Chapter 63: The Ideals

Stepping out from behind the bath screen, the lingering warmth of the water still clinging to my skin, I felt a strange lightness in my chest.

I dried my hair, pulled on a fresh set of clothes, and walked down the wooden staircase beside Master. During the past month on Lonely Cloud Peak, I had gradually grown accustomed to his effortless warmth, but the quiet conversation we had shared just moments ago in the guest room had stirred something within me.

I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I ever wished to break free from the icy shell of my past, I could not remain passive. I needed to take the initiative to bridge the gap between our souls.

So, sitting at our corner table amidst the tavern’s noisy clamor, I deliberately let down my guard. I tossed out small, playful retorts, laughed at his absurd musings about the world, and allowed myself to tease him when he puffed out his chest like an untouchable grandmaster.

And just as I had hoped, watching his eyes crinkle with amusement made the warm, fragrant plum wine taste sweeter than any mortal nectar. Every minute spent in his presence felt like basking beneath a gentle, eternal spring sun.

When we finally returned to the Pine Pavilion suite, the storm outside was still howling against the wooden shutters.

We climbed into the colossal bed together. I didn’t hesitate, nor did I retreat to the opposite edge, I slid beneath the plush silk quilt and immediately snuggled straight into his chest.

Master’s embrace was a fortress of pure, soothing heat. Wrapping my slender arms around his waist, I buried my face into the crook of his collarbone, breathing in the clean, faint scent of mountain tea and cedar wood that naturally clung to his robes.

It was a shelter I never wanted to lose. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the bloody phantoms of my burning clan did not haunt my sleep.

Held tightly against his steady, rhythmic heartbeat, I surrendered to exhaustion and slept in unshakeable peace.

When my eyes fluttered open in the soft morning light, my senses were immediately flooded with his presence.

Master was still half-asleep, his handsome face remarkably peaceful beneath messy strands of dark hair. Without thinking, my small, calloused fingers slid down his chest, slipping past the loose collar of his sleeping robe to brush against the firm, sculpted contours of his abdominal muscles.

His skin was warm and firm like tempered marble, sending a thrilling, electric jolt racing along my fingertips.

A sudden, fierce hunger, a primal yearning I had never felt in my twenty years of life, ignited low in my belly.

Before my timid mind could invent an excuse, I pushed myself upward, leaned over him, and firmly pressed my lips against his.

I had never kissed anyone before, I was clumsy, reckless, and hungry, blindly seeking his warmth.

Master froze for a fraction of a heartbeat, thoroughly surprised by my sudden boldness, before a low, intoxicating rumble vibrated deep within his chest. In the next instant, the world flipped. He rolled my light frame beneath him, pinning me against the soft mattress, and effortlessly seized control.

His kiss became deep, demanding, and utterly breathless. His tongue parted my lips with practiced, devastating grace, coaxing me into a dizzying dance that left my mind spinning in golden fog.

While his mouth claimed mine, his large, warm hands roamed slowly over my body, sliding beneath the silk hem of my robe to cup the curve of my waist and caress the supple flare of my bare hips.

A sharp, electric tremor ripped through my spine. A breathless, helpless whimper broke from my throat into his mouth as my body arched involuntarily into his touch.

Every brush of his calloused fingers across my skin sent waves of honeyed, intoxicating pleasure cascading through my veins, a foreign, overwhelming sensation that made my toes curl and my heart race like a wild stallion.

When he finally pulled back to let me draw breath, his eyes gleaming with dark, affectionate hunger, my cheeks were burning hotter than molten iron.

Yet, beneath the breathless embarrassment, my heart soared into the clouds. I had done it. I had reached out, touched him, and taken my very first, real step toward truly becoming his woman.

After we washed and dressed, we headed downstairs for a steaming breakfast of warm porridge and fried bread. As we sat by the window, an agitated commotion erupted by the main entrance.

