The Elven Cultivator

This time, however, the target was the Dragon Race member on the west side.

The Dragon Race member heard the sound of something cutting through the air behind him. His expression changed drastically, and he lunged to his left.

The sword light grazed past his shoulder guard, letting out a sharp screech in the air and kicking up a few tiny sparks.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he shot to the right like a startled cheetah, sliding so low he almost scraped the ground.

The sword light pursued him relentlessly, skimming over his head. Its sharp edge left a deep, bloody gash across his scalp, and warm liquid trickled down from his temple.

The Dragon Race member dodged left and right, his form a blur of afterimages in the courtyard as he tried to shake off the clinging silver-white light.

But no matter how he twisted and turned, the sword light remained latched onto him, impossible to shake. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t create even an inch of distance.

The instant his pace faltered, the sword light flared brightly. It shot through the back of his neck and exited his throat like a bolt of lightning.

His forward momentum came to an abrupt halt. He staggered two steps before collapsing to the ground, silent and still.

In the blink of an eye, only Wilder was left of the three Dragon Race members.

Witnessing the deaths of his two companions, Wilder was filled with both fury and terror.

He realized almost instantly that if he passively defended against that bizarre, high-speed sword light, his fate would be no better than his companions’.

The only way to break the deadlock was to kill the person controlling the sword light first.

As long as Canglan was dead, the sword light would be neutralized.

In a flash of thought, Wilder made his decision.

He stopped running and spun around. His feet cracked the stone slabs beneath him as he shot toward Anton like a cannonball.

However, he had only taken two steps before the silver-white sword light stabbed at him from the side.

Wilder swung his sword to block. Sparks flew, and his forward charge was brought to a dead stop.

He gritted his teeth and changed direction, trying to break through from the other side, but the sword light followed him like a shadow, blocking his path once more.

His Long Sword clashed with the sword light again and again. Each impact sent a numbing shock through the webbing of his thumb, forcing him to slow his steps.

He charged, was blocked, charged again, and was blocked again. No matter how Wilder twisted and maneuvered, the sword light always appeared on his path at the critical moment, like an invisible wall, keeping him pinned ten meters away from Anton.

The stone slabs beneath Wilder’s feet had shattered into a web of craters from his repeated charges and sudden stops. Yet that ten-meter distance remained like an impassable chasm.

Not far away, the middle-aged man, the Beastman, and the Hydra watched, mesmerized. Their mouths were dry, and their eyes were wide with shock, unable to speak.

Even though they had seen how Duncan was killed, watching Anton kill two Golden Tier Dragon Race members as easily as slicing melons—without even moving a step—was still an indescribable shock. Even Wilder, an Upper Gold expert, was being suppressed so thoroughly he couldn’t even lift his head.

If any of the three of them had been facing Wilder’s current assault, they would have been struggling desperately and in a pathetic state long ago.

But Canglan?

From start to finish, he hadn’t even lifted a finger. He effortlessly neutralized every attack with just that sword light.

Wilder was stronger than his two companions and lasted longer against the sword light, but ultimately, he couldn’t change his fate.

After more than ten minutes, his Magic Power and stamina were at their limits, and his movements inevitably grew sluggish.

A momentary opening was all it took. The sword light exploited it, darting in like a striking viper through a blind spot in his guard and piercing his shoulder.

Blood splattered. Wilder grunted in pain, and his sword faltered.

Immediately after, two more flashes of silver light streaked past. Bloody wounds burst open on his thigh and under his ribs. His entire body went rigid, and he fell to one knee.

He gritted his teeth, trying to stand, but the silver-white light had already struck like lightning, piercing the spot between his eyebrows.

Wilder’s body froze. A look of deep unwillingness and despair flashed in his eyes before they quickly dimmed. He fell backward, crashing heavily onto the stone ground.

Blood slowly pooled beneath him, glistening darkly under the moonlight.

With that, all three high-blooded Dragon Race members were dead.

A brief silence fell over the courtyard.

The middle-aged man and his two companions stared blankly at the scene, their faces lost in a daze.

From the beginning of the fight to the end, Anton had remained in the same spot, not moving a single step. Only after the battle was over did he finally move.

He strode over to the corpses of the three Dragon Race members and collected their bodies into his Dimensional Bag.

Then, he walked over to where Leon and Duncan had fallen and thoroughly looted their bodies of all valuables.

After doing all this, Anton turned and walked toward Everett.

The man was held in place by a Binding Spell, unable to move. He could only watch with wide, terrified, and despairing eyes as Anton killed the three Dragon Race members.

Seeing Anton approach, Everett was about to speak, but Anton, with a swift movement, dislocated his jaw to prevent him from making any noise.

Immediately after, Anton lifted him up as if he were a chick and turned to walk toward the back of the courtyard.

The middle-aged man didn’t let out a long breath until Anton’s figure had disappeared into the shadows at the back of the courtyard.

Watching the man annihilate five Golden Tier experts whose strength was on par with his own, it was impossible not to feel pressured.

