"Hu… that's the second one. These star-rabbits sure move fast."
Lian sighed as he finished off his second first-tier beast.
"This place is interesting. Every time I kill a beast, a star forms on the back of my palm. How the hell did they manage to do that?"
He frowned, rubbing at the red star tattoo that had appeared on the back of his hand.
"I wonder if it will come off."
He drove his Qi into the stars. They pulsed faintly, glowing for a moment, before returning to normal.
"…So that won't work."
"I haven't seen anyone since I arrived here. Just how big is this place?"
Lost in thought, Lian moved through what appeared to be an old, overgrown garden, stone paths cracked and swallowed by weeds.
"I thought by now I would've at least met some peo—"
His gaze suddenly shifted.
Near an old, broken fence stood a tall stalk, its leaves faintly shimmering with spiritual light.
"…This place really is a treasure trove."
Lian leapt down from a nearby tree, moving swiftly toward the plant.
"Shia-feng grass."
He worked quickly and precisely, uprooting it while coating the roots in Frost Qi to prevent it from withering.
"What a great harvest…"
Satisfied, he carefully placed the herb into his bag and moved on.
"Hey, you!!!" a voice boomed from behind him.
"Those are mine. What do you think you're doing with them?"
Lian turned.
A group of three cultivators stood a short distance away. The one speaking had blond hair and carried a rather peculiar weapon—a crescent-shaped double blade, its edges humming softly as his hands moved through the air.
To his left stood a young woman. Her bangs fell over her left eye, and at her waist rested a flout decorated with delicate floral patterns. She said nothing, merely watching in silence.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lian snapped.
"I got here before you. What right do you have over them?" His gaze shot at the people.
"Oh… really?" The blond cultivator smiled faintly.
"Hey, Bou fang, didn't I say earlier that I lost my bag? Doesn't that one look like the one I lost?"
"Y-yeah, Brother Mo feng… I-it is. That's the one."
Bou Fang spoke with a foolish grin. He was built like a brute, his head round, a single bundle of hair hanging from his crown while the rest was shaved clean. One finger rested in his nose as he giggled softly.
"I thought so as well."
Mo Fang's gaze hardened as he stepped forward, raising one hand.
"Give me back my bag—before I decide to kill you."
"Oh?"
Lian rose slowly to his feet, his expression cold.
"So that's your intention. Just a bunch of petty thugs," he thought.
"Well, if you want it so badly," Lian said aloud, lifting his blade high,
"come and take it. I dare you."
A chilling aura erupted from him, thick with killing intent.
"Huu—!"
Mo Fang staggered back half a step, his face paling.
"W-what pressure…"
"Ah—ah… Bou fang," Mo fang snapped, masking his fear,
"go on. Get my bag."