Suddenly, the crisp metallic chime of the system echoed in Zhen's head.
Ding!
[The host has accepted the mission. Please choose among the available tasks in this town's police registry.]
Before his eyes, a translucent screen expanded, glowing softly against the darkening air of the evening market district.
Five mission options appeared, each lined with a strange simplicity that belied the ominous note beneath them.
---
Mission List:
1. Patrol the market square for two minutes and record suspicious movements. (For Body Refinement Stage One)
– Reward: Unknown
– Punishment for failure: Severe itching of the host's lower region for a week.
2. Assist the town guards in dispersing a group of drunks fighting outside a tavern. (For Body Refinement Stage Two)
– Reward: Unknown
– Punishment for failure: Severe itching of the host's lower region for two weeks.
3. Investigate reports of theft among merchants in the northern stalls. (For Body Refinement Stage Three)
– Reward: Unknown
– Punishment for failure: Severe itching of the host's lower region for three weeks.
4. Escort a minor noble through the crowded streets to the western gates safely. (For Body Refinement Stage Four)
– Reward: Unknown
– Punishment for failure: Severe itching of the host's lower region for four weeks.
5. Suppress a pair of violent thugs known to harass vendors at the southern plaza. (For Body Refinement Stage Five)
– Reward: Unknown
– Punishment for failure: Severe itching of the host's lower region for five weeks.
---
Zhen's eyes twitched as he scanned the punishments. He pressed his lips together, brow knitting so tightly it cast a shadow over his face.
"This punishment… isn't this a little too ridiculous?" he muttered. "Balls itch? Of all the heavenly retributions, divine thunder, karmic backlash, and cursed wounds… this system chooses itching? That's… that's humiliating!"
Still, he shook his head, refusing to linger too long on the absurdity. His instincts screamed at him—ridiculous or not, the system's word was law. If it said itching, then he would itch, and if it were anything like the pain he'd felt when the system first activated, then it would not be some simple annoyance.
He drew in a long breath, exhaling slowly, eyes darting back to the first mission.
"Number one," Zhen whispered, eyes narrowing. "Just two minutes in the market. Patrol, survey, watch for suspicious movements. That's it. Two minutes. No confrontation. No enemies. No risk." He rubbed his chin. "But the reward is unknown… what if it's too small? What if it's something useless, like… a stick? Or worse, just one copper coin?"
He clicked his tongue, moving his gaze to the second option.
"Number two… assisting guards with drunks. Hmm. That's not dangerous, not really. But drunks are unpredictable. A swing of a broken bottle could still cause trouble. If I finish it, maybe the system would give me something better than just a patrol reward. Maybe something to strengthen my body, or perhaps even… a technique scroll? But…" His face soured. "If I fail and get that punishment, imagine fighting drunks while scratching myself like a fool. Unacceptable."
His finger hovered near the third choice.
"Number three… theft investigation. Now this one sounds more intriguing. It's not purely physical—there's some thinking involved. That could be good. But investigating means questioning people, digging around, sticking my nose into matters that may lead me to actual cultivators or petty gangs. Do I want to risk that now? No, no… I don't even understand the system fully yet. It's too soon to act like a hero detective."
He bit his lip before reading the fourth.
"Number four… escort duty. Hah. That's just asking for trouble. Minor nobles are magnets for danger. You think it's an escort, but in truth, it's a battlefield waiting to happen. Bandits, rival families, anyone could target them. Even if the noble is just some brat, my life isn't worth gambling on that. No, no… that's too risky."
Finally, his eyes settled on the last one.
"Number five. Suppressing thugs. Straightforward. Beat them up, scare them, done. But it's labeled Stage Five. If the system matched this task to a cultivator of my level, then these thugs aren't ordinary. They'd be strong enough to push me to my limits. If I fail… itchy doom." He grimaced, shoulders shuddering. "No. Absolutely not."
He closed his eyes, his voice turning into a steady murmur, as though convincing himself on what he shall be chosen.
"Number one may be the lowest, the weakest, the most laughable. If another cultivator saw me taking a mission for mere Stage One refinement, they'd call me a coward. They'd mock me," suddenly, Zhen paused. After that, he'd say, "But… what of it? I'm not here to impress anyone. I need to understand this system first. I need to test how it rewards me. Reckless bravery is for fools. Survival is wisdom."
