At that moment, something in the air shifted.
All the remaining bandits—including the usually composed leader and the sadistic Varos—abandoned the fight at once. They no longer cared to kill him. Survival had become the only priority. Against something like this, continuing to fight was suicide.
Mikael and the guards did what they could to stop them, but chasing down an enemy was far harder than killing one who stood their ground. No matter how hard they pushed, it was inevitable. Some of them were going to get away unless something changed fast.
A flicker of disappointment crossed Mikael's gaze. 'They've completely lost the will to fight.'
He exhaled slowly. 'No matter. They were good sharpening stones for my basic swordsmanship… but now that they're broken, they've outlived their use. It's time to end this.'
In the next instant, Mikael vanished—blasting forward at a speed many times greater than anything he'd shown before.
A speed so fast, even late-stage Body Forging Realm cultivators wouldn't be able to follow.
Flash.
For a moment, every bandit froze mid-step.
And then—
Thud.
The silence shattered. Their bodies collapsed, sliced cleanly into pieces by Sangrelia, dyeing the battlefield in deep crimson.
One second. That was all it took. In one blinding second, Mikael's blade had cut them all down.
Everyone present stood in stunned silence. The guards, Valerie Vale, and the wagon workers watched with wide eyes—stunned, but inwardly relieved.
Only one man felt nothing but raw terror.
The bandit leader, now the sole survivor, had been fleeing just moments ago. But before he could even understand what happened, his men were already dead, butchered before they could react. His body gave out as pain exploded in his legs—his tendons sliced. He dropped, unable to move, left completely at the mercy of the monster that now stood before him.
Step.
Mikael closed the distance and seized the bandit leader's head with a hand, lifting him clean off the ground.
The man struggled desperately, clawing at Mikael's wrist in vain. It was like trying to pry apart a steel vice with bare fingers.
"I have some questions. You wouldn't mind answering, would you?" Mikael asked calmly, a serene smile on his face.
To the bandit leader, that smile was anything but reassuring. It was the kind of expression that belonged on a devil. Mikael's bloodied body was riddled with wounds, and his ragged clothes barely clung to him—yet he stood there, unfazed. Unyielding.
The whole scene was nightmarish, enough to paralyze even a hardened killer like him.
"Let me go," he growled, still trying to break free from the crushing grip.
"Sure."
Mikael released him without resistance.
The bandit leader crashed onto the ground, but he didn't care. His attention remained locked on the monster who had wiped out all his men—and would likely do the same to him if he didn't find a way out of this.
The next moment, his expression shifted. Something strange swept over him—some unseen pressure that made his instincts scream. It felt like a mental field of some kind, cold and all-encompassing, probing his every move.
'What the hell is this…?' he didn't know what it was, but instinct screamed that it wasn't good.
"You're inside the range of my Divine Sense," Mikael said. "That means I'll know if you lie. So answer truthfully, okay?"
The bandit leader's eyes bulged. "Divine Sense!?"
He blinked, dumbfounded, then gave a bitter laugh. "No wonder we got crushed… You're in the Spiritual Foundation Realm!"
His gaze drifted to the numerous wounds across Mikael's body. A frown formed on his face. "In that case… how did we even manage to injure you? And your physical strength didn't seem that high—at least not until the end. Did you… limit yourself?"
Mikael rolled his eyes. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have learned anything. At least this way, I advanced in the Sword Dao by putting myself in an artificial life-or-death fight."
'Lunatic,' thought the bandit leader as he looked at the man again. Mikael's body was battered and bleeding all over—he looked like he might drop dead at any moment.
And yet, the idea that this was all self-inflicted, just for the sake of refining his swordsmanship, made something stir in the bandit's chest. A sliver of admiration rose within him—but it was buried beneath a mountain of fear.
'If he can be that ruthless with himself… how far will he go with me to get what he wants?' He swallowed hard.
"If I give you the information you want, would you let me go?"
Mikael gave him a calm, unreadable look. "You know the answer."
The man exhaled through his nose, a long, resigned breath. With his years of experience, he knew what usually awaited captured bandits. "Figured."
After that, when Mikael began asking questions, the bandit leader answered without hesitation. No stalling, no attempts to lie. Whether it was fear, a strange sense of respect, or his belief in the bluff that Mikael's Divine Sense could detect lies—it didn't matter.
What mattered was that Mikael didn't sense any deception. And it wasn't because of his Divine Sense. In truth, that ability was laughably far from being able to read a lie.
It was the streets that taught him that skill.
Years surviving among liars, hustlers, and thugs had sharpened his instincts. And through the entire interrogation, not once did Mikael feel like the man was lying. Either he was being truthful—or he was the best liar Mikael had ever come across.
And Mikael didn't believe in the latter.
Once he got what he came for, he ended the bandit's life without pain or delay.
He turned to leave but stopped mid-step, a sharp jolt running through him. 'Fuck, my injuries are hurting like hell.'
Despite the agony, a wry thought crossed his mind, curling his lips into a faint smile. 'Look on the bright side… at least it's not Body Tempering-level of pain. It's just the "I'm gonna die in five minutes" level of pain. So… manageable.'
