Charges Banked: 13
[POV: Xiao Ren]
[Location: Magic Beast Mountain Range – Outer Ring]
[Time: High Noon]
The wilderness was not chaos. It was a system operating under different parameters. In the city, currency was gold and reputation. Here, it was calories and vigilance.
I crouched on a thick pine branch, cloak blending with shadowed bark. Stillness mattered more than camouflage—movement drew eyes, and eyes drew teeth.
Fifty paces distant, a Flame-Cloud Leopard prowled the underbrush.
Tier 1 beast. Equivalent to a fifth-star Dou Practitioner. Fire-attribute core—exactly what my cultivation required.
I studied its gait through my crossbow's sight. Weeks spent memorizing the Compendium of Low-Tier Beasts now bore fruit.
"Third vertebrae," I murmured. "Cartilage gap between bone segments. A strike with precise force severs the spinal cord without alerting the nervous system."
I raised the [Scout Crossbow (+1)].
Tier 1 item. Restored to mechanical perfection—no magical silence, merely the absence of friction. Rails polished to mirror smoothness. Bowstring fibers aligned to eliminate vibration. Cams balanced to theoretical precision.
I sighted the leopard. Waited for its exhale—the moment muscles relaxed between breaths.
Thwip.
The sound vanished into rustling leaves.
Fifty paces away, the leopard collapsed without a twitch. The bolt pierced its eye, severed the brain stem, and exited the skull before pain signals could fire.
Ohhh. Efficiency.
I descended the tree. Harvested with practiced motions—pelt for coin, meat for rations, but the true prize lay within the skull.
I pried open bone with my knife. Withdrew a warm, pulsing red crystal.
[Item: Flame-Cloud Leopard Core]
[Tier: 1]
[Quality: 85% (Fresh)]
[Enhancement: 0/1]
"Eighty-five percent purity," I noted. "Acceptable."
Restoration would yield [Fire Core (+1)] at one hundred percent purity—doubling cultivation speed for a week without meridian impurities. In Wu Tan City, such a core cost four hundred gold after merchant markups. Here, it cost one bolt and ten minutes of patience.
Well. The profit margin of wilderness harvest was absurd—assuming one survived the transaction.
I cleaned my blade. Consulted the [Restored Survey Map (+1)].
No glowing markers. No "You Are Here" sigil. Just pristine paper—ink sharp, water damage erased, topographical lines legible to the millimeter as the original surveyor intended.
I traced contour lines. The cartographer had noted dense Cloud-Mist Flower growth in an eastern valley.
"Medicinal herbs," I deduced. "Valley likely sheltered by terrain—moisture retention favorable for delicate blooms."
I repacked my gear. Moved eastward with silent steps.
[Location: Eastern Valley Entrance]
[Time: Late Afternoon]
I heard the conflict before seeing it.
Steel clanged against scale. Beast roars echoed off canyon walls—a desperate, disorganized rhythm.
I climbed a ridge for vantage.
Below, in a narrow ravine, fifteen mercenaries of the Wolf Head Company pressed against a rock face. They formed a ragged circle around a central figure, blades flashing against a pack of Rock Snakes—Tier 1 beasts with stone-like hides and venomous fangs.
Sloppy, I observed clinically. Wild swings wasted energy. Blades glanced off scaled hides without finding joint weaknesses. Unnecessary wounds accumulated.
At the formation's heart stood a young woman in a simple white dress—stained now with mud and blood-spatter. She moved with swift precision between wounded men, applying powders and bandages with hands that never trembled.
The Little Fairy Doctor.
Tavern rumors had painted her thus: a wandering physician with boundless compassion and mysterious origins. Beloved by mercenaries across three provinces.
I watched her work. Skilled. But overwhelmed.
A mercenary took a fang to the thigh. He screamed, guard dropping. A second snake lunged for his throat.
The doctor flung white powder. The snake recoiled, eyes streaming—but remained alive. Distraction, not elimination.
I faced a choice.
Option A: Withdraw. Wait for beasts to finish their feast. Loot corpses with zero risk. Maximum profit.
Option B: Intervene.
I studied the woman again. In cultivation lore, "wandering healers with mysterious backgrounds" rarely existed without purpose. And purpose implied resources—unique herbs, rare techniques, hidden connections.
"I require a cover identity for the nearby outpost," I reasoned. "A traveling medic draws less suspicion than an armed stranger. Saving these mercenaries purchases credibility."
I adjusted my cloak. Withdrew three cubes of Crimson Wax.
I descended the ridge.
[Location: Ravine Floor]
I did not charge shouting battle cries. I emerged from brush with hands raised—crossbow concealed beneath my cloak.
"You bleed upon valuable ground," I called, voice cutting through chaos.
Mercenaries flinched toward me. The distraction cost Captain Mu Li—a handsome youth with calculating eyes—a glancing blow that sent him stumbling back.
"Who are you?" Mu Li demanded, sword raised.
"Reinforcement," I replied.
I tossed three wax cubes in high arcs over the snake pack. They landed near wounded men.
"Apply directly to wounds," I instructed.
A bleeding mercenary snatched a cube. Smearing it on his gashed leg, he froze.
The bleeding ceased instantly. Skin sealed without scarring.
"The wound... it closed!" he gasped.
Morale shifted palpably. Men who believed themselves doomed now fought with renewed vigor—knowing survival was possible.
I remained at the perimeter. Crossbow spoke in whispers. Thwip. Thwip. Snakes attempting flanking maneuvers dropped mid-strike.
Within five minutes, the pack broke—survivors slithering into rock crevices.
