Reborn of the immortal cultivator

8. Dead ?

“Get the hell out of my house! Now!” Wallace replied coldly.

However, seeing that Wallace didn’t give a damn about his presence, his fury boiled over as he drew a Qi-channeling dagger instead.

If I didn't succeed in killing you then, I will definitely finish it now! Yemeni thought. He had crossed mountain ranges to seek the greatest grandmasters for this weapon and had been assured that its strike meant automatic death for any disciple, regardless of their cultivation.

How much more trash like Wallace?

“Wallace, watch out!”

His mother’s scream tore through the room. Before Wallace could react, she rushed forward, shoving him aside. He lost his balance, stumbling back just as his mother collapsed.

Immediately, Wallace caught her in his arms a second before she hit the floor.

“Mother…” he gasped, staring in horror at the woman who had already endured so much. She pressed her hand against her chest, but it did nothing to stop the bloody tide rushing through her fingers. Only then did she pour her last reserves of spiritual energy into the wound, desperate to buy a few more moments for her son.

“What the hell have you done, you bastard?” Wallace yelled, his fists trembling.

Yemeni let out a short laugh, looking down at them with pure scorn. “I may not have killed you, but I’ve given you something you’ll regret for the rest of your life, you Qi-trash!” With a final, mocking sneer, he turned and vanished from the house.

Only then did he realize how worse of a situation this was because as a Primordial Spirit-Mother even though she had lost her powers, her body was a vessel of ancient knowledge and this body would definitely need it.

“Wallace…” she whispered, her voice straining. “You have only days. Your roots… they have withered. Your father made things worse… besides, some people will come to you… they…”

“Don’t talk! That’s not important now!” Wallace yelled, pressing against her chest to cover the wound.

However, he knew that wasn't possible. The dagger being diffused with energy by a powerful cultivator was not a common one.

Besides, he didn't know when exactly it would wither out her flesh and make her as dry as a skeleton.

“The spirit plate…” she gasped, her eyes fluttering. “Find the herbs for you and for me to be healed at the Shadow-Silt Mangroves… “

As the last word left her lips, she lost consciousness. Wallace held her for a moment, his heart turning to stone.

He knew the Mangroves. A coastal forest hidden from ordinary eyes with the trees parasitic, devouring the ambient spiritual energy from the air and leaving the atmosphere thin and suffocating.

For someone trapped in a "trash" body with broken Qi, it was a suicide mission. He would need a spirit plate just to survive the energy vacuum.

However, it still wasn't a place just anyone could go even if they claimed to have a spirit plate as a guide because in the end, the energy in that area could absorb that person's body and leave him dark-lifeless.

Hours later, Wallace stood at the edge of the Mangroves. Just as he stepped into the gloom, a sudden force slammed into his chest, throwing him backward. Before he could recover, a figure walked from the mist.

“Who the hell are you?” Wallace asked in confusion.

“We knew you would definitely come here!” The man said harshly while Wallace scoffed. Definitely, it wasn't just about the dagger. He was definitely deceived and Yemeni was the vessel that was used.

Instantly, he realized that aside from the old man that helped him get reincarnated, someone else knew what happened.

“Who sent you? The supreme being? Ruler of the universe?”

Does it matter?” the man countered, drawing a weapon. “You aren't leaving this place alive. Your fate is sealed.”

“And if I defeat you?”

The man laughed. “You can’t. You’ll be dead long before you even land a blow!”

The assassin rushed forward and was about to grab the plate from him before Wallace swung the artifact, striking the man with a burst of redirected energy.

The man screamed, collapsing as his own power was turned against him.

Only then did Wallace laugh because most cultivators didn't know that the major function of the plate was also to defeat when needed so far cultivators knew how to use it aside from guidance.

“Argh! What did you do?” the man shrieked. He had been told Wallace was powerless weakling to be taunted and slaughtered.

“I’ll ask one more time,” Wallace said, his voice dropping to a deadly low. “Who sent you?”

The man scrambled up, feigning a recovery, and swung a desperate fist. Wallace stepped inside the guard and delivered a kick so powerful it sent the assassin flying while the man hit a tree with a loud thud.

As he fell, a small substance slipped from his robes. Wallace snatched it out of the air and sniffed it before he shook his head.

Wasn't this the Mind Pill? A nasty substance designed to turn the victim into a mindless, controllable puppet.

“I’m done asking,” Wallace said, standing over the man who was now trembling on his knees.

“I… I don’t know!” the man stammered. “They just told me not to let you enter the forest. If you were stubborn, I was to use the pill because they promised me a reward!”

“Brilliant,” Wallace sneered. Even in this new life, he wasn't free.

With a swift kick, he knocked the man unconscious. Wallace looked at the Mind Pill, then at the spirit plate. He closed his eyes, focusing on what little energy he had. A cold smile played on his lips.

He leaned down and forced the man to swallow his own pill.

“Whosoever sent you was indeed brilliant,” Wallace whispered. “But twenty hours from now, they won't be controlling me. They'll be dealing with the idiot they sent to kill me.”