An unreachable pinnacle of vitality?

Well, I’m speechless.

A bloodline power hidden within me?

I wouldn’t know about that.

Han glanced at his master, Bai Tian, and shrugged internally. Whatever Bai Tian decided to believe, Han wasn’t about to argue.

“Bloodline power?” Han repeated aloud, feigning confusion.

Bai Tian nodded thoughtfully. “Descendants of legendary figures sometimes inherit traces of their ancestors’ power. If awakened, it can become a formidable strength.”

“However, the further removed one is from the source, the weaker the bloodline becomes—unless a rare reversion occurs.”

“I’m merely speculating in your case,” Bai Tian added. “It’s not a certainty.”

Han nodded in apparent ignorance while suppressing a sigh of relief. It seemed his equipment remained undetectable—or perhaps only cultivators, not martial artists, could sense it.

As the conversation faded, Han recalled the poor, battered woman from earlier. Without hesitation, he stepped over the collapsed wall and approached her lifeless body.

“She’s already gone,” Bai Tian said quietly, halting Han in his tracks.

Han turned to the woman’s corpse, a wave of sorrow washing over him.

“Not just her,” Bai Tian continued. “Aside from the martial artists, everyone else in Huang Manor is dead.”

Han’s fists clenched. “Why? What happened?”

“It’s a type of sorcery,” Bai Tian explained. “Huang Shiren extracted a fragment of their souls. Once he died, their lives were forfeit as well.”

Rage surged through Han’s chest. The thought of killing Huang Shiren again suddenly felt all too appealing.

“Huang Manor’s inhabitants were mostly complicit in his evil deeds,” Bai Tian said, placing a firm hand on Han’s shoulder. “They deserved their fate. As for the innocents... we couldn’t save them.”

“For them, death might have been a release. Go see for yourself. Walk to the right—you’ll understand.”

Han nodded slowly, lifting the lifeless woman and placing her body gently against the wall. Bai Tian remained behind as Han ventured further into the ruins.

The aftermath was horrifying. Corpses littered the ground, and a few martial artists—barely alive—lay restrained by Bai Tian’s earlier efforts.

Han ignored them, his feet carrying him down a path to the right. At the end, he found a series of open doors and a building that resembled a crude stable.

He entered the rooms first. Inside, young women’s bodies lay scattered. Their pale skin bore bruises, and shackles marked their wrists and ankles.

One room after another revealed the same haunting scenes. Han’s expression remained stoic, but his clenched jaw betrayed the storm brewing within him.

Finally, he reached the stable.

He hesitated at the entrance, then stepped inside.

“Huang Shiren, you sick bastard…”

The stench was overwhelming. The air was thick with the smell of filth and decay. The bodies here were worse—both men and women, their naked forms mutilated and scarred. Severed limbs, missing fingers, disfigured torsos—each corpse bore evidence of merciless torture.

The stable itself was a cesspit of human suffering. Feces stained the corners, and flies buzzed over the remains.

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This wasn’t just a massacre. This was hell on earth.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Han fled the stable, his fists trembling with uncontainable fury. Veins bulged on his hands and forehead as he stormed back to the restrained martial artists.

The rage finally erupted.

Han kicked one man to the ground and unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks.

“You call yourselves human?” Han roared, his voice breaking. “How could you do something so vile? You deserve a thousand deaths!”

“You’re monsters! All of you! You’re worse than animals! You should burn in hell!”

His vision blurred with rage as he pummeled the men until they were barely conscious.

Gasping for breath, Han staggered backward, his body trembling with adrenaline.

“Master,” he muttered hoarsely. “This is Black Cloud Town—a civilized place with martial artists and even an official government. How could something like this happen right under their noses?”

“How can such horrors exist in a land ruled by the Great Qi laws?”

Han’s voice cracked as he questioned the world around him, his gaze vacant.

Bai Tian looked at his distraught disciple and spoke softly: “This is the nature of the world we live in.”

The nature of this world…

The words echoed in Han’s mind, leaving him dazed. His strength seemed to drain away, replaced by a suffocating weight.

