My karma was utterly spent.
Every last strand had been burned away in the desperate struggle against the serpent and the betrayals that came with it. Only one final Shadow Jump remained within reach. With a mind pushed to its absolute limit, I forced it.
In a flicker of shifting shadows, I appeared directly before the fallen Rank 2 cultivator. Before his corpse could even settle, I clamped my teeth around his storage pouch and fled into the depths of the ancient forest, legs driving forward with raw desperation.
Behind me, the massive serpent's body was already healing at a visible, horrifying rate. Torn flesh knit together, shattered scales realigned, and its cold emerald eyes regained their murderous focus. I knew it was coming for the last remaining pest — me.
I couldn't keep running with the pouch in my mouth. The moment I found a small clearing hidden by thick ferns, I dropped to my knees, placed the sack on the ground using only my chin and teeth, and rummaged inside. My eyes brightened when I spotted the vial — the high-grade Rank 1 healing potion the Rank 2 had been about to use before I killed him.
I bit off the cork and poured the cool liquid straight onto the ragged stumps where my hands used to be. A soothing wave spread through my arms, sealing the wounds and finally stopping the endless bleeding. The pain receded into a dull, constant throb, but the potion did nothing to regenerate my lost limbs. No new hands grew back. Only survival.
I stared at the half-empty vial and cursed inwardly. Why was this bastard so poor despite reaching Rank 2? A single decent potion and a handful of low-grade spirit stones? Pathetic. Yet even this meager wealth had cost him his life.
Once the bleeding fully stopped, I tried to continue with the pouch. Carrying it between my teeth quickly became unbearable — my jaw ached, blood and saliva dripped down my chin, and the weight ruined my balance. I wasn't a snake that could coil it neatly around my waist. With a frustrated snarl, I dropped the pouch behind a thick tree and kept running. Inside it was even a Rank 2 cultivation manual… I almost wept at the loss. What a waste.
Glancing over my shoulder, I thought I had finally outrun the Rank 2 serpent with my burst of speed. Instead, a peak Rank 1 snake slithered after me at terrifying velocity. Pure fear of death gripped my chest. I pushed my exhausted body harder, branches slashing across my face and leaving fresh cuts.
After what felt like an eternity, the larger serpent had vanished. Only later did the truth dawn on me: the "Rank 1 peak snake" chasing me was the same beast. It had deliberately regressed its cultivation out of extreme caution toward its own shadow — the very technique I had used against it. By lowering itself to my level, our speeds became nearly equal. The cunning monster refused to give me any advantage.
The ridiculous scene brought a bitter phrase rising in my mind:
What is ruthless? A heart hardened by iron will, beating without the slightest ripple.
What is hypocritical? A mind that twists cruel reality into noble ideals.
What is cold-bloodedness? Blood which run coldly
I could only mutter, "i am 0% scholar"
Haha… this was the best I could manage in my current state.
Since I walk the righteous path — at least outwardly — being a little hypocritical should be fine, right?
Yet guilt still gnawed at the edges of my heart. I had killed many before: strangers whose names and faces faded instantly, nameless cultivators who stood in my way. I had even ordered the deaths of people I knew when it served efficiency. But this time was different. This time I had killed someone who had fought beside me, someone relatively close in that fragile alliance against the serpent. All for the sake of his treasures.
I wished I could stop running, fall to my knees, cry out loud, curse the heavens, and purge this heavy guilt from my chest. But raw survival instinct and primal fear shoved those feelings down mercilessly. There was no time for weakness.
As I fled deeper into the forest, the guilt slowly dissolved with every ragged breath. I felt myself becoming less human with each step — yet somehow still painfully human.
"Damn these branches," I hissed. "Fuck the bushes… and moan on the ground if you want, you worthless roots."
My thoughts were scattered, chaotic. One mistake now meant death, or something far worse than any hell. Without arms, falling would be disastrous. I had trained myself for such situations, learning to push back up using only legs, core, and sheer willpower. Dodging was still possible, but I lacked the serpent's flexible grace. Every movement felt clumsy and vulnerable.
Hunger and thirst crept in once the guilt no longer suppressed them. My stomach growled, my throat burned.
I slipped into a state of pure ruthlessness. My blood felt ice-cold. I had become truly cold-blooded.
To keep my sanity, I allowed my mind to wander only in open clearings: How were my old enemies doing? Which idiot had taken my former position? Had my comrades been executed? Were my parents still alive somewhere in my old world of society?
I refused to let these thoughts distract me in dense forest. I wasn't crazy enough to trip and end everything here.
If sweating and panicking over a mere Rank 1 fight could shake me this badly, then why had I ever stepped onto the path of cultivation?
"Was it forrrrr"
A sudden spark of dark joy lit up on my bloodied face, pushing away the self-pity.
now i don't have to entertain myself with cringy words.
Humans.
There were so many humans.
And there was one particular human stronghold nearby — the Wen Clan.
A powerful righteous clan known for its strict rules, abundant resources, and outward benevolence. The perfect place to hide and recover.
I used the very last of my karma to activate Shadow Jump, concealing myself in the shadows near their outer territory. I had no idea how long it would take for my karma to recover, but I still had just enough for this final leap.
As expected, when the Wen Clan guards spotted the approaching serpent, they hunted it down for contribution points. They treated the beast like an easy target. If I had lured it too obviously, I would have been suspected immediately.
After confirming they had slain the serpent with mocking ease — the finishing blow delivered cleanly by a peak Rank 1 sword cultivator whose blade moved with elegant righteousness — I made my move.
I activated my final Shadow Jump.
I appeared high on the outer wall, already falling forward in a helpless tumble, dropping directly in front of the group of guards and the victorious sword cultivator.
Bloodied, armless, covered in dirt, sweat, and serpent venom, I plummeted toward the hard ground.
At that exact moment, only one exhausted, sarcastic thought filled my mind:
"Can't you bastards put a cushion where I fall?"