I stared down at the corpse at my feet, the one I'd just killed. A faint blue halo now shimmered around it—a sign I could harvest a Skill. Probably a good one too, given he'd been some kind of cultivator.
I should've felt relieved, even a little hopeful, knowing I'd gained something to help me survive. But instead, I saw his eyes in my mind—wide with anger and fear—staring at me even now.
Damn it.
But I couldn't afford to break down, not with the battle still raging. I had to hide again... and take the Skill.
I clenched my fists. God Dang it, I just wanted to go home.
I turned my focus back to the glowing halo. My throat tightened as I tried to speak the command, but before I could force the words out, a screen appeared. Guess the command wasn't necessary after all.
[System Analysis]
You have defeated: Rank, D, Spirit Swordsman.
Available Skills to Harvest:
Basic Swordsmanship (Passive), Rank D,
Gain the knowledge and skill of a basic swordsman.
Minor Cultivation Talent (Passive), Rank D,
Obtain the ability to cultivate.
Opportunistic Strike (Active), Rank D,
Exploit your opponent's weaknesses, dealing 50% more damage.
Cost, 5 Chi.
I scanned the list and made my choice quickly. Maybe I should've thought it through more, but I couldn't bring myself to. I needed to get back to the crates and the illusion of safety they provided. I picked Basic Swordsmanship—not the most glamorous option, but it felt like the most practical one for now.
As soon as I made my selection, the corpse shimmered and dissolved into particles of blue light, leaving only its clothes and a sword embedded in its throat. A rush of knowledge flooded me, swift and disorienting, before settling into something instinctive.
I glanced at the dead man's sword—not the one I'd killed him with, but his own. Reaching down, I picked it up and gave it a few practice swings. My movements were fluid, natural, like I'd always known how to wield a blade. Not enough to teach someone else, but enough to fight. The weapon felt solid and well-balanced, clearly cared for. It would serve me well.
A flicker of confidence surged within me. For a moment, I wondered if I could help turn the tide of the battle. But the thought was fleeting. I shook my head. No, I might know how to swing a sword now, but I was still weak—slower and far less experienced than anyone else here. Charging into the fray would be suicide. With a grimace, I left the body behind and scrambled back to the wagon, slipping behind the crates once more. Hiding was all I could do. All I could hope for.
But curiosity gnawed at me, so I edged closer to the front of the wagon, peeking over the crates to watch the chaos unfold. The battlefield was utter carnage. Wagons were toppled, fighters clashed viciously, and magic erupted in flashes of light and destruction. A beam of fire sliced through the air, a slab of earth shattered into flying shards, and a single sword swing reduced a wagon to splinters.
Yeah. I was hopelessly out of my depth.
These weren't even the strongest cultivators—just small players in a much larger, deadlier game. Compared to true immortals, these fighters were nothing. That thought hit me harder than I expected, leaving me cold. I gripped the sword tightly, heart pounding as I watched the ebb and flow of the battle. When a bandit fell, I cheered silently. When a guard fell, I cursed under my breath.
Then, everything changed.
Shouts rose from the front of the caravan, spreading like wildfire:
"Victory is ours!"
"Kill them!"
"The captain is dead!"
"Run for your lives!"
The guards' line broke, chaos consuming them as the bandits surged. Some guards fled outright; others tried to regroup but were cut down as their comrades lost their nerve.
And then a black blur appeared.
It tore through the battlefield, tossing guards aside like ragdolls. I barely registered the screams and crunch of bones as the guards who hadn't fled were swiftly overwhelmed.
Near the front, I spotted Wang Jian and Ming Lian. They were running—fleeing towards the hills. For a fleeting moment, Ming Lian locked eyes with me. He looked away, maybe ashamed. Or maybe not. He owed me nothing. But Wang Jian hesitated. His jaw tightened, and then he turned, sprinting toward me. Ming Lian cursed and followed after him.
I froze, my mind screaming at me to run too. I leaped off the wagon just as the blur caught up to them. It grabbed Wang Jian by the head and slammed him into the ground with a sickening crunch, sending him flying into a wagon, which exploded in a shower of wood. Ming Lian lashed out in rage, his aura flaring, but the blur caught his arm, snapping it effortlessly before smashing him into the dirt. By the time I landed, it was over.
The blur slowed, and I saw him clearly for the first time—a tall, broad man with a bushy mustache and a cruel smirk. A Warhammer hung on his back, though he hadn't needed it to destroy Wang Jian and Ming Lian. His gaze locked onto mine, and my legs trembled. He stepped closer, towering over me, and leaned in. Part of me wanted to strike—lunge for his throat with my sword—but I knew it was hopeless. He grinned.
"Boo."