His thoughts drifted to his past life—a world far more advanced and civilized than this one, at least for the lower and middle classes.

Yet even in that world, hellscapes like this weren’t unheard of.

In chaotic regions, in so-called civilized nations, atrocities still occurred. Hidden corners of cities harbored unspeakable acts.

Now, in this primitive and brutal world, where extraordinary power existed alongside lawlessness, such horrors would only multiply.

In a place like this, life without power was worthless—no better than a blade of grass trampled underfoot.

For the first time, Han truly understood: to survive, one had to seize power. Only then could one truly live.

Governments exist, and there are many virtuous martial artists. Yet, those who commit heinous crimes are often individuals wielding extraordinary power.

Han wasn’t aiming to be a saint, but he was a person—a person with a conscience, a moral compass, and the values shaped by the nation he had once called home in his previous life.

Witnessing such atrocities right before his eyes was unbearable. As someone who had only recently crossed over into this world, his worldview was still deeply rooted in his former life.

Back then, even reading about such horrors in the news had filled him with indignation. Now, standing face-to-face with this “hell,” Han felt a profound shock to his core.

This wasn’t an abstract issue to be debated online; it was staring into the abyss of human depravity.

Anyone with even a shred of humanity would find it impossible to stay calm or indifferent.

Han’s thoughts turned to the female ghost he had slain earlier. She had likely been one of the countless victims confined to those dreadful rooms.

“This damn world… what a twisted, rotten place!”

He cursed under his breath, fury simmering in his voice.

Bai Tian broke the silence. “The aftermath of Huang Manor’s crimes will be handled by the authorities. I’ll personally liaise with them.”

Given Bai Tian’s status, his involvement would undoubtedly draw significant attention to the matter.

“Alright then, I’ll leave it to you. Thank you, Master,” Han said, exhaustion weighing heavily in his tone.

“That flag,” Bai Tian pointed to the tattered artifact on the ground, “is a damaged magical instrument. Leave it behind; I’ll turn it over to the officials.”

“Don’t worry,” he added. “The reward they’ll offer will far exceed its current worth.”

It was a sound deal—trading the broken artifact for greater benefits.

Han hesitated, then picked up the flag. “I’d rather destroy it. Who knows what might happen if someone misuses it in the future?”

While Han trusted the authorities, he wasn’t naive. Who could guarantee that no one within their ranks would covet its power?

Bai Tian took the flag from Han’s hands, his expression contemplative. After a moment, he said, “This artifact is already severely damaged. Huang Shiren’s intensive rituals further corrupted it, and his death has rendered it nearly useless.”

“Destroying the two remaining ghost slaves tied to it will effectively nullify its power. Unless someone reforges it—an expensive and complicated process—it’s as good as scrap.”

“Anyone capable of crafting a new artifact wouldn’t bother with this junk,” Bai Tian concluded.

Relieved, Han nodded. Knowing it was essentially a worthless husk, he felt at ease handing it over to the authorities.

Scanning the room, Han’s mind sparked with a thought.

“Master, with Huang Shiren dead, is it possible for his soul to linger?”

Bai Tian shook his head. “Until the moment of his death, he hadn’t reached the stage where his soul could detach from his body. He was merely at the Visualization Realm.”

“At this level, a cultivator’s soul can’t survive without the body. Once the body dies, the soul enters the cycle of reincarnation.”

“Reincarnation, huh?” Han mused. “Do you think it’s real?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Bai Tian replied. “But such tales have existed for centuries.”

Han’s lips curled into a cold sneer. “Even if reincarnation is real, scum like him would be reborn as nothing more than a beast in their next life.”

Bai Tian chuckled softly, then said, “I’ll release the ghost slaves tied to this artifact. Meanwhile, you should take a look around.”

“If you find anything interesting, it’s yours to keep.”

Han’s eyes lit up with understanding. His master was subtly granting him permission to claim the spoils of victory.

Looting the enemy after a hard-fought battle—how could he refuse?

Huang Shiren’s belongings undoubtedly held treasures that would catch Han’s eye.