It could be said that The Boss's obsession with sword cultivation was simply incomprehensible—the shipping costs alone were more expensive than the items themselves.

Of course, sometimes Ethan Brooks felt that, given The Boss's pitiful finances, sword cultivation was about the only cheap hobby he could afford.

Ethan Brooks had tried to persuade The Boss to switch to body forging or something similar, since it had a much better future than sword cultivation. The Boss flew into a rage, cursing him out thoroughly. It was then that Ethan Brooks realized The Boss really had no talent for business.

Left alone in the empty dojo, Ethan Brooks simply started messing around with those sword manuals that cost a mere twenty coins per twenty pounds. He never managed to become a sword cultivator, but thanks to his persistence in training, he did get a lot better at fighting, and managed to attract a couple of little kids with his fists.

The Boss was incompetent, his business failed, and he was unable to pay his debts, so he committed suicide. Ethan Brooks was very upset—The Boss was a good person, just not very strong.

Paying back debts is only right, and the dojo should belong to someone else. On the last day, when the debt collectors came to seize the dojo, Ethan Brooks told himself this.

But when he saw the crude bookshelf he had built himself being knocked to the ground, sword manuals scattered everywhere—half of which The Boss had hauled back from distant cities—when he saw the sword rack he wiped down several times a day being trampled to pieces by the debt collectors—The Boss said it was a treasure he had scavenged from a sword master's cave, and that the flying swords once displayed on it had been stained with blood for a thousand miles, intimidating all rivals—when he saw the Nine-Tone Sword wind chime hanging under the eaves being torn to shreds—The Boss said it was the treasured artifact of the once-famous Nine-Tone Sword Sect, and that when the nine swords were drawn, their heavenly sound shattered the void—

He couldn't hold back. Like a wounded wolf on the brink of death, he lunged at them in a frenzy.

It was just a struggle, yes, a desperate struggle.

Ethan Brooks didn't know The Boss's real name. He found a plank, wrote the characters “The Boss” on it as a spirit tablet, used thin branches as incense, burned all the sword manuals he could for The Boss, kowtowed, and wished that heaven would let The Boss fulfill his sword cultivation dream in paradise.

Covered in wounds, he stared at the wrecked dojo for a long time before turning to leave. Walking through the dappled sunlight that filtered through the uneven rooftops along the street, he moved mechanically, legs on autopilot, not knowing where he was headed.

Even after a year, that feeling of confusion and utter loneliness was still so vivid. He remembered feeling a bit cold, wrapping his faded, washed-out clothes tighter around himself, hands stuffed in his pockets. The sunlight that day was different from today’s—bone-chillingly cold.

He walked and walked, not knowing how long had passed, until a sharp hunger finally snapped him out of his daze. Cold and starving, he saw a notice from Five Element Heaven recruiting laborers for the Wildlands.

With nowhere to go and no way forward, he went.

Fortunately, he survived.

……

Ethan Brooks's thoughts returned to the present, and he realized his body had unconsciously tensed up. He couldn't help but give a bitter smile—such a beautiful moment, ruined again by not-so-beautiful memories.

He let out a long breath, trying to relax his tense muscles.

For three whole years, he had survived in the Wildlands by sheer luck. Out of their team of two thousand, only two survived—himself and Dylan Foster. Oh, the fat guy’s name was Dylan Foster.

The families of dead laborers would receive compensation, and the survivors would get a large sum of money. Five Element Heaven was never stingy about this.

The fat guy was preparing to go home. His family was all widows and orphans, and he had to support the whole lot. His pressure was even greater than Ethan Brooks's.

“All right, I know you’re as stubborn as a turtle swallowing a weight. You’ve got a bad temper, tons of flaws, and you never listen to advice. You’re not young anymore, still acting like this—how are you ever going to get married? Save your money…” The fat guy kept nagging, maybe because they were about to part ways.

Normally, Ethan Brooks would find the nagging unbearable, but now it didn’t seem so annoying. But as soon as the fat guy mentioned money, Ethan Brooks felt a dull ache in his forehead—this guy always got hyper whenever money was involved.

Sure enough, seeing the veins on the fat guy’s neck start to bulge, Ethan Brooks made a snap decision and tossed him a cloth bag: “For you!”

The fat guy looked at Ethan Brooks in confusion, but with surprising agility for his size, he caught it in one swift motion. As soon as the bag was in his hand, his beady little eyes went wide.

With fingers thick as carrots, he quickly untied the bag. One look inside, and his whole body trembled with excitement.

Ethan Brooks turned his head away in disgust—the fat guy’s face when he saw money was just unbearable.

“Smack!” The fat guy rushed over, grabbed Ethan Brooks's hands, his face full of emotion, eyes brimming with tears.

Seeing him like this, Ethan Brooks was moved too, feeling he’d underestimated the fat guy. After fighting side by side for so long, their bond was truly deep. He wasn’t used to such scenes and wanted to yell “get lost,” but remembering they were about to part, he forced himself to hold back, softened his voice, and awkwardly said, “Anyway, I’m alone, don’t have much use for money. You’re going back to Old Earth, lots of family, you’ll need it more than me…”

“Good brother! You’re really my good brother!” The fat guy choked up, shaking Ethan Brooks's hands desperately, tears streaming down his face. “Five Element Heaven covers food and lodging, and you won’t use the other half anyway—why not just give it all to me?”