Cultivation System: Elder Edition

Chapter 335

Truths and Lies (XXI)

Long Tao watched the light fade from the Sage's eyes, eyes shorn of grudges, hate, or anger. It was someone who accepted their demise and willingly submitted to the darkness.

A rather rare epiphany to achieve, especially if someone had touched Nirvana.

But he hardly had the time to focus on the man--though they 'won', his body was currently being annihilated from within. Even with all his preparation, using the Divine-Scourge Lock Formation to severely limit the man's capabilities, he still had to resort to using Dao to deal the final blow.

No matter how many ordinary strikes the man took on, if they simply kept at it like that, he would have realized they had no means of wounding him; once the shock of recognition wore off, before him would lie a remarkably simple truth: they were still just children, and he was a god.

As such, Long Tao resorted to infusing the most minute trace of Sword Dao he could, but even that proved to be too much. In fact, he was entirely ready to fall into a deep coma through the Sutra of a Sage when he recognized something... impossible.

His body... was being repaired.

It wasn't the extremely high-quality healing pills or his own innate constitution--it was singularly Master's Surging Spirit Art. Something that Long Tao had already considered heaven-defying proved to defy his set of beliefs even further.

Perhaps the most common knowledge of the universe that was accepted as indefensibly true by everyone was that wounds inflicted by Dao can only be remedied by Dao. No mortal pill, no divine pill, no blessed art of any kind would be able to heal a wound of Dao.

... and yet, he was bearing witness to that impossibility. Surging Spirit Art... was healing him. Not at a rate that outpaced the ravaging of his body, forcing him to suffer exponentially still, but at a rate quick enough that he didn't have to go comatose just to survive. If he 'merely' endured the pain, he would be fine.

For most, wounds of Dao would result in mental breakdowns--the pain was such that it fundamentally broke everyone, but as someone who had been wounded and scarred by the Laws of Dao literally tens of thousands of times in his life, he was one of the few, even among Emperors, who could reasonably endure the pain, if just for a little while.

Even so, it wasn't something that could be endured.

Blood rushed through his throat, black as tar, and began to pour out of him as the platforms he built in the void grew entirely unstable and disintegrated. He fought desperately to keep circulating the Surging Spirit Art for just one moment longer, holding onto the last thread of consciousness just long enough to feel a pair of rather sturdy arms catch him.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Looming over him was a worried and angry face of his Master, just long enough to capture a fleeting sense of anger within the man's gaze before he could hold on no longer.

Every vessel in his body was being repeatedly shattered and rebuilt, every organ in a perpetual state of decay yet maintaining minimal functionality. Even his bones were being melted and hardened over and over again, like eternal torture pressed upon him.

**

... I'm so angry.

Looking at his body, it barely even seemed human at the moment--his skin was melting, folding into strange layers, exposing flesh and bones below... and then being rebuilt anew. Over and over and over again.

One second, he weighed what a normal boy should--the next, he was a hundred pounds lighter.

Even as Dai Xiu and Wan Lan landed next to me and started dragging me out of the lake by my shoulders, I couldn't let go.

Because I was angry.

Not at them, not at Long Tao, not even at the Silent Sage--I was angry with myself.

While the kids risked their lives, doing things that I didn't even think were possible, putting themselves in deadly danger over and over again... what was I doing? Sitting on my ass at the rear, just watching.

I watched as an assortment of kids who've only been cultivating for a few years threw themselves at an old monster that was nearing his third millennium of living so fearlessly that you'd think they were the gods in this interaction.

How did they win?

How did they slay that old monster?

Honestly, I don't even care at this point. It doesn't matter. I'm assuming Long Tao did something so egregiously insane, and it somehow worked out perfectly. But... it's irrelevant.

"Put him down; let me see!" Lao Shun yanked me by the shoulder, but I couldn't let go--primarily because... I didn't know how. He felt so fragile and broken that, if I put him down, he might just bore into the ground and make it his eternal grave.

But I couldn't hold him forever, so I put him on a bed of feathers as gently as I could, stepping away while Lao Shun tried to fix him.

I'm so useless.

So pathetic.

... I'm just a joke at this point, aren't I? When they run over to me to cover my eyes, or when they try to make the scene 'less bloody', I always thought that was just how they saw me in their innocent way... but maybe... that's just who I am.

A joke to laugh at.

How many times have I told them that I'd protect them? That I'd never let anyone harm them?

And just how many times have I told that to myself?

But it didn't matter. When it came time to live those words, all I could do was watch.

Though I knew since the beginning I'd never be the dashing hero who hogs the glory and gets celebrated, I'd always hoped I'd feel useful, at least. And as much as these gremlins would claim that without my arts and my 'teachings' they couldn't do anything, somehow... it feels empty.

Like pouring water in a cup full of holes.

I looked over to the side and beyond, where the lake had finally calmed down, leaving behind the desolate visage of a city that seemed so grand just this morning. So many buildings lay in ruins, with dozens of bodies already floating on the surface of the lake, clearly unmoving, and who knows how many more within the city itself? 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Which time was this? That we came someplace and rued it with death and decay, even if we never meant to.

[--a quest has been completed]

[Secrets of the Lake]

[You have fully interrupted all attempts of the local forces at identifying the Guardian, ensuring they will never learn the truth of the place]

[Rewards]

[Reward 1: 6,000 CP]

[Reward 2: A Favor]

[...]

[Reward 2 recalibrated: Eternity will be allowed to intercede on your behalf once, so long as the total cost of it doesn't exceed 50,000 Creation Points]

I have so many points, now. They're just sitting there, quietly.

I need to create something, something entirely selfish, something that will never let me feel this useless ever again. A fire that will never burn out, no matter the cold.