Silence settled, broken only by ragged breathing.
Mu Li wiped snake-blood from his blade. Eyes narrowed as he assessed me—not with gratitude, but calculation.
"Fine aim, stranger," he said, gaze lingering on my crossbow. "And rare medicine. That wax... Primer House sells it for a fortune."
"I value survival over coin," I replied, adopting [Persona: The Traveling Field Medic]. "I am Yao. I trade supplies."
The white-clad woman approached. Fatigue lined her face, but her eyes held quiet intelligence.
"I am Xiao Yixian," she said, offering a slight bow. "My thanks. This wax... it acts faster than any poultice I've brewed. It carries no scent of alchemical flame."
"Cold-pressed technique," I lied smoothly. "Ancestral method."
She knelt to examine the sealed wound. As she rose, her skirt brushed a patch of Star Blue Grass.
The grass did not bend.
It greyed instantly—chlorophyll leached away as if touched by winter's first frost.
I stilled.
I could not appraise living beings. But dead grass? Permissible.
Crouching as if inspecting a snake carcass, I brushed my fingers against the withered stems.
[Item: Withered Star Blue Grass]
[Tier: 0]
[Quality: 0% (Lifeless)]
[Description: Cellular structure annihilated by contact with a Woeful Poison Body. The toxin signature indicates advanced stage—control beginning to slip.]
Hmmm.
Woeful Poison Body.
A legendary constitution. A living calamity that generated lethal poison with every breath. Those who possessed it grew stronger by consuming toxins—but eventually, the poison would overflow their control, becoming a plague upon all nearby.
Well. She was not merely a healer. She was a walking calamity wrapped in white silk. And her control was fraying.
I rose carefully, positioning myself upwind.
"You possess a remarkable touch," I said, voice neutral.
Xiao Yixian stiffened. Her eyes dropped to the greyed grass, then darted to my face—fear flashing within their depths. She knew I had seen. Knew I understood.
"I... do what I can," she stammered, stepping to conceal the dead grass with her hem.
I did not expose her. Exposure invited panic. Panic invited violence. Violence wasted resources.
"I carry Rank 2 antidotes and bandages," I said to Mu Li, ignoring the tension thickening the air. "If your company travels to the Stone Gate Outpost, I would trade supplies for safe passage. My prices are reasonable."
Mu Li's grin returned—avaricious now. He saw not an ally, but a resource to be exploited.
"Welcome to the Wolf Head Company, Brother Yao," he declared. "We always need suppliers."
[Location: Wolf Head Campsite]
[Time: Night]
The mercenaries celebrated with cheap wine and louder boasts. I pitched my [Survival Tent (+1)] at the camp's edge—canvas woven to perfect density, blocking wind without a whisper of rustle.
Xiao Yixian sat apart from the revelry, gazing at the moon with quiet sorrow.
I cared not for her loneliness. I cared for geography.
Inside my tent, I unrolled the [Restored Survey Map (+1)]. Torchlight revealed contour lines restored to the surveyor's original precision.
"This terrain is unnatural," I murmured.
The cliff face behind our camp showed a concave depression fifty paces below—a hollow masked by an overhanging rock shelf. More telling: airflow notations indicated a steady draft rising from that location.
Draft implied ventilation. Ventilation implied enclosed space.
"A hidden cave," I deduced. "Likely an ancient cultivator's dwelling."
In cultivation lore, such places held inheritances—spirit herbs, cultivation relics, perhaps even a Qi Method of higher tier.
I glanced outside. Mu Li drank deeply. Xiao Yixian rose, moving toward the cliff edge to gather night-blooming herbs.
If she discovered the cave...
Chaos would follow. Mu Li would claim the inheritance. Violence would erupt. And in that confusion—
I could secure what I required without drawing attention.
I rolled the map carefully.
"Go on," I whispered to the night. "Find the plot. I shall harvest the aftermath."
[Omake: The Lantern]
[POV: Xiao Ren]
[Location: Campsite Perimeter]
Night deepened. I required light within my tent for ledger work, but oil was precious.
I examined my iron lantern—rust-pitted, glass cracked, wick frayed.
[Item: Iron Lantern]
[Tier: 1]
[Quality: 45% (Degraded)]
[Enhancement: 0/1]
"Restore," I commanded.
Expend Charge.
Metal smoothed. Rust vanished. Glass sealed seamless. Wick fibers realigned into perfect braiding.
[Upgrade Complete]
[Item: Lantern (+1)]
[Tier: 1]
[Quality: 100% (Restored)]
[Enhancement: 1/1]
[Description: Combustion chamber sealed to theoretical perfection. Fuel burns with absolute efficiency—complete conversion to light and heat without soot or waste.]
Good. I lit the wick.
The flame ignited—not yellow, but transparent blue. So clean-burning it vanished against the night sky. Nearly invisible.
I frowned. "Is it lit?"
I reached to test the glass.
YOW!
I snatched my hand back. Blister already forming. The glass radiated searing heat—perfect combustion efficiency meant all energy converted to thermal output.
I spent ten minutes attempting to dim a flame I could scarcely see. Burned my fingers twice more before fashioning a cloth shield.
"Efficiency," I hissed, sucking my blistered thumb, "requires complementary safety measures."
I smiled despite the pain. Another lesson learned. Another parameter understood.
And lessons, unlike gold or glory, could never be stolen.
Well. Twelve charges remained. Ample for the cave's challenges tomorrow.
I extinguished the lantern—carefully, with a metal snuffer. Settled onto my bedroll.
12 Charges Banked