The sun rose over the sect, but instead of the usual serene chirping of spirit birds, the air was filled with the sound of 10,000 people yawning, snoring, and asking where the bathroom was.
I stood on the high balcony of the Main Hall, looking down at my "army" of future experts. Most of them were still wearing the dirt-stained tunics of farmers or the silk robes of pampered city sons. To the Iron Fist Sect, they were pigs. To me? They were 10,000 ticking time bombs that would either make me a god or get me killed by the System.
"LISTEN UP, YOU MORTAL SLUGS!" I bellowed, my voice amplified by a bit of Qi.
The courtyard went silent. 10,000 pairs of eyes looked up.
"You feel that heat in your chest? That's the talent I gave you. You feel that tingling in your limbs? That's potential. But potential without sweat is just a fancy way of saying you're a talented corpse!"
I turned to my five senior disciples. They were currently cradling their Guardian Eggs like they were made of thin glass. Xuan Lu was even whispering "Who's a good dragon-spawn?" to his.
"Xuan Lu! Stop babying the omelet and get to work!" I barked. "Divide them into fifty groups. We're starting with the 'Mountain-Climbing Marathon.'"
The Training from Hell
The rules were simple, yet devastating:
The Healing Pill Loop: Every disciple was given a low-grade healing pill. The catch? They had to finish a grueling physical circuit before the pill wore off, or they'd feel the full weight of their exhaustion all at once.
The Training Room Rotation: The 200 slots in the Gravity Training Room were reserved for those who showed the most "spirit" (or those who stopped crying first).
The Iron Fist Motivation: I may or may not have told them that if they didn't reach the Foundation Establishment stage within three months, I'd invite the Iron Fist Sect back over to use them as literal punching bags.
By noon, the mountain was a mess. Disciples were crawling up stone steps, some were meditating while shaking like leaves, and others were accidentally discharging sparks of Qi from their fingertips, terrifying themselves in the process.
"Master," Xuan Lu approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "The kitchen staff is on strike. They say they can't peel enough potatoes for 10,000 people."
"Tell them to use Qi to peel the potatoes!" I snapped. "Everything is training! Peeling is training! Breathing is training! Existing is training!"
The Hatching
Just as I was about to go back to my room to have a nervous breakdown over the 'Failure: Host Death' clause, a loud CRACK echoed through the courtyard.
All eyes turned to my five senior disciples. Xuan Lu's egg was glowing a fierce, pulsing crimson.
"Blood! Now!" I yelled.
They bit their fingers and pressed them against the shells. With a burst of elemental energy, the eggs shattered.
Xuan Lu now held a tiny, fire-breathing lizard that looked remarkably grumpy.
The others were greeted by a miniature frost wolf, a lightning sparrow, a stone-scaled turtle, and a shadow kitten that immediately vanished into someone's shadow.
The 10,000 new disciples watched in absolute awe. The exhaustion, the sore muscles, and the potato-peeling trauma were forgotten. They saw the pets, they saw the power, and suddenly, the mountain wasn't filled with complaints anymore—it was filled with the roar of 10,000 people desperate to be the next in line.
I leaned back against the mahogany doors of the hall, a smirk playing on my lips.
"System," I muttered under my breath. "They might be pigs right now... but I'm going to turn them into the scariest herd of swine this world has ever seen."
[Ding! Disciple Morale: 100%. Productivity: 150%. Estimated time to first Core Formation: 11 months, 29 days.]
"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?" I sighed. "Alright, everyone! NO SLEEP TONIGHT! MEDITATE UNTIL YOU SEE COLORS!"
The path to godhood was going to be very, very loud.
The Uninvited "Auditors"
Three months into our "10,000-man marathon," the sect had changed. The air no longer smelled like mountain pine; it smelled like sweat, medicinal herbs, and the occasional singed eyebrow.
I was sitting in my pavilion, watching a group of outer disciples practicing their "Pig-Slayer Thrust" (I really needed better names for techniques), when a massive shadow loomed over the mountain.
