CHAPTER 77: AFTERMATH

With the last enemy fallen, the camp settled into an uneasy stillness. Disciples of various sects sank to the ground, pulling out recovery pills, tending to wounds, and steadying their breathing. Bottles clinked faintly, soft glows of medicinal auras rising here and there as the cultivators hastened their recovery.

Tian Lei alone stood apart. His chest rose and fell steadily, no pill bottle in sight, no flask of medicine at his side. His robes were torn in several places, faint cuts marking his skin, yet none severe enough to force him down. He wiped his blade clean on a fallen cloak, his expression calm, unreadable.

hmm, even with my just 1/5th of the strength I killed many peak mortal ranks easily... he thought. Merely dipping into the shallow end of my Heaven-rank arts, nothing more. I didn’t even need to touch the techniques that are my main battle techniques.

He exhaled softly, almost like a sigh, then sheathed his sword. His muscles still thrummed faintly from the exertion, but his mind was sharper than ever. He glanced at the others—pill glows warming their meridians, breaths gradually steadying, some even smiling at surviving the ordeal.

He, however, had not consumed a single pellet. He didn’t need to. His foundation remained unshaken.

A faint pain tugged at his side where a shallow slash marked his skin. He pressed a hand there briefly, then dismissed it with a low scoff. Just scratches. Nothing worth remembering.

Still, his gaze flicked briefly toward Huo, who sat a short distance away, her twin blades crossed beside her as she leaned back against a shattered log. Her lips were pale, her wound deeper than she would admit, yet her eyes still burned with defiance even as she forced herself to swallow another pill.

Soon, as all rested the Caravan leader called everyone.

The caravan leader raised his voice above the weary murmurs, his tone full of forced cheer.

"Everyone—in this battle, not a single soul was lost! Thanks to the honored sect disciples who stood with us!"

A wave of tired applause followed, faint but sincere. Even with blood still on the ground, relief softened the hard lines of the merchants’ faces. In this world, wounds were little more than inconveniences if one had pills to burn. And since no coffins needed carving, it was a victory worth savoring.

"Rest a while," the leader continued, his sleeves flaring as he gestured to the camp. "Once your strength returns, we will move. The road is still long, but this day we travel under Heaven’s blessing."

The disciples nodded faintly. Some sat cross-legged, cycling their qi with medicinal aid. Others leaned against wagons or rocks, eyes half-shut, conserving strength. A few ventured off to burn the bandit corpses, for leaving them was an invitation for carrion beasts.

The caravan’s merchants busied themselves repairing torn harnesses, clearing wreckage, and rebalancing goods in the wagons. Though their hands worked fast, their eyes often strayed toward the young cultivators who had shielded them.

At last, the leader returned with a small lacquered chest. He set it down before the gathered disciples, bowing respectfully.

"As per common way of destributing, each of you may claim ten percent of the spoils. Divide them as you see fit."

The chest opened with a soft click. Inside were weapons stripped from fallen bandits, folded silks and crude treasures, even a few spirit herbs in jade containers. The faint scent of medicine mixed with the iron tang of blood still clinging to steel.

Some disciples stepped forward quickly, eager eyes glittering as they picked through blades, trinkets, or storage pouches.

Tian Lei remained still for a long moment, his gaze cold, detached. Only when most had taken their share did he approach. His hand passed over spirit herbs and jade, over fine fabrics and blades.

At last, he reached for a bow—its frame polished dark wood, its string faintly thrumming with spiritual energy. A Spirit-rank weapon, though a low-grade one. He held it in his hand, turning it slightly, the weight settling against his palm.

Not bad. My path hasn’t yet demanded archery, but perhaps I should begin weaving it into my training... he mused. His sword was sharp, his fists sharper, yet versatility was a weapon of its own.

It was not a perfect fit, not something forged for him. But it was the only thing usable or worthwhile in the bandits’ chest.

Well, what can you expect from petty bandits anyway, he mused.

