“You may refer to this as a liquid substance, yet it is far from ordinary. You must recognize that this is my creation, not yours. However, I am prepared to lend it to you for a brief moment.”
Ai closed her eyes. She had absorbed the demon’s words but they fell short of what she truly sought. The demon had termed it an uncommon liquid substance, yet the details she craved remained shrouded in mystery. Rather than enlightening her, he had resorted to typical demonic behavior—veiling the truth and insisting on his possession of the substance.
It was a well-documented fact that demons embodied arrogance, greed, and an insatiable appetite for tangible treasures. They clung to ownership with a ferocious grip, even when it came to items already within their unyielding grasp.
With a shake of her head, Ai banished her frustration. “I grasp that it’s your substance, a liquid of unusual properties. What I must understand now is how it can be wielded against our foes.”
The demon nodded, a gesture of agreement spurred by Ai’s reluctant recognition of his claim. Her compliant tone had won his favor, for now.
The captain had once advised, “To quickly build rapport with your demon, flattery is essential. Demonstrate your recognition of its power. However, be forewarned that such adulation may backfire in the long term. The more you inflate the demon’s ego, the more it will swell with pride. Eventually, it may come to view itself not as a partner, but as the dominant force in your alliance.”
Ai recognized the delicate game she played and noted the potential for future correction when it would be just her and the demon. At present, her immediate concern was to capitalize on the chance for triumph that might slip away in the next breath, possibly thrusting her back into the throes of battle. Thus, she focused on the immediate tactical advantage.
“The method is simple,” whispered the demon, his voice a serpentine thread in her consciousness. “Cast the substance upon your adversaries. Do not worry about precise aim; let it merely graze their skin. The effects will become apparent swiftly. And rest assured, by my power, the substance will spare you from harm. But remember, this is my substance—undeniably mine.”
Ai’s patience waned. How often would the demon restate his claim? Was he incapable of uttering a single sentence without reinforcing his ownership?
As these thoughts swirled, Ai’s surroundings began to blur, the world of shadow and light rapidly fading from view.
Upon reopening her eyes, Ai was thrust back into the cacophony of battle. The sounds of clashing steel and the final cries of fallen warriors filled her senses, a grim reminder of the reality from which she had momentarily escaped.
Amidst the chaos of battle, the man opposing Ai experienced a moment of hesitation. Contrary to expectation, he lifted his foot, seemingly ready to advance towards her. However, upon encountering Ai’s gaze, he withdrew, seemingly unable to commit to his intended action. Ai, who was on the brink of self-harm, paused, scrutinizing the man’s sudden reluctance. In a burst of determination, the man then leaped towards her, aiming to close the gap between them in an attempt to disarm her. His movements were born of a dark intent – to strike her face, hoping to knock her to the ground. His ultimate goal was to strip her of her garments, to leave her bare and humiliated on the battlefield. This act of degradation was his chosen punishment for Ai, a reflection of his fury and his desire to tarnish her dignity in retaliation for the fear she had instilled in him. He was well aware that such an act could devalue her in the eyes of those who trafficked in human lives, yet the depth of his animosity overrode any such considerations.
Meanwhile, the three remaining adversaries, apparently as commanding as their leader, also sprang into action. Their goal was to prevent Ai from inflicting any harm upon herself, and their glee was unmistakable. They recognized her as one of the leaders of the Battalion from the town of Tiriba; they had seen her dispensing herbal remedies and orders with authority.
At that critical moment, a roar shattered the tension. A young man, barely into his twenties, charged from behind them, his voice thundering, “Leader, flee! I’ll hold them off!” As he made his entrance, he collided with the man who had tried to seize the knife from Ai’s grasp.
Ai’s senses were swiftly returning, and the situation unfolded within the span of a second after her awareness snapped back to the present chaos of the battlefield. The young man was from the legion she oversees, yet she couldn’t fathom how he had managed to slip away from his unit to come to her aid.
A wave of relief washed over Ai, subtle yet significant, at the sight of the young man risking his life for her. She pondered the nature of this bond – could this indeed be what family felt like? They were not related by blood, yet they shared an unwavering bond of solidarity. They had trained side by side, their strengths amplified by the same energy-boosting concoctions. Determined, Ai resolved that she would not allow him to make a needless sacrifice, especially since she was capable of defending herself and overcoming her adversaries.
Before any of her opponents could reach her, Ai summoned a mysterious substance into her hand. The sight of it brought everyone, foes and friends alike, to a standstill.
The young man, now with his eyes shut, was fixated on a single thought: Skill... How could his leader, Ai, wield such a skill? Though he was in charge of the male members of the legion and served as her right hand, it was Ai who had selected him for this position. In her absence, he was the one entrusted with leading the legion. Despite Armad’s failure to officially name a sole assistant, Ai’s choice was clear, and her trust in him was evident.
