The Undying Immortal System

Chapter 449 – Life 117, Age 17, Martial Master Peak

Capable of housing more than two hundred cultivators, our newly conquered stronghold was far larger than we realistically needed. It might not have had any buildings where we could train our professions, but it had a dozen training yards, most of which we could convert into something more useful.

However, before we could begin work on reconstruction, we first had to do some scavenging and demolition.

Most of the residential buildings had been ruined during YuLong’s clash with the sect’s Masters. Only a handful were structurally sound, with the rest needing to be torn down and replaced. Fortunately, the compound’s size worked in our favor. Even with the majority of the structures compromised, there were still more than enough places for us to stay while we looked into designing something more suitable for our long-term needs.

The sect’s library had suffered similar devastation. What few books hadn’t been burned by fire or struck by lightning had been cut to pieces by stray bursts of guandao and saber qi. JiuLi and the wood cultivators extracted what fragments they could, but piecing them together was out of the question.

Thankfully, I had my blessing to help me.

Running a hand across the pile of shredded parchment, I activated both my touch and perfect reading abilities, sending copies of each manual to my mental library. Any passages that had been completely destroyed remained lost, but the fragments that remained were enough to understand the essence of each technique, providing a blueprint to restore them should I ever wish to do so.

In truth, none of these manuals were worth the effort. The Silent Saber Sect was only a weak Eight-Star Sect, and their library hadn’t contained anything overly valuable. A few of the dual-element dark-saber techniques were interesting, but they held more value as research fodder than as practical skills.

Once the library was dealt with, we moved on to the rest of the compound, searching for more tangible prizes, but sadly, neither treasury nor vault was anywhere to be found. The Sect Master must have kept his valuables close at hand, tucked away in a storage bag that had already vanished into the mists of the northern bog.

The only item of any value left behind was the silvery spirit fire that hovered above a plinth of sabers in the sect’s primary cultivation hall. Since none of us cultivated saber qi, leaving this fire in place would have been a waste. Instead, I handed it off to YuLong, who accepted it with barely contained excitement. He had been wanting to develop a dual-weapon cultivation technique, and this spirit fire was the perfect excuse.

Once our spoils were secured, Kan gathered up the Disciples and organized them into work crews. Some began tearing down the ruined buildings, while others worked to haul off the debris. Only after the mountain was stripped down to its foundations would we be able to start transforming it into the place we needed it to be.

With four years to go before our recruits needed to worry about stagnation, there was no reason to rush their advancement. We had as much time as we needed to ensure that they learned to cultivate properly—one step at a time. And, since we no longer had to rely on contribution points for our day-to-day survival, there was no reason to force anyone to study professions before they were ready.

After reviewing the state of our sect with Meng LuYao, YuLong, Kan, and JiuLi, the conclusion was obvious: the greatest barrier holding us back was our people’s affinities. Therefore, the first thing we needed to do was focus on raising them.

The simplest to deal with was, of course, the guandao affinity. So, as they had done back in the Broken Spear Outpost, Kan and YuLong led everyone in daily training sessions, each approaching the task in their own distinct way.

Kan emphasized persistence above all else, putting our Disciples through endurance drills, endless repetition, and hours of stance work that left their legs trembling. YuLong, on the other hand, focused on flow and momentum, urging the recruits to treat their guandao as an extension of their qi rather than a piece of metal. Between these two approaches, even the slowest learners found their affinity growing at a steady pace.

The second issue we addressed was everyone’s wood affinity.

My treasury contained the seeds of over a hundred different mortal plants—plants that the Temple of the Herb Saint considered ideal for raising one’s wood affinity. Using them would have caused problems, though. These seeds had all been given to me by high-level cultivators, and if the Bureau asked where I had gotten them, it would be difficult to give a truthful answer that didn’t break one of their rules.

That said, I had already shared most of these seeds with the residents of the Plane of Woody Earth, and they had long since started cultivating them. So, instead of tapping into my seed bank, I tracked down the mature plants and collected a few of their seeds myself. This way, if anyone questioned me, I could honestly claim that I gathered the seeds on my own and received no aid in doing so.

