Chapter Forty-Five: Ruthlessness

Li Ruoyu wielded the Great Soul Banner, striking at the elderly servant. It was a simple attack, devoid of any flourish or fluctuation, not unlike a mundane spear thrust by a worldly practitioner. Yet, to the old servant, it carried an air of perfection, as if it were a natural phenomenon, elusive and profound. An overwhelming sense of danger surged in the old servant’s heart; it felt as if the road ahead had been utterly severed, all light extinguished, the future shrouded in absolute darkness.

“Supreme Dao…”

Without hesitation, Li Ruoyu unleashed his most formidable technique, determined to eliminate the youth’s servant at the swiftest possible speed. He knew that if he failed to kill the servant quickly, he would inevitably be held up. Should the youth escape, it would surely lead to immense trouble—for a celestial treasure was unlike any other, bound to attract pursuit and deadly enmity. Moreover, this youth was clearly not of common origin; who knew what means he possessed to preserve his life? These considerations only strengthened Li Ruoyu’s resolve to bury both of them here.

The tip of the Great Soul Banner was like an ancient glacial spike, piercing through the old servant’s Dao Diagram and lunging for his body. Just as it was about to strike, an object appeared before the old servant—a fan, black-ribbed with a white surface, upon which glimmered three peaks, rendered in gold, silver, and crimson. The sight of the fan made Li Ruoyu’s heart sink.

He remembered reading about these peaks in “Common Knowledge of the Cultivation World.” The peaks on the fan’s surface were formed as the artifact endured a tribulation, embodying both creation and transformation, infused with the principles of Heaven and Earth, far surpassing ordinary implements in power. Fortunately, the Great Soul Banner itself had survived similar, even fiercer, tribulations. Thus, though his heart was heavy, Li Ruoyu remained confident and struck at the fan without the slightest hesitation.

A dull sound rang out—the tip of the Great Soul Banner pierced the fan’s surface and, in an instant, ran through the old servant’s body. In truth, this was only because Li Ruoyu’s cultivation was not strong enough; had his power been greater, a mere wave of the Great Soul Banner would have reduced the old servant to ashes in a blink.

As the banner pierced the servant’s body, Li Ruoyu channeled primal energy through the banner, sending it searing into the old man’s core. He conserved his strength wherever possible; if he could save a single breath, he would never waste two. This lesson he had learned through countless battles in the Valley of Fallen Demons—always maintain oneself at the peak of one’s power, for survival’s sake. The cultivation world was fraught with unknowns, dangers, and terrors. In the end, a cultivator could rely on no one but himself. The hearts of men were cunning, the world perilous, and survival in this realm was never easy.

The power of time entered the old servant’s body. Though the servant resisted with all his might, the force of time was not something any ordinary person could withstand. As a forbidden power, it possessed a supernatural aspect. The old man’s face rapidly withered, his flesh shriveled, his hair turned a dull gray-white.

“Is this the end of the road?” the old man murmured, his eyes reflecting memories and regret, clearly a man with stories of his own.

Li Ruoyu could tell the old servant had led a life rich in experience—such depth could be seen in his eyes. Yet, regardless of what story the old man carried, Li Ruoyu felt no pity. The world was cruel by nature. To survive here, one had to abide by its rules. Whether to live like an ant, to blaze briefly like a firework, or to stand upright as an ancient tree with one’s own beliefs and principles—all of this depended upon oneself. The road lay before one’s feet; which way to walk, which direction to choose, was a matter for oneself alone.

In this world, some become demons, slaughtering all beneath the heavens. Others, too, are called demons, but only because they pursue their own path, whether that leads to killing, saving others, or sitting in silent contemplation. All is wrought by the heart. Li Ruoyu watched as the old man turned to dust before his eyes, falling to the earth, becoming a handful of strange soil. Dust returns to dust, earth to earth. Heaven nurtures all things; when man dies, he returns to heaven. This made Li Ruoyu think of the word “reincarnation.”

A breeze swept by, lifting the ashes from the ground, carrying away countless years of sorrow. Watching this scene, Li Ruoyu’s heart, too, was touched by a fleeting melancholy.

He collected himself and pursued in the direction the youth had fled. Li Ruoyu could see that, though the youth’s cultivation was somewhat low, he was exceedingly cunning. The decisiveness he had shown upon hearing his servant’s final words revealed a temperament that would rather betray the world than be betrayed by it—a true hero in the making, lacking only experience. This was why Li Ruoyu had not hesitated to unleash his full power and slay the servant swiftly; if the youth escaped today, he would be even harder to kill in the future.

Li Ruoyu was not one to give his enemies a second chance. Having matured early and been tempered by hardship, he had developed a ruthless streak—not the ordinary kind, but a quiet, mountain-like resolve. If he struck, it would be with thunderous decisiveness, leaving his opponent no hope of recovery. If even a glimmer of resurgence remained, Li Ruoyu would crush it utterly, casting his foes into despair the very moment they glimpsed hope.

After half an incense stick’s time, Li Ruoyu caught sight of the youth fleeing ahead. Along the way, he had encountered many obstacles the youth had set, delaying him somewhat. Otherwise, given the youth’s newly acquired Dao Body cultivation, he could not have lasted so long before being overtaken.

Sensing Li Ruoyu’s approach, the youth stopped abruptly and turned, facing him with a sullen gaze. The youth knew that, before someone like Li Ruoyu, who could defeat those above his level, escape was but an illusion—flowers in a dream, the moon reflected in water. The youth raised his hand, producing a palm-sized Buddha statue—bronze in hue, bearing a compassionate visage and forming a Buddhist seal with its fingers.

Li Ruoyu frowned. Anything connected to Buddhism was rarely ordinary. The box opened, the bone sword emerged; Li Ruoyu gripped the Great Soul Banner in one hand, the bone sword in the other, prepared for whatever might come.

Once again, he exploded with his full strength in an instant, wary that the youth’s extraordinary identity might conceal some strange trump card. Thus, the moment they met, he struck with a blow meant to decide life and death. Wielding the Supreme Dao, Li Ruoyu unleashed a simple, direct attack upon the youth.

Light radiated from the Buddha statue, suffused with a meditative aura. Golden Buddhist radiance met the Great Soul Banner, and a crackling sound arose, as if lightning forces were clashing. A look of astonishment flashed in Li Ruoyu’s eyes. Never before had he encountered a mere artifact capable of withstanding the threat of one who had entered the Dao. This convinced Li Ruoyu all the more of the Buddha statue’s extraordinary nature and the youth’s remarkable status.