The cultivation master

With the death of the last bandit, the train passengers erupted with excitement from sheer joy. Those who had survived the ordeal ignored the other passengers, whose floating bodies now lay submerged beneath the bridge, and shouted with enthusiasm toward Fang Yuan.

"Hero! Please tell us your name!"

"Great cultivator! You are our savior, a symbol of justice in this dark world!"

"Your Excellency! Please allow me to accompany you back to the train. I hope you live for many years!"

Among them were individuals who, after Fang Yuan's arrival, took a look at the island and mocked the monks there.

"No matter how dark the world may be, there will always be a light! I hope today's events serve as a lesson to those who, behind the mask of cultivation, forget about the oppressed."

"Sir, I wish everyone had a heart like yours..."

Reading their intentions, Fang Yuan nonchalantly sheathed his sword and told the others, "Do not harbor grudges against the dead, and do not grow fond of anyone. Those waiting to be saved will be the first to drown in the storm of fate." He gestured towards those fiercely kicking the lifeless bodies. "Please return to the train. I need to escort these unfortunate souls to the afterlife."

Everyone was taken aback by his wise words, bowed briefly, and returned to the train, from which the black smoke had now completely dissipated.

[That man is a true gentleman.]

[Which cultivator says: I must escort these unfortunate souls to the afterlife? That man is a real hero.]

[If only there were more people like him… just if there were more like him…]

While they admired Fang Yuan in their hearts, they gazed upon the island with disdain.

After the last passenger boarded the train, Fang Yuan approached the corpses and respectfully lifted them from the ground. One by one, he hurled them off the bridge and quietly prayed for their salvation.

The monks on the island were astonished by this scene; they exchanged glances and quickly left. Fang Yuan watched as they flew away like shooting stars over the mountains and forests.

Once they were completely out of sight, after he had discarded the last body, he moved towards the heads and concealed them in his immortal aperture.

[Now I need to find a way to continue my journey; I don't have much time…]

Fang Yuan had secured some of the thoughts he needed, but participating in a tournament would require significant contemplation. He had to consider various strategies and read others' intentions to always stay one step ahead. Even if he ignored all of that and tried to blend in as much as possible, he still needed to avoid potential dangers lurking around.

With the appearance of the concentrated spiritual zone, Fang Yuan knew things wouldn't end peacefully. cultivators fought more over resources than territory.

Whoever held vast resources was the strongest. Those in power ultimately owned everything. Sometimes, it didn't matter if something was legally someone else's; if a person had complete control over it, it indicated true ownership, even if it appeared to belong to someone else.

The sun had passed its zenith, and the air was gradually cooling. If he were to walk, he would undoubtedly reach his destination in seven more hours. However, he did not intend to put himself in danger.

[There must be a way to utilize this dilapidated bridge.]

Fang Yuan leapt onto the roof of the train.

Boom!

The individuals seated inside the train were momentarily startled by the sound.

One of the passengers asked, "What do you think we should do now?"

Another replied, "We're just ordinary people. We have no power to change anything. We should wait for the Great cultivator to solve this problem for us. He will surely provide a good solution."

"Right! Right! We have a hero with us!"

All the passengers looked to Fang Yuan with hope, except for one individual. The person who had just moments ago refrained from using magic ground his teeth together and pulled his hat lower.

He knew there was no solution other than resorting to magic, and cultivators did not use magic. In fact, a cultivator's magic originated from the cultivation of their spirit and had nothing to do with mana. Therefore, they didn't consider it magic; they mainly referred to it as talisman.

However, typically, spiritual energy was used either for growth or destruction, while magic could also be used for creation. Of course, at higher levels of using spiritual talisman, one could also attain the power of creation, but using magic from the outset made such things possible for the user.

While hiding the trembling of their hands from everyone's view, the person kept repeating with quivering lips, "No… I don't want to use it anymore!"

In the Palace of the supreme Moon sect, the matriarch of the sect and the Dark King sat across from each other, sipping tea. They spoke very amicably about recent events, occasionally praising the scenery and sharing their views on the Dao and true meaning.

And they were in complete agreement about one thing: a fierce storm was on the horizon...

The matriarch of the sect looked at the other peaks that surrounded their domain. The peak on which the supreme Moon Sect was built was very high and stood above the clouds. In comparison, the other peaks seemed small and insignificant, with only a tiny portion of them visible.

The Moon Peak, where the sect's buildings had been constructed, was skillfully carved with a steep slope, and the structures were arranged in a terraced fashion on the uneven terrain. The entrance gate of the sect was located much lower, amidst the clouds, and the red hue of its wooden beams could even be seen from the Moon Palace.

The cultivators who frequented this place usually ascended via a moving platform powered by mana stones to reach that altitude. There was also an old path used by the sect, but it was typically employed as a test for accepting disciples or a training ground.

At night, the lights of the spiritual lanterns shone through the darkness like a crystal necklace, as if the gods had hung it around the mountain's peak. The spiritual energy in that place was highly concentrated, exerting tremendous pressure on cultivators from the lower realms. As a result, those who could not withstand this pressure resided on the lower peaks.

Along the entrance path to the sect, several tall seven-story towers had been constructed, serving as a defensive barrier, each contributing to a larger formation.

The matriarch took in the entire scene at a glance and then poured another cup of tea for herself.

"Elder Mina, the world is changing, but it seems the supreme Moon Sect has remained completely unaffected."

The matriarch chuckled and said, "Your Grace, how could we remain unaffected? The only beings who do not adapt to changes are the dead! Living beings are influenced by even the slightest changes around them, whether they adapt or seek to eliminate those changes; they never remain unchanged."

The Dark King laughed. "That's true, elder Mina. There is no creature that is not influenced by its environment and the events occurring around it."

Then he looked up at the night sky and the shining stars. "We've been so engrossed in conversation that I didn't even realize when night fell."

The matriarch smiled and said, "It has been an honor hosting you, Your Grace…"

suddenly, the Dark King heard a music rising from an edifice nearby. The haunting melody was deeply stirring, melting the hidden sorrow in every listener's heart with each note.

In that moment, several luminous butterflies took flight from a nearby spiritual shrub, their glowing wings adorning the space with their brilliance.

The Dark King gazed at the cultivators moving along the sloped streets and sighed. "I wish the world could always be seen in such tranquility. Only the immortals understand the value of life."

The matriarch asked, "But I've heard that when immortals reach the pinnacle of their advancement, they lose their motivation and go mad."

The Dark King replied, "When a journey ends, the only thing it leaves behind is an indistinct memory of the path. No matter how much a traveler complains about the hardships of the route, in the end, they will miss the memories. How can we blame a cultivator who has spent their entire life on a spiritual journey for experiencing this profound shock?"

The matriarch said, "Your Grace, have you ever experienced such a shock? You stand at the peak of this world. What does it feel like to be unrivaled?"

The Dark King smiled bitterly and said, "Being unrivaled is no different from being lonely. When this loneliness combines with immortality, it becomes a torment that gradually polishes the soul until eventually, the wind carries it far away."

The matriarch poured another cup of tea for the Dark King, and as she extended it towards him, her pupils suddenly dilated.

[That...!!!]

"Your Grace, behind you!!!!"

But before he could do anything, a poisoned dagger had pierced the Dark King's forehead.