The captain, his focus unwavering, engaged his foe with an intense barrage of strikes and thrusts. His primary goal was not merely to defeat his opponent but to safeguard the secrecy of the herbs’ third potential from becoming public knowledge.
Despite this pressing concern, the captain’s inner world was awash with elation and eager anticipation. He was no stranger to this world; he had not been born yesterday, nor was he an inexperienced cultivator fresh to the path. His wisdom and guile were the products of many years, and it was precisely these qualities that had elevated him to the esteemed rank of a deva. Without such attributes, he would have neither achieved his current status nor would he stand a chance to progress further.
The current crisis illuminated a fundamental truth for him: within every risk lies a hidden seed of opportunity. This is the very fabric of existence — the risks we take are directly proportional to the benefits we reap, should our gambles bear fruit.
If it becomes known that the herbs possess the ability to awaken the core, their value and the danger associated with them would skyrocket. On one hand, they would become a highly coveted commodity, a beacon for trouble. On the other hand, they could be transformed into a lethal tool, one that could aid them in vanquishing Prince Ikenga and their other adversaries. Nonetheless, whether they have the herbs in their possession or not, the relentless pursuit of the King’s legion and Prince Ikenga’s forces would not cease. The specter of death is singular, yet the list of those who wish them dead may grow more extensive.
Previously, they faced a solitary enemy; now, they find themselves opposed by two. It’s undeniable that the stakes have been raised, and the dangers they face amplified. Yet, when viewed from an alternative perspective, the situation could be interpreted as unchanged at its core. Whether they conceal their weapons out of fear of one enemy or two is irrelevant — each scenario boils down to the same binary outcome: life or death. In the past, their battles against their enemies held no promise of victory; they fought with no hope for triumph. But with the herbs as their weapon, the possibility of victory is not just a dream; it’s a tangible reality.
What, then, would be the outcome if they were to traverse their town, awakening the latent cultivation abilities of each resident, and replicate this awakening in every town they will conquer? Undoubtedly, they would ignite the cultivation potential of thousands, accomplishing what was previously beyond reach.
A cap on the number of cultivation seals purchasable by any town has always been a stifling limitation. Wealth has its bounds; even the richest could not surpass the quotas imposed by the powerful Wilberforce tribe and other dominant tribes, which deliberately curtailed the power of smaller tribes.
No matter one’s strength, the quantity of seals acquired is a limiting factor in how many cultivators one can awaken each month. But consider a scenario where the prince and his town are not restricted by such limitations. They would be free to use their stockpile of herbs to awaken endless numbers of cultivators. To any observer, sane or otherwise, it is evident that this scenario presents an unparalleled opportunity. Victory over their foes would grant them dominion and the ability to impose their will upon the world without restraint.
The conflict continues unabated across diverse locales on the battlefield. Atop the town’s fortifications, a deadly struggle persists. The town’s defenders, though showing no signs of fatigue, are nonetheless being slowly eroded in number. This attrition is not due to a lack of prowess but rather because they are vastly outnumbered by their adversaries. In the cultivation world, an axiom holds: a man commanding a multitude often prevails over one with superior strength. This holds unless the power of the fewer is so overwhelming that it tips the scales decisively in their favor. However, when combatants are evenly matched, numerical superiority typically dictates the victor.
As the enemy relentlessly ascends the tower, the only echoes along the town’s ramparts are the anguished cries of combatants. The soldiers’ eyes have turned a bloodshot red, and a thick haze of dust shrouds the scene. The battlements are marred with cracks and holes—some large enough to swallow warriors whole. The melee has grown so intense that telling allies from enemies is a near-impossible task amidst the terror of the battlefield. Everywhere, the sounds of clashing metal and the desperate grunts of fighting men and women fill the air.
In this chaos, Armad and Nusi stand united, prepared to confront their formidable adversaries: Nura Bayajidda and another deva who has ascended to the second stage of deva. The air is heavy with anticipation as Nura Bayajidda, accompanied by the second-stage deva, commences their approach toward Armad.
The Sword of Armad, bathed in a lustrous yellow hue and adorned with three stars, began to emanate a soft, otherworldly glow. In that moment of anticipation, a new star emerged on the blade, signaling the awakening of a profound power. Without uttering a cry or releasing a roar, Armad raised his weapon with a quiet resolve. He drew upon the latent strength of his world, a mystical force that amplified his offensive capabilities by an impressive 15 percent. With a graceful ascent, he took to the skies, targeting his adversary—a formidable second-stage deva—while his focus shifted from Nura Bayajidda. It was clear that Nusi was gearing up for a confrontation with him.