His decision settled in his chest, calm but firm. With a final nod, he spoke aloud, "System, I choose mission number one."
The screen glowed, confirming his selection.
Ding!
[ Mission accepted: Patrol the market for two minutes. Timer begins upon arrival.]
"Good," Zhen muttered, straightening his robes. "Simple, safe, efficient. No risks until I know the rules of this system."
With that, he marched toward the heart of the market.
---
Meanwhile, on the far side of the bustling marketplace, where shadows pooled beneath a cluster of awnings, two figures emerged from a narrow alley.
They walked slowly, shoulders loose, their expressions carrying the ease of men who knew no fear in this city.
The first was tall, his face sharp with hawkish features, narrow eyes glinting with arrogance. His lips curled into a faint smirk as though the world itself were beneath him.
His companion was shorter, stockier, with a square jaw and scar stretching across his left cheek, giving his face a permanent look of disdain.
As they strolled, the scarred man muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with frustration.
"Tell me again, why hasn't Master Fang taken this town already? Hmph. It's ridiculous. His father, Yuan Xuanzhe, only at the eleventh stage of Body Refinement, his mother barely the ninth, and their so-called guards? Trash. The strongest is what—fifth stage? If Master Fang truly wished, he could sweep through this pathetic place in a day. Yet here we are, lingering like idle dogs."
The taller man's expression didn't change. His voice was calm, even bored. "Do not question Master Fang's decision."
But the scarred man scoffed loudly, throwing his hands into the air.
"Do not question? How can I not question? Master Fang is already at the seventh stage! Seventh! That's two full realms above his older brother, who still struts about like some heir. And yet, we waste time here? If we moved, if we struck now, this city would fall like rotten wood under the axe. Instead, Master Fang hesitates, watching, waiting. For what?!"
The taller man sighed. "Master Fang sees further than us. His plans are not for us to comprehend."
But the scarred one kept going, voice rising with every word. "Not for us to comprehend? That's an excuse. I tell you, our master is being cautious to a fault. Too cautious! We could be living like kings, but instead, we're wandering markets, buying dried fish, wasting time!"
The taller man gave him a sidelong glance. "Your tongue runs too freely."
"I speak the truth!" the scarred one snapped. "Even the heavens would agree—Master Fang should have seized this place already! Look at it! The guards are weak, the walls crumble, and the people are sheep! This city is a ripe fruit begging to be plucked!"
So consumed in his rant, he didn't notice the passerby until it was too late.
A frail, middle-aged man carrying a bundle of cloth brushed against his shoulder, stumbling into him by accident.
The scarred cultivator froze. Slowly, his head turned, eyes narrowing into venomous slits. His voice dropped, cold and sharp as steel.
"…You dare, mortal?"
The bystander's face drained of all color. His knees buckled, hands trembling as he clutched his bundle tightly to his chest. "F-Forgive me, great one! I didn't mean it! It was an accident, I swear! Please, spare me!"
The scarred man's lips spread into a cruel grin. He threw back his head and laughed, loud and cruel, the sound cutting through the chatter of the market like a blade.
"Hahaha! Did you hear him? He begs! Pathetic! Look at this worm groveling at my feet!" He leaned down, his voice dripping with mockery. "Do you think your apology is enough? You dare to touch me, a cultivator, and expect to live? You should die here and now!"
The mortal collapsed fully onto the ground, bowing until his forehead pressed against the dirt. "Please! Mercy! Spare me, honored sir! I have a family! Children who depend on me! I beg of you!"
The scarred man only laughed harder, the cruel amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Family? Children? All the better! They will weep at your grave. Perhaps I'll even find them, make them beg too! Hahahaha!"
The crowd that had begun to form at the edges of the scene went silent, terror writ plain on their faces. No one dared to move, no one dared to speak.
The scarred man raised his hand, fingers curling as spiritual energy shimmered faintly along his knuckles. His grin widened.
"Die, worm."
But before his strike could fall, a voice cut through the air like thunder.
"WHO GOES THERE?!"