Rising to his feet, Mikael performed a series of intricate stretches. Each movement confirmed what his senses had already been telling him. "Much better. Fully healed."
He clenched his fist, feeling the surge of vitality coursing through him. 'And my Body Tempering has advanced. Just a step away from the second transformation.'
A shadow of regret flickered across his face.
'It's a shame the gains weren't quite enough to push me straight into the second transformation. That would've been ideal…'
He allowed himself a wry smile. 'I shouldn't be too greedy. I've already surpassed what I expected. The Ninefold Physique Method is designed to progress with rare medicinal herbs, yet I managed to use the aftermath of my injuries to temper my body and make progress.'
'Which is a nice surprise, certainly a nice bonus that by itself would make my fight against the bandits worth it. But body tempering isn't the only thing on which I progressed today…'
Ssshink.
His eyes fell to the now-drawn Sangrelia, her blade gleaming with a blood-red edge that pulsed faintly under the cave-s dim light.
"My progress on the Sword Path today… was far beyond what I'd anticipated."
He traced a finger along the blade's razor-sharp, blood-red edge. Despite its lethal sharpness—and his careless motion—Sangrelia didn't cut him. Not even a scratch.
It might seem like a trivial event but it mattered, it was a clear sign that Sangrelia sentience was slowly but surely growing. She had learned to instinctively control her own edge, ensuring her blade never harmed her master.
Swish.
He executed a seemingly simple sword slash, yet the subtle depth within the motion would only be visible to a true master of the sword.
A sharp glint—tinged with satisfaction—flashed in his eyes. "I wasn't mistaken... The Sword Intent Realm is within reach. Honestly, I didn't expect to glimpse the threshold today. Crossing it is still the hardest part, but even so, this is a massive leap compared to where I stood before."
"Maybe I should do what I did today a couple more times. Maybe that way, I could comprehend Sword Intent?" he muttered with a faint smirk, though he knew full well it wasn't realistic. While placing himself in a 'controlled' life-and-death situation to advance on the Sword Path sounded promising in theory, the reality was far more dangerous.
After all, even if he chose the power level of his so-called sharpening stones, there was always a chance something unexpected could occur—and if he was already critically wounded, that could spell his end.
The logical countermeasure was to use one of the talismans his Master had given him. If a scenario like this one really happened.
But that wasn't a mindset he wished to cultivate. It would stunt his mental growth if he only acted when there was a safety net ready to catch him.
For now it could work but what of in the future?
When his strength surpassed his Master, if he continued to act this recklessly it could get him killed.
That was why he wouldn't rely on these talismans, keeping them only in absolute last recourse, consequently the strategy he just thought of wasn't doable and he wouldn't do it—not even if it meant slower progress.
'At least I shouldn't depend on these talismans but If I find a healing technique that can drastically accelerate my recovery it would be a different story as it would be my own strenght…. Until then… I shouldn't do it. Or maybe I'll just avoid doing it often to minimize the risk?'
He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. 'Logically I know that I should ignore this strategy but…It's too tempting and it feels like such a waste to not use such an effective way to grow stronger…'
After a moment's thought, he found a compromise. 'I can use this strategy of sharpening myself in controlled life and death fights but I can't allow myself to reach such a critical state again. Serious injuries should be the limit—nothing more until I've acquired a powerful healing technique.'
Satisfied with his decision and now fully healed, Mikael stepped out from his hiding spot and soared toward the location of the bandits' stronghold.
While he had already dealt with their leader and a large portion of their forces, there were still some blissfully unaware bandits at their stronghold. And the mission wasn't just to eliminate most of the group—it was to exterminate them all.
Because of that, their stronghold still needed to be cleared.
The flight was short. The moment he arrived, he launched his assault, giving the bandits no time to react or regroup.
Naturally, he didn't go all out. There was still value to wring from them.
He only exerted the power of a mid-stage Body Forging Realm cultivator, matching it against the remaining fifteen to twenty bandits—most of whom were also in the mid-stage.