A giant, floating wooden ship—adorned with golden dragons and smelling of sheer arrogance—descended toward our main plaza. It didn't land; it hovered, blowing dust all over my freshly swept tiles.
"Who invited the flying furniture?" I muttered, standing up.
A man in radiant white robes drifted down from the ship, followed by ten elders. They weren't from the Iron Fist Sect. These guys looked like they actually bathed.
"I am Elder Wei of the Heavenly Sword Sect," the man announced, his voice echoing like he'd swallowed a megaphone. "We heard a rumor that a backwater mountain was hoarding 10,000 'talents.' We've come to... audit your recruitment. Surely, a sect of this size has at least one disciple who can withstand a single strike from my juniors?"
Behind him, his juniors sneered. They looked at my disciples—who were currently covered in dirt and holding potato-peeling knives—with pure disgust.
The Audit Begins
"An audit?" I grinned, hiding the twitch in my eye. "We don't have an accounting department, but if you want to see our 'growth,' be my guest. Xuan Lu! Bring the lizard."
Xuan Lu stepped forward. His "grumpy lizard" was now the size of a large dog, trailing embers with every step.
"One of your juniors against one of mine," I proposed. "If we win, you leave that fancy boat behind as a 'parking fine.' If you win... well, you won't."
Elder Wei laughed. "Arrogant! Jian, show them the gap between a real sect and a... pig pen."
A lean youth with a gleaming silver sword stepped out. He was at the Foundation Establishment stage—impressive for his age. He performed a series of flashy sword flourishes that honestly looked like he was trying to swat a very fast fly.
"Begin!" Wei shouted.
Jian lunged, his sword transforming into a streak of light. "Heavenly Piercing Strike!"
Xuan Lu didn't even draw a weapon. He just looked at his pet. "Dinner time, Sparky."
The lizard let out a belch of concentrated violet flame. It wasn't just fire; it was compressed Qi. The "Heavenly Piercing Strike" vanished. Jian's silver sword turned orange, then red, then started melting. The boy shrieked and dove into a nearby water trough.
The Pattern of Power
The Heavenly Sword elders gasped. "What kind of beast is that?! And your disciple... his foundation is as solid as a mountain!"
"That's just the warm-up," I said, waving my hand. "Hey! You 10,000! Show our guests the 'Morning Stretch'!"
On my command, 10,000 disciples dropped into a horse stance. They didn't attack. They simply released their Qi at the exact same moment.
BOOM.
The collective spiritual pressure of 10,000 people—even at the Qi Refining stage—was like a physical hammer. The giant floating ship groaned, its wooden hull cracking under the invisible weight. The elders from the Heavenly Sword Sect actually stumbled back, their white robes fluttering wildly.
"You... you're training them in a Hive-Mind Array?" Elder Wei stammered, his face pale.
"I call it 'Teamwork,'" I said, buffing my fingernails. "Now, about that boat..."
The System's Cruel Joke
The Heavenly Sword Sect fled so fast they actually forgot one of their elders on the ground. We didn't get the boat, but we got a very nice pile of spirit stones they dropped in their panic.
As I watched them disappear into the clouds, the dreaded blue screen popped up.
[Ding! Reputation increased: 'The Mad Pig-Herder of the North.']
[Warning: The Heavenly Sword Sect is part of the 'Righteous Alliance.' They will return with 50,000 cultivators in six months.]
[New Sub-Mission: Equip all 10,000 disciples with Spirit-Grade Armor.]
[Failure: Host turns into a literal pig for 100 years.]
I stared at the screen. Then I looked at my 10,000 disciples, who were currently cheering and high-fiving.
"Xuan Lu," I called out, my voice trembling slightly.
"Yes, Master?"
"Tell the builders to cancel the new cafeteria. We're building a blacksmith's forge. A big one."
"How big, Master?"
"If it doesn't cover half the mountain, it's not big enough. And someone find out where we can buy 10,000 tons of iron! If I'm going to be a pig, I'm going to be a pig in a very shiny fortress!"