Shaking it off, he sheathed Sangrelia onto his back and prepared to take flight. But a voice rang out, clear and urgent.
"Wait!"
He turned slightly, eyes settling on the young woman approaching him—Valerie Vale.
Behind her, the guards stood in an uneven formation. Unsure whether to step forward or stay back, they held their ground with forced composure. Their stances were respectful, but the fear in their eyes was unmistakable. None dared meet his gaze for more than a second, and all of them kept their feet just loose enough for a quick retreat.
'They heard,' he noted, faintly amused. 'Spiritual Foundation Realm. Not quite what they expected from their "Body Forging Realm" guard-for-hire.'
'Not that it matters. Their only role was to act as bait for the bandits. Whether they thank me or hate me afterward makes no difference.'
While Mikael lingered in thought, Valerie had closed the distance. She stopped in front of him and bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Lord Mikael. I truly don't know how to repay you. Without your help, my fate would've been… grim. For that, I'm sincerely grateful."
She bowed again, then hesitated. "Earlier, when my guards hired your lordship for this escort, I heard them refer to you as Mikael. May I have the honor of knowing your full name?"
"Mikael Angelini," he replied calmly.
"It's Lord Mikael Angelini. I, along with the Noble House of Vale, will remember this—we owe you a favor."
He waved it off. "No need. I was simply completing my Sect Mission. Fairy Valerie and her entourage were fortunate to be saved by my intervention."
"Sect Mission?" Valerie Vale repeated, catching onto the term.
"I am a disciple of the Wandering Sword Sect. I accepted the mission to exterminate this bandit group."
The Wandering Sword Sect!
At the mention of the name, the guards visibly relaxed. Even Valerie, who hadn't shown as much tension as the others, eased slightly.
After all, the Wandering Sword Sect was one of the most revered factions in the Suncrest Region. Their power spoke for itself, but more than that, their reputation extended far beyond their borders—clean, disciplined, just. Even among the three Overlords Sect, they stood a cut above, at least on the reputation aspect.
The air around the convoy grew lighter. The guards' rigid postures softened; some shoulders dropped, others exhaled in quiet relief. Valerie's composure steadied too, though a glimmer of something else lingered in her eyes.
She took a hesitant step forward, her voice gentler now as she said, "Lord Mikael... would you allow us to treat your wounds? I know your strength far surpasses ours, but..."
Her words were respectful, but her tone wavered slightly. Beneath the formal layer, concern bled through.
He gave her a brief glance. That subtle warmth in her voice... the look she gave him—it wasn't just gratitude. There was something softer. Hopeful.
He shook his head. "No need. It'll heal on its own. I'm durable enough."
Without another word, he began to float into the air, lifting gently from the ground as if the act required no effort. "On this note, I'll take my leave. I wish you safe travels."
And with that, he rose higher, turned, and shot across the sky.
Within seconds, he was gone—vanished from sight as though he had never been there.
The guards released a collective breath, visibly relieved that the Spiritual Foundation Realm cultivator had chosen to leave without stirring trouble. Considering the strength he had displayed—even while injured—none of them were confident they could have stopped him if things had gone sideways.
Valerie, however, didn't share in their relief.
She remained still, gazing at the spot where Mikael had vanished, her expression distant and unreadable.
Her chest tightened with a quiet ache—the kind that came with the realization that she might never see him again. She had only just met him today, yet the impression he left on her was deeper than any man before.
It reminded her of the old story her mother used to tell when she was little.
The tale of the knight saving the princess... and the two living off happily ever after.
"He and I… we live in entirely different worlds," she murmured gloomily, before letting out a soft sigh and turning back toward her convoy.
***
Mikael's bloodied figure sliced through the sky at blinding speed, his sharp gaze sweeping over the forest canopy below.
'There.'
He descended rapidly, landing without a sound as he vanished behind a dense curtain of brush. Concealed beneath the thorny foliage was a narrow crevice in the rock face—barely noticeable to an untrained eye. Without hesitation, he slipped inside, his body trailing streaks of blood along the stone walls as he moved deeper into the narrow refuge.
'It's not exactly a five-star hotel, but it'll do.'
Settling into a meditative position, he began to circulate the Ninefold Physique Method while simultaneously channeling his qi and Vitalis, accelerating the healing process for his battered body.
Hours passed.
A deep sigh escaped him as he opened his eyes. Around him, dried blood had formed a thick crust, clinging to his skin like a macabre robe—the only thing preserving his modesty, as his guards' uniform had been reduced to tatters.
With a small flicker of magic, the crust flaked away and vanished. In its place appeared the black and silver Taoist Robes of a Core Disciples—the familiar fabric settling comfortably onto his body.
Author Note:
EnjoyingAscension Through the Records?
A quick Power Stone, short review, or thoughtful comment helps the novel rise in the rankings.
Want to read ahead? Unlock advanced chapters on Patreon—just search SDASLUMMY.
You're part of this story's ascent. Thanks for being here.
— End of Chapter —