that happened to be born with two tails.

The fox’s body exuded a faint aura of spiritual energy, but upon closer inspection,

Arius quickly realized—

That was merely because the merchant had fed it special pills, causing its body to radiate spiritual energy artificially, making it seem extraordinary.

If not for Arius’s keen divine sense and broad knowledge,

Even he might have been fooled.

The merchants here were masters of deception.

To earn spirit stone shards, they would resort to anything.

Scams, deceit, and trickery were all fair game.

The only rule?

Fleece the ignorant before they realize they’ve been robbed.

“Behold! The Heaven-Refining Devil Urn!”

A nearby merchant suddenly shouted, drawing dozens of curious eyes.

“Come, take a look!”

“This urn was retrieved from an ancient ruin!”

“Beside it stood a stone tablet, inscribed with the words of an Immortal!”

With dramatic flair, he lifted the blackened urn, his voice dripping with awe and reverence.

“According to the inscription, this urn was left behind by a great celestial being!”

“Those fated to own it may unlock its secrets and inherit the legacy of an Immortal!”

Then, with a sorrowful sigh, the merchant shook his head.

“Alas, my destiny is shallow.”

“I have tried countless times, yet I remain unworthy of its wisdom!”

“Thus, I have no choice but to sell it!”

His voice rose in fervor—

“For just two spirit stone shards, this priceless artifact can be yours!”

“The key to an Immortal’s inheritance—waiting for the one with true fate!”

The street was chaotic.

Hawkers shouted from every direction, each one spinning elaborate tales.

Some sold “artifacts” of long-lost cultivators.

Others peddled “beast companions” destined for greatness.

The truth?

Most of these so-called legendary treasures were nothing more than worthless junk.

And the exotic beasts?

They were usually common animals, drugged or dyed to appear mystical.

Their goal wasn’t to actually sell these scams—

It was to draw in curious customers.

To lure in the gullible and hopeful, then sell them something else entirely.

But if an unfortunate fool happened to believe their lies—

Then these merchants would simply accept their “misfortune” with a smile, happily pocketing a fortune in return.

 

Chapter 100: Hundred-year-old Tiddis Grass, for sale

Though most cultivators in the Immortal Dao were shrewd and calculating,

There would always be exceptions.

Arius did not linger in the Cultivator’s Market for long.

Aside from the abundance of counterfeits and subpar goods,

Most of what was being sold was beneath his current needs.

Leaving the market district, Arius ventured deeper into the core of Pyrenees Mountain City.

This central region housed:

• The residences of the Eight Great Families,
• The official outpost of Albigensians Sect, and—
• A colossal trading palace of unparalleled scale.

This grand trading palace spanned three floors, covering an area of several dozen miles.

• The first floor was open to all cultivators.
• The second floor was restricted to Level 1 cultivators and above.
• The third floor was primarily for Level 2 experts.

However—

Even Level 2 cultivators were not always granted access.

If a Level 3 Realm cultivator or an important figure arrived,

Even those in Level 2 would find themselves barred from entry.

As Arius approached the trading palace’s entrance,

A chorus of voices rang out in unison.

“Welcome to the Floating Dream Pavilion!”

At the palace gates, dozens of youths and maidens,

Their features strikingly beautiful, stood in two neat rows, bowing in unison.

Each of them was a cultivator—

But their talent was mediocre, and their strength was the weakest among the weak.

Any time a high-level cultivator entered the Dream Pavilion,

They were expected to bow and offer greetings of reverence.

These individuals had been trained since childhood, personally groomed by the Eight Great Families.

Their cultivation was lacking,

But their ability to observe and flatter was without equal.

Each of them also carried special enchanted tools,

Capable of discerning the cultivation level of those who entered.

As for cultivators of the Level 3 Realm?

They were welcomed in person by the family patriarchs—

Or even by their clan’s ancestors themselves.

Amidst the waves of praise and flattery,

Arius stepped into the pavilion.

The moment he entered,

A faint, ethereal mist permeated the air, weaving through delicate crystalline flora,

Each plant radiating divine light, its leaves glistening like polished gemstones.

At the very center of the first floor,

A lavish stage had been erected.

Upon it, a group of male and female cultivators performed an exquisite dance.

Among them—

• Some men exuded an aura of gentle elegance,
• Others were muscular and brimming with raw masculinity.
• Some women had eyes like silk, exuding seduction in every glance,
• Others bore an icy temperament, their expressions indifferent and aloof.
• Some were innocent and playful, like pure-hearted maidens untouched by the world.

Around the stage, crowds of cultivators gathered.

Some cheered enthusiastically, others lounged on the ground, drinking from jade goblets of fine spirit wine.

Beyond the dancers, the first floor’s vast hall held a multitude of other entertainments.

• Musicians played haunting melodies,
• Performers demonstrated alchemy and drink-mixing techniques,
• The air flashed with shifting lights, creating an atmosphere of illusionary wonder.

Here—

Under the dim, flickering glow, the world was one of decadence and indulgence.

Along the outer edges of the first floor, numerous shops and trading stalls had been established.

Even a brothel, discreetly nestled in the shadows,

Where cultivators—both men and women—sold themselves for spirit stones.

In the world of cultivation, where strength determined destiny,

There were always those willing to forsake their dignity for power.

The so-called virtue and restraint of Aragon Kingdom’s righteous cultivators?

The pretense of moral superiority?

Inside the Floating Dream Pavilion, those facades were torn apart, piece by piece.

