CHAPTER 63: GENTLEMEN?

After securing the hundred mid-grade spirit stones, John didn’t waste a single breath.

His steps were firm, filled with determination as he made his way straight to the Outer Sect Depository.

The sunlight filtered through the drifting clouds, glinting off the stone steps as he climbed them two at a time.

His heart was calm, but his mind buzzed with anticipation.

Now, with enough spirit stones in hand, he could purchase two tokens, his golden ticket into the deeper vaults of cultivation knowledge.

Each token cost fifty mid-grade stones, an amount that would make most outer disciples pale, but for John, it was an investment into his future.

He entered the token counter, a quiet chamber with white jade walls etched with golden characters denoting sect laws and pill scriptures.

Behind the carved wooden counter sat a young woman in light-blue sect robes.

Her hair was tied into a high bun, and her smile was serene, professional.

She looked up as John approached and greeted him with a gentle nod. "How can I help you, brother disciple?" she asked, her voice clear and smooth.

John placed the heavy pouch of spirit stones on the polished bench between them. "Two depository tokens," he said, nodding politely in return.

She deftly untied the pouch and poured its contents into a measuring tray, her fingers moving with practiced grace.

The sound of spirit stones clinking against each other was oddly satisfying.

After counting them quickly and efficiently, she looked back up at him. "Your identity token, please."

John handed it over without hesitation. After a brief verification, she returned both the token and two round, glowing medallions engraved with the Blue Cauldron Sect’s sigil.

"Thank you. You may proceed," she said.

John bowed slightly and left the counter, heading toward the entrance of the Depository Hall, where a grey-bearded elder in navy-blue robes sat cross-legged, eyes half-closed, guarding the entrance like a quiet sentinel.

Without even glancing at John, the elder extended a hand. "Submit the tokens."

John respectfully handed them over.

The elder took them, tucked them into his sleeve, and said in a flat, unhurried tone, "Select any two techniques. You have five hours. No nonsense."

"Yes, Elder," John said, bowing humbly before stepping inside.

The atmosphere in the Depository Hall was different this time.

Last time he’d come here, he was restricted to the first floor, a place for low-level techniques and common pill formulas.

Now, with two depository tokens, he could access the third floor, where true treasures resided.

He didn’t waste time.

He walked past shelves brimming with flame control scrolls and martial techniques, climbing the wooden stairs that creaked under his boots as he ascended.

At the top, a large carved sign read, Third Floor, Cultivation Techniques.

He pushed open the heavy door and entered.

Rows upon rows of ancient scrolls sat silently on polished wooden shelves.

Each one sealed with a talisman bearing the technique’s name, grade, and brief description.

There was a faint spiritual energy in the air, as if the very scrolls radiated pride from their long lineage.

John’s gaze wandered.

"Let’s hope the right one finds me," he muttered under his breath and began browsing.

"Red Heart Cultivation Technique, High-speed advancement, but requires high-tier herbs and elemental cores weekly."

Too resource-hungry.

"Poison Meridian Method, Increases absorption speed. Suitable for poison-based cultivation styles."

Not compatible with my goals.

"Blue Cauldron Main Technique, Extremely stable foundation, allows for dual-path evolution. Extremely slow cultivation. Resource-efficient."

He paused.

"Hmm... Good for the long term but not fast enough for what I need now."

He kept going. After several minutes, a thin blue scroll caught his attention. Its talisman glowed faintly.

’Ten Serpents Breathing Technique, Balanced speed. Unique trait: greatly increases regeneration and physical recovery rate with each breakthrough.’

John’s eyes lit up.

"That’s the one." He carefully pulled it from the shelf, tucked it into his inner robe, and made his way back down.

But he still had one token left, and he already knew where to use it.

On the first floor, he made a beeline toward a black-lacquered compartment tucked into a corner.

He had seen something here during his last visit.

There it was, wrapped in dark cloth and bound with a silver talisman.

"Death Clone Technique, Unstable and extremely difficult to train. Requires blood contract and partial soul imprint. In return, grants limited clones capable of full combat strength."

A feral smile curved across his lips.

"Perfect."

He grabbed the scroll and returned to the elder outside, who didn’t even glance at the scrolls before unsealing them.

The talismans dissolved in blue flames, signaling official ownership.

John bowed and quickly made his way back to his cottage, mind already racing with plans.

But the moment he reached his door, he stopped short.

A familiar figure stood leaning casually against the wooden frame of his cottage, arms crossed, a lopsided grin on his face.

Crimson Silentsword.

John’s eyes narrowed immediately, and his hand went instinctively to the hilt of his saber.

"What do you want?" John asked coldly. "Fighting inside sect grounds is prohibited, in case you forgot."