I stumbled back, falling hard, my sword clattering to the ground. Shame and frustration boiled inside me as I glared up at him. But then his boot filled my vision, and everything went dark.
Some time went by, I didn't know how long I was unconscious for, but I awoke to gruff sounding asshole shouting orders…
Alright, Get up —you fucking —scumbags!
I jolted awake to the sound of shouting and a sharp pain in my stomach. Gasping for air, I tried to process what had just happened. Someone had kicked me. Memories came flooding back as I blinked at my surroundings. I was lying on a cold stone floor inside a massive tent—big enough to house several dozen people. All of us were chained. Some captives looked worse than others—filthy, gaunt, and exhausted. My stomach churned as the realization hit me: we were prisoners. No, worse than that, —slaves.
Fuck.
Several bandits, dressed in the same gear as the ones who had attacked us, moved around the tent, shouting at anyone who didn't wake up fast enough and beating those who lagged behind. Their masks were now pulled down, revealing their faces.
"I said, —get up!"
Barked a thuggish man nearby with a bulbous nose, his voice grating and filled with cruelty. He must've been the one who'd kicked me. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him. Right. He looked like a smaller, younger version of that hammer-wielding monster from before. At his feet, a scrawny captive struggled to sit up, his face pale and sunken. He didn't look like a fighter—nothing like the guards from before. He reminded me of myself before I'd started working out in my senior year.
The bandit sneered and kicked the man again, harder this time. The poor guy retched, vomiting near the bandit's boots. "Disgusting!" the man growled, stepping back in disgust before raising his foot as if to stomp the man's head in.
"Hey! Stop!"
The words left my mouth before I could think.
The bandit froze, then turned slowly to face me. Oh, shit. That was me, wasn't it?
—You got something to say you little bastard?
He sneered, stomping over.
"No—"
Pain exploded in my head as he kicked me, sending me reeling. Stars danced in my vision as I hit the ground hard. Before I could recover, another kick to my stomach sent me skidding across the floor.
"Burrahbus!" a voice barked from across the tent.
"Stop playing with the slaves. Do you want to take their place in the mines?"
"Yeah, yeah, OK whatever,"
Burrahbus muttered, stepping back. I felt his boot press against my head, pinning me down.
"You pathetic little shit," You're lucky you're too weak to kill. But remember this, —open your mouth again, and I'll break you. —Got it.
The pressure on my head increased.
"Do you understand?" He barked.
"Yes!" I gritted out through clenched teeth, barely holding back a scream.
Good...
He lifted his boot, then slammed it down inches from my face, cracking the stone.
"Don't forget this. —Now, get up!"
I clutched my aching head but forced myself to stand. My legs trembled as I avoided looking directly at him. If I dared to glare at his stupid bulbous nose, I might not live to regret it.
Damn it, I hated this world. I hated being weak. Burrahbus shoved me roughly toward the tent entrance. I stumbled but managed to stay upright, following the rest of the captives outside.
The world beyond the tent was bleak. The camp was surrounded by wooden walls, with a single wooden building at its center. The rest of the structures were makeshift tents and lean-tos, crude and haphazard.
We were herded into a line and handed wooden bowls. Water came first—lukewarm and murky—followed by a thin, runny rice porridge. The bowls were filthy, and the food didn't look much better, but I forced it down. I'd need all the energy I could get.
Once we'd eaten, the bandits marched us toward the base of a massive cliff. A large cave loomed ahead—the mine. Inside, the cavern was dimly lit by strange blue torches that cast an eerie glow but didn't produce any smoke. Wooden supports lined the walls, holding up the ceiling, though they looked dangerously old.
The main chamber branched off into a dozen smaller tunnels. At the far end, I could see other slaves toiling away under the watchful eyes of bandits, their whips cracking ominously.
Our group was directed to one of the smaller tunnels, where we were handed pickaxes and peculiar blue torches. The bandits explained that the torches would last twelve hours, signaling the end of our shift when they began to dim.
Then came the reel catch, our quota. Each of us had to bring back either one spirit stone the size of a finger or enough smaller ones to match it. The stones, semi-transparent and glowing faintly, could be found scattered throughout the tunnels—if we were lucky.
And if we weren't? Spirit beasts might get to them first.
The mention of spirit beasts sent a ripple of unease through the group. One of the bandits, the same bastard with the big nose, smirked as he warned us about the glowing blue moss deeper in the tunnels. That's where the more dangerous creatures lurked, he said, but also where the best spirit stones could be found.
Despite the warning, relief washed over me when I realized the upper tunnels were relatively safe. Rank 0 spirit beasts were supposed to be weak, nuisances more than threats.
Maybe I could use this to my advantage. If these beasts dropped Skills like the bandits and guards had, I might have a chance to turn things around.
It wasn't much, but it was hope. And right now, that was all I had.