The Great Blacksmithing Crisis: Hammer Time
"System," I whispered, staring at the blueprint of a forge the size of a small city. "You want 10,000 sets of Spirit-Grade armor. Do you have any idea how much ore that requires? I'm a Sect Master, not a geological surveyor!"
[Ding! Suggestion: Use the 'Mass Smelting' function. Cost: 2,000 Points. Required: 10,000 warm bodies and a very large fire.]
I looked at my points. I had 2,500 left. "Fine. Take the points. But if this blows up the mountain, I'm haunting your code forever."
The 10,000-Man Bellows
The next morning, the "Construction Yard" (formerly known as the scenic meditation forest) was a chaotic symphony of clanging metal. I had 2,000 disciples digging for ore, 3,000 hauling charcoal, and the remaining 5,000 standing in a circle around a massive, pit-like furnace I'd dubbed "The Spicy Hole."
"Listen up!" I shouted from my observation deck. "We don't have enough master blacksmiths. In fact, we have zero. So, we're going to use the 'Willpower Forging Method.' Everyone, channel your Qi into the furnace! If the metal doesn't melt, nobody gets lunch!"
The threat of a missed meal was more effective than any profound teaching. 5,000 palms slammed forward, releasing a torrent of raw Qi. The furnace roared, the flames turning a terrifying shade of neon blue.
"Xuan Lu! Throw in the scraps from the Heavenly Sword Sect's broken swords!"
"On it, Master!" Xuan Lu tossed the high-grade metal into the pit. His fire-breathing lizard, now nicknamed 'Burny,' added a localized blast of dragon-fire for good measure.
The Assembly Line of Doom
The System's 'Mass Smelting' function was a masterpiece of efficiency and mild insanity. Instead of individual hammers, the System created a massive, gravity-based press.
Step One: The molten Spirit-Iron was poured into 10,000 clay molds.
Step Two: Disciples had to sprint past the molds, dropping a single drop of their blood to "bind" the armor.
Step Three: The Gravity Press slammed down with the weight of a falling moon, instantly shaping the chestplates.
It looked less like a mystical sect and more like a high-speed car factory run by people in bathrobes.
"Master!" a disciple yelled, running up to me. He was covered in soot and missing a sleeve. "The armor... it's glowing! But it's also vibrating! Is it supposed to hum like a beehive?"
I looked down into the pit. 10,000 chestplates were vibrating in perfect synchronization, creating a low-frequency buzz that made my teeth ache.
"That's not humming," I realized, my eyes widening. "That's a Resonance Array."
The "Oink" of Destiny
By the end of the month, the mountain was littered with 10,000 sets of gleaming, azure-tinted armor. It wasn't just Spirit-Grade; because of the "Mass Smelting" and the collective Qi of the disciples, the armor functioned as one giant shield.
If one person got hit, the impact was distributed across all 10,000 suits. It was essentially a "Cheat Code" for survival.
[Ding! Sub-Mission Successful: 10,000 Spirit-Grade Suits Equipped.]
[Reward: Master Blacksmith Title (Passive: +50% Durability to all sect buildings) and 3,000 Points.]
[Current Status: 5 months until the 50,000-man invasion.]
I let out a breath I'd been holding for weeks. I wasn't going to be a pig today.
"Master," Xuan Lu approached, now wearing his own set of azure armor. He looked like a god of war, if gods of war had grumpy lizards sitting on their shoulders. "The disciples are restless. They have the armor, they have the Qi... they want to know what's next."
I looked out at the 10,000 shimmering soldiers. They were no longer the "pigs" the Iron Fist Sect had mocked. They were a unified wall of steel.
"Next?" I grinned, feeling a surge of genuine pride. "Next, we teach them how to hit back. Xuan Lu, tell the kitchen to double the rations. Tomorrow, we start Weapon Training."
I paused, looking at the "Spicy Hole" furnace.
"And someone find out if we can forge 10,000 spears by Friday. I'm starting to get the hang of this 'industrial revolution' thing."