Chapter 2
Muttering, “Where did this moron come from?”, Demonic Disciple A sighed and pressed a pill into my hand.
Demonic Disciple A: “You owe me a favor. Remember to pay me back.”
Me: “You can count on it.”
I swallowed the pill, and I had a nose!
I touched the high bridge of my nose, which I’d missed for so long, and actually felt my eyes grow damp.
Why hadn’t I known about something this wonderful before?
All those years as an ugly freak, for nothing.
Following Demonic Disciple A’s directions, I set off on a long journey.
Demon Mountain was so tall. I’d walked all day and still hadn’t reached the bottom.
As I sat on the steps wiping away sweat, Demonic Disciple B landed in front of me.
“Aren’t you the new guy? What are you doing here?”
I stared, my mouth hanging open. Demonic Disciple B had flown over standing on a sword.
Swords were their flying vehicles?
They didn’t ride broomsticks!
Me: “Is this how you’ve always flown?”
Demonic Disciple B: “How else? There’s teleportation, too, but that takes spirit stones. Too expensive.”
Me: “So you’ve never squashed your balls.”
Demonic Disciple B: “Squashed my what?”
Me: “…”
I made up my mind then and there. Once I united this cultivation world, I would make everyone fly on broomsticks!
Every indignity I’d suffered, they would suffer too!
Demonic Disciple B: “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
Me: “Resting. I’ve spent all day walking and haven’t got down the mountain. I’m exhausted.”
Demonic Disciple B: “You can’t fly on a sword?”
Me: “No. No sword.”
Demonic Disciple B: “Then you actually climbed all the way up from the foot of the mountain?! You really must love being a demonic cultivator!”
Me: “…”
Taking pity on me, Demonic Disciple B decided to do a good deed and took me to the cultivators’ market.
Demonic Disciple B: “I haven’t done a good deed for nearly two hundred years. You owe me a big favor, brat. Remember to repay it.”
Me: “You can count on it. By the way, how old are you?”
Demonic Disciple B: “Over two hundred.”
Me: “How old are the sect elders?”
Demonic Disciple B: “Several thousand at a conservative estimate. Why?”
Me: “…”
In my world, the longest-lived wizard had lived to 665.
I’d put myself through hell in my last life, made seven Horcruxes, and still dropped dead in my seventies.
What was wrong with the people here?
How were they living so long?!
Did they just not like dying?
Suddenly, I realized that ruling this cultivation world might not be as simple as I’d imagined.
Everything here defied common sense.
Demonic Disciple B flew off on his sword.
I followed the crowd into the cultivators’ market.
There were stalls everywhere, and shops lining the street, all selling things useful only to cultivators.
I wandered about, intent on finding a wand shop.
Then two people ahead of me started dueling for no apparent reason.
“She’s my fiancée!”
“She doesn’t love you!”
They shouted about love and who had come first, then began fighting.
I watched the battle in astonishment—
They weren’t using wands!!!!!
Merlin’s beard! All they needed to cast spells was a few hand gestures!
“Heaven-Shattering, Sea-Cleaving, Ninth Form! Take this!”
One man swung his sword. Its energy turned into an ocean wave and swept toward his opponent.
Their weapons could launch magical attacks, too!
“Hmph. A paltry trick. Myriad Arts of the Mystic Heavens!”
The other produced an oil-paper umbrella. As it opened, golden light enveloped his entire body. The wave struck the golden barrier and vanished instantly.
They even had supporting magical items! Such powerful ones!
What kind of bizarre world was this?!
In my previous world, even interrogating prisoners involved using a wand to carve words into their bodies!
I stared blankly as they fought their way into the air and flew off. Presumably it was too crowded here for them to fight properly, so they were looking for another mountaintop.
The shock left me dizzy. I stood among the crowd, unable to recover.
Terrifying. Utterly terrifying.
How the fuck was I supposed to compete with this?