Chapter Twenty-One: The First Battle

At more than forty-five kilometers out, neither Li Mu nor Li Mie showed any sign of slowing their pace. The few figures trailing behind them, however, were beginning to look rather fatigued.

“These two are like men possessed—why are they so fast, and why do they hardly ever stop?”

“Should we report this to Uncle Master Xu?”

“What’s the use of relaying this right now? Who knows where they’ll run next? All we’d get is a scolding from Uncle Master Xu, and even any spirit crystals promised would vanish into thin air.”

“Damn it, keep going! As long as we keep up, we’re fine!”

The leader of the group was a cultivator standing about 1.8 meters tall, his features fierce and distinguished by a mole on his forehead. After speaking, he suddenly surged ahead, abandoning all attempts at stealth and flying straight towards his targets.

The cultivators behind him exchanged glances, then hurried after.

“It seems someone is gaining on us,” Li Mie murmured to Li Mu, having detected the disturbance behind.

Li Mu nodded slightly. “They’ve been following for some time now. They caught our trail just outside the city, which is why I told you we couldn’t stop, not even for a moment.”

“Oh! Who are they?” Li Mie, still young, felt anxiety surge at the news. His steps faltered, confusion clouding his mind.

Li Mu’s brow furrowed. Among cultivators at the Foundation Gathering stage, he and Li Mie possessed notably large reservoirs of spiritual energy, more than most. If they kept running without pause, they could easily leave their pursuers behind. But Li Mie’s panic slowed him down considerably.

Li Mu seized Li Mie’s arm, and the two halted almost simultaneously. “We won’t outrun them now. Let’s see what they intend.” With that, he turned to face the approaching cultivators.

The mole-marked cultivator looked them over, then laughed coldly. “Why stop now? Keep running if you can!”

The men behind him nearly collided, then whispered among themselves as they eyed Li Mu. “Big Wood, what now?”

This mole-marked man was called Wang Damu, a retainer of Wang Qi. The other cultivators were all outer disciples of the Flower Grove Sect. Since the departure of Apothecary Shen, they’d been lurking near the Jade Hall, waiting for Li Mu to emerge.

“We take them alive,” Wang Damu commanded. “Wang San, Zhao Si, Li Er—set up a Triple Seal Formation and surround them. I’ll lure them into the trap.”

Though large in stature, Wang Damu’s mind was sharp and his plan was well prepared.

But Li Mu saw through his intentions at once.

He watched as the group split up, with only Wang Damu approaching slowly. Failure had already become apparent.

“Be wary of their formation,” Li Mu warned, pointing at the splitting group. “Take care of the smaller one. I’ll handle the brute.”

Now much more composed, Li Mie was chagrined by his earlier panic. Without another word, he leapt into action, body darting toward his foe.

As Wang Damu strode forward, Li Mu’s expression remained cool. “And who might you be?”

“No more words! Hand over the formula for the Panacea Pill, or I’ll make you wish you had,” Wang Damu snarled, his face wild with mania. Though he’d reached the late stage of Foundation Gathering, Li Mu was still only at the middle stage—yet he stood resolute.

A faint sneer touched Li Mu’s lips. “Wang Qi sent you, didn’t he?”

Wang Damu flinched, as though struck by a premonition. But his voice remained brash. “Who’s Wang Qi or Zhao Qi to you? Dead men needn’t speak. Let’s see what you’re made of!”

Within meters, he hurled a black-and-gold trident straight at Li Mu’s shoulder.

The weapon, while not a true spiritual artifact, was clearly forged of some refined mineral. Its tip glinted coldly, whistling through the air like a comet.

Li Mu crouched as he watched the weapon, and the trident whistled past him.

But there was no regret on Wang Damu’s face—only a hint of something sinister.

The trident, instead of falling to earth, arced back overhead and shot toward Li Mu’s back with even greater speed.

A hit now would mean serious injury.

Li Mu hadn’t expected the trident to behave this way, but his reflexes were swift. In an instant, he devised a countermeasure.

With a flicker of thought, a piece of gold shot from the Mythic Spirit Tower within him, striking the trident’s tip.

There was a cracking sound as the gold shattered, but the trident lost its aim, ricocheting into a nearby tree and boring a deep hole before disappearing from sight.

“Huh?” Wang Damu’s smile froze, baffled. How had a piece of gold appeared just in time to block his attack? His spinning trident, empowered with spiritual energy, should have been flawless against any Foundation Gathering cultivator.

Li Mu did not waste the opportunity.

In a moment of peril, one could not afford to hesitate.

Li Mu lunged forward, swinging his arm. The Ice Crystal Ring on his finger sent out a chilling white thread, swift as a viper, instantly enveloping Wang Damu.

Wang Damu’s expression darkened. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Earth Shield!”

In a flash, a yellow shield an inch thick materialized before him, walling him off. The Earth Shield was a low-grade defensive spell, rapid to deploy and common among Foundation Gathering cultivators.

But how could the Earth Shield withstand the Ice Crystal Ring? The difference in grade was too great.

With several crisp cracks, the shield was instantly reduced to a heap of frozen soil scattered on the ground.

“Damn,” Wang Damu realized his peril—never had he imagined Li Mu would possess such a treasure as the Ice Crystal Ring, able to shatter his spell outright.

He retreated swiftly, his bulky frame moving like a wild beast in flight. But not fast enough to escape the creeping chill.

The white thread brushed his body, transforming into shards of frost that wrapped him layer by layer.

Now frozen, Wang Damu looked like a statue encased in ice, mouth agape, his face twisted in terror.

The ice spell contained within the ring was less powerful and durable than that cast by a Spirit-Building stage cultivator, and a strong enough cultivator could break free quickly. But for a late-stage Foundation Gathering cultivator like Wang Damu, it would last several seconds.

Several seconds was all Li Mu needed.

Raising his palm, Li Mu conjured a spark of crimson flame.

The Fire Ignite spell, while also a Foundation Gathering technique, was much more potent than most others and difficult to defend against. Its flaw, however, was its slow casting speed; it required several seconds to deploy fully. In most circumstances, an opponent could interrupt it before it even became a flame, rendering it useless.

But now, it was perfectly suited.

Wang Damu’s terror grew. He tried to cry out, to beg for mercy, but no sound emerged.

With a crash, the ice shattered and shards flew like water. Wang Damu kicked off, desperate to escape.

But it was far too late.

The Fire Ignite spell burst into roaring flame, a lump of crimson embers striking Wang Damu’s massive body.

He screamed, but in moments, he was reduced to a charred husk.

Li Mu sighed softly, then turned to face the remaining foes.

This was his first true engagement in this world, his first kill. He felt little—neither nausea nor regret—only a subtle, strange sensation, as if something within him had been discarded.

Perhaps this was the true beginning of his adaptation to the world of cultivation.