"Side Quest 2: Establish a Transcendent Faction from Scratch [Current Progress: Transcendent Prototype – Northern Dominator, Lu Fan]."
"Congratulations, Host, for completing the prototype of your transcendent faction, 'White Jade Capital.' You have been awarded 10 distributable attribute points."
"Hint: Host, continue your efforts. Once 'White Jade Capital' is developed into a true transcendent force, you may earn up to 1,000 distributable attribute points."
Ahead, the ethereal and stunning Ning Zhao appeared, just as a system notification flashed before Lu Fan's eyes.
"A new task progression?"
Raising an eyebrow, Lu Fan exhaled slowly after reading through the message. The result brought an unexpected delight. He had assumed that only by establishing a force surpassing all the philosophical schools of the land could he gain attribute points. Yet, it seemed the quest had layered stages.
After all, with his current Qi Refining level, creating a power that truly transcended all sects was an arduous and distant endeavor.
What truly caught his attention, however, was the system's reward prompt—if he succeeded in elevating "White Jade Capital" into a transcendent faction, he could receive a staggering 1,000 attribute points. One thousand attribute points—equating to ten thousand strands of spiritual energy!
That meant if he secured those points, he would likely reach the third level of Qi Refining.
Yet soon, Lu Fan's brows furrowed.
Upon comparison, he abruptly realized just how grueling the Qi Refining path was.
Ten strands of spiritual energy could only be exchanged for one attribute point. In other words, even 1,000 points would barely push him into the third realm…
And to ascend all the way to the hundredth level of Qi Refining—how many points would that take?
He felt madness lurking at the edges of his mind.
Thus, Lu Fan came to understand that relying solely on attribute points was far from sustainable for advancing one's cultivation. There had to be other methods to elevate one's level.
Such as the Dao Altar, nurturing cultivators and taking a portion of the spiritual energy they produce…
That was merely one way—there might be others he had yet to uncover.
Perhaps he could even attempt refining Qi on his own.
He reined in his thoughts.
In the distance, Ning Zhao approached, leading someone along. Her aura was slightly turbulent, and her delicate face was flushed with excitement.
"Young Master, after settling the affairs of 'White Jade Capital,' this servant hurried from the Heartlake Isle to assist you. On the way, I intercepted this fleeing swordsman from the Sword Sect..."
Lu Fan's gaze landed on the beaten and bruised swordsman. His lip twitched involuntarily.
Even Nie Changqing, standing beside him with his butcher's blade in hand, was momentarily speechless.
They both recognized the man—wasn't he the same Sword Sect master who had twice fled under their noses without even glancing back?
This so-called master had never engaged in battle. Every time they crossed paths, he'd simply run.
Lu Fan and Nie Changqing had long since given up caring.
They'd assumed he had already escaped far from Beiluo City.
Who would've thought… he'd be captured by Ning Zhao.
Truly pitiful.
Beneath the bruises and blood, the man's expression seemed to question the very meaning of life.
"Well done," Lu Fan said with a half-laugh. Thanks to Ning Zhao, the side quest might've been marked as complete because she had captured this Sword Sect master.
"This swordsman's sword case holds four blades. He's a Six-Chime Grandmaster… how did you defeat him?" Nie Changqing asked, puzzled. He knew Ning Zhao's strength—she was a One-Chime Grandmaster, at the second Qi Pill stage. Although she possessed two strands of spiritual energy, it was still unlikely for her to subdue a Six-Chime master.
Lu Fan, too, looked intrigued.
Ning Zhao gently lifted a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her red lips curled into a smile.
"At first, this servant was indeed no match for him. It was a perilous struggle… but in that moment between life and death, my mind became clear as a mirror, and I unintentionally grasped… spiritual pressure."
"As soon as I unleashed it, this Sword Sect master lost the will to fight and tried to escape. I seized the opportunity… and beat him until his face was unrecognizable before taking him captive."
"Spiritual pressure?" Nie Changqing was stunned.
Lu Fan's eyes lit up. He gazed at the faintly proud Ning Zhao, his lips curling slightly.
"Come. Let your lord feel this spiritual pressure," he said with a soft clap.
