My attributes are increasing infinitely

Chapter 454: Peak Spirit Sovereign

The town of Black Reed lay three thousand miles from the imperial capital, pressed between low mountains and a winding gray river that reflected the sky like dull steel. It was not marked on most official maps. Caravans reached it only if they were seeking something specific. Ordinary travelers had little reason to pass through.

Yet among cultivators and merchants who dealt in rarities, the town carried a quiet reputation.

Its wine was unmatched.

Ethan arrived at dusk.

He did not travel with banners or escorts. His robes were simple. His aura was restrained to the level of an ordinary human. The streets were narrow and paved with uneven stone. Lanterns had begun to glow beneath wooden eaves, casting warm light onto the drifting evening mist.

He walked without hurry.

The information provided by the system had been concise.

[Spirit Sovereign, peak realm.

Age unknown.

No sect affiliation.

No public disciples.

Resides in Black Reed Town under civilian identity.]

The cover identity was equally plain.

Wine seller.

Ethan turned a corner and saw the shop.

It was small. The wooden signboard bore only two characters carved by hand. No gilded letters. No arrays visible from the outside. The door was open, and laughter drifted out along with the scent of fermented grain and something deeper that hinted at spiritual herbs.

Inside, the tables were full.

Merchants in travel worn cloaks sat beside wandering cultivators. A pair of armored guards drank in silence near the back wall. Clay jars lined the shelves from floor to ceiling. The old man behind the counter moved slowly, as though every step required deliberate effort.

His hair was completely white. His back was slightly bent. His face was deeply lined, and his skin had the pallor of someone who had outlived his vitality.

He looked as if a strong gust of wind might scatter him into dust.

Ethan entered and chose a seat in the corner.

No one paid him special attention.

A young server brought him a cup of dark amber wine. Ethan lifted it and inhaled. The fragrance was subtle at first, then unfolded in layers. There was the sweetness of fruit, the bitterness of aged wood, and beneath it all a faint trace of spiritual resonance that brushed against his consciousness like a whisper.

He drank.

Warmth spread down his throat and into his body. The wine carried a refined thread of spiritual energy, clean and controlled. It did not overwhelm. It nourished.

Interesting.

He drank again.

Time passed without notice.

The shop grew louder as night deepened. Stories were told. Coins clinked. Cups struck tables in approval. Ethan remained silent, drinking steadily. One jar emptied. Then another. The server glanced at him several times, uncertain whether to intervene, but the old man behind the counter raised a faint hand to signal restraint.

The customers gradually thinned.

One by one they left, pulling cloaks tight against the mountain chill. Eventually only Ethan remained.

The lanterns flickered.

The old man approached his table with measured steps.

”Young man,” he said in a voice that was thin but clear, ”it is time for me to close the shop.”

Ethan lifted his cup and drained the last drop. He did not look up.

The old man waited.

Ethan set the cup down gently. ”Bring more.”

The old man studied him. ”The shop is closed.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair. His eyes were calm, almost bored. ”Old man, shut the fuck up. Do you know who I am? Serve me more wine, you old fossil.”

The words were crude and deliberate. He was here to provoke the man.

The air in the shop changed somewhat.

The old man’s face did not contort with anger. It did not redden. Instead, it cooled. The lines around his eyes hardened, and something deep within his gaze sharpened.

Around them, the lantern flames wavered as if touched by an unseen wind.

”Young people,” the old man said quietly, ”often mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ethan laughed softly. ”And old people often mistake their age for authority.”

He rested one elbow on the table. ”I paid. I drink. That is how business works.”

The old man’s lips pressed into a thin line. He reached out, intending to collect the empty jars from the table.

Ethan placed his hand over them.

The motion was casual, but it halted the old man’s action completely.

”I said bring more.”

For a brief instant, something immense stirred beneath the old man’s frail exterior.

Then it was gone.

He straightened slightly. ”Young man, leave while you can. I will not repeat myself.”

However Ethan did not move an inch.

Instead, he raised his hand and extended a single finger in a slow, unmistakable gesture.

”How dare you try to intimidate me, you old dog?”

The insult hung in the air like a blade.

The old man’s eyes turned cold finally.

A ripple of pressure spread outward from him, subtle at first. The clay jars on the shelves trembled. The tables vibrated. Dust fell from the rafters.

It was only a fragment of his aura. A thread. Enough to suffocate an ordinary spirit emperor instantly.

The town outside grew unnaturally quiet.

But Ethan remained seated.

The pressure washed over him and dissipated like mist against a mountain.

He did not shield himself. He did not resist visibly. He simply endured it without reaction.

Then he leaned forward.

”Is that it?” he asked softly. ”You call that intimidation?”

The old man’s brows knit together.

He increased the pressure slightly.

The air grew heavy. The floorboards groaned. The lantern flames were extinguished one by one until only moonlight filtered through the doorway.

Outside, the river surged violently for a single heartbeat before calming again.

Ethan raised his middle finger once more.

”Try harder.”

He was provoking him.

Strike first.

That was all he needed.

The system’s current protocol would record the opponent’s complete combat structure if direct hostility was confirmed. Within twenty four hours, Ethan would receive a replicated framework of that power.

One entire realm in a single day.

That was the theme of his journey this time.

The old man’s gaze grew distant.

”You are not ordinary,” he said calmly.

Ethan smiled faintly. ”And you are not a wine seller.”

The old man’s back slowly straightened.

The illusion of frailty began to crack.

The bent posture corrected. The tremor in his hands vanished. His breathing deepened, and the spiritual energy in the air responded as if summoned by a silent command.

The wooden walls of the shop dissolved into an expanse of stars.

They were no longer standing in a tavern.

They stood on a silent plain beneath a sky filled with drifting constellations. The town had vanished. The mountains were gone.

It was a domain.

The Spirit Sovereign’s domain.

”You seek death,” the old man said, his voice no longer thin. It resonated with layered echoes, as though multiple realities vibrated beneath each syllable.

Ethan rose slowly from his chair, which no longer existed.

He dusted off his sleeves.

”You released your aura first,” he replied evenly. ”I am merely defending my dignity.”

The old man regarded him for a long moment.

The stars above brightened.

A colossal phantom figure appeared behind the old man, towering and translucent, its eyes closed in eternal meditation. It radiated the authority of a peak Spirit Sovereign, one step from ascension.

The ground beneath Ethan’s feet fractured.

Pressure descended like a collapsing heaven.

This was no longer a warning.

It was a test.

Ethan felt his bones strain. His organs trembled. The domain sought to crush him into submission.

Good.

He needed genuine hostility.

He allowed a thin line of blood to trace down from the corner of his mouth, as though the pressure were beginning to take effect.

The old man watched carefully.

”Leave,” he said. ”I will forget your insolence.”

Ethan laughed softly, wiping the blood away with his thumb.

”Old man,” he said, ”if this is your full strength, then your wine truly is more impressive than you are.”

The phantom behind the old man opened its eyes.

The sky shattered.

A spear of condensed spiritual will formed above Ethan’s head and plunged downward.

In that instant, the system interface flared within his consciousness.

[Hostility confirmed.

Target power structure locked.]

Ethan’s lips curved upward.

At the last possible moment, he stepped aside and raised his hand.

He did not counterattack with overwhelming force. He did not reveal the Third Protocol.

He merely deflected.

The spear exploded against the plain, carving a chasm that stretched to the horizon.

Dust and starlight filled the air.

The old man’s expression finally changed.

There was no arrogance left in it.

Only caution.

”You wanted me to strike first?” he said slowly.

Ethan did not deny it.