–Just listen to us, and you’ll definitely become someone greater than the Chief. When that time comes, the God will task you with spreading His great light. You must use the sacred artifact to protect the world—can you do that?–
As he spoke, he unwrapped a long sword with a faint gleam from a reverently bundled piece of linen.
–It’s a fine sacred artifact—you have it too!–
The boy, his mind already clouded by swigs of fruit wine, was now fully convinced.
So I’ll still be the Chief after all, he thought to himself joyfully.
–So, what should I do?–
–In the past, brute force was enough, but from now on, the great light tells us we must also rely on our wits. The Undying King’s envoy is here this time to test you. You must find a way to acquire something from him and bring it to me—that will fulfill the trial set by the great light.–
With that, the lanky man leaned closer to the boy’s ear, covering his mouth with one hand as he softly whispered the detailed plan.
The more the boy listened, the brighter his eyes grew…
……
Three years slipped by in a blur.
Recently, the small city teemed with countless people, a densely packed, pilgrimage-like crowd that buzzed and clamored both inside and outside its walls.
Zaguda, the –Chief Follower– restored to youth, personally raised a sacred artifact as he led his team to cordon off the avenues and venues, awaiting the arrival of the Undying King’s envoy.
Yang Zicang arrived as promised. The man’s appearance seemed unchanged, even his clothes were the same.
A rumbling, thundering sound filled the air as someone shook a broad animal hide.
Crowds of people cheered as that figure emerged from the end of the long path.
He was as plainly dressed as always, with only the red pendant on his chest revealing his extraordinary nature.
Wishing the archaic man to keep a secret was as absurd as praying thunder wouldn’t strike on a stormy day, so almost everyone knew what had happened on the day the Chieftain grew young. That gleaming gold coin was even brought out by the Chieftain during the annual rituals to proclaim its sanctity.
Countless temple warriors confirmed that on that day, the coin had shimmered with a flame-like white ethereal glow, a light that granted the Chieftain new life.
And that gold-and-red, fire-like object around the middle-aged man’s neck surely held immeasurable years of life.
The crowd gazed with envy and anticipation at Yang Zicang’s passing figure and that necklace.
Among them were the Chieftain, his third son, and those in the crowd who spread the name of the –Great Light.–
–No need for formalities.–
Yang Zicang declined the crowd’s ceremonial gestures and went straight to the point. He stepped before the children and youths, who had grown much taller, slipped off his coat, and revealed his robust chest.
–Begin your performance. Come on, hit me.–
The few hesitated, exchanging glances, but after repeated encouragement from Yang Zicang, a sturdy man in his twenties stepped forward. His long sword whistled through the air as it slashed down.
Thump!
The long sword carved a wound over ten centimeters long, lodged beneath Yang Zicang’s shoulder blade. The burly man trembled with fear.
Feeling the force, Yang Zicang smiled approvingly and nodded: –Not bad. Keep going.–
–Wow, so impressive.–
–No wonder he’s the Steward of the Undead King!–
The thousands of onlookers watched this shocking scene unfold.
Though they knew he wouldn’t be hurt, seeing it with their own eyes was another matter entirely.
The blades falling upon this man looked terrifying, yet he stood eternally unbowed. Before long, gray mist swirled over those wounds as they healed.
Yang Zicang tested these selected individuals one by one. Most of them showed great diligence, while others, despite their talent, failed to reach ideal form.
–Everyone, you’ve worked hard, and you’ve all performed well. But I will only contract with some of you.–
After the selection ended, Yang Zicang gathered the dozen or so chosen ones up front, pulled out a handful of gold coins from his pocket, and began distributing.
–Don’t be disheartened if you weren’t selected. In the future, you may continue practicing the martial skills you’ve learned these past three years, but I will no longer inquire about your progress, nor may you read them anymore.–
As they gazed upon the handful of small, golden discs shimmering with a pale golden radiance, everyone’s breathing grew heavy.
