Volume One

Chapter One: Decision

The chubby guy beside him crunched on his malt candy, the sound crisp in the air. The afterglow of the setting sun spilled across the land, the wind as gentle as feathers, lacking any of its usual chill or severity. Ethan Brooks wondered if he would ever remember this day in the future.

“Have you decided?” the chubby guy mumbled.

“I’ve decided.” Ethan Brooks replied with certainty. He had made up his mind long ago; there was nothing to hesitate about.

The chubby guy sounded both like he was sighing and a little envious: “Don’t let those little brats outdo you, that would be embarrassing for me. I just don’t get it—what’s so great about fighting and killing? With this money, we could go back and live well for half a lifetime! How many people went into the wilderness with us? Two thousand! Only the two of us survived! This is blood money, you get it? If I die, my family can still get the money. If you die…”

“That’s why I have to stay alive.” Ethan Brooks interrupted, cutting off the increasingly agitated chubby guy, who had stood up. His rebellious face was now inexplicably calm.

The chance to enter Five Element Sky was hard-won. His aptitude wasn’t outstanding; he originally had no right to enter Five Element Sky. But over the past three years, his excellent performance, his composure in complex and tense situations, and the courage and fighting spirit he showed at critical moments all left a deep impression.

When he requested a spot to enter Five Element Sky, the higher-ups considered it and finally agreed.

Out of two thousand laborers, only two survived. Even if luck played a big part, it still said a lot.

The chubby guy slumped back down, all too familiar with Ethan Brooks’s stubbornness. After a moment’s thought, he perked up again, his face earnest: “Remember to put my name down for the compensation money. Better me than someone else.”

Ethan Brooks couldn’t be bothered to respond. He casually plucked a blade of grass, put it in his mouth, and lay back comfortably with his head resting on his hands. In these three years in the wilderness, his nerves had been stretched taut every day—blood, life and death, desperate struggles—a dark, cold world tinged with crimson.

He didn’t know how he’d made it through these three years, nor did he want to remember. They weren’t pleasant memories.

The afterglow of the setting sun shone on him, warm and comfortable. Ethan Brooks’s brow unconsciously relaxed, the cold and rebellious look on his face gradually softening, becoming peaceful and serene.

So comfortable!

His warm body gradually relaxed, and Ethan Brooks’s thoughts began to drift, like mist freed from its bonds, silently spreading out.

The warm sunlight, the slightly tipsy breeze, a feeling both unfamiliar and familiar, awakened those strange yet familiar memories deep in his mind.

Three years before those three years, the sunlight and wind at the sword cultivator’s dojo were just like this.

The sun hadn’t risen yet. Breathing in the chilly air, he began cleaning the dojo that had been converted from an old warehouse. First, he wiped the floor three times as a warm-up. After finishing the floor, he started assembling wooden racks. The wood was all scavenged from nearby streets, varying in length and thickness, so the racks’ shapes were nothing to write home about.

Once the racks were done, he began organizing the sword manuals and secret tomes the boss had recently acquired.

These tomes went for twenty jin per yuan at market price. Paper books were cheap, iron tokens and gold shells were a bit pricier, and jade slips were the least valuable. It was a lot of work, but no one rushed him, and Ethan Brooks never hurried, taking the chance to flip through and comment on them.

Occasionally, he would daydream—if this were the cultivation era, how glorious would he be? He’d sell so many sword manuals his hands would go numb.

After sorting the sword manuals, he would start organizing the flying swords and treasured blades.

By then, the sun had risen, warm just like now. Ethan Brooks’s lips couldn’t help but curl into a faint smile.

Even though the flying swords and treasured blades had lost all their spiritual power, dull and lifeless, just a pile of scrap metal, under the sunlight, Ethan Brooks was often captivated by their ancient charm.

Flying swords represented the pinnacle of the cultivation world, the favorite of generations of master craftsmen. They came in all shapes and sizes, some so strange you’d never associate them with flying swords at all.

He didn’t touch the ones that were too rusty—if they broke, the boss would scold him again.

No wages, but three meals a day. For a street orphan who’d wandered from place to place before the age of ten, this life was as wonderful as the sunlight now. He couldn’t think of a better word to praise it.

The boss was a good person, just not much of a businessman.

Would a competent businessman run a sword cultivator’s dojo?

Ethan Brooks spent three years at the dojo. Fewer than ten people ever came to visit. Seeing the sword cultivator’s dojo sign at the entrance, nine out of ten would turn away immediately.

Who still practiced sword cultivation these days?

Inside the dojo, aside from countless secret tomes and treasured blades, flying swords, there was nothing else. For these things, the boss scoured junk markets everywhere. Even when traveling for business, he’d bring back a batch.