Previously, he was so hungry his limbs felt weak; now he was so full he could barely move. It took him a full ten minutes just to shuffle from the mouth of the alley to the entrance of the dojo.

At the entrance, Lauren sat on the stone steps, looking a bit bored.

A strange feeling rose in Ethan Brooks's heart—a bored sand puppet? That just doesn't fit the vibe.

"I've been waiting for you for an hour." Lauren stood up when he saw Ethan Brooks, patting the dust off his body.

It was the first time Ethan Brooks had seen such an intelligent sand puppet, and that dusting-off gesture was just priceless. Hey, you're a sand puppet—there shouldn't be any dust, but if you pat yourself, shouldn't a cloud of sand come off?

Besides, we're not even that close, are we?

As he opened the door, he casually asked, "Is there something you need?"

"No." Lauren tilted his head, as if searching for the right words. "We're neighbors, so I'm just dropping by."

Night had fully fallen, but Ethan Brooks could still make out the black mask on Lauren's face. Seeing the mask reminded him of tonight's accident, and he felt like he might end up with a psychological shadow if this kept up.

Absentmindedly, he asked, "Why do you wear a mask?"

Lauren replied, "Because I don't have a face."

"No face?" Ethan Brooks was a bit surprised. "Why not make one?"

It's very easy for a sand puppet to mold a face; some can even change their appearance at will.

Lauren said, "Mr. Parker thinks it's too much trouble."

Thinking of the reclusive earth elementalist next door, Ethan Brooks felt that was indeed Mr. Parker's style. Among earth elementalists, there were plenty of oddballs; Ethan Brooks had met many who were even stranger and more dangerous. By comparison, Mr. Parker was just a bit eccentric, but not particularly dangerous.

"It's really not that much trouble," Ethan Brooks said, though even he felt his words were pointless and futile. He realized he really didn't need to dwell on tonight's accident, even if the sensation had actually been quite nice.

"No need. I'm just a sand puppet; I don't need a face." Lauren explained seriously, "Who would remember a sand puppet anyway?"

Ethan Brooks's hand paused as he was opening the door.

He wanted to say something, but when the words reached his lips, he didn't know what to say.

"Yeah."

Ethan Brooks seemed to sigh. It was a bit cruel, but he couldn't bring himself to say something he didn't mean. Sand puppets were the most quickly discarded and damaged beings in the wilds, second only to laborers.

No one remembers a sand puppet—who would remember a laborer?

Both are drifters at the end of the world, but at least I have fifty thousand bucks.

Feeling invigorated, Ethan Brooks pushed open the door with swagger.

"Welcome to my place."

Chapter 8: Sword Embryo Seed

In the dark room, Ethan Brooks sat on the bed in the corner, hugging his sword, and slowly opened his eyes.

The moment those eyes, deeper than the night, opened, it was as if a cold gleam flashed through the pitch-black room. That sharp, icy light vanished in an instant, and Ethan Brooks returned to his harmless appearance.

It had been a few days since he left the wilds, and he still wasn't used to sleeping in a bed.

He checked the sword embryo seed he had been nurturing inside his body for three years—no change.

He put down the grass sword he was holding, and the sense of the sword embryo within him faded. There was a time when he was overly reliant on the sword embryo, never letting go of his sword no matter what. Later, he realized that made him lose his vigilance, so he forced himself not to touch the sword except during battle or night watch.

Being able to survive intact in the wilds, Ethan Brooks had his own unique strengths—the sword embryo seed was his greatest reliance.

On the third day after entering the wilds, he nearly lost his life. From that moment on, he began a desperate pursuit of power; only with strength could he survive in the cold, harsh wilds. He had no one to turn to for help—elementalists never cared about laborers, and Ethan Brooks was not someone particularly clever or cunning.

A beast driven to desperation often bursts forth with greater strength than usual; it's the same for people.

Ethan Brooks was like a drowning man, desperately grabbing at any straw he could.

For example, sword manuals—what he had the most of in his mind.

The disappearance of spiritual energy caused the collapse of the cultivation world; the era of cultivators was gone forever. But after millions of years of accumulation, the depth was immense, and the development of the cultivation system far surpassed what people could imagine today.

Body refinement, formations, artifact forging, five elements, corpse driving—an endless variety, all sorts of strange and marvelous things. The abundant and easily used spiritual energy, combined with humanity's rich imagination, gave birth to the most brilliant, magnificent, and vast cultivation system in history.

Yet even in such a dazzling and complex cultivation system, sword cultivators were always the brightest stars. In every era of the cultivation world, among the top experts, there were always sword cultivators.

Back then, the emergence of a renowned sword manual would often set off a bloody storm. Now, they were buried in piles of old paper and trash, worthless.

Sword cultivators were the largest group among cultivators, so naturally there were all sorts of strange things.

The sword manuals that required spiritual energy were the first Ethan Brooks eliminated. These were usually orthodox manuals from major sects, and in an era of abundant spiritual energy, the main concern was how to use it more effectively. Next to be eliminated were the manuals he couldn't understand. Obscure and difficult sword manuals were as numerous as cattle; Ethan Brooks had read an astonishing number of them—he could be considered half an expert—but there were still many he couldn't make sense of. Some were deliberately mysterious, others simply too ancient.