Using these seeds, Ye Sheng and Bao Ming transformed one of the stronghold’s largest training yards into a sprawling garden. Working alongside them, Shi Zhang and a few of the other Disciples used controlled arcs of guandao qi to carve irrigation channels, while the Suba cousins used their earth qi to excavate a cavern for the plants that thrived in darkness.

These seeds would need time to mature, but helping these plants grow would, in turn, help our Disciples develop their affinities.

Next came metal and earth.

Never having visited an environment designed to develop these elements, I wasn’t sure exactly what such a place would require. From my experience with both water and wood, it was clear that, for elemental affinities, a person needed to be surrounded by representations of the element they wished to improve. However, I wasn’t sure exactly what this would entail when it came to metal and earth. So, I just dug a couple of holes and filled them with various materials that were readily available in Whistling Arrow City.

The first of these holes was what I dubbed The Stone Pit, a cavern packed with rocks of every shape and size, from scattered pebbles to massive boulders. Limited to Rank 1 and 2 materials, The Stone Pit was unlikely to yield anything more than modest improvements, but I was hopeful that, with prolonged exposure, it would at least allow our people to develop solid eight-star earth affinities.

The second hole was The Iron Bed, which contained everything from raw ore to smelted ingots and finely forged weapons. Again, the Rank of the metals our sect officially had access to placed a cap on this room’s effectiveness, but a year or two of constant exposure was sure to produce noticeable results.

This done, I turned to the next challenge: creating a space where our alchemists could develop their fire affinities. There was only one issue—what exactly qualified a different ‘type’ of fire?

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The only clear starting point was to try burning different types of materials. So, I purchased an assortment of woods and oils and had our fire cultivators burn them during their cultivation sessions. Burning other things, like powdered metals, might have yielded better results, but the cost of Rank 2 wood was already straining our budget. Setting expensive metals ablaze was simply beyond what we could afford.

To help make this approach sustainable, our wood cultivators dedicated an entire field to plants renowned for their oil-rich seeds and resinous sap, transforming an unused training field into a bountiful garden that shimmered with potential fuel. Meanwhile, our warriors swept through the surrounding forests and foothills, hunting down demon beasts whose bodies yielded thick, burnable fats. By combining these two supply streams, we gradually established a steady reserve of materials to feed our affinity fires without needing to deplete our contribution points.

Having completed the training grounds for wood, earth, metal, and fire, we still had five elements left to address. However, no one in our sect was cultivating any water or wind techniques, so there was no immediate need to create a training ground for them. We did have a couple of Disciples who wanted to cultivate dark techniques, but without a viable concept for how to generate distinct forms of darkness, I had to settle for offering them a simple, pitch-black room.

I did have a basic understanding of different types of light—such as infrared, ultraviolet, and X-rays—but knowing such lights existed didn’t mean that I could produce them. I could simulate them with formations, but light qi was qi, not light, and I had little faith that it would be able to improve a person’s affinity in the same way.

The System could have helped me with this, but there was little point. Meng LuYao was our only light cultivator, and her affinity was already exceptionally high. Therefore, I simply helped her install a few quartz prisms in her cultivation room and didn’t bother creating a specialized training area.

This left one last challenge: lightning.

Kan needed a room capable of generating multiple, distinct forms of lightning, but how was I supposed to create such a thing? The only unique types of lightning I knew about were those that had been unleashed during the Saint of Myriad Herbs’ tribulation, but attempting to procure Heavenly Lightning that could annihilate the soul of a Martial Saint wasn’t merely impossible—it was downright suicidal. Even if I could acquire it, I certainly wouldn’t want to use it.

I did have a couple of spirit fires that might have worked, but with no lightning-based fires available through the Bureau, using them would have raised questions that I couldn’t answer.

This left us with only two options: natural lightning, which was both dangerous and unpredictable, or electricity.

I didn’t have the faintest idea how to design an electrical system that could produce ‘lightning’ capable of raising a person’s affinity, but fortunately, I had the System to help me.

“System, I want to purchase a device that can produce electricity capable of raising a person’s lightning affinity to at least peak nine-star. It needs to be made of easily accessible materials, and it should be powered by qi drawn in through a standard formation.”

Cost 1 credit.

