The mustache man's lips sagged as he wondered what just happened. The rest of the ambushers did the same, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Silence ensued in the forest, and the temperature dropped to an eerie coldness, making the men feel crawling sensations all over their skins.
"You know of Force Arts?"The mustache man asked in malignance, his mustache never ceasing to dance as he spoke "It's an ancient art."
"Of course, spirit and soul fusion is impressive after all. How do you know of this?"Conan replied nonchalantly, his question had a hint of curiosity in it, coupled with a rich timbre of neutrality.
The mustache man misunderstood what he did as he didn't expect an immortal to roam around the human kingdom, but Conan didn't bother to correct him.
Instead, he probed the man for more information.
"Because I know Force Arts too."The man said, and as soon as he said so, his bare buffed chest suddenly became ripped and sturdier, all the muscles in his body got stronger and evident, with faint ripples coursing through his veins.
In the cultivation era, cultivators were divided; Spirit cultivators and there were also Force cultivators. The spirit cultivators are the most common and most powerful, while the force cultivators are those who have low talent in spirit cultivation and go for Force cultivation as an alternative, whereas they fuse their Spirit and Soul into one and create the energy called "Force", which was then channeled into the blood to force out one's dormant bloodline genes, without actually evolving.
Needless to be said, there were a few talented with spiritual energy who also went on this path. It was just a matter of preference and perspective.
Force is an energy channeled directly to the blood and muscles, to reinforce it and make it stronger above normal.
Force cultivation simply means forcing one's bloodline to show up on one's outer appearance and strength. But one who practices this Art could never dream of becoming immortal.
The Force cultivation has no stage however and all who tread this path are always weaker than those who could assess spiritual energy. Some don't even become as stronger as normal humans while some become as strong as dragons, it all depends on the bloodline and its purity.
Going past what the bloodline and what the body could handle means inevitable death.
The man handled his silver mattock with both hands as a faint hue of blue coursed on the body of the mattock, his eyes reflecting murderous intents.
The mustache man was a practitioner of Force Arts and Conan was even curious as to how he got his hand on the cultivation technique.
The mustache man dashed towards him with great speed, leaving the dust settling at his wake and his mattock raised high with both hands.
"Die! Intruder, die!"He bellowed, leaped, and struck Conan with the blockhead side of the mattock as he landed. The ground tremored and waves of clouds of dust stirred across the forest, shaking the leaves off their places.
And more significantly, a crispy crunch was heard. To the men, it sounded like the complete crunch of bones. It was the same to the mustache man who had a mocking grin on his face.
The grin, however, faded out, when he realized the source of the crunch. He had thought he hit Conan with a strike from his mattock, but then, he saw that he crushed an ice mannequin instead, and he became stupefied.
Under the bewildered gazes of the men, Conan walked casually out of the stirred-up clouds of dust, towards the mustached man. His serpentine eyes intimidated the man so much that he didn't even have the chance to wonder about how he had evaded his strike so fast.
"You guys... are so weak. You're shames to cultivators." Conan said.
The mustache man looked at Conan with confused eyes. He couldn't even measure his level of power, no matter how much he tried or want to.
"You keep absorbing the unwilling spirits of those women, but you never cultivated it. You keep acquiring more power through pleasure, but don't you know? After you take those power to an extent, your bodies won't be able to take it anymore and you'll disintegrate into dust."Conan's voice was extremely sage, full of enlightenment and ridicule.
It was a habit now, teaching when he felt the need to. Even when the men were going to die in his hands, he felt the necessity to enlighten and at least free them from dying with their ignorance.
The ambushers looked at each other and felt insulted. Each of them readied their weapons as their hearts steeled, not ready to take the words of Conan to count.
"...And when you turn into dust? Your god, who gave you the power you have now will digest you; Soul and Spirit. You're borrowing the power of a god, what makes you think they won't take it back?"Conan spoke calmly, he paced about as he did, looking at the annoyed faces of the men.
