The cultivation world is heartless.

The cultivation world is cold.

It's law of the jungle out there.

I grew up cultivating hearing all these things.

Were these lies? I still don't think so, but what does any of it matter when I have a sword piercing through me. The cold eyes of a kid 10 years younger than me and two realms below me in cultivations reflect my gloomy and miserable sight, on the verge of dying.

My 'crime'? I didn't help him when he was bullied by my peer when he joined the sect.

How stupid is this? Oh, how stupid it is that a whiny teenager is preaching to me about morals and regretting my actions when he's simply flexing his strength as well.

Originally, this was the guy that had the lowest penchant possible for cultivation, a black spirit root. Why would I have cared about his well-being?

Oh, you're asking how did manage to poke a hole through me if he's two realms below me? I DON'T FU**ING KNOW!

It's his superior cultivation art or something I guess. 

For the first and the last time in my life, I look at him deeply, the ring on his hand is shining. As my spirit leaves my body, I peek at the faintly discernable withered soul that looks like an old man floating behind him.

'Hm? he looks familiar... ah, it's the legendary founder of our sect, Daoist Grand Void.'

What a da**ed creep he turned out to be? Residing 'inside' a little child, leeching off of him and helping him cheat. 

Why do they even need to fight for the resources in a sect? I'm sure he would have some better ways but no, he just had to go through this bullish**. 

Oh well, I'm just a bitter loser here. I'm sure this guy has other defining traits other than mooching off his luck and cheating, hehe, yeah, it's 'preaching'.

The last sight that I see before I close my eyes forever is just everyone is cheering for him, wow, just... wow.

...

The sect tournament drew to a close as a new dark horse rose against all odds and killed an 'evil' cultivator and bagged all the rewards.

The outer sect disciples were delighted upon hearing the news about the 'tyrant's' death, praising the hero in return.

The elders and the sect leader focused their attention on the bizarre flying sword art that drew all eyes on him which he claimed to have been taught by someone in his dreams.

Author's note:

"What do you mean my tens of years of training had been an absolute waste?"

"Oh, he was taught by dead grandpa spirit? Then, no wonder,"