The chief couldn’t help but swallow repeatedly, fantasizing about how wonderful it would be to have all of them in his own hands.
–Come, before you sign the martial arts pact with me, first accept my gift.– Yang Zicang smiled as he picked up the golden coins in his hand.
The children’s eyes were fixed; their hearts pounding wildly as they thought, Could it be—could this truly be for them?
He walked up to a child of about ten years old, took his hand, and clasped it.
The child, and even his family, widened their eyes in excitement—was it truly for him?
Oh my goodness!
Yang Zicang placed the coin he had crafted from gold onto the child’s hand.
–What number does this read?– he asked with a smile.
–Ten.–
Although nervous, the child answered immediately.
–Very good. That’s the quantity of lifespan it contains. You may either use it yourself or give it to whomever you wish.–
The crowd exploded into commotion.
Many were stunned as they stared at the coin, realizing that dedication to martial arts could lead to such remarkable fortune!
Some were already plotting how to acquire it from the child in exchange for something else.
Watching as this great person handed round after round of golden discs to those who had practiced martial arts with him over the past three years, the ones not chosen wept in regret.
After distributing them all, Yang Zicang turned and swept his gaze over the crowd around him.
–This is my gift. No one is to take it by force. Those who disobey shall die.–
Among the losers behind this group of children, one knelt, crawling forward in a flood of tears, pleading with Yang Zicang to grant him such a gold coin, claiming his parents had been injured by wild beasts and needed it.
Just as Yang Zicang was about to dismiss him with a yell, he suddenly turned his head toward the city gate.
More eyes followed his gaze.
What came into view was the corpse of a creature resembling a rhinoceros but armed with tusks, being dragged forward by a frail, tiny child, whose figure seemed minuscule in comparison.
He was eleven or twelve years old, dressed in tattered grass clothing.
Plod, plod—step by step, he dragged a cyan beast several times larger than his own body.
–Good heavens.–
–This kid… so skinny, how does he manage it?–
Exclamations burst from the crowd.
–Sir, this cyan-tusked ox was the kill I made alone.–
The slight figure knelt before the stone steps and begged, –Please, mentor, teach me the martial arts.–
It was that kid from –yesterday–… Yang Zicang’s eyelids drooped slightly.
–Wait for me outside the city.–
The older child looked up in pleasant surprise.
–Yes!–
He stood up and ran out swiftly, as if, by the mere act of reaching the outskirts of the city, this esteemed adult would appear in an instant.
The evening grew darker, and amidst a sea of laughter and chatter, Yang Zicang accepted the Chief’s banquet invitation.
During the feast, after sampling the various dishes the Chief had prepared, a youth bearing a six-tenths resemblance to the Chief stepped forward.
In Ashizagu Da’s hands was a peculiar little jar, from which emanated a slightly pungent aroma of fruit.
–Noble Attendant, I offer you this fine nectar as a sacred tribute.–
The aroma drew the gazes of nearby warriors who had sampled the divine water.
Yang Zicang glanced at the clay pot set on the table—inside lay murky fruit wine and other miscellaneous items.
Holding a wine bowl in his hands, he chuckled, never expecting he would experience such a moment.
–Who gave this to you?–
–It was…– Ashizagu hesitated, at a loss for words in his nervousness.
The divine envoy had explicitly instructed him never to tell the noble attendant; otherwise, he would reveal he received help from others, and the trial would end in failure.
–You can’t say?–
–Ah, Noble Attendant, I…–
Several times he almost couldn’t help blurting out that person’s name, yet the word –Chief– kept echoing in his mind.
He couldn’t bear it.
He also yearned to earn merit in the next catastrophe, to be rewarded, to obtain a longer life.
–It is I who offer this to you, sir,– the young man said, bowing his head.
Yang Zicang picked up the wine and swirled it, stirring the fresh fruit pulp that had sunk to the bottom for flavor.
The tiny white polyhedra at the very bottom surged to the surface—if not mistaken, this was a type of arsenic.