Just as he expected, the more they worship, the more the will of the god overpowers theirs. Not all gods will be like this though.
So he's not even interested in defeating or fighting gods for the sake of humanity or something along that line.
He only came here because he needed more information on what had changed and what had not.
The mustache man leaped towards Conan again and miraculously split his mattock into two. He struck downwards, aiming to crush Conan this time, the determined expression on his face further accentuated that fact.
A blatant cry came out of his mouth and his eyes burned with madness. He was "Forcing" his body so much that cracks started forming on his skin which turned pelt-like.
The strike landed on the target, and he was sure that it did, very. However no sound of bones crushing in flesh was heard, no dust was stirred and no leaves fell.
All he saw was indifferent serpentine eyes looking at him, two hands stopping the mattocks by their handle, with strength that amazed him even.
'Is he a God's Incarnate?'The mustache man wondered inwardly. 'If he is, then we're in big trouble.'
Conan inspected the man and then "Oh..."He muttered on seeing the man's mane-like hair, big snob nose, and long jaws "...You have the bloodline of a satyr, no wonder you have the strength of the weakest one of the herd."
The mustache man gritted his teeth and pushed more force to the mattock, to overpower the intruder, but in vain.
"It's a pity, you could have been stronger."Conan thrust a kick to the guts of the mustache man and grappled the halved mattocks from him.
The mustache man stumbled backward, coughing and wheezing from the pain caused by the kick. He looked up only to his mattock— now in one piece—being hurled at him, coming with a speed that it took only a blink for him to see it coming and in that blink, it hit him with so much strength that it used him to break trees.
The trees fell and the rest of the ambushers got into disarray, some running away from where the trees would collapse and some running towards Conan with killing intents.
Conan, on the other hand, looked at the sky and studied how closer the stars had gotten, then sighed "You guys are just too weak and you don't expect me to clash with you right?"
He raised his hand and a blue glow ran to the tip of his fingers, making the ambushers ready themselves near the trees in anticipation for another cyclone to materialize on him snapping his fingers.
Even the ones rushing towards him waited and grabbed hold of the tree trunks.
He snapped his finger and instead of a cyclone, a blue ripple of spiritual energy ran across the earth, coursing and inscribing a massive formation on the ground.
The disciples of Kongieus all got startled. They looked at the glowing formation beneath their feet and marveled at the chilling air that seeped out of it.
Conan snapped again and the arrays moved. Water rose from the ground in a semi-solid state, formed tentacles with sharp tips, and started impaling the men, freezing them from inside out till they fragmentized into bloody ice flakes.
The tentacles weaved through some, over and over again, some were split into parts, and those who tried to fight back died the same.
A great carnage took place in this silent area of the forest; Screams of horror and pain; Curses and prayers; All filled the atmosphere in an instant, and the trees danced to it, movements ushered by the cold wind.
Conan looked at this with indifference. In his indifference, he looked up and saw some hiding on the trees, praying not to be seen. He left the spot in an instant and blurred past those trees, like wind, making leaves rain.
But with those leaves; Heads rolled down, guts and intestines rained on the roots of the trees like sludge, and sliced bodies followed. All chopped into many parts possible; All killed gruesomely.
Conan flashed back to where he initially was and watched as the intestines and body parts rained from the trees; While the tentacles killed the men on the ground, reducing them into crimson fragments of ice.
In his serpentine eyes, it was beautiful. He had missed the feeling. Living in seclusion for five thousand years made him feel a bit out of place, but, he felt like he was back after causing this rampage.
"I should do this more often..."He noted and turned around, his serpentine eyes looking at a cave entrance attached to a mountain. In there, massive amounts of negative spiritual energy— or emotions — were oozing out in vast quantities.
And also, it's almost daybreak, he suddenly felt like going to see his babies but his curious side overthrew his fatherly side.
And besides what could probably go wrong? Nothing, because they are sleeping already as he told them to. They are his good babies after all.