Crimson sighed and uncrossed his arms. "Relax, bro. It’s not that deep. I’m not here to fight."

John didn’t relax.

Crimson raised a hand. "I came to apologize."

John blinked. "Apologize?" His voice was full of disbelief. "From you?"

"I know. Crazy, right?" Crimson shrugged. "But I’ve been thinking. Maybe I was being a little... overzealous. I was angry and prideful. You said you melted my sword, I didn’t believe you. But now I realize, whatever the case... I was being a jerk."

"You think I’m stupid?" John’s voice was low, but the anger behind it was unmistakable. He raised his saber and pointed it squarely at Crimson Silentsword, the blade glinting under the evening sun. "A guy like you could never apologize. Just get the hell away from here."

Crimson, to John’s surprise, didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled calmly and took a slow step forward, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"You know fighting in the sect is prohibited," Crimson said, echoing John’s earlier warning with a smug grin. "In case you forgot."

John’s saber didn’t waver.

"I’m serious," Crimson added. "I really came here to apologize. Here, this is my apology token." With a flick of his wrist, he pulled something from his robe and tossed it through the air.

John caught the small, yellowish fruit without thinking.

The moment it touched his palm, his instincts as an alchemist kicked in.

He examined the smooth skin, the subtle spiritual fragrance.

His eyes widened slightly.

Nine Heavens Fruit.

Extremely rare. Incredibly potent.

It was the kind of thing you only saw in sect treasure halls or heard about in stories, known to improve the very foundation of one’s cultivation, especially in the early realms.

It could enhance body refinement, Qi flow, and even subtly improve one’s meridians.

John’s fingers curled tightly around the fruit before he quickly slipped it into his spatial bag.

Then he narrowed his eyes at Crimson.

"Don’t think this is enough to fool me," he said darkly. "It’s probably poisoned. Just go away."

Crimson raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely offended. "Poisoned? Really? If you thought it was poisoned, why the hell did you put it in your spatial bag?"

John didn’t miss a beat. "Cough... I can’t give that back to you," he said with a completely shameless expression. "You might try to poison other disciples. I’m doing everyone a favor."

Crimson stared at him, dumbfounded. "Bro..." he said slowly. "You seriously have no shame."

"I don’t take advice from attempted murderers," John snapped, keeping his saber steady.

Crimson exhaled sharply, frustration creasing his forehead. "Look. I’m really here to end this childish feud. Yeah, I tried to kill you—once, but let’s look at the bright side, okay?"

John’s eyes narrowed further.

"You survived," Crimson continued, his tone almost persuasive. "And you got my expensive sword, right? That thing cost me three years of savings. Plus, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! I basically helped your cultivation journey. You should be thanking me!"

John blinked. "...You want me to thank you for nearly killing me?"

Crimson gave him a look that said obviously.

"Stay right where you are," John warned, stepping back instinctively. His saber remained drawn. "Don’t come any closer. I’m not buying your act. I don’t trust you."

Crimson paused, lifting his hands again. "Okay, okay. Fine. Let’s calm down. Let’s just put the saber down, yeah? Let’s talk like..."

"...Gentlemen?" John interrupted. "Fuck off."

The words hit harder than expected.

Crimson’s jaw tightened.

A vein twitched at his temple.

He looked like he was on the verge of yelling, but instead, he closed his eyes, drew a long breath, and reached into his spatial bag again.

Flick.

Another yellow fruit arced through the air.

John’s hand shot up instinctively and caught it with the ease of someone born in a battlefield.

He glanced down. Another Nine Heavens Fruit.

Each one worth sixty mid-grade spirit stones, if not more.

Two fruits, one Hundered and twenty mid-grade spirit stones.

That was the price of a high-tier pill or a rare cultivation technique scroll.

John slid the second fruit into his spatial bag without hesitation, lips curling with sarcasm. "Ha! So now you think two poisoned fruits are better than one? Wow, what generosity. You should go die already."

Crimson staggered as if John had physically punched him in the chest.

"You..." he spluttered, his face twisting in disbelief. "You’re seriously calling them poisoned again?! I just gave you two fruits worth more than most disciples earn in a year!"

John didn’t even blink. "Your generosity just means you’re hiding something even worse."

Crimson looked like he might explode. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

He rubbed his forehead like a man being driven mad by an idiot.

Finally, he said, "You’re impossible."

"Thank you," John said with a bow. "Now if you’re done with your ridiculous assassination plot disguised as an apology, I have techniques to master."

"Unbelievable," Crimson muttered. "I should’ve just stabbed you again."

John grinned darkly. "Try it, and I’ll feed you one of those fruits myself, with the peel."

A silence hung between them.