Armad’s Miyura had been activated as he set to launch his attacks. The Miyura has increased his cultivation years from a notable 10,000 years to an astounding 18,000 years—a leap that few could match. When combined with the additional support of his extraordinary world powers, the potency of his sword’s assault now encompassed the equivalent of 20,700 years of cultivation. Moreover, the sword in Armad’s grasp was not merely a tool of war; it was an embodiment of sheer mass and gravity. The stars that once graced the blade now disengaged and orbited around him, forming a protective cycle in the sky. From this stellar formation, a crushing heaviness descended, intent on subduing Armad’s opponent with the weight of celestial bodies.
The adversary, however, was no ordinary combatant. As a second-stage deva cultivator, he had weathered countless storms and endured through epochs, amassing more than 30,000 years of cultivation. Despite the gravitational force pressing against him, he continued his advance with relentless determination, clashing his sword against Armad’s enchanted steel.
But the battle was far from over, and Armad was not without further stratagems. The stark difference in cultivation—over 10,000 years—did place him at a disadvantage in terms of raw physical prowess. Yet, in the split second before their blades met, Armad invoked another facet of his world’s abilities. This new skill ingeniously sapped the strength from his enemy’s blow, reducing its effectiveness by a full 10 percent.
It appears to be the very essence of the world that intervenes, siphoning off 10% of the incoming onslaughts, thereby mitigating the impact before they can even reach Armad. This subtle manipulation of forces not only reduces the effectiveness of his enemy’s assault at the moment their swords entwine but also sends a ghastly cacophony rippling through the theater of war. Both combatants are propelled backward, their respective retreats a testament to the sheer magnitude of power they unleashed in that singular, monumental clash. Armad, caught in the storm of energy, is compelled to retreat by two full steps, while his adversary, seemingly more rooted, is nudged back by a mere single step.
The notion that, among the cultivator, the supremacy of cultivation is unchallenged flashes across Armad’s mind, prompting a rueful shake of his head. The significance of cultivation’s power is undeniable, shaping the very foundation of a cultivator’s capabilities and influence. Yet, the doctrine instilled in him by the Wilberforce Empire echoes a different sentiment—one that places the finesse of skill on a higher pedestal than the brute force of cultivation. In the grand scheme of power dynamics, it is the mastery of one’s skills that should be celebrated before the raw power of cultivation is even considered. Armad’s current stand in the face of overwhelming odds is a vivid illustration of this creed. Were it not for his eclectic arsenal of skills, which includes the intricate Miyura and the dual-faceted World skill, he would be entirely outmatched by his opponent, a formidable cultivator whose cultivation years triple his years of cultivation years. With these skills at his disposal, Armad manages to not only withstand but also contend with an opponent whose experience and power far exceed his own. Nonetheless, the gap in their cultivation levels is starkly evident, as seen in the simple fact that Armad is forced two steps back, compared to his adversary.
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Armad’s opponent stands with a mixture of confusion and awe in his eyes, despite having the upper hand in the clash. With a cultivation of 30,000 years, he had anticipated that his sword would effortlessly bisect Armad’s, carrying the lethal strike through to sever his hands, rendering him defenseless and ripe for capture to be presented before the Kings. If not for the prestigious lineage from which Armad hails, an execution at his hands would have been swift and decisive.
The source of his astonishment lies in the Sword of Armad—unscathed, still radiating its distinctive yellow aura, and maintaining its oppressive aura without the slightest sign of diminishment. The only hint of their divergent cultivation levels lies in their physical reactions to the clash: Armad’s forced retreat of two steps versus his own of one. Absent this subtle tell, one might erroneously surmise that their cultivation powers were evenly matched,
In the heat of this combat, his seasoned eyes—which had beheld countless battlefields—now served him well, offering insights into the subtle mechanics of their duel. As he observed the aftermath of their clashing swords, he realized why his powerful strike, channeled through his blade, caused Armad’s hand to tremble despite being parried. Armad had indeed weathered the initial impact, a testament to the formidable toughness of his skin. Yet, the thought of subsequent clashes stirred in him a mixture of anticipation and strategy. What would unfold in the second exchange, or the third?
A faint smile touched his lips as he pondered Armad’s heritage. Armad was a scion of the storied Wilberforce lineage, a family whose members often exhibited martial prowess that belied their cultivation stages. It stood to reason, then, that Armad’s combat skills would be extraordinary, even exceptional.
He, on the other hand, was recognized as a second-stage deva—yet far from an ordinary one. Acclaimed since youth for his prodigious cultivation, he had the makings of a sovereign in his own right, capable of commanding respect and servitude in his hometown. Despite this, he acknowledged Armad’s tenacity as something remarkable, a force to be reckoned with that defied the apparent gap in their cultivation levels.
Fueled by a burgeoning sense of victory, he steeled his resolve. Winning this duel was more than a personal conquest; it was an opportunity to quash the whispers of skepticism, to prove that he could indeed prevail against a cultivator whose credentials were ostensibly limited to the core formation level. With this victory, his status would be undisputed.