"As you command," Ning Zhao replied. She tossed the bloodied swordsman, Jing Yue, to the ground and channeled her Qi Pill's spiritual energy.
"Young Master… pardon me."
Her hair fluttered, her white robes danced.
Boom!
In the next instant, as spiritual energy wove together, a heavy pressure swept toward Lu Fan.
Dust flew from the ground. His white robes flapped, and his hair was lifted by the force.
Yi Yue turned pale in an instant, as if a boulder were pressing on her chest. Her breath caught, and her long legs trembled slightly.
Ni Yu, however, remained unaffected—carrying the chessboard imbued with spiritual pressure, she stood calm amidst the surge, as though bathed in a spring breeze.
"Not bad. Still weak, but you've grasped the basics. Sister Ning, the blood-moving technique you've practiced… that's my father's, isn't it?" Lu Fan chuckled.
Indeed, Ning Zhao had comprehended spiritual pressure, and while her two strands of spiritual energy were far from matching Lu Fan's might, it could be a powerful trump card in battle.
Jing Yue was living proof of that.
"Yes," Ning Zhao answered, her Qi settling back into her dantian. Her face flushed slightly as she bowed.
"Tomorrow, come to me for a cultivation method. With it, your spiritual pressure can reach even greater heights."
"Thank you, Young Master," Ning Zhao said joyfully.
Lu Fan said no more. His gaze shifted to Jing Yue, who had crawled halfway off the ground, clearly attempting to sneak away.
Within Lu Fan's Qi Pill, fifty strands of spiritual energy swirled.
Boom!
Just as Jing Yue leapt to flee like a startled hare, he was slammed to the ground, face planting with such force that his nose nearly broke. Blood splattered—utterly wretched.
Tears welled in Jing Yue's eyes.
He had hidden for so long, and his one attempt to act had ended in disaster. All he wanted was to survive…
Was that too much to ask?
Was the world outside already this dangerous?
"Still trying to run?" Lu Fan propped his chin with one hand, tapping lightly on the soft woolen blanket over his lap with the other, his tone serene.
He withdrew his spiritual pressure.
Jing Yue shuddered as he crawled back up.
Ning Zhao moved behind Lu Fan, resting a soft hand on the handle of his wheelchair. Yi Yue backed away, still shaken.
Nie Changqing, still cradling the butcher's blade, stared coldly at Jing Yue.
The moonlight grew ever colder.
Jing Yue wiped the blood from his nose and stared at the young man in the wheelchair—so calm, so radiant.
He knew he was left with only two options.
Die, or surrender.
As one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Sword Sect, how could he bow?
To yield was to insult the sword, to betray his own sword heart.
But—
Thud!
His legs gave out.
Without the slightest hesitation, he knelt before Lu Fan.
"I… I surrender. I won't run anymore."
Lu Fan blinked in surprise. Weren't swordmasters supposed to be indomitable and unyielding to the bitter end?
This one, calling himself a Sword Sect master, had shown not a shred of pride.
Still, his response amused Lu Fan, whose expression slowly became enigmatic.
Though Jing Yue was battered and bruised, his instinct for survival was commendable.
Lu Fan leaned back in his chair and gazed down at the man.
Under that calm stare, Jing Yue's body trembled, and his face grew ever paler.
At last, Lu Fan tapped the woolen blanket and spoke, voice cool as moonlight.
"You may surrender."
"But give me one reason not to kill you."
…
Beneath the veil of night, Beiluo City stood proud and lonesome, like a lion guarding the plains.
The thunder of hooves shattered the silence.
Three hundred iron riders surged across the plains, racing homeward.
Lu Changkong lashed his horse fiercely, the steed howled as he led the charge.
From atop the wall, the few remaining city guards caught sight of the returning cavalry and quickly sent word with great excitement.
The massive gates groaned open, bolts withdrawn, slabs splitting to reveal the path.
Lu Changkong's face darkened as he took in the thinning garrison.
So few defenders left—something had clearly gone wrong within the city.
Leading his iron cavalry and the royal chariot pulled shakily by five horses, he stormed into Beiluo.
And the moment he entered, he was struck by the pervasive scent of blood and killing intent in the air.
Lu Changkong's heart… instantly sank.