But he had his own bottom line in his heart. Even though, strictly speaking, the people in this village didn’t have much to do with him, he remembered how his cheap mother had passed away just days ago, and he himself had just recovered from a serious illness. If it hadn’t been for the help of the neighbors, he would probably have died long ago—how could he have what he had today: becoming the successor to the Holy Sect leader, and even obtaining a system that seemed quite remarkable.

“Although I’m just a beginner, dealing with a few petty thieves shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Thinking to himself, he looked around to see if there was anything useful. Sure enough, he spotted something, his eyes lit up, and he quickly used a rag to pack up quite a bit.

Henry Brooks, watching from the side, saw that this kid was sharp and immediately understood what was going on. But instead of helping to pack more, he ducked to the side and pulled out a cylindrical object—William Foster glanced over and immediately recognized it as a water flask that could be carried when going into the mountains.

“Damn, this kid is even sneakier than me!”

After William Foster finished packing up, Henry Brooks had also filled a flask with fresh water. The two of them looked at each other, and then Henry Brooks picked up a wooden stick that had been placed behind the door.

‘Fully equipped,’ the two of them hurried to the village entrance. By now, quite a few people had gathered there—mostly able-bodied men from the village, with a few elderly men as well. As for women and children, none were present; they had probably all gone into hiding.

As soon as the two appeared, a sturdy middle-aged man holding a pitchfork frowned and walked over. “What are you two doing here?”

“Third Uncle!”

Of course, this “Third Uncle” wasn’t actually a relative of theirs; it was just that this man’s name was James Brooks, so the young people in the village all called him Third Uncle. He was a woodcutter in the village, known for his good nature. Whenever he went into the mountains to chop wood, he would always bring back extra firewood for the families in need.

If he caught any small game, he would share it with others, so he was quite respected in the village. Now that something big had happened, everyone naturally looked to James Brooks to take the lead.

James Brooks knew the situation was serious, so he had called up all the able-bodied men in the village, while telling the women and children to hide and not show themselves—especially the few unmarried girls, who were hidden in the most secret places, just in case the bandits saw them.

Even so, James Brooks didn’t think things would end well today. Not only did these men lack the courage to fight the bandits head-on, even if they dared, they probably wouldn’t win.

He was worrying about this when William Foster showed up again!

James Brooks naturally knew William Foster. He knew this kid had just been seriously ill and had almost lost his life. His only family, his mother, had just passed away, and both his body and mind had taken a hit. He definitely hadn’t recovered yet, so James Brooks hadn’t called him.

Of course, he didn’t know that William Foster now had a different soul inside, so the psychological blow didn’t matter. As for his body, thanks to the neighbors’ help, he had pretty much recovered over the past few days.

If there was any problem, it was just that he hadn’t eaten enough and was a bit weak.

“Shitou, you’ve just recovered. Hurry back home!”

Of course, William Foster refused, shaking his head. “If we can’t solve the problem here, hiding is useless!”

James Brooks hadn’t expected William Foster to see things so clearly. If they couldn’t deal with the bandits here—whether by paying them off or driving them away—then their little village would not escape disaster today.

“In that case, stay by Third Uncle’s side. If things go wrong, run straight toward Shili Pavilion! As long as you run into the patrol officers coming this way, you’ll be safe!”

He had made up his mind: if things went south, at least the young ones had to be saved. William Foster could tell what he meant, but didn’t know how to respond, so he simply stayed silent, clenching his fists tightly.

James Brooks just thought it was youthful stubbornness and didn’t pay it much mind, not knowing that William Foster was thinking about something else entirely.

“Run? Where could I run to? If I run from bandits today, what about when Edward Grant comes tomorrow—can I run then?”

At the same time, he recalled what that old man called Charles Bennett had said to him in that strange space: “My aptitude is average, my foundation is poor. In the eyes of many, I probably won’t achieve much in martial arts. But at least I know countless principles—doesn’t that mean there’s a path for me?”

“They say there are three thousand paths to the Dao, and all roads lead to Rome. I refuse to believe there isn’t a way for me! Maybe these bandits are a sign from heaven!”

“Poor foundation, average aptitude… then I’ll make up for it with diligence, and fight and struggle with others to accumulate rich experience. I refuse to believe I can’t succeed this way!”

He had read far too many miscellaneous things and knew that while martial arts skill mattered, there were countless factors that determined victory in a fight, and experience in facing enemies was a crucial one.

“My skills may be lower than yours, but I can always bring out 120% of my strength. I refuse to believe that, after fight after fight, I can’t beat some shut-in who only trains behind closed doors!”

Lost in these wild thoughts, he mentally reviewed the wild boxing techniques he had just learned. At that moment, about seven or eight burly men in ragged clothes, each holding a different weapon, appeared in everyone’s line of sight.