Several townspeople and merchants were shouting outside in the damp alley, having discovered a heavily wounded, bloodied man lying in the mud near the inn’s eaves.

I turned my head, my eyes narrowing with instinctual, military caution as I wondered if an enemy was lurking nearby.

Noticing my tension, Master poured a cup of hot tea and gently redirected my focus, weaving the incident into another profound lesson on the delicate balance between mortals and the immortal path.

He explained that while mortals lived short, chaotic lives filled with endless friction that an immortal should learn to overlook, detachment did not mean callousness. True wisdom lay in finding an anchor, preserving one’s fundamental humanity while avoiding the trap of meddling in every mundane storm that did not require our steel.

Listening to his calm words, I mentally scolded myself for being so quick to jump at shadows.

My Master’s mind operated on a plane of vast cosmic harmony, and I eagerly looked forward to absorbing whatever further wisdom he would bestow upon me during our travels.

Departing Autumn Wind Town, we resumed our steady rhythm across the rugged highways.

Whenever a wild magical beast crossed our path, Master would rein in his stallion and order me to draw my sword, providing me with precious, real-world combat experience. Each beast forced me to refine my footwork, regulate my breathing, and test the limits of my Body Strengthening physique.

By early afternoon, we reached the towering timber border barricades separating the kingdoms. When the imperial border patrol attempted to intercept us, Master didn’t bother with tedious mortal paperwork, he casually flashed his unique, glowing Mystic Cloud Peak Master jade token, causing the terrified officers to drop to their knees and clear the path without daring to question our passage.

Watching him make our warhorses leap over the palisade, I realized another practical truth, while anonymity was a useful cloak to avoid flies, an immortal’s supreme status was a sledgehammer meant to smash through useless bureaucracy when time was precious.

Shortly after plunging into the untamed wilderness of the Iron Valley Principality, our leisurely pace was shattered.

Thick, billowing columns of black smoke rose above a distant forest ridge.

We spurred our Tier 2 Iron-Hoof Blood Stallions into a gallop, cresting a rocky rise to look down upon a chaotic, blood-soaked battlefield.

In the clearing below, a ruthless gang of thirty scarred bandits clad in wolf pelts was violently besieging a four-carriage merchant caravan. Several mortal caravan guards were already lying dead in the dirt, their blood staining the gravel while the remaining defenders were being hacked apart on their knees.

The sight made my blood boil with blinding rage.

Though I had spent agonizing months crawling through the muck and bile of this cruel world, I had never forgotten the iron principles my father had carved into my soul during my youth at the border garrison.

A warrior wields steel to protect the innocent, not to butcher the weak.

Those moral tenets were not just rules, they were the absolute, sacred core of my identity. They were the only pieces of my parents that still lived within this world, and I clung to them with everything I had.

My mother had sacrificed her life to shield me, my father had shattered a stone wall with shattered fists so that I could live. How could I stand idle on a high ridge and watch defenseless travelers be butchered like cattle by ravenous outlaws?

To be sure, my time surviving as a hunted beggar had taught me brutal selfishness.

Aside from Master, to whom my entire existence belonged, I knew I would never sacrifice my life for anyone else. If the day ever came where I was forced to choose between my own survival and the lives of a hundred strangers, the lesson of this ruthless world was absolute, I would choose to live every single time. My life was too precious, paid for by the blood of my entire clan.

Yet here, standing atop a ridge with sufficient martial strength to intervene, upholding my father’s creed and protecting the helpless was my duty.

I gripped the hilt of my sword until my knuckles turned white, turning my face toward Master to seek his permission.

Master looked down at the burning wagons, a faint, enigmatic chuckle slipping past his lips, and granted his consent on one remarkably bizarre condition.

He strictly forbade me from taking a single life.

I found the restriction completely counterintuitive. Against bloodthirsty cutthroats who were gleefully butchering wounded guards, why spare their breath? Yet, I didn’t dare question his will. I assumed Master was testing my martial restraint, challenging my ability to suppress an overwhelming mob using pure physical precision rather than lethal force.