Compared to the earlier battle, they were both less numerous and less formidable, and Mikael's swordsmanship had grown considerably since then. With this advantage, he dispatched them all with relative ease, sustaining only a serious wound and several minor ones.
Within thirty minutes, he had fully recovered.
Leaving the now-ruined stronghold behind, he flew south without looking back.
As he moved through the sky, an excited glint flickered in his eyes. 'The bandits are done. Now, I need to take care of the Demonic Cultivators. Once that's handled, I can head straight to the Savagefang Mountain Range and finally fight demonic beasts to my heart's content.'
A pleased smile tugged at his lips as the full picture of his plan settled in. 'This really is good planning. Fighting, fighting, and then even more fighting. After spending so long quietly cultivating in the Sect, it feels damn good to finally let loose like this.'
In a noticeably good mood, Mikael continued moving toward the south. Yet anyone observing him closely would notice that his posture in flight was anything but typical.
In fact, it looked less like he was flying and more like he was executing intricate footwork in midair.
And that was exactly the case. He was currently using the entry-level Cloudbreaking Stride, which allowed him to move with the speed and smooth flow of drifting clouds, devouring kilometers at a rate that would make even a fifth-layer Spiritual Foundation Realm cultivator blush.
After some time spent cruising through the skies, Mikael decided it was time to pick up the pace. The region where the Demonic Cultivators were reportedly active was still far off.
Weightless Wind—Explosive Style.
In an instant, his speed surged dramatically. He was now moving at a velocity equivalent to that of a fourth-layer Core Formation cultivator, and with Cloudbreaking Stride reinforcing his movement, his speed reached a level that hovered somewhere between the fourth and fifth Core Formation layers.
After cutting across several rugged provinces at high speed, Mikael finally arrived near the heart of the region where the Demonic Cultivators were said to be operating.
In the last minutes of travel, he had passed several villages and cities. Most were eerily empty. No signs of destruction. Just silence. Only a few of the larger settlements bore the scars of battle—burnt buildings, damaged walls—but the vast majority looked untouched.
There were no corpses, no bloodstains, no evidence of struggle—only silence and absence. It was as if the inhabitants had simply vanished overnight, leaving no trace behind.
Mikael immediately understood what had happened. This was the work of the Demonic Cultivators. To fuel their growth, they were blood-refining tens of thousands of mortals each day. The entire region was being drained dry to feed their twisted cultivation method.
That was the reason why a request for aid had been issued to the Wandering Sword Sect—despite its remote distance from the afflicted region.
'How many have they killed to grow stronger? Millions… maybe even more?' Even Mikael—usually detached and composed—was momentarily shaken by the sheer scope of the slaughter.
For the briefest moment, a flicker of disgust sparked in his heart. But it didn't last—it was soon extinguished beneath the cold indifference that shaped his nature.
Mikael hovered mid-air, motionless, uncertain of his next move now that he had arrived in the general zone where the Demonic Cultivators were said to be active.
His mission had come with some details—general knowledge about the Demonic Cultivators and the rough perimeter of their operations—but frustratingly little about their actual locations.
It was unfortunate, though not surprising. These were individuals who refined the blood of tens of thousands daily. They weren't the type to leave a trail. They understood that their actions would incite fury and swift retribution from the cultivation world, so they were meticulous about covering their tracks.
Because of that, tracking them down wouldn't be easy—and Mikael knew it. This situation was nothing like the bandit extermination mission he had handled before, where joining a likely target caravan had been enough to draw the enemy out.
With the Demonic Cultivators, things were different—far more complicated. Their scale of operation was on an entirely different level. He couldn't just wander around and hope to stumble across them in the act.
'If I do that, I'll be stuck here for weeks, if not longer.'
He needed to be smarter than that.
Knowing that gathering intel was essential if he hoped to complete this Sect Mission in a timely manner, Mikael turned his attention toward the largest city in the surrounding region.
Thanks to his absurd speed, it didn't take him long to reach his destination—Briarshade City.
It was the biggest settlement in the entire area plagued by Demonic Cultivator activity. Presiding over it was a cultivator at the 5th layer of the Spiritual Foundation Realm.