Although they didn’t know each other before becoming two of the 500 members of the non-cultivators legion, they had come to know each other quite well, especially in recent days, and he had been almost certain that Ai had not yet awakened her cultivation abilities. The captain who was responsible for their training had never made such a proclamation outright, but through subtle insinuations and his manner of instruction, it was implied that the assistant — due to his sheer determination and notable physical strength — would likely be the first to experience an awakening, even before the leader of the legion. Perhaps this assumption was also influenced by the prevailing norms of the era, which often saw males as inherently stronger than females. In the world of cultivators, such biases seemed to hold sway, with men typically perceived as more staunch and physically dominant.
However, the scene unfolding before him shattered all preconceived notions. Ai had not only awakened her cultivation, but she had also managed to enslave her demon, a feat that explained her sudden proficiency with such potent skills. While this development begged for contemplation, another point of intrigue demanded his immediate attention: the enigmatic substance Ai wielded with deadly precision. What was this black, coal-like material? The known elements included water and fire, yet this substance resembled neither. The intense heat it exuded threatened to ignite his skin and garments merely by proximity. Caught off guard, he had instinctively jumped to the side to allow Ai an unobstructed path.
Ai’s response to the unfolding chaos was marked by an unwavering determination. The opponents, including their leader who had previously dismissed any possibility of her having cultivation abilities, were caught by surprise. In the few seconds since she had thwarted an attempt on her own life, he sensed a formidable cultivation presence within her — one that vastly exceeded his own. To him, this was not merely surprising; it was nothing short of mystical.
As the leader stood there, mouth agape in disbelief, Ai seized the opportunity. With swift movement, she bridged the gap that separated them. She raised her hand and delivered a blow to his chest with the dark substance. Before a scream could escape his lips, a cavernous hole materialized in his chest. Through this macabre window, Ai could see the backdrop behind him. Even as he succumbed, the terror etched in his eyes remained, a silent testament to his shock and fear.
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Ai did not pause to reflect on this victory. She immediately targeted another adversary, this time aiming for his face. Upon impact, his head was obliterated, as if erased from existence, and his body trembled before dropping lifelessly to the ground.
Witnessing the swift demise of their comrades, the remaining two opponents were spurred into action, their combined scream piercing the air as they charged at Ai with vengeful fury.
Her assistant, who had been intently watching from a short distance away, quickly grasped the gravity of the situation. A myriad of questions about Ai’s newfound powers surged in his mind, but he understood that this was not the moment for interrogation. There was an opportunity before them, a chance to turn the tide, and it was not to be wasted. With decisive action, he confronted one of the assailants head-on, strategically dividing their foes and allowing Ai to handle the other attackers with her mysterious and formidable power.
Ai contemplated using the mystical substance to arrest the advance of a sword’s deadly arc. Yet doubt gnawed at her; could a liquid truly impede the relentless march of metal, particularly that which had been crafted into the form of a sword? Such doubts, however, were quickly shelved in the face of necessity. With a swift motion, she drew forth a knife and, with a deft hand, parried the incoming sword. What caught her by surprise was the absence of heft in the sword she countered. This was a stark contrast to her previous encounters; despite fortifying herself with energy-boosting herbs, using her knife to block a cultivator’s sword always resulted in forceful feedback, leaving her hands numb and devoid of sensation for a brief time. Yet, in this instance, it was the cultivator who was repelled, stumbling back three full steps. His cultivation experience was limited to a mere 70 years, while Ai’s was a profound 101 years.
Ai harbored no intention of allowing her adversary to collect his wits, let alone flee from the confrontation. In a flash, she lunged, striking his chest with the substance-laden hand. The result was immediate and fatal – like his leader before him, he died with a hollow chasm where his chest once was, a clean void where his organs should have been, as if a window to his soul had been crudely carved out.
The battle was far from over. Ai’s assistant found himself embroiled in a skirmish with the remaining foe. The assistant, powered by the same herbs that Ai had taken, managed to stave off the enemy’s onslaught, but not without cost. Each block sent a shiver through his frame, and he was propelled backward with each clash.
During this fray, Ai’s presence remained undetected as she approached the enemy locked in combat with her assistant. Opting for simplicity over the use of her potent substance, she utilized her knife to bring an abrupt end to the enemy’s life, thrusting it into his heart from behind. Blood spewed forth, painting her assistant in a grim tableau as the enemy slumped to his knees and then to the ground.
Their foes dispatched, and Ai and her assistant shared a knowing look. He was on the cusp of inquiring about the secret to her sudden increase in cultivation power, but the moment was shattered by the roar of about ten new adversaries. They launched themselves at Ai and her assistant with fury, their weapons poised to deliver death. The pair found themselves encircled by this new threat.
With a weighty sigh, Ai reached into her magical bag and produced ten vials of energy-boosting herbs, which she tossed to her assistant. “Drink them all,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for protest. Without waiting for his acknowledgment, she drew her twin knives and set her stance, ready to meet the onslaught head-on.
Ai had kept a close tally on the consequences of using the enigmatic substance. Each application seemed to erode seven years of her hard-earned cultivation, and having resorted to it three times, she ruefully acknowledged the loss of 21 cultivation years.
