Chapter 5: Wandering Bandits, Fleeting Years

Heaven has bestowed upon me talents that will surely be put to use.
Every person’s existence carries its own intrinsic value, without distinction of rank or worth.
Perhaps you feel yourself lacking in all things, compelled to exert several times the effort; perhaps you labor tirelessly, driven by the hopes of aging parents; perhaps you toil without complaint for the happiness of your wife and children… Even as a seemingly insignificant figure, you need not feel inferior.
In truth, you have already become worthy.
A hero does not necessarily have to accomplish earth-shattering deeds. When you have the courage to face and assume the responsibilities that are yours, to cherish kinship, and to guard your own happiness, you are your own hero.
Heroes are everywhere.
Especially for a man, the dream of heroism always lies dormant within the soul, an irreplaceable longing. Once the moment arrives, it erupts swiftly. Of course, in a special era, aspiring to be a hero comes at a price. The strength you possess determines whether your heroic path will be enduring or…
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“It’s him!”
Most of the people in Duguli Village knew that the two sisters had, days before, kindly rescued a severely injured, unconscious man whose fate was uncertain. Many had seen that even if he survived, he was doomed to be crippled. No matter how formidable he had once been, he would become one of the weak, just like them. And survival itself was still uncertain.
Yet they still supported the sisters, doing their best to care for him.
Now, this so-called invalid they had nursed was bravely charging forth, shielding the younger sister against the vicious marauders.
Their eyes brightened, then dimmed.
Having courage was one thing; whether he could succeed was another. Perhaps his blood and valor at this moment would soon become the very scythe that ended his life.
“Let’s hope these bandits are nothing special, and there remains a sliver of hope… Fortunately, he’s not our village guardian, and won’t be tainted by the ill-fated reputation, becoming the thirty-first unlucky guardian… Heaven protect us!” All the villagers silently prayed.
“Dugu Bieli?” After his initial shock, the leader remembered that his twelve brothers, each of uncommon strength, stood by him. With a self-mocking grin, he sneered, “So what if you are a guardian? We’ve roamed far and wide, killing guardians so many times that we’ve lost count. Who do you think you are, daring to speak so arrogantly, threatening to annihilate the Thirteen Wolves? For that single sentence, you must die—and they will all die with you!”
“If I survive, then we’ll speak again!” Dugu Bieli cared nothing for the fate of the villagers; protecting the two sisters was enough.
Seeing the rest of the Thirteen Wolves brandishing swords and knives, murderous intent boiling, eyes fierce and predatory, Dugu Bieli let out a cold laugh and suddenly lunged forward.
“If you wish for a quick death, I’ll oblige you.”
The leader grinned wickedly, stepping forward and swinging his blade in a fierce arc. The blade was sharp, the wind howled, the momentum overwhelming. On his right hand, the massive blade gleamed with a blood-red hue, within which countless vengeful souls shrieked, chilling all who witnessed it. The fainthearted were immediately shaken, their will broken, left defenseless to slaughter.
“As you wish!” Dugu Bieli’s figure flickered, his steps nimble, darting to the leader’s left. His left arm blocked the opponent’s elbow; his right hand, clenched into a fist, cracked with bone and sinew, then shot forth like a dragon emerging from the sea, soaring to the heavens.
Boom!
His fist struck directly at the chest.