He had been terrified that the man, caught up in the thrill of killing, would decide to dispose of the three of them as well.

Only now did he truly feel a sense of relief.

The Beastman said nothing, merely swallowing silently. The palm of his hand, gripping his War Axe, was slick with cold sweat.

The Hydra, however, quickly regained its energy, and its three heads began to chatter amongst themselves.

”So strong. He’s so, so strong. I’ve never seen anyone this powerful.”

”What’s that glowing weapon of his? Is it Magic? It doesn’t look like it. Magic doesn’t work like that.”

”Who cares what it is? All that matters is that it’s incredible.”

”Hey, do you think he’d be willing to join us?”

The middle head’s sudden question made the other two heads freeze.

”Join the Fallen Dragon Association?” The left head tilted. ”He seems to hate the Dragon Race, too. Maybe he’d actually be willing.”

”Should we go invite him now?” The right head hesitated. ”I’m a little scared.”

”Idiot,” the middle head cursed. ”Just have Scott go.”

”Good point.”

”You’re so smart!”

All three heads turned in unison to look at the middle-aged man.

Scott’s face darkened. He wanted to raise his hand and slap one of the creature’s heads, but he didn’t know which one to hit. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before he resentfully lowered it and said irritably, ”Whether or not to invite Canglan is a decision for the higher-ups. What are you worrying about it for?”

”Oh, right.” The three heads deflated simultaneously.

Scott looked at the jester, shook his head helplessly, and turned to walk out of the courtyard.

”Let’s go. The mission is complete. It’s time to report back.”

The Beastman and the Hydra exchanged a glance and hurried to follow.

...

Anton, carrying Everett, passed through the archway at the back of the courtyard and entered a corridor.

His Divine Sense had already spread out, constantly scanning the interiors of the buildings they passed, not even sparing the areas underground.

Where people were hiding, where secret passages were located, what paths led where—everything was presented clearly within his perception.

He ignored the servants trembling in their rooms, too afraid to come out, and continued to flit from one place to another without stopping.

Before long, he found his target.

After a few more quick dashes, Anton passed through a secret passage and stopped in front of a heavy iron door.

The iron door was shut tight. Set into the lock was a palm-sized rune slate covered in complex runic circuits.

It was a magic lock that required a specific magic item to open. Forcing it would trigger an alarm.

Anton couldn’t care less. With a flash of the sword light, the iron door instantly shattered into countless fragments and crashed to the ground.

A piercing alarm immediately blared through the night sky.

With a calm expression, Anton walked into the storeroom, dragging Everett in with him.

The space inside the storeroom was larger than Anton had expected.

It was three to four hundred square meters, with no windows. The walls and ceiling were inlaid with rune slates that blocked Magic Power detection.

Light Source Stones embedded in the walls emitted a soft glow, illuminating the entire storeroom brightly.

Rows of metal shelves were neatly arranged, laden with all sorts of items.

Gemstones, rare minerals, alchemical ingredients, potion materials, Magic Scrolls, magic items... The dazzling array was dizzying to behold.

Without exception, everything stored in the Flame Trade Association’s headquarters was a valuable and expensive treasure.

Anton casually tossed Everett into a corner.

The man hit the ground with a muffled grunt, a look on his face as if he’d seen a ghost.

He couldn’t understand how Anton had found the storeroom’s location just by wandering around casually.

Anton paid him no mind and began to move through the aisles between the shelves.

Wherever he passed, the items on the metal shelves vanished into thin air, collected into his Dimensional Bag.

After his Dimensional Bag was full, he found several other Storage Items on the spot and started stuffing things into them one by one.

Soon, the storeroom was picked clean.

Anton picked up Everett, left the storeroom, and continued his search through the association’s headquarters. He quickly found several other places where valuables were hidden.

After a flurry of activity, once he was sure he had looted everything, Anton finally stopped.

He glanced at Everett. Amidst the man’s pleading and terrified gaze, the sword light flashed, shredding his head and heart.

The only reason he had brought Everett along was as a precaution, in case he couldn’t find the storeroom and needed to interrogate him.

Now that his goal was achieved, there was naturally no need to keep the man alive.

When he passed through the courtyard, the middle-aged man and his two companions were gone.

They must have left while he was busy looting.

Stepping out of the Flame Trade Association’s main gate, Anton looked up at the sky.

The Silver Moon still hung high, its cool light spilling onto the empty streets.

The sound of urgent footsteps and a clamor of voices could be heard in the distance.

Anton swept his Divine Sense over the area. The Bishui Port garrison was rushing over.

They were likely alerted by the alarm from earlier.

He retracted his gaze. With a flicker of thought, the Sword Pill leaped from his chest, transforming into a silver-white sword light that enveloped his entire body.

In the next instant, the sword light shot into the sky and vanished into the night.

It left behind only a scene of utter destruction, a courtyard full of corpses, and the approaching footsteps of the garrison.