Chapter 30: The Immortal Cultivator of Donglai

The lean martial artist led the way as Zheng Yiqing, He An, Steward Hou, Steward Cao, and a dozen other warriors moved swiftly through the jungle. Half an hour later, their group arrived near Gao Jian's forest camp.

“With such a ramshackle wooden palisade, how did they fend off the tide of sea beasts last night?” Zheng Yiqing observed the camp with a cold gaze.

Within the dilapidated camp, dried bloodstains were everywhere—a clear sign of a brutal battle the night before. Some people were still clearing away the remains of sea beasts, evidence enough they had repelled the attack.

“Who are you people?”

“What do you want?”

The camp’s battered defenders, seeing a new group of strangers outside the rickety fence, were startled and quickly challenged them.

“Everyone, don’t be alarmed,” said Jiang Yingwei with a smile. “Our young lord needs to build a spiritual timber raft, and we’d like to ask for your assistance. Since you’re idle on this island anyway, why not lend a hand to our young lord?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re obviously here to force us into hard labor!”

The warriors inside the camp erupted in anger. From the moment this group appeared, it was clear their intentions were not friendly. Who would have thought they’d come to press them into service?

“If you want us to work for your young lord, you’ll have to see if my sword agrees first,” Gao Jian sneered.

“No need for pointless talk. Seize them all! Whether you agree or not, you’ll be working for our young lord,” Zheng Yiqing said impatiently, signaling to He An and the others.

He An said nothing. He drew his Black Spirit Sword and strode toward the ruined camp.

The other eight or nine warriors under Zheng Yiqing’s command also unsheathed their blades, following He An as they pressed into the camp.

Gao Jian’s expression was grim as he drew his Frost Sword with a ringing sound.

With a rush, He An became a blur, lunging toward Gao Jian.

Gao Jian did not falter. With a light touch of his Frost Sword, he leapt toward He An in a flash.

The foremost master of Zheng, He An, and the most talented young martial artist of Yan, Gao Jian—two figures at the peak of the late-stage warrior realm—clashed amidst the whistling wind.

He An flicked his wrist, and three streaks of black light burst from the Black Spirit Sword. Sparks flew as the Black Spirit Sword met the Frost Sword.

One exchange decided the outcome.

“You have lost,” He An said flatly, sword in hand.

“Triple Strike! You’ve mastered the peak martial skill, the most lethal Triple Strike at the warrior’s pinnacle... I have no words. Kill me or spare me as you wish,” Gao Jian’s face was ashen with disbelief, a bloody gash on his arm. Despite his relentless training, he had only managed the Double Strike, its force reaching six hundred pounds.

Gao Jian was defeated.

Inside the ruined camp, the warriors looked devastated and helpless. They surrendered and handed over their weapons.

“Move out. On to the next camp!” Zheng Yiqing barked.

Within a single day, Zheng Yiqing’s group subdued two more weak camps, capturing a dozen or so warriors and ordering them to fell spiritual timber and construct a large raft capable of carrying more than ten men. The injured were sent to gather herbs, collect food, and weave sails for the raft.

Though resentful and unwilling, the warriors were too weak to resist and could only become laborers for the young lord.

...

Southeastern corner of the island.

While Zheng Yiqing and his men were busy subduing other camps and building their spiritual timber ship, Ye Mo was searching the mountain forests for medicinal herbs to heal and temper the body.

He took stock of the herbs he had just gathered: two fourth-grade bitter ginseng roots and one second-grade snake gall herb. He sighed softly.

“As expected, the herbs on this island are far too scarce. After half a month of daily picking by so many warriors, only the lowest grade herbs remain.”

Ye Mo tucked the herbs into his shirt and continued his search in the perilous depths of the wilderness. Now, finding herbs meant venturing where no one else dared to go.

The island’s deep mountains were dense with shrubs and wild vines, making travel difficult. One had to watch their step and guard against venomous snakes, ants, and insects.

Ye Mo was climbing a cliff when he suddenly spotted a small cave ahead, bearing signs of having been dug by human hands.

The cave entrance was three or four feet high, covered by vines. Without careful inspection, one would never notice it.

Having already reached the seventh level of the Body Refining stage, Ye Mo’s eyesight was far superior to ordinary people.

“How could there be a cave in a place like this?” he wondered. He climbed over and examined the entrance closely, not rushing in.

The cave mouth was cluttered with tangled grass and vines, and a few spider webs. Because it faced away from the sun, it was damp, and moss covered the walls. There were several neat sword marks on the entrance—obviously not naturally formed.

Ye Mo drew his Azure Edge Sword and gently cut away some of the vines.

“There are clear sword marks—this cave was definitely carved out by someone. Judging by the spider webs and moss, whoever dug it hasn’t maintained it for decades, maybe even longer! Who would dig a stone cave on this isolated island in the East Sea?”

Puzzled, Ye Mo used his sword to clear the entrance of weeds and vines.

The cave was not deep, only about ten yards in. After clearing the entrance, sunlight spilled inside, illuminating the chamber.

What Ye Mo saw made him gasp.

Inside sat a human skeleton.

The bones were still in a cross-legged meditation posture.

Startled, Ye Mo leapt inside.

“The skeleton is covered with spider webs and dust—this person has been dead a long time. The bones are perfectly intact, showing no signs of decay. He must have been a peerless martial artist; only a warrior at the peak of body refinement, whose blood and bones have been greatly strengthened, could remain unspoiled after so long!”

Ye Mo studied the skeleton carefully. There was a faint mark on the back of the neck, but it didn’t look like a weapon wound, leaving him confused.

“What kind of harm befell him?” Ye Mo wondered.

Beside the skeleton, on the stone wall, words had been carved with a sharp instrument.

“I am an immortal cultivator from the Kingdom of Donglai...”