Arius wandered the first floor for a while before deciding to ascend.

Though the luxury was opulent,

The cultivators here were mostly Body Tempering mortals, indulging in fleeting pleasures and minor trades.

The true business—

The kind that mattered to Level 1 and Level 2 cultivators—

Was conducted on the second floor.

As Arius stepped onto the second level,

He immediately sensed the difference.

The space itself was similar to the first floor—

But the architecture, the ornaments, the ambience—

Everything was grander, more refined, almost dreamlike.

Unlike the bustling crowds below,

The second floor was quieter, its patrons scattered.

For good reason.

Breaking through to Level 1 was extremely difficult.

Only a small fraction of cultivators ever reached this stage.

Here, the true dealings of cultivators began.

Where treasures exchanged hands, where power and wealth intertwined.

And where those who sought strength came to bargain.

Even within Albigensians Sect, a sect that gathered the top talents of an entire province,

There were very few cultivators who had reached Level 1 Realm.

As for Level 2 cultivators?

They were nowhere to be seen on the second floor of the Floating Dream Pavilion.

Across the entirety of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture,

The number of Level 2 cultivators barely exceeded two hundred.

Even with cultivators from other provinces and cities passing through,

It was still rare to see one appear.

The Floating Dream Pavilion did have one resident Level 2 expert,

But that individual rarely showed themselves.

Only in cases of serious disturbances or the arrival of an esteemed figure

Would this expert step forward.

For regular occurrences, the Level 1 cultivators on duty

Were more than enough to maintain order.

After all—

The power behind Floating Dream Pavilion wasn’t just the Eight Great Families,

But also the dominant force of Pyrenees Mountain Prefecture—Albigensians Sect.

Even ordinary Level 3 cultivators would think twice before causing trouble here.

Stepping into a refined-looking shop, Arius glanced up at its nameplate—

“Medicine Pavilion.”

Without hesitation, he retrieved his storage bag,

Placed thirty stalks of century-old Essence-Stabilizing Grass onto the counter,

And spoke calmly.

“Shopkeeper, do you accept thirty stalks of century-old ‘Essence-Stabilizing Grass’?”

With his late-stage Level 1 cultivation,

Arius no longer had to hesitate when selling high-quality spiritual herbs.

Moreover—

Reputable trading houses like this one would never resort to robbery.

No matter how tempting the goods,

Their standing and reputation were worth far more than petty thievery.

Hearing Arius’s voice, the shopkeeper—an elderly cultivator who had been lost in thought—immediately snapped to attention.

His eyes gleamed with interest.

“Of course! Of course, I’ll take them!”

But after a brief pause, the old man sighed dramatically and shook his head.

“Ah… but Essence-Stabilizing Grass, you see… its value is rather limited.”

“If you had brought me Essence-Purifying Grass instead, I could offer you a much higher price!”

“Essence-Stabilizing Grass is mainly used for refining ‘Essence-Stabilizing Pills,’ which only restore spiritual energy.”

“They have almost no impact on cultivation breakthroughs.”

Then, with an exaggerated look of pity, he finally named his price—

“Two low-grade spirit stones per stalk. What do you think?”

The shopkeeper, too, was a Level 1 cultivator.

Having spent years managing this shop,

His haggling skills had been honed to perfection.

It was true that Essence-Stabilizing Grass was not as valuable as Essence-Purifying Grass,

But the price difference was not nearly as drastic as he made it seem.

Two spirit stones per stalk?

That wasn’t the lowest possible offer, but it was far from a fair deal.

Especially in times of war and turmoil,

When the demand for spiritual herbs was skyrocketing.

Even in a worst-case scenario,

Each stalk should have been worth at least three to four low-grade spirit stones.

Arius’s expression did not change.

But without a word, he swept the herbs back into his storage bag,

Letting out a low chuckle before turning on his heel.

Then—

Without another glance, he headed for the exit.

The meaning was clear.

Two spirit stones per stalk?

Did this old man really take him for a fool?

Seeing Arius walk away without hesitation,

The shopkeeper was momentarily stunned.

But he quickly snapped back to reality,

His body flickering into a series of afterimages as he rushed forward to block Arius’s path.

This was not a deal he could afford to lose.

Thirty stalks of century-old Essence-Stabilizing Grass—

If he could secure this batch,

He would be able to pocket a substantial profit.

If the transaction went through,

He could extract his own commission from the store’s cut.

Or—

He could personally buy them at a discount,

Then resell them elsewhere for an even greater profit.

“Wait, wait! My friend, don’t be so hasty!”

“We can discuss the price! Everything is negotiable!”

“No need to rush, let’s talk this over properly…”

Seeing the old man desperately blocking his way,

Arius finally stopped,

Lifting a hand and casually extending five fingers.

Then, in a calm yet firm tone, he stated:

“Five spirit stones per stalk.”

“These are top-quality century-old herbs.”

“If you accept this price, we can continue doing business.”

“If not, then there’s nothing more to discuss.”

Pausing for a moment, Arius added nonchalantly—

“I’m not exactly in desperate need of spirit stones.”

His voice was calm, but his meaning was clear—

This was not a negotiation.

It was a final offer.

For years, this shopkeeper had been preying on naive cultivators,

Buying goods at ridiculously low prices, then reselling them for a fortune.

Yet today—

He had encountered someone different.

Arius was no fool.

And now, for the first time, the hunter had become the hunted.

Would he accept?

Or would he let this golden opportunity slip away?