Lü Yang waited a full day in his cave.
No one came.
The three men in black vanished as if they never existed. No inquiry, no investigation, not even a cursory check from the sect's patrols. The Holy Initial Sect absorbed their deaths without a ripple.
Of course, Lü Yang realized. The sect had life-lamps for every disciple. They knew. This silence wasn't oversight; it was policy. In the Demonic Sect, disciples died. Investigating why could uncover inconvenient truths—secrets, betrayals, private vendettas. It was safer to look the other way.
"As expected of the Saint Sect," he murmured, a mix of disdain and relief washing over him. Time for the spoils.
The disciple tokens of the three assassins held a shocking bounty: 400 Contribution Points. Far more than ordinary disciples should have.
"Career criminals, then," he muttered, sifting through their belongings. Junk, tools… and one prize: a physical manual titled "The Art of Concealing Qi."
His eyes gleamed. This was the technique that had let them slip past his senses. A true lifesaver—or rather, a life-taker's tool. More importantly, it wasn't a sect-issued technique recorded on a token. This was external, a secret find. The sect wouldn't have a counter for it.
"A perfect gift. You died well."
He gave them a respectful burial, then paused. Such an exquisite technique… where did it come from? Was there a greater secret behind it?
Greed flickered, but he smothered it. No rush. In the next life, they might just lead me to it. Patience was a weapon.
With the dead handled, he turned to the living's problems: his own poverty.
He consulted his token, reviewing the materials Yun Miaoqing had mentioned for refining a Sword Pill.
"Three tael of Auric Essence, three of Jade Marrow, two of Cinnabar Sand, two of Sword Qi… tempered by True Fire and cooled by Divine Water… fused with one's essence, energy, and spirit…"
The recipe was complex. The price was catastrophic.
Auric Essence/Jade Marrow/Cinnabar Sand/Sword Qi: 100 Contribution Points per tael.
True Water/True Fire: 500 Points per unit.
Total Cost: 2,000 Contribution Points.
Lü Yang's face darkened. Two thousand! A disciple would have to slave for the sect for decades to save that much.
Meanwhile, Yun Miaoqing had casually mentioned that disciples of the righteous Jade Pivot Sword Pavilion received a Sword Pill from their masters upon reaching Qi Refining.
Damn this Demonic Sect!
His brief euphoria from the 400-point windfall evaporated. He was still desperately poor.
The 400 points were a paradox. In his next life, he'd choose to retain his cultivation level, not physical items. Spending it on treasures was pointless. And breaking through to the 5th level of Qi Refining with just 400 points? Impossible.
There was only one wise investment: knowledge. Techniques could be carried in his mind into future lives.
He headed straight for the Scripture Pavilion.
"Well, well. The kid returns," croaked the old gatekeeper, recognition in his clouded eyes. "Back for more techniques? Came into some fortune, did you?"
"Senior Brother is perceptive," Lü Yang offered a shallow bow and slipped inside.
This time, his goal was specific. He needed a trump card. Not for victory, but for certain death.
He found it quickly.
<
Cost: 300 Contribution Points
The technique was brutal and simple. It involved nurturing a seed of killing intent within one's chest, refining it daily with True Qi, and binding it inextricably to one's lifespan.
Normally, it lay dormant. But when the user opened their mouth and uttered the single syllable—"Kill."—the pent-up murderous intent would erupt, consuming their life force in an instant to unleash a terrifying, soul-reaving attack. A true mutual destruction technique.
"Perfect." A cold smile touched Lü Yang's lips. With the Hundred Lifetimes Book, what he feared wasn't death, but being unable to die. This curse was the perfect key.
He exchanged the points without hesitation and began cultivating on the spot.
"The essence of the curse is the quality of the killing intent," the manual stated. "Heaven's Killing Intent shifts the stars. Earth's Killing Intent stirs dragons and snakes. Man's Killing Intent overturns the world. The first two are rare. The last is commonplace, with the aura from weapons being the most potent."
Fortunately, he had the weapons of the three men in black—tools steeped in malice.
Sitting cross-legged, he drew the dark, cold aura from the blades, guiding it into his chest.
Agony.
It felt like swallowing crushed glass and molten lead. Like a thousand rusted knives were twisting inside his ribcage, scraping against his soul. He clenched his jaw, lips sealed shut. A single gasp would release the energy and end him.
After an eternity of torment, the violent energy finally settled, fusing with his True Qi into a dormant, deadly knot in his heart. A single thought could unravel it.
"I wonder how powerful it is," he mused, a spark of dark curiosity igniting. Before this life ends, I must find out.
As he left the Scripture Pavilion, he found the old gatekeeper in a state of unprecedented agitation.
"Ridiculous! Insufferable luck!" the old man was cursing, his wrinkled hands shaking as he gripped his disciple token, face a mask of bitter envy.
"Senior Brother?" Lü Yang approached cautiously. "What happened?"
"What happened?!" The old man hurled his token to the floor with a clatter. "It's over! See for yourself!"
Bewildered, Lü Yang opened his own token. A flash notification dominated the sect's news feed:
[SPLENDID NEWS! THE MERIT POOL GRAND PRIZE CLAIMED!]
The legendary 'Rainbow Merit Fish' has been caught!
Winner: New Disciple, Xiao Shiye!
Reward: 100,000,000 Contribution Points! (One Hundred Million)
Note: Disciple Xiao Shiye has entered closed-door cultivation. Whereabouts unknown.
Lü Yang stared at the number. One hundred million.
A number so vast it was meaningless. A fortune that could buy a mountain of Sword Pills, oceans of spirit herbs, legions of slaves.
And it went to a newcomer named Xiao Shiye, who promptly vanished.
In the cutthroat world of the Demonic Sect, that much wealth wasn't a blessing. It was a death sentence waiting to be served.
What kind of storm, Lü Yang wondered, a chill unrelated to the killing intent in his chest running down his spine, has just begun?