I nodded firmly, unsheathed my steel blade, and charged down the embankment.

The clash was brutal and chaotic. Even though my peak Body Strengthening cultivation granted me superior speed and power, the thirty bandits quickly realized I was a threat and coordinated their assault, swarming me with curved sabers and axes.

Binding my own blade to avoid lethal strikes put me at an immense disadvantage, several shallow cuts opened along my shoulder and thigh.

Yet, keeping my mind icy and still, I turned the environment to my favor. I lured them into narrow corridors between the burning wagons, blinded them with kicked coals, and systematically snapped their wrists, shattered their knees, and drove sword hilts into their temples until all thirty thugs lay groaning in the mud.

Panting heavily amidst the smoke, I felt an undeniable swell of pride. I had stood against thirty armed men, honored my father’s principles, and upheld Master’s strict condition to the letter without taking a single soul.

When Master rode down with our horses, offering genuine, warm praise for my spatial awareness and tactical discipline, my heart leaped with joy.

Then... the nightmare began to unravel.

The sniveling merchant crawled out from a wagon, weeping crocodile tears and thrusting gold coins into our hands, groveling in gratitude.

I smiled, feeling the righteous satisfaction of a protector, only for Master to take the gold, step forward, and casually threaten to pulverize every bone in the merchant’s body with an aura so chilling it made the man faint on the spot.

Before I could even process the horror, a tall, heavily armored middle-aged man stepped out from the shadows of the third carriage.

He sneered, brandishing an iron spear saturated with the unmistakable, terrifying spiritual pressure of the Peak Qi Condensation Realm.

The world tilted on its axis.

In the next breath, before the spearman could finish his arrogant threat, Master vanished and reappeared beside him. With a single, pristine chop of his bare hand, Master cleanly severed the cultivator’s head from his shoulders, the corpse hitting the dirt with a sickening thud.

I stood beside my warhorse, staring with wide, hollow eyes as Master calmly waved his sleeve, extinguishing the flames and tossing the heavy carriages aside to reveal massive, gaping underground extraction shafts carved into the road.

The wagons were empty.

There were never any spices or silks. They were mobile slave cages reinforced with spirit-iron, carrying dozens of abducted mortal children.

And the thirty "bandits" I had just beaten bloody were not ruthless cutthroats at all, they were desperate rebel fighters staging a suicidal, sacrificial diversion above ground to buy their companions time to smuggle their enslaved kin through the subterranean tunnels.

The ground seemed to crumble beneath my boots.

I... I protected the slavers.

I drew my blade, threw myself into battle with righteous pride, and nearly slaughtered thirty innocent men who were bleeding to rescue their stolen children.

A crushing, suffocating wave of agonizing guilt slammed into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. I staggered forward, dropping into a deep, trembling bow before the wounded rebel leader, my voice wavering with desperate, humiliating remorse as I begged for their forgiveness.

Yet, what was an apology worth after breaking a man’s ribs and helping his oppressors?

Later, as Master expanded his flying sword to transport the survivors toward their hidden mountain stronghold, I stood on the jade blade in absolute, deafening silence.

The wind howled against my face, but inside my soul, a violent storm was tearing my world apart.

The incident had rattled me to my very core.

For months, I had clung to my father’s teachings like an unshakeable sacred shield, believing that the line between good and evil, righteous and wicked, was as clear as black and white.

Now, standing above the clouds, a bitter, terrifying realization settled into my heart, my righteous pride was completely blind.

In this treacherous, layered world, evil did not wear a monstrous mask, it wore the silk robes of a weeping merchant. And the "innocents" I had rushed so blindly to protect were nothing more than butchers holding the chains. If Master had not bound my blade with that merciful condition, my hands would have been permanently soaked in the blood of the righteous, turning me into the very monster my parents gave their lives to destroy.