Chapter 68: End of clash
The fight lasted till evening, during which, Hundao couldn’t land a single blow on Alaric. In the clearing, Alaric now sat quietly on the transformed ground, his posture relaxed and contemplative. In stark contrast, Hundao lay sprawled on his back, chest heaving as he stared up at the emerging stars. Exhaustion pressed down on him, and as he caught his breath, he found himself deeply re-evaluating the course of his life and the choices that had led him here.
’I lost so badly,’ Hundao thought, frustration and awe mingling in his mind. ’Not only did I fail to land a single hit, but it was obvious he was holding back, holding back by an enormous margin. The gap between us is far wider than I imagined. I have a long, difficult journey ahead if I ever hope to catch up to him. What a monster of a fighter.’
He had only recently broken through to the middle stage of the flesh-refinement realm, a milestone that had left him brimming with newfound confidence, perhaps even more than he cared to admit. Alaric seems to have underestimated the impact the [Flesh-refinement compound] would cause. Its effects were profound and the talk of the city.
Yet, facing Alaric had shattered that fledgling pride without mercy. ’To crush my budding confidence so quickly, how cruel of you, boss,’ Hundao mused inwardly, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite his disappointment.
Alaric, meanwhile, clenched his fist tightly as he observed Hundao’s expression. ’Judging by the look on his face, he’s realized just how much I was holding back. If he can see through it, ’they’ surely will as well. Simply restraining my power isn’t enough to hide my true strength; I must become adept at deception, masking my abilities to avoid drawing unwanted attention.’
"You are very strong, boss." Hundao’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. "I doubt there are any in the city right now who can match you. You are very talented, are you sure you are not from those massive clans?"
"I am sure I am not from one of those clans." Alaric gave an indifferent reply.
"Heh, maybe you don’t even realize you’re from one of those clans. What if your father, your ’dear old daddy’, abandoned you because you were the child of a servant?" Hundao’s eyes widened theatrically, as if he’d just stumbled upon a grand revelation. "You could be just like those protagonists in the novels by M. K. Thorn, lost heirs, secret lineages, all that cliché stuff. It might sound far-fetched, but honestly, it happens so often in this world. Those noble clans really can’t seem to keep their affairs in order."
"I don’t know." Alaric’s lips twitched slightly, betraying a flicker of discomfort. How could he possibly know the truth of his origins? In this lifetime, he’d simply been found alone outside his village, with no clues to who had left him there. Someone must have brought him, but who, and why, remained a mystery. He eyed Hundao, sensing the shift in tone. "Are you just trying to get under my skin because you lost?"
"Heh, I am not so petty," Hundao said, mockingly.
Alaric, eager to steer the conversation away from uncomfortable territory, abruptly shifted the topic. "What do you know about the author M. K. Thorn? I’ve read several of their works, but I can’t seem to find any real information about them. It’s like they’re a ghost."
Ordinarily, discerning an author’s personality, values, or even hints of their background is possible by analyzing patterns, themes, and recurring motifs across their body of work. If you read enough of their stories, you can often piece together a rough character profile, noticing familiar quirks or philosophical threads. But M. K. Thorn defied this expectation completely. Their published works were so varied in style, tone, and subject matter that it almost seemed as though each book was written by a different person. There were no two alike.
Catching his breath, Hundao replied, "No one knows really. No one even knows whether they are male or female, but their works make it everywhere. I am very sure there is not one individual in the city who doesn’t know about them. Most of us are very grateful to them, too."
Alaric nodded in understanding. He knew that, in this world, many aspiring cultivators came from impoverished backgrounds, where even the most fundamental knowledge about cultivation was scarce and closely guarded by the elite. M. K. Thorn’s novels, however, were different.
They weren’t just entertaining stories, they were repositories of practical wisdom and secrets. For many, reading those books was like receiving preliminary training, almost as if the author intended to level the playing field for those without privileged access to proper instruction.
’Now that I think about it, maybe that’s the intention,’ Alaric mused. His knowledge of this world told him that the chasm between cultivators and ordinary people was vast, fostering deep-rooted resentment among mortals. Cultivators rarely involved themselves in the affairs of common folk, and when their battles spilled over, it was the innocents who suffered most.
In response, many parents taught their children to distrust or even despise cultivators, discouraging any desire to join their ranks. Yet, the stories written by M. K. Thorn sometimes acted as a bridge, making the world of cultivation feel accessible and less forbidding. At other times, however, those same tales could intensify the bitterness, reminding readers of the injustices and widening the divide.