Raising his sword anew, he initiated another ferocious attack against Armad. Their swords met with a resounding clash, and this time, he felt a distinct vibration travel through Armad’s weapon—an indication that his strike had not been in vain and that perhaps, he had found a chink in his opponent’s armor. The sensation sparked a thrill in him, a joy that only a warrior of his caliber could savor. Without delay, he pressed his advantage with a lateral strike, swift and cunning, designed to catch Armad off-guard. Yet Armad managed to leap back, contorting in mid-air to deflect the strike with grace and precision.
Armad’s countermeasures were undoubtedly powered by his intense cultivation, but he could see the strain each attack placed on Armad’s defenses. Despite the energy shield that Armad conjured, the reverberations of each hit were palpable. Unbeknownst to Armad’s opponent, however, was the extraordinary toughness of Armad’s skin. Among the human body’s integumentary assets, the skin of the hands is particularly resilient. If he was expecting to witness visible damage to Armad’s skin, he was indeed destined to wait indefinitely, for such a sight was as improbable as the eternal itself.
Their combat persisted, each exchange of blows resonating through the air with a clash that echoed their determination. After engaging in this fierce dance of combat for about 30 exchanges, the once radiant happiness on the face of the second stage deva began to wane, replaced by a growing sense of concern. Despite his relentless assault, there was no indication that his strikes had inflicted any internal damage on Armad. Was it possible that all his efforts had merely been absorbed by Armad’s tough skin?
In this moment of realization, he recalled how he saw Armad display the toughness of his skin in their previous combat. It dawned on him that his opponent possessed an exceptionally tough skin, rendering his attacks seemingly ineffective against him. If the battle continued in this manner, the daunting realization set in that achieving victory in this duel would prove to be an arduous task indeed.
On the other side, Armad was aware that his adversary, despite his elevated status as a second-stage Deva, was not guaranteed to prevail in their duel. But the stakes were much higher than personal triumph. Armad fretted over the possibility that his battalion might be decimated, the defensive walls of the town could succumb to ruin, and the marauders might enter without obstruction, slaughtering the innocent, plundering their possessions, and destroying his treasured medicinal herb farm. Driven by the gravity of the situation, Armad felt a profound urgency for a formidable new ability.
“System, what is the duration until your analysis is complete? I need a skill now, not after I have fallen into this conflict,” Armad mentally broadcasted, seeking immediate assistance from the system.
Roughly ten minutes prior, Armad had engaged in a crucial dialogue with the system, which intimated the emergence of two potent skills that could be unlocked within him and had promised to elucidate their functions. Despite the passing of time, no such clarification had been relayed to Armad.
As he sent his urgent message to the system, Armad was forced to deflect yet another powerful assault from his opponent, an attack with such momentum that it drove him back three paces. His concentration was divided; his attention was not solely on the defensive maneuver as part of his mind was occupied with reaching out to the system.
Without a moment to gather himself, his opponent pressed on, unleashing another relentless strike. Armad managed to parry a rapid succession of fifteen strikes, but his actions served only to defend himself; his attempts to counter were ineffective, and his blows seemed to barely register against his formidable foe.
Amidst the turmoil of battle, Armad’s spiritual sense kept him painfully informed of the plight of his soldiers. He could sense the valiant efforts of Ai, who boldly stood against their adversaries, offering her fellow warriors the chance to withdraw and regroup under Armad’s command, thus evading imminent danger. Ai’s gallant actions ensured that many lives were spared from the brink of death.
In that pivotal moment, it became evident to him that the woman known as Ai had surpassed all expectations and impressed him once more. Her valor in combat was unmistakable; she was the epitome of a brave warrior. He made a mental note that, should she emerge from this battle unscathed, she would undoubtedly earn her place among the elite frontiers of his army.
As the battle raged on, he witnessed a spectacle that caught him off guard. Ai, in the thick of the conflict, had triggered the latent power within her, awakening her cultivation abilities with startling ferocity. It was not just her abilities that had come to the fore, but also her core—fully activated—and the demon she had been contending with was now under her command. He watched, as if through the lens of 101 cultivation years, as she manipulated a mysterious black liquid, turning it into a formidable weapon against her foes.
His face, once marred by fear, now brightened with a profound sense of surprise. Ai’s transformation could be traced back to the herbs he had given her, which, to his amazement and pride, had awakened her cultivation. These herbs were the product of his ingenuity, a diluted version of his potent pill. While there might be skepticism from the Captain and Sahau about the true origin of Ai’s sudden prowess, Armad harbored no such doubts. He knew with unwavering certainty that it was his herbal concoction that had made the difference.
It was a revelation that didn’t require Ai’s confirmation for Armad to understand the full extent of his creation’s efficacy. Even before she could attest to the role of the herbs in her transformation, Armad had already pieced it together. It was a moment of epiphany for him; not only had his herbs served their intended purpose of boosting energy, but they had also unlocked a third hiding potential.