Rachel took in her surroundings. She couldn’t see anything, and dirt pressed in on her from all sides. She expelled some spiritual energy from her body, forcing the earth back, creating a dome above her. A layer of frost crept along the ground and up the dome, freezing it into place. She lay in the middle of the hemisphere; with two broken legs and a shattered arm, there wasn’t much she could do. The talisman she had used was one that broke through the void and sucked her in. It had a formal name, Thousand-Mile Transport Talisman, but it also had a nickname, An Idiot’s Escape. Its ability was very simple: it transported the user a thousand miles away in any direction—that included the ground and the sky.

Luckily, Rachel hadn’t been transported that deep into the ground. If she had been, the pressure would’ve been too much for her to handle with her current injuries. She had to user her spiritual energy to repair her injuries and sustain her bodily functions. To use her spiritual energy to prevent herself from also being crushed would’ve tipped the balance. Eventually, she would succumb to her injuries or suffocate to death. She knew false immortals were strong, but she didn’t expect herself to end up in such a state after two simple exchanges. It was the first time she had ever lost so badly in her life. Luckily, she had gotten what she wanted out of the fight.

Although the perfected Moon Lotus Cultivation Technique had an explanation on the false-immortal stage, how could reading about it even compare to witnessing it for herself? After witnessing Maximillius’ strength, something clicked, and the text that she had read finally made sense. The false immortal wasn’t holding back against her. Even though it seemed like he had only punched her twice, there was more to it than that. There were multiple ways for a cultivator to use their techniques, but the most common way was to send their spiritual energy through their meridians, empowering their body for a brief moment. In the later stages of cultivation, spiritual energy could leave the body to strengthen one’s weapons, use as a projectile, or form into wings like her own. As for Maximillius, he hadn’t performed any techniques because it was no longer necessary. His body itself had become a technique. Every one of his movements summoned fire and flames. His flesh was more spiritual than physical compared to soul-seed cultivators. It was as if he had become part of his surroundings and the surroundings had become a part of himself.

With her new understanding of what it meant to be a false immortal, Rachel had a feeling she was ready to break through her current realm. It was a shame the fight had injured her so severely though. Before she could break through, she had to recover first. Without any external aids and having to use her spiritual energy to supplement her body thanks to being underground, the healing process was going to take a long time. She did have a few elixirs stored in her interspacial ring, but she had already used the good ones after her battle with the federal officers. If she were to use them again in such a short timeframe, their effects would be less than half of their usual efficacy.

***

“Ancestor Rachel really got her ass kicked,” Azalea said and clicked on her mouse, cancelling a video’s auto-play suggestion. She had just watched a recording of the fight between Rachel and Maximillius. It was being broadcasted on every major news network; after all, a major metropolitan area had basically suffered from the natural disaster known as two stupidly strong people fighting without caring about collateral damage. Although the destruction wasn’t large-scaled, the small area they had fought in had been completely destroyed, and for the first time in a long time, the residents of the city had been evacuated and lost their homes. Who would’ve thought refugees would appear on the capital city of Bread?

“What else did you expect?” Grandpa Vremya asked, unperturbed. He glanced at Azalea. “Why are you watching a recording?” The two of them had watched the battle with their own eyes. The government was nice enough to evacuate everyone else, but Azalea and Grandpa Vremya hadn’t been given a warning lest they alert Rachel, causing her to flee before the false immortal could arrive.

Azalea rolled her eyes. “Just because I saw it once it means I can’t watch it again?”

Grandpa Vremya shrugged and turned back to his game. The two of them were currently in an internet café. Since Grandpa Vremya didn’t need to eat or sleep or even use the bathroom at all because he could clean himself with his spiritual energy, he could stay in the internet café all the time. In fact, it was actually cheaper to pay for the internet café’s service for a month than to pay rent because of the all-day pass. He even cut a deal with the internet café’s owner that allowed him to set up a spiritual-energy-gathering formation. When Azalea was informed of Grandpa Vremya’s intentions, she nearly punched him in the face, and if she had, she was sure he wouldn’t understand why. Playing games might’ve been helpful for his cultivation, but what about her cultivation? Did he really expect her to stay here and play games with him all day?

“I think I’ll go back to the Moon Lotus World for a while,” Azalea said. “There’s a lot that needs to be done, and I think I’ve gathered enough information to do it properly.”

“Alright,” Grandpa Vremya said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Are you sure you’re the one that needs to manage everything?”

“Why?” Azalea asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to go?”

“That’s right,” Grandpa Vremya said. “You should stay here with me.”

“Let me guess,” Azalea said. “You want me to stay in case something troublesome pops up.”

Grandpa Vremya nodded. If he was paying attention to Azalea’s face instead of the screen, he would’ve noticed her getting annoyed. A moment later, Azalea’s face smoothened. Why was she getting upset? Cultivators entered closed seclusion all the time. She was lucky she could speak to Grandpa Vremya while he was basically in closed seclusion—even if his responses were a bit lackluster. All she had to do was pretend he was cultivating, which he was, and leave him alone. In the meantime, she’d focus on her own cultivation. After seeing the false immortal trample over Rachel as if she were a bedridden patient, Azalea couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. In the end, personal strength mattered more than anything else.

A familiar sound entered Grandpa Vremya’s ears, and he turned his head. “What are you doing?” he asked Azalea, who was sitting next to him.

“It’s a little late for me to start, but don’t you think I should be a bit domineering too?” Azalea asked with a slight smile on her lips as the game Grandpa Vremya played popped up on her screen. How did that popular saying go? If you can’t beat them, join them. As for Ancestor Rachel’s fate, neither of the two seemed particularly worried—much to the dismay of the spies sent to observe them. Weren’t sect members supposed to treat each other like family? Weren’t they supposed to take care of each other in their times of need? Why the hell were they playing games instead of rushing to the target’s side!? How were they supposed to locate the target if the satellites hadn’t found a single trace of her and if her allies wouldn’t lead them to her?