Chapter 12 - Chapter 012: Competing for the Purple Gold Token (Part 1)

At the third quarter of noon. Ten thousand li outside Lingbo City, at the mouth of a remote canyon, crowds swarmed, bustling like a mortal market. In truth, this day marked the opening of Illusory Spirit Valley. The cultivators here were obsessed with dedicated cultivation, keeping the valley closed and acting low-key on usual days. But their single-minded focus made their cultivation level significantly higher than that of other sects. Thus, even though they maintained a low profile in the cultivation world, their status was transcendent—few dared to provoke them casually. The valley master of this term had long been replaced by an ambitious man named Xia Xianlin. He loved flattery, sported a small tuft of beard at the corner of his mouth, dressed in Confucian robes, and held a feather fan, looking elegant and modest. No one knew what merits he possessed to secure two exploration slots for the valley, allowing a team to venture to the Divine King's Ruins in search of treasures. Legend had it that ten thousand years ago, two Divine Kings suddenly descended upon the Spirit Hidden Continent and engaged in a life-or-death battle. With one step, they shattered mountains and rivers; with one fist, they collapsed the sun and moon. Countless innocent beings perished in vain before the two finally died together. And the entrance to their fallen ruins lay within Illusory Spirit Valley. When the Divine Kings fell, the spiritual energy in their bodies dissipated into the ruins, nurturing all living things. Over ten thousand years, the ruins had opened eight times. Each time, lucky ones unearthed massive amounts of heavenly materials and earthly treasures, spiritual pets, and spirit beasts—especially spirit stones, which drew cultivators from across the world like moths to a flame. After all, in a world lacking spiritual energy, these external aids were indispensable for advancing one's cultivation. Opportunity always came with danger; not just anyone could enter. Otherwise, if everyone swarmed in, they would all perish. Thus, the competition centered on the scarce slots. However, this spiritual energy nourishment had a time limit. A great power prophesied that this would be the final feast. Therefore, all sects on the Spirit Hidden Continent whose martial strength reached the middle-stage cultivator level traveled thousands of li to gather here, vying merely for a slot—a qualification to enter the ruins. An old man dressed in linen, holding a flowing wooden staff carved with cloud patterns, leaped onto the tall stone stele at the canyon mouth and overlooked the crowd: "Fellow cultivators, I am Hu Zongren, the steward of Illusory Spirit Valley for this term. To avoid heavy casualties, Valley Master Xia has set the competition stage at the north slope riverbank, three days and nights' journey from here. The terrain there is intricate, and monsters roam in abundance—perfect for all of you to showcase your skills and compete." "Steward Hu, I've heard monsters run amok on the north slope. Are you sending us to our deaths?" The voice was clear and bright, belonging to a man with an imposing demeanor and extraordinary temperament. A treasured sword hung obliquely at his waist, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes fixed intently on Hu Zongren atop the stele. He seemed to command considerable authority—no sooner had he spoken than a group of people echoed: "You say you want to avoid casualties, but aren't those monsters ferocious and deadly?" "I heard most of them are Level 5 monsters that appear in packs. With so few of us, we wouldn't even be enough to fill their bellies. Can we really pass?" "What are monsters compared to sneak attacks from other cultivators? It would be even worse—caught between two or more sides, we might be completely annihilated. Tsk tsk..." "Brutal, simply brutal! Is it worth it for a little bit of heavenly treasure?" ... Hu Zongren listened quietly to the crowd's complaints, then roared loudly: "Silence!" "Fellow cultivators, I understand your reluctance, but there are only eight treasure-hunting slots—we cannot satisfy everyone." "Furthermore, the monsters on the north slope are one rank weaker than those inside the ruins. If you cannot even handle these, I advise you to withdraw early and leave the opportunity to capable sects." At these words, the crowd suddenly fell silent. Most of them were merely cannon fodder, tasked with securing entry qualifications for their sects. Surviving would be a stroke of luck, and the sect would not mistreat them. While they might not obtain top-tier cultivation resources, even low-grade Spirit Accumulating Pills were highly sought-after—something they would fight tooth and nail for. If they perished, it would be fate. After all, fortune favored the bold. It should be noted that pills usable by cultivators on the Spirit Hidden Continent were extremely scarce. The Spirit Accumulating Pill was the lowest-grade among them, refined from scraps and leftovers of heavenly materials and earthly treasures. Though its spirit-accumulating effect was weak, taking a sufficient quantity would still aid in the growth of spiritual energy. It was universally pursued by cultivators here. For this meager benefit, many had resolved to either succeed or die trying. Hu Zongren glanced around with satisfaction, not commenting on their compliance. He coughed lightly and continued: "The rules of this competition are simple. I will provide each of you with a detailed topographic map. Whichever sect reaches the riverbank first and finds the token left by Valley Master Xia—the Purple Gold Token—will qualify to explore the Divine King's Ruins." "There are ten such tokens in total. Illusory Spirit Valley will keep two for ourselves, and the remaining eight will belong to the capable—it all depends on your destiny." "The only requirement is that cultivators above Level 7 are prohibited from participating. If discovered, their qualifications will be immediately revoked. For this competition, sects may provide their disciples with treasures to assist them—this will depend on each sect's capability." Upon hearing this, the leader of the Divine Spirit Sect, Daoist Yan, who stood at the front of the crowd, couldn't help sneering: "Hmph, easier said than done. Treasures aren't cabbages on the street—can they be given casually?" "This green sharp sword of mine has long recognized me as its master. Who else can wield it?" Though it was only a Tier 3 spiritual weapon, barely tougher and sharper than ordinary iron, its greatest strength as a spiritual weapon was its ability to fly, allowing for unexpected attacks to defeat enemies. It had already ranked third on the spiritual energy list—how could he bear to let his disciples use it? Even if he did, it would be like a child wielding a broadsword, unable to unleash its true power at all. "No need to be angry! We're all in the same boat, Brother Yan—why be so serious? At the very least, we can bestow upon them some swords for self-defense." The Ancestor said calmly, then instructed the disciples behind him: "I have ten master-crafted swords. I bestow one upon each of you—may you bring glory to the sect!" As he spoke, spiritual light flickered from his sleeve. One by one, swords glowing with a faint halo shot out, hovering in front of the disciples. This was the spatial storage technique. For a moment, all the cultivators looked on in admiration, eager to kneel before him and learn such immortal secrets. "We thank the Ancestor!" The disciples of the Wan Clan straightened their backs, accepted the reward with joy, and caressed the swords eagerly. Drawing the blades, they felt a piercing cold—even a strand of hair would snap instantly upon contact. These were undoubtedly the highest-grade mortal iron. Each couldn't help praising silently: "Excellent!" "Hmph!" Upstaged, Daoist Yan let out a silent cold snort. Not wanting to be outdone, he also tossed ten uniquely shaped swords to the Divine Spirit Sect's disciples. At this moment, the two sects were allied. The disciples harbored no rivalry, merely examining their new weapons to familiarize themselves as quickly as possible. However, disciples from other smaller sects, upon receiving their own sect's weapons—which were far inferior in grade—were bombarded with sarcastic remarks. Even before the competition officially began, tensions ran high between them, and a melee could erupt at any moment.