Curiously, he brought it to his nose and sniffed; the wine was also laced with a hint of vines.
This scent was all too familiar. A thousand years ago, he himself had taught a tribe to apply it to their arrowheads to help hunt the large beasts nearby. The place was overrun with pythons and dinosaurs.
Behind the small wooden table diagonally opposite, the Chief looked curiously at his son. The waiter’s words had left him somewhat bewildered.
……
Behind the rustic log table, Yang Zicang swept a glance around. Everyone was casting admiring looks his way. It seemed the richly flavored fruit wine in his hand was something not even they had ever tasted.
–Ha, good, good, good. How interesting.–
Yang Zicang tilted his head back and drank deeply.
Gulping, gulping!
After downing most of the tankard, Yang Zicang let out a sigh, set it heavily on the table, and nonchalantly resumed eating and chatting.
The crowd kept the revelry going until midnight, while the two in the hall grew increasingly uneasy.
They could no longer hide the agitation clearly written on their faces.
After several rounds of drinks, Yang Zicang cast a glance at them, picked up a jug of wine, and walked up to one, speaking calmly:
–Fancy a taste of this wine?–
–Ah, S-sir, Ser—Server!–
The man was so terrified his skin prickled with goosebumps.
Beside him, another trembled slightly and looked away.
Yang Zicang fixed his gaze on the chieftain’s son: –It’s them, isn’t it?–
–No—it wasn’t me!–
The two nearly bolted up and fled.
Seeing this, Ashizagu realized he had failed—truly, the Server knew everything.
With a glance flickering from panic to resignation, he nodded:
–Yes. The Holy Envoys did it themselves. I didn’t expect the Server to spot it in one glance.–
Holy Envoys?
Not just Yang Zicang, but everyone present stared at the two, puzzling over what this term meant.
The two men were drenched in sweat.
Suddenly, one of them gritted his teeth, lunged upward, and reached straight for the glowing red fang necklace on Yang Zicang’s chest.
BOOM!
The flying shadow knocked over the bonfire as the man slammed into the wall like a torn rag, blood splattering everywhere as he slowly slid down.
The other person was stunned with fear.
–No, don’t, don’t kill me!– he cried out, his voice trembling with terror.
Thump. The clay bowl in Ashizagu’s hands fell to the ground. The stout bowl rolled twice on the bumpy floor, yet somehow did not break.
–Attack an Attendant?–
–They dared to snatch the Holy Artifact of the Attendant!–
The surrounding warriors finally snapped back to their senses, hastily rising to surround the man whom Yang Zicang had sent flying.
The warriors were gripped with terror—this damnable creature who deserved to die ten thousand times over!
–Out!–
The chieftain flipped the table with a heave, then dragged his own son over and kicked him on the leg, forcing him to his knees.
–Speak, what did you do.–
Seething with rage, the chieftain yanked his son’s hair roughly and roared: –What are you doing!–
–I, I…–
Ashizagu was paralyzed with terror, entirely clueless, and only turned his eyes imploringly to the Envoy of the Great Light.
–Great Light Envoy, stop him, please say something!–
The so-called Radiant Envoy was now nothing but a pathetic wretch who could only open his mouth, unable to utter even a single word.
Yang Zicang understood what this man was after.
With a silent sigh, he glanced at the half-filled jug of wine left on the table, then picked it up again before this man’s very eyes.
–No!–
This man nearly lunged to snatch it away, but a slap cracked across his face, his shoulders forcibly restrained.
After taking two hearty gulps, Yang Zicang slammed the wine jug heavily onto the table.
–As far as the taste of the wine goes, it’s not bad,– he cast a glance over the surrounding crowd, –but never let yourself taste it. From now on, all of you should drink sparingly, and don’t lose your true selves.–
Having uttered these inexplicable words, Yang Zicang strode outside—there was still a child waiting for him beyond the city walls.
