Morning sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a hazy glow within the Baron's bedroom.
Murphy opened his eyes, once again feeling the familiar yet strange weight and warmth in his arms.
This time, the look of helplessness was gone from his face, replaced by deep contemplation.
'If I were to consider this purely from the perspective of hatred, of completing Mission Two, then this course of action is actually viable.'
'But why am I hesitating?'
'A whole lifetime…'
Murphy wished he were truly a Cultivator who had severed all worldly passions, one who could ignore loneliness and solitude. He wished he could enter the mortal realm alone, his spirit unstained by its dust, and treat decades, even centuries, of arduous cultivation as nothing.
But while he called himself a Cultivator, he was ultimately just a mortal who had been fortunate enough to gain the ability to cultivate. He couldn't possibly remain indifferent to all this.
