The cultivation master

Survivors from the attack were brought from the back carriage of the train onto the bridge. The bandits laughed loudly as they looked at the halted train, from which black smoke was rising from its windows.

"Boss! These folks are the only survivors of the train. What should we do with them?"

"They're no use to us. Taking them is too dangerous. We might as well throw them off the bridge!"

One of the passengers glanced at the island that now looked like a dot and said with a trembling voice, "Why aren't those monks coming to help us?"

But then he remembered that the monks had not budged even at the sound of the train's whistle.

Of course, this was different from the sound of the train. Now that the intent to kill loomed over the area, they were easily aware of the events that had transpired, but why should they intervene?

There was a great law in the world of cultivation: If you love your life, don't act like a hero!

Why be a hero when you could cultivate in peace and climb the ladder of success? The books stated that anyone could be a hero, so what made this title special enough to risk one's life for it?

Heroism at inconvenient moments had taken the lives of many geniuses of cultivation. Many young people, while holding the mantle of justice, threw themselves into every conflict to gain fame and be called "young heroes." But now, where were the young heroes and their admirers? The heroes were buried, and their admirers had forgotten everything.

This was a bitter truth that had to be accepted. People needed heroes, not to use them as role models; they wanted heroes to face dangers they themselves were unwilling to experience.

Seeing the monks' indifference, the bandits sneered and pushed the passengers toward the edge of the bridge.

The stone bridge was quite high, and falling from it could be fatal. Some might have a heart attack, and others who could not swim would drown. But if someone were lucky enough to dismiss the first two possibilities, they would end up as prey for the wicked creatures in the lake.

One of the passengers looked at the island with tearful eyes, like someone viewing their last hope, waiting for a miracle. Then, one of the bandits, while pushing him downward, said, "As long as we do our job right, no one will know that they left you behind. That's why they'd rather get rid of everything than be blamed for their helplessness in saving you all!"

Then he sent the man tumbling down with a swift motion. Simultaneously, ten other passengers were also thrown into the lake. The splash they made upon hitting the water sounded like an explosion; some did not surface afterward, while others were struggling on the surface.

One of the bandits pulled out a gun that used mana. He loaded it with a low-quality mana stone and targeted the survivors of the fall.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The water turned red, and bodies floated on the surface.

Among the passengers was a tall individual. He watched the scene with rage from under the hat he wore, constantly suppressing that anger. When the bandits approached and dragged him to the edge of the bridge, the sight of the height transformed his rage into fear and despair.

He had to do something; otherwise, he would share the fate of the others, but what could he do?

People always had one or two escape routes up their sleeves, especially those passing through unsafe areas. No one could be judged by appearances, just as the content of a book could not be judged by its cover.

The man gritted his teeth and was about to use magic when suddenly the end of the train exploded with a loud boom! Moments later, the mangled body of one of the bandits, knocked down by a powerful blow, sprawled on the ground. The blood of him spilled on the bridge, staining the rocks beneath the train tracks red.

Thick black smoke billowed from the hole made by the explosion.

"Who are you?!"

"Get out here, you bastard!!"

"Get ready for a fight!"

"Those bastards didn't say there was a cultivator on this train!!"

[A cultivator?!!]

The bandits assigned to attack this train were confident that no one would stop them, but they had not accounted for one thing: in every plan, there is always a significant surprise, and this surprise had now manifested in the form of a broad-shouldered man in a mask wielding a bloody sword.

"That... that's a cultivator!! We're saved!!! A hero... God has sent us a hero!!"

The crowd cheered in joy and hope upon seeing Fang Yuan, drenched in blood, unaware that he had killed more than all the bandits who attacked the train.

Fang Yuan raised his sword and gestured threateningly at the bandits.

"You ignorant bastards! Did you think you could take us on?"

But Fang Yuan had no time to waste. There were only two days left until the tournament, and now the train's route was lost. He had to finish this matter quickly, kill everyone, and steal their thoughts.

But suddenly, he noticed the intense gazes focused on him from the island.

"Hmm... a cultivator?"

The man sitting on the island whispered this, quietly watching the scene unfold.

Fang Yuan saw that man; despite the distance, he could clearly feel the presence of that man and his companions.

"Those on the island carry heavy karma... they are cultivators of the demonic path!"

Fighting bandits was entirely different from fighting cultivators. If Fang Yuan revealed himself to be a zombie, they would come to hunt him down, and that was not what he wanted in this situation.

[It seems I have no choice; I must be the hero these people need!]

[The cultivators haven't taken any action so far, so they likely won't react to this ridiculous little drama. Merely, because a new variable has been added to the incident, we have drawn their attention.]

Fang Yuan concluded this in his mind.

Then, without hesitation, with the speed expected of a cultivator, he shot toward the bandits and, in a straight move, cut off their heads. Afterward, he paused a few steps beyond the last bandit, looking over his shoulder at the fallen heads, sneering at the fallen enemies.