That was… surprisingly reasonable. I had only asked for a device capable of developing a nine-star affinity, but even so, I had expected the underlying knowledge to come at a far higher cost. Either the device had little use beyond developing low-level affinities, or such devices already existed on this continent—possibly both.

Either way, since the System didn’t seem inclined to overcharge me, why not go further?

“Let’s change things up a bit, System. Give me a device—or set of devices—capable of raising a person’s lightning affinity as high as possible for 1,000 credits. These devices can be made from any materials necessary, but they should all be powered by qi. They should also come with a manual that gives a detailed explanation of their design and functionality, enough that I would be able to recreate simplified versions using readily available materials. Deposit all items directly into my inner world’s treasury.”

Purchase confirmed. Cost 1,000 credits. 57,984 credits remaining.

A towering construct, nearly ten meters in height, suddenly appeared in my treasury, its exterior a dense scaffold of metal supports and bundled wires that defied immediate understanding. A brief review of the manual that had appeared next to it revealed the device’s name: the Celestial Amplifier for Lightning Assimilation, Myriad Induction, and Thousandfold Yield Generator—or more simply, the C.A.L.A.M.I.T.Y. Generator.

According to the manual, upon entering the machine, users would be subjected to a constant barrage of electricity produced by an array of mechanisms that I could scarcely comprehend. Then, as the user’s body gradually became attuned to this energy, the device would begin varying the way it generated the electricity, ensuring an uninterrupted level of torment.

The appearance of this contraption would definitely have the Bureau breathing down my neck, but thankfully, as I had requested, the manual included a ‘history’ section with information regarding the device’s predecessors, including a primitive Van de Graaff generator.

The schematic for this more simplistic device didn’t explain how to power it with qi, but that hardly mattered. After a quick perusal, I understood what needed to be done, so I retrieved a few metal ingots and got to work.

How far would the most basic of generators be able to raise Kan’s lightning affinity? I wasn’t sure, but better to start small than risk creating a calamity.

Over the next several years, life in our new stronghold settled into a steady rhythm.

Sleeping or awake, our Disciples spent nearly all their time within their specially prepared cultivation chambers, slowly raising their affinities. Sometimes, they trained diligently. Sometimes, they practiced their professions. And, sometimes, they simply relaxed and had fun. All the while, their environments ensured that their affinities steadily improved.

There were certainly faster ways to increase one’s cultivation base, but our Disciples were not walking a path of quick advancement. YuLong, Meng LuYao, and I devoted ourselves to giving them a foundation that even students of the Yellow Orchid Academy would envy.

The only blemish on this period of growth was our limited income. The contribution points we generated were barely enough to sustain our development, leaving us unable to purchase certain valuable items—like the Bureau’s Earth-Rank cultivation techniques. Those would come in due course, though. Kan and JiuLi wouldn’t turn 40 for another fifteen years, giving us ample time to polish our foundations before needing to worry about advancing our sect.

During this quiet period, Kan and YuLong frequently led expeditions into the countryside to hunt demon beasts. Oddly, neither the Silent Saber Sect nor Blackblade Hall ever attempted to ambush them. Given everything that I had read about the Hall, their silence was suspicious, but it was only giving us more time to develop, so I chose not to dwell on it.

As for myself, I performed just enough alchemy to keep our sect supplied with contribution points, but I devoted most of my time to studying formations and deepening my understanding of Rank 1 and 2 focus items. With each passing season, I strengthened our stronghold’s defenses, and despite restricting myself to Rank 2 materials, I was able to forge a barrier capable of withstanding the full force of a Martial Grandmaster 5.

By all measures, this was a peaceful and productive era.

Then, precisely three years after we had seized the mountain—just one month after our Disciples turned 20 and began their preparations for advancing to Martial Master—it ended.

During a routine visit to Whistling Arrow City, only a few short heartbeats after I walked through the city’s gates, a black portal snapped open in front of me. A vigorous-looking old man emerged, his elegant blue robes flowing around him, a golden circlet gleaming upon his brow.

The sight of him stopped me cold, and when I registered his cultivation base, I felt as if a mountain had slammed down upon my chest.

He wasn’t a Sovereign. He was a Spirit.

Emperor Li regarded me with frigid disdain.

“I believe,” he said, his voice cutting through the street like a cold blade, “you have something that belongs to me.”