’It doesn’t feel like propaganda. If anything, these stories present uncomfortable truths about society, maybe that’s what makes them so powerful,’ Alaric speculated. ’Whoever is behind this, they’re shrewd. Could it be Tian, orchestrating things from the shadows?’
"Is that the reason you seem to dislike those demi-humans?" Alaric continued, "I noticed earlier that you don’t seem to have any favorable impression on those beastpeople in the city."
M. K. Thorn’s novels frequently highlighted the ruthless and corrupt behavior of the great clans, painting them as antagonists in many tales. Since many demi-humans in the city were rumored to have ties to these influential families, it was easy for people to develop prejudices against them, prejudices shaped by stories and hearsay rather than personal experience.
While understandable, Alaric thought, such bias was ultimately disappointing and harmful, perpetuating cycles of mistrust.
"No, that’s not the reason," Hundao replied, shaking his head. "In fact, the author always includes a reminder at the beginning of their books: we shouldn’t judge everyone we meet based on what’s written in their stories. Just as there are wicked nobles, there are also noble ones; good people can be found in every group, no matter how bad their reputation."
"Those guys in the city truly disgust me. Since they started coming into the city, do you know there have been more than five hundred residents and two cultivators found dead? And worst of all, they seem to brag about it.
They do not care about decorum or property damage. One almost started a fight with Miss Eva, saying she should be his subordinate." As the words left his lips, Hundao felt a sudden chill ripple through the air. The peaceful night seemed to shift, charged with a vibrant, almost dangerous energy.
He raised his head and saw a smiling Alaric, his swirling purple eyes gazing into his very existence. "Interesting, and why was I not told about this?"
"Miss Eva dealt with it calmly; she ordered not to bother you with such trivialities." As he spoke, Hundao’s heart pounded; he could almost sense an impending disaster hanging over him, a heavy, ominous presence pressing down. But just as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished, leaving him shaken yet relieved.
"Next time such things happen again, make sure to let me know. I don’t like being blind to things happening around me." Alaric said calmly.
Hundao nodded vigorously, relief flooding his features. "Yes, boss. I understand. This won’t happen again, I promise you," he replied, his voice earnest and a little shaky from the lingering tension.
"Good. We should start heading back to the city. I have to continue refinement."
Now that he knows there are demi-humans connected to noble lineages around, he would need to profit from them. ’They must be very rich, right?’ He thought, greed flashing through his eyes, ’They must also hold a lot of rare resources, not found in this city, I kust take advantage of this situation.’
"Hey, boss, help me up," Hundao called out, his voice tinged with pain and fatigue. With the adrenaline from their fight now completely drained, every muscle in his body throbbed with heaviness, making his limbs feel like they were forged from solid steel. He struggled to even sit upright, glancing pleadingly at Alaric. But Alaric merely shot him a look, firm, unsympathetic, and unmistakable in its refusal, that said, without words, ’Absolutely not.’
He stood up, dusted his robe, and started working off.
"Boss, don’t leave me here!" Hundao pleaded, forcing himself upright with a herculean effort. Every joint protested, his body trembling as his depleted Origin energy sluggishly worked to mend torn muscle fibers and soothe his battered frame. He knew rest would be his salvation, but in that moment, each step felt monumental. Desperation crept into his voice as he tried to appeal to Alaric’s sense of responsibility. "Boss, if you leave me here and something happens to me, Miss Eva would never forgive you!"
The mention of Eva’s disapproval gave Alaric pause. He stopped in his tracks, exhaled slowly, then turned with deliberate slowness to face Hundao. For a heartbeat, he simply regarded his struggling companion, weighing annoyance against duty, before finally retracing his steps.
A flicker of triumph lit up Hundao’s face; he’d found the leverage he needed. But his victory was short-lived. In a swift, almost theatrical motion, Alaric scooped him up and hoisted him into a decidedly undignified princess carry. Embarrassment flooded Hundao’s features as his feet dangled helplessly above the ground. "Hey, hey, boss, I’m sorry! Put me down, I’ll crawl to the city if I have to!" he protested, squirming in Alaric’s grasp.
Alaric looked down at Hundao with a teasing glint in his eye, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I wouldn’t want Eva to admonish me for neglecting my loyal subordinate now, would I?" he said, his tone light and playful, clearly enjoying Hundao’s mortification.
"Boss, noooo, Just kill me already."