It was a well-known axiom among cultivators that the more one’s cultivation reserves were depleted, the more protracted the period of recuperation to reclaim one’s cultivation years. However, Ai’s current adversaries were of lesser cultivation stature, and she held an advantage that allowed her to eliminate them efficiently with her knives alone. She made an internal vow to reserve the use of her powerful substance for a foe who would not fall to mere steel. Ai harbored the hope that by the time such a challenge arose, the 21 years of cultivation she had expended would have been reclaimed. This principle was no secret even to those outside the cultivator circles; the quality and depth of one’s cultivation were critical factors in determining the speed of recovery. With that knowledge at the forefront of her mind, Ai knew that even before the captains under the leadership of Armand had commenced training them.
Ai leaped into the thick of the battle, engaging ten foes with ferocity. The exhaustion that had once weighed her down dissipated, leaving in its wake a surge of invigorating strength and power. She felt as if the battle had only just commenced. With precise and swift strikes, she sent her enemies reeling; three of them collapsed in mere moments under her relentless assault. As they attempted to recover, she capitalized on the opening, her blade tracing a deadly arc across one enemy’s throat. The force was not quite enough to completely sever the head, but it cut deeply, more than halfway through the neck and slicing the windpipe. The fallen foe had no opportunity to emit even a gasp of horror; the very avenue his life’s breath might have escaped was cruelly severed. Just like that, he perished, his final words unspoken.
This is the harsh reality of combat—a moment as abrupt as if you were to inform someone of an assassin’s presence. In the chaos of battle, there are no allies or adversaries, only survival. Anyone who sets foot on the battlefield has essentially signed their death warrant.
In Ai’s realm, even the slightest fit of rage could mean the difference between life and death, a concept utterly foreign to these adversaries. How many of her comrades had fallen to their blades?
Since the beginning of her confrontations, particularly with the wild tribes, she had come to understand the brutal law of battle: kill or be killed. This is the unyielding principle that governs the world of cultivation. She remembered when Armad ascended to the throne of Tiriba, striving to avoid bloodshed. Despite his noble intentions, how many lives were lost because of it?
As Ai mulled over these thoughts, her blade danced once more, severing an enemy’s hand. Seeing their attacks were futile, the remaining adversaries began to retreat.
In the background, her assistant standing sentinel, was immersed in his contemplations. King Armad had expressly cautioned them against overindulging in the potent herbal remedies—no more than one bottle unless the injuries were severe, and never more than three at any one time.
Although he lacks knowledge of Ai, since Armad gathered 500 people and entrusted their leadership to Ai, he and Ai have known each other. Over time, they had both proven themselves to be the elite among these warriors, but it was Ai whose valor shone brightest. The seasoned cultivators among Armad’s battalion were well-acquainted with Ai’s reputation, yet few knew him—his name was Sahau. This lack of recognition didn’t trouble him; from their first encounter, he had felt an inexplicable adoration with her. Although she was likely his senior by a couple of years—if he was 21, then she might be around 23—it did not diminish his respect or the connection he felt.
Sahau trusted that Ai would not put him in harm’s way, especially given the king’s stern warnings. If she had any inkling that the herbs were harmful, she wouldn’t have provided them to him. He exhaled a deep sigh. He was painfully aware of the dire circumstances of their current engagement and the rapidly dwindling prospects of victory. It seemed a common human inclination on the battlefield to commit acts that could potentially harm oneself, all for the slim hope of success. Without the willingness to take risks, triumph seemed to hold no value. Ai had already gambled with her life. Was he ready to gamble with his? He shook his head, troubled by the absence of a clear answer. He wondered, might there be some hidden potency or magic in the herbs if one dared to consume them in greater quantities?
As this thought struck him, he found himself ruminating on the prowess Ai displayed before his very eyes. A question nagged at him: How had she managed to awaken her cultivation to such a profound level that she was not only awakened but adept enough to employ skills? The captain had briefed them on specialized seals that Armad’s captains were required to use to initiate their cultivation journey. Yet, until this moment, their training had been deemed insufficient to even attempt such feats.
This raised an unsettling question within him: When had Ai accomplished the awakening of her cultivation without him knowing? He had been under the firm belief that, up until the skirmish had erupted, her cultivation lay dormant. His focus now shifted to the array of bottles filled with herbs laid out before him, as he considered his next course of action.
Resolute in his decision to not let any more precious moments slip by, he reached for two of the ten bottles and consumed their contents without hesitation. No sooner had he done so than he felt a piercing pain radiate through his chest. He paused, giving himself a minute in the hope that the pain would abate. Yet, driven by a mix of desperation and determination, he grasped another bottle and downed it. A minute passed — a brief interlude of hope before he consumed yet another, and then, with reckless abandon, he took down five bottles in quick succession.
The pain that had started as a mere inconvenience now roared within him, a severe torment that rendered him incapable of bearing it any longer. His breath became labored as he gasped for air, his body’s reaction to the overwhelming pain that seemed to peel layers off his very chest. In a matter of moments, his strength failed him, and he found himself collapsing to his knees, a man subdued not by an external foe but by the agonizing internal battle that raged within him.