The brothers of the Thirteen Wolves, standing at the leader’s side and behind him, suddenly saw a crimson flower bloom strangely on their big brother’s back, dazzlingly bright!
“How can this be?” The blade fell silent, the leader’s body stiff. His eyes were filled with astonishment and disbelief. Struggling to lower his gaze, he saw that Dugu Bieli’s punch had shattered his chest bone, the arm deeply embedded. “Am I to die just like this? I… cannot accept it…”
“There are those even more unwilling than you. Do you think death is the end?” Dugu Bieli replied chillingly, the corners of his mouth lifting to reveal a few glaringly white teeth. “Origin—Nether—Technique!”
Boom—his fist, buried deep within the chest, abruptly opened, his skill flowing freely, and in his palm formed a vortex. A powerful suction erupted, devouring all things tangible and intangible—be it physical essence or spirit, energy, and soul.
“Ah—”
The leader screamed in agony, feeling his soul plummet into a pitch-black abyss, countless swords and blades slicing at him, threatening to tear him apart. His bodily essence, as if drawn by a mysterious force, was pulled out and gathered at a single point.
That point was his heart.
And there was also a hand—a demonic hand of death!
“He really defeated one!” The villagers, ever watchful, trembled from head to toe, their eyes burning with a renewed fire—every person has blood and dignity, and none wish to see their lives trampled and insulted.
“Heavens! What manner of man did I rescue?” The younger sister, freed from the villain’s grasp, was stunned by the sturdy figure standing before her, lost in confusion. As she regained her senses, she saw the man had already charged forward, destroyed the enemy with a single punch, splitting flesh and bone. For a moment, her mind was blank.
Her thoughts echoed her parents’ parting words: “Do good unto others, and it will be repaid.”
“Well done, so powerful, big brother…” The child, climbing up from the ground, clenched his tiny fists, eyes shining with excitement, itching to join the fray…
“Big brother…”
“Eldest brother…”
“You dare kill our leader! Brothers, together—kill him, then slaughter the whole village, leave none alive, let their blood wash away the fury of the Thirteen Wolves!”
“Kill!”
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
…
Twelve identical sounds rang out in succession.
The earth trembled.
Amidst clouds of dust, twelve figures, wrapped in icy murderous intent and burning hatred, leaped from every direction towards Dugu Bieli. Each radiated ferocity, emotions intense, blood surging, blades and swords gleaming with deadly brilliance.

“Heavens, they are all warriors—this is the end!” An experienced elder of the village, panic-stricken, stamped his feet and sighed deeply. The twelve resounding impacts signified twelve warriors.
The world of the Primeval Era was divided into five great domains, nominally ruled by five emperors. Beneath each emperor were personally cultivated or promoted kings, who governed their respective regions. Every king would emulate the emperor, subdividing their territories and selecting lords to manage them. Those lords, in turn, would appoint marquises for further administration. Marquises would likewise learn the system, appointing governors for each domain…
Under each domain were cities, cities divided into towns, towns containing villages. A village was the smallest unit of administration.
A city had a lord, requiring a general; a town had a chief, requiring a warrior. At the lowest level, a village had no formal administrator, only a guardian.
A guardian, as the name implies, is responsible for protecting the village’s safety and peace. The requirement is simply that of a soldier or a warrior, with a very low threshold. Most guardians are soldiers. After all, people strive upwards, and few warriors are willing to remain in a village. If they believe themselves capable, they challenge the town chief; if victorious, they replace him and enjoy greater resources and authority.
Being a guardian is a thankless task.
The guardians of Duguli Village had all been soldiers; due to a year when thirty consecutive deaths occurred, an unfortunate reputation spread, and the village was abandoned by the powerful. Recently, there had been no guardian at all.
In earlier times, when Duguli Village was under jurisdiction, it belonged to Skyglow City. The city lord was a general who, in his youth, accompanied an army and was the sole survivor of an annihilation, rescued by villagers. In gratitude for saving his life, he often favored the village. It was during those years that the village elder, through contact with the city lord, learned some information about cultivators.
That “bang” was the impact caused by a warrior opening the mighty spring of power. Thus, to identify a cultivator as a warrior, one simply observed the sign when they exerted force.
Ten thousand soldiers cannot stand against one warrior.
To villagers, warriors were distant and terrifying beings. When the elder recognized and spoke, the oppressive meaning of “warrior” instantly crushed the earlier flicker of hope. Everyone, including the younger sister, fell into despair: a single warrior spelled disaster for the village—what about twelve?
“So this is the secret of battle power… A warrior may be a low-level existence, but their essence is vast—far stronger than the grandmasters of my previous life…” Dugu Bieli absorbed all the leader’s essence; his arm trembled slightly, and the corpse turned to dust, drifting away.
Carefully savoring the flow of power, Dugu Bieli gradually gained clarity, and he noticed another strange phenomenon: when he blocked the opponent’s attack with his arm, he had not actually used much force—only about half his full strength.
In other words, his spring of power was more than twice as strong as the leader’s.
A soldier has single-fold battle power, while a warrior, regardless of how many springs of power they open, has five-fold, and that is the strongest battle power among warriors.
Yet now, possessing a spring of power himself, he could potentially have ten-fold battle power!
According to the divisions of battle power and realm, only generals above warriors should possess ten-fold battle power, and that only in their fully condensed, optimal state.
Could it be that I am a general?
Dugu Bieli fell into brief confusion.
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