Chapter 1988 The Hill
- These hardcases knew the score. They had to get their hands on a supreme artifact, no matter what. If they came all this way and walked off empty-handed, what was the point? Things were already tight. Qingyun Sect had to rise, and fast. But rising wasn’t something you did with a pep talk. No way. You had to be strong—monstrously strong. If you weren’t, you were a nobody. And no one wanted to be a nobody. That’d be a damn joke. So he had to be a beast, now or never. Only by becoming truly powerful could Qingyun Sect rise again. That’s why Marcus Crawley and the others came. They all understood: if they showed up, Qingyun Sect had a shot. If they stayed away, the sect was doomed. That would be one hell of a mess. No one wanted to see that happen. That’s how real hardcases think. If you can’t lead your people to a win, you’re a loser. And once you’re a loser, what’s the point? So he kept pushing, kept flaring his power. But they were here at the outer battlefield hunting for artifacts. This wasn’t something you could brute-force. If luck wasn’t on your side, you might never find a single treasure in your whole life. That’s just how it goes. In this world, plenty of things don’t bend to your will. True invincibles? Almost a myth. You could never predict what came next. So they could only pray luck would smile on them. If luck kept dodging them, they were screwed. Tragic, really. And no one could change that. But since Lone-Seeker-of-Death had spoken up, he clearly had a plan. For Marcus Crawley, that meant one thing—no tough choices. Just follow Lone-Seeker-of-Death’s lead. The guy always had a way. A man like him? He was the real deal, a genuine hardcase. Following him was the safest bet. “This outer battlefield? I created it back in the day. How could I not know it?” Lone-Seeker-of-Death said with a laugh. That floored Marcus Crawley and Qingyu. They hadn’t seen that coming at all. Marcus chose to believe him. He’d known Lone-Seeker-of-Death a long time. The man didn’t lie, and with his status, he wouldn’t brag about something like this. Qingyu, though, didn’t really buy it. She figured the outer battlefield had been around for who knew how many tens of thousands of years. How could it be his creation? If it was, that’d be insane. She just couldn’t accept it. Odds were, in her mind, it was bogus. Still, even doubting, she kept quiet. In times like these, that’s just how it was—you didn’t always get what you wanted. So she decided to stick with them and keep moving. As long as they secured a supreme artifact, they were golden. That was her whole plan. “Just come with me,” Lone-Seeker-of-Death said, smiling. The three of them kept heading north until they reached a hill. The hill looked odd—like a person lifting a sword. It had this commanding vibe. “Damn, what is that?” Marcus Crawley blurted. “There’s a sword buried here—the Nethergorge,” Lone-Seeker-of-Death said. He’d hidden it himself back then. Of course he knew there was an artifact here. Anyone else? No chance. That’s why, out here on the outer battlefield, you had to bank on luck. Sometimes you hit the jackpot and found a bunch of treasures. Other times, you went home with nothing but dust on your boots. That would suck. No one wanted that. So once people made it out here, they went crazy searching. But they all knew—there were no guarantees. Luck ruled. Suddenly, over a dozen cultivators sped toward them, cloaked in blue. Clearly not a sect from the southern continent. “Fellow travelers, seen anything good?” a woman asked. “Nope,” Marcus Crawley said, shaking his head. He knew better than to leak the secret of the Nethergorge. If he said a word, they’d pounce. On this battlefield, that kind of thing happened all the time. These hardcases came here to claim what they wanted. If they couldn’t bring an artifact back, they couldn’t face their people. Shame would eat them alive. So the moment a treasure showed up, they’d go for the throat. Kill for loot—that’s what they called it. Anywhere else, that was taboo—too brutal, a crime people would rally to punish. But this place was different. This was the outer battlefield. Here, killing for loot was part of the game. If someone killed you, it meant you weren’t strong enough. Of course, you could do the same to others. This whole world was a snake pit of feints and backstabs. If you could handle it, you were fine. For real experts, taking care of people like this was child’s play. “All right, we’ll try somewhere else,” the woman said, then led her people away. “Honestly, even if you’d said something, it wouldn’t matter. They’re not that strong,” Lone-Seeker-of-Death chuckled. He actually felt like having a scrap. A real expert had nothing to fear. If you called yourself a hardcase and got spooked now, you weren’t the real thing. Real hardcases don’t flinch. Everyone here knew that.