With little ceremony, Tian Lei slung the bow across his back. His expression remained unchanged as he stepped away. Around him, the other disciples eagerly chose their own spoils. Unlike him, they were neither sect master’s disciples nor possessed with heaven-defying cheats. For them, even spirit-rank weapons were a windfall, their faces alight with satisfaction as they clutched their new blades and spears.

Tian Lei said nothing. Instead, he decided to test the bow while the others rested. Moving to the side of the clearing, he drew it out and studied the grain of its wood. His fingers curled along the worn grip, then slowly, he pulled at the bowstring.

Qi surged from his dantian, flowing smoothly down his arm and condensing at the tip of his fingers. With each inch the string was drawn back, the energy gathered, shaping into a faint arrow of shimmering light. The bow thrummed in his hands, its spirit waking from slumber at last.

The arrow let out a low hum, vibrating with restrained power. He narrowed his eyes slightly, testing the balance, testing the flow.

"Not bad," he murmured under his breath.

Then, with a sharp release, the arrow shot forth. A streak of condensed qi tore through the air, splitting a tree trunk cleanly in half with a resonant crack. Splinters rained across the forest floor as the other disciples turned to stare.

Some looked surprised, but others, seeing it was only Tian Lei from their own group, ignored him.

Tian Lei simply lowered the bow, his expression calm, as though he had done nothing worth noting.

The journey afterward was uneventful. Aside from a few beast attacks that were swiftly dealt with, nothing major happened. By the time the group finally reached Mystic Sea City, their caravan had settled into a steady rhythm. The Caravan leader stamped their mission papers, their duty formally concluded.

Afterward, each of them was granted leave to remain in the city for a few days. The caravan leader had hinted that a major auction would soon be taking place, drawing cultivators and merchants from across the region.

Naturally, Tian Lei also chose to stay.

The sprawling city lay before him, its walls glistening faintly with protective arrays. Beyond the gates, the streets bustled with vendors, spirit beasts in harness, and wandering cultivators carrying swords across their backs. The air was thick with the scent of sea salt, incense, and spirit herbs—Mystic Sea City lived up to its name, pulsing with a vibrant, almost dangerous energy.

Once the sect had settled its affairs, the disciples dispersed into the city. Some rushed to taverns, others to shops or markets, each seeking their own form of respite.

Tian Lei, as always, remained quiet. He found a modest inn near the city’s central district, paid for a simple room, and took the key without unnecessary words. The innkeeper gave him a cursory glance—just another young cultivator among thousands passing through for the coming event.

Inside, the room was bare but sufficient: a wooden bed, a small desk, and a single window overlooking the bustling street. He placed the bow against the wall, then sat cross-legged atop the bed.

As he had learned after asking around, the grand auction was still a week away. Until then, he decided not to waste time.

Closing his eyes, Tian Lei sank into meditation. Qi began circulating through his meridians, steady and refined, a soft hum filling the room as his cultivation base stabilized further. Each breath drew in faint threads of energy from the world outside—the city might be noisy, but its ambient spiritual density was higher than most rural regions.

Seven days was plenty of time. He don’t intend to waste when he can strength himself in that time.

Days slipped by like sand through a clenched fist.

Each morning, the city outside roared with traffic—traders setting up stalls, guards marching, the hum of countless cultivators drawn by the promise of treasures. But in his inn room, Tian Lei sat unmoving, unmoved.

Qi coursed endlessly through his meridians, refined and tempered under his careful control. The bow leaned quietly against the wall, the sword within his storage untouched; his focus was singular.

On the seventh night, the candle in his room had long since burned to nothing. The silence deepened.

Then—his body shuddered. A powerful surge welled within, pressing against invisible walls. His dantian swirled like a vast whirlpool, compressing and solidifying into something denser, sharper.

At last, his eyes opened.

A faint light, like starlight condensed, flickered across his gaze. His aura burst outward for a heartbeat, shaking the air before it swiftly receded under his restraint.

He had reached the peak of the Qi Core Creation Realm.

The timing could not have been more precise. The auction was upon them.