By Wandering Sword Sect standards, that level of cultivation was good but not awe inspiring. But in this region? It made him a top-tier powerhouse. Strong enough that the city had earned a reputation for being 'safe.' No one believed the Demonic Cultivators would dare launch an assault with someone like that guarding the walls.
Given the city's size, strategic position, and its illusion of safety, Mikael deemed it the most suitable location to begin his reconnaissance.
He wasted no time.
Stripping off his Core Disciple robes, he disguised himself as a random peasant, blending into the population. He had no way of knowing whether the Demonic Cultivators had planted spies within the city, and it was best not to risk exposure.
Once inside, he didn't waste any time. Slipping into a shadowed corner of an inn, he nursed a cup of weak ale more for show than thirst, his ears tuned to the idle murmur of nearby tables.
At first, it was the expected nonsense—bad crops, a sick mule, a neighbor's daughter running off with a peddler—until a voice pierced the background hum.
"Did you hear? Flower Village got wiped out yesterday. Demonic Cultivators again."
A second man, seated across the table, slammed his mug so hard against the wood that froth spilled over the rim. "Bastards," he growled, rage thick in his throat. "Not even a dog left alive. Same as Ashvale. Same as Dimming Hollow. They leave behind nothing but blood and bones."
"Keep your voice down," his friend hissed, eyes darting nervously to the other patrons. A few had turned to glance, expressions darkening with shared fear. "Sorry, he's just drunk. Don't mind him."
But the angry one wasn't finished. He leaned in, speaking in a hoarse whisper. "Drunk or not, it's the truth. And everyone here knows it. First it was tiny places—far-flung hamlets, border villages no one cared about. Now it's settlements a few days from here. They're getting bolder. Closer."
The other man rubbed his beard, nodding grimly. "Only reason this place isn't a crater yet is 'cause of the City Lord. Briarshade's the last safe spot in the region. He's the only one strong enough to keep them at bay."
"Guards? Pfft," spat the first man. "I saw one piss himself when a beast wandered near the gates. You think they'd last a second if those monsters came?"
Before the man could rant further, a quiet clink interrupted him.
A silver coin spun briefly on their table before settling flat. The two peasants glanced up, their hands already halfway to cover it out of habit. The one who'd been ranting narrowed his eyes at the newcomer.
Mikael offered a disarming half-smile, the kind worn by commoners who knew their place and didn't want trouble. His cloak was dust-streaked, hood lowered, features unremarkable. Just another traveler.
"Didn't mean to intrude," he said in a rural accent, voice steady and low. "Just happened to hear a bit of what you were sayin'. I've got some goods to trade—nothing fancy—but I need to know which roads to avoid if I want to keep my head."
The more cautious of the two gave a wary look, but the silver spoke louder than suspicion. The angry one grunted, then gestured for him to sit.
"You picked a piss-poor time to go wandering," he said, eyeing Mikael's boots. "Where you headin'?"
"Was thinking south," Mikael replied easily, pulling up a stool. "Thought I'd try my luck near Willowbend or Hollowbrook. Figured small places might still need tools, even with all that's happenin'."
"Forget Willowbend. Hit three days ago," the first man said bluntly. "Same with Hollowbrook last week. Didn't even leave ashes behind."
The cautious one leaned in. "If you're really headin' out, steer clear of anything past the Riverfork stretch. Folks say the Demonic Cultivators been creeping north from there. Closest they've gotten to Briarshade."
Mikael's gaze darkened subtly, though his expression remained neutral. "No rhyme or reason to their attacks?"
"None we've seen," the angry man replied. "No demands, no warnings. Just come in the night, rip through everything. Like they're after blood more than coin. You won't see torches or banners—just silence, then screams."
"Guards don't stand a chance," the other muttered, rubbing his hands together. "But you didn't hear that from us."
Mikael gave a slow nod and rose from the stool, leaving the silver coin where it lay. "Thanks. That'll save me more than you know."
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shifting crowd, leaving behind nothing but a faint trace of presence—and two men who suddenly felt far more sober than they'd been all night.
Author Note:
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