Xia Lun and Aina arrived at a secluded grove. Naturally, they hadn’t come here for anything indecent—the powerful aura they sensed earlier had emanated from this very place.
"Hah!"
"Hah!"
"Hah!"
The sound of sword swings and shouts echoed from ahead. Xia Lun stepped forward and saw a lean, short-haired man diligently wielding a rusted iron sword.
The man wore coarse linen clothes, and a roughly carved wooden scabbard stood propped against a nearby tree. He was no ordinary human—his ears were noticeably longer and more pointed than a human’s, and his hair was a striking golden hue. His youthful face was exquisitely refined.
Like Liyana, he was an elf.
Every swing of his sword appeared unremarkable at first glance, yet there was an undercurrent of energy that seemed to ripple through the surrounding space.
Xia Lun couldn’t discern the man’s true age—Liyana might have been able to tell. Among elves, the ability to gauge each other’s age to avoid misaddressing seniority seemed innate. Though, when asked how it worked, even Liyana couldn’t quite explain it.
"Hah!"
The man continued his focused practice, oblivious to Xia Lun’s approach. Xia Lun and Aina exchanged glances—this guy was far too absorbed.
Xia Lun lightly stepped on a dry branch at his feet, producing a crisp snapping sound.
"Who’s there?" The elf finally reacted, lowering his rusted sword with a hint of nervousness.
Upon seeing Xia Lun and Aina, the elf froze momentarily—a common reaction, as most people were taken aback by their extraordinary appearances.
"We’re passing adventurers. We saw you practicing and couldn’t help but take a look," Xia Lun said with a warm smile.
"O-oh? You’re professional adventurers? This is just… just some clumsy training. Nothing worth watching, really…" The elf swordsman stammered, waving his hands dismissively, his expression flustered.
Clumsy? Hardly. Just from his grip alone, Xia Lun could tell this man had poured countless hours into honing his swordsmanship.
Yet, strangely, his humility didn’t seem feigned.
No arrogance, no bullying of the weak.
And that sword in his hand… truly unremarkable—just an ordinary iron blade, as if picked up from any blacksmith’s shop.
Hmm… This was the epitome of returning to simplicity.
A glint of admiration flickered in Xia Lun’s eyes.
Setting everything else aside, in pure swordsmanship, this man might even surpass him.
"I’m Xia Lun. May I ask your name, sir?" Xia Lun introduced himself first.
"I-I’m Joli Servi. Just Joli is fine," Joli replied, stumbling over his words.
Servi… What a coincidence. A strikingly familiar surname.
Liyana’s full name was Liyana Servi, and "Servi" was the family name for male elves. This one might have some connection to her.
Given their long lifespans, elven family trees could grow incredibly convoluted, with many branches sharing the same surname.
Still, Xia Lun found it odd—Joli’s demeanor didn’t match what one would expect from a warrior of his caliber.
Then it dawned on him.
Ah… So he’s already sensed something unusual about me—or perhaps even Aina’s true strength? That’s why he’s so unsettled.
What an extraordinary fighter.
Intriguing. The thought made Xia Lun’s fingers itch.
"Joli, would you care for a spar?" Xia Lun extended the invitation. "Just swordsmanship, nothing more."
"A spar? With me?" Joli blinked, then his breathing quickened slightly. "Of course! Please go easy on me!"
"The honor is mine. I look forward to learning from you."
Aina, seemingly out of nowhere, produced two wooden practice swords and handed them to Xia Lun.
The swords had a decent heft and were still warm—freshly made.
Xia Lun tossed one to Joli.
The moment the wooden sword touched his hand, Joli’s aura shifted dramatically—from an unassuming passerby to a predator locking onto its prey.
Xia Lun grinned. He hadn’t misjudged him.
The thick calluses on Joli’s hands alone were proof of his exceptional skill.
Why would someone like him live in such a remote village…?
No, the reason was obvious. A warrior like him, indifferent to fame and fortune, would naturally seek solitude to pursue the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
Neither made the first move. Instead, they circled each other, silently predicting trajectories, their minds already clashing countless times.
Aina watched, bored. As a mage, she had little interest in swordplay.
The two stood frozen like statues, locked in an endless stare.
Seeing Xia Lun maintain eye contact with someone else for so long—even if it was another man—Aina felt a twinge of irritation.
"Go on, Xia Lun. Win, and I’ll reward you," she whispered mischievously into his mind.
Xia Lun sighed inwardly.
That split-second distraction was all Joli needed. His wooden sword shot forward like a gust of wind.
Thud—
Xia Lun parried the thrust and retreated several steps.
What followed was a relentless barrage of piercing strikes—like a downpour, leaving no room to dodge.
Xia Lun’s sword became a blur, weaving an impenetrable net of defense. The clashing of wood merged into a seamless cacophony, without a single pause.
Amid the flurry of blades, leaves fluttered down around them.
Slash, block, strike, thrust, tap, shatter—every technique flowed seamlessly between them as they danced across the grove, their wooden swords clashing again and again.
Aina covered her mouth slightly, amused. Admittedly, the spectacle was quite entertaining.
Xia Lun’s excitement grew. A truly matched opponent was a rare find.
Thud—
Finally, with a solid impact, Joli’s wooden sword was sent flying.
"I yield," Joli admitted, raising his trembling hands as he panted.
Xia Lun exhaled deeply.
In pure skill, he was no match for Joli. At the start, Joli had overpowered him.
Of course, if Xia Lun had unleashed his full strength, he could’ve brute-forced his way to victory—but where was the fun in that?
Still, enduring Joli’s onslaught had secured his win. The intense exchange drained Joli’s stamina, leaving openings… whereas Xia Lun’s endurance was something even a demon king would concede to.
He felt a twinge of guilt—this victory wasn’t entirely fair.
Xia Lun cleared his throat.
Well… Aina’s promised reward was too good to pass up.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
't think I'm that capable, I'm just trying my best to stay alive. I've been kind all my life, never did anything bad, yet worldly suffering spared me not one bit. The human world is a nice place, but I won't come back in my next life. A kind young man, who wanted to just get by singing, but through repeated deceits and betrayals, has gone down an irredeemable path.
rowess are unmatched, commanding a million-strong army! Yet, the Emperor wants to depose him for the sake of a false prince? Hold on, are you throwing me into some female-oriented romance plot? How can I tolerate this? With a grand wave of his hand—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! Slander the Emperor? Very well, all of you shall die! ... The False Prince: "Although I am not the biological son, Father and Mother love me more. The throne should be mine!" The Female Lead: "Qin Xiao, you are the Emperor, and I am a commoner. If you wish to marry me, you must abdicate. Otherwise, you will never have me!" The Empress: "After we divorce, you must give me half the empire!" The Transmigrator Consort: "You worthless Emperor, why should I kneel to you? All men are equal—I advise you to be kind!" The Great General: "The enemy general is my childhood sweetheart. For her sake, I willingly abandon the frontier defenses!" The Retired Emperor: "Although Yu'er was adopted, I prefer him. Qin Xiao, you should abdicate and let him become Emperor!" ... Very well! So this is how you want to play? Facing this twisted world of female-oriented tropes, Qin Xiao grins and raises his hand to unleash—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! I am the Emperor. Why would I bother reasoning with you? Seal the gates! Leave none alive!
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