Only after Yang Zicang had walked far away did the trembling premier dare to lift the jug and sniff it. He frowned, mulling it over for a while, then suddenly his face turned ashen.
–Ah!!!–
He kicked the kneeling youth directly in the chin, his fist smashing down furiously.
–You beast!!!–
After a brutal beating, Zakuda glared like a furious dragon at the one seated behind the table.
He extended a hand like a steel clamp, firmly grasping the other’s chin, while raising a wine jug with the other hand. Amid the terrified and futile struggles of the victim, he poured all the remaining wine into the man’s mouth.
–Ugh, no… gulp, please…–
–Cough, ahh…–
In just a few minutes, the man’s body convulsed, blood spurting from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground, his face contorted in agony as he struggled and died in torment.
Only then did Ashizagu, realizing what he had sent the attendant, find his jaw fractured. His body went limp as he dropped to his knees, looking around helplessly at the sacred warriors of the palace who seemed ready to devour him alive.
It’s over, all over…
……
In the night, the child sat quietly on the ground, gazing up at the stars and the moon.
–Have you eaten dinner yet?–
Footsteps approached. The child turned his head to see who was coming, then swiftly turned around and prostrated himself.
–In the future, you don’t need to show me such courtesies.–
–Then I…–
–What is your name?–
–I…– The child hesitated. –I’ve forgotten.–
–Forgotten?–
–My mother used to call me ‘son,’ and my sister called me ‘brother.’ I remember I had a name, but I forgot it.–
Yang Zicang didn’t ask him where his mother and sister had gone. He handed him a small portion of food.
–From now on, your name is Wu Zheng.–
–Wu Zheng… Wu?– The child looked at him hesitantly.
–How long do you want to live?–
–I, I don’t know. I want to find my mom and sister.–
–Very well.–
Yang Zicang took out a small sphere and crushed it. From the sphere, like a Moxel activating, a triangular flickering glow appeared and landed upon the child. A ring that hadn’t existed on his chest before manifested.
A sudden mental voice intruded into his mind, startling the child.
[Are you willing to enter into a ‘Training Pact’ with me? From the day of signing, until the agreed-upon technique is mastered, or upon death, the pact shall be naturally fulfilled. Once it’s concluded, you will no longer possess the experience gained from the training.]
More subtle information naturally surfaced in his mind, allowing him to clearly grasp the meaning of this pact.
Likewise, a portion of this light was stored within Yang Zicang’s ring.
–Master, do you mean for me to…–
–This time, I want everything within your destiny.–
Ding. A coin, forged from shining gold, landed in the child’s hand.
[You have received 50 N.]
–Can you, in this lifetime, ever manage to master all eight method manuals like these?–
Yang Zicang swung his arm, launching a single phantom punch.
Woomph!
An abrupt gale swept through the grounds, snapping leaves and stems and sending them flying chaotically.
The child had never witnessed such a scene before, staring in awe at Yang Zicang before realizing that this man wanted him to master martial arts similar to this—eight of them!
[For each one you master, I will give you this many gold coins.]
The child froze, his eyes then welling up with tears.
Lifespan didn’t matter; it had been so long since he had received such care.
Over the millennia, Yang Zicang had seen countless physically robust individuals and could tell at a glance how high they could reach if trained.
This accuracy was as high as seventy to eighty percent, all derived from his own conclusions without any guidance.
Yet some people’s talents could not be discerned.
For certain exceptionally gifted individuals, heaven strives to conceal their talents before they reveal their brilliance.
Such as the one before him.
He was resolved to take on his first disciple, to inherit his Explosive Fist technique and learn all the martial arts Morris brought here.
–Come with me.– Yang Zicang reached out a hand.
He had only seven books in hand, but sixty-eight practice contract ability spheres.
Although one book could be used by several people at once, obtaining over sixty contract scrolls in just a few decades was unrealistic.
Particularly, two of them are about mental power and telekinesis training, which is a bit too demanding for these people who exist somewhere between primitive humans and Homo sapiens.
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