The Sect Leader's Hall was designed to impress. High ceilings, pillars carved from spirit wood, and a throne made of cold jade that gathered Qi to aid cultivation while sitting.
Lin Fan hated it. It was inefficient.
He sat on the Jade Throne, one leg draped over the armrest, scrolling through a holographic interface only he could see.
[Inventory]
Ren Tianxing's Storage Bag: Unlocked.
Contents: 50,000 Low-Grade Spirit Stones, 3 High-Grade Spirit Stones, Manual of the Blood Palm (Trash), Iron Blood Formation Key (Useful).
"Boss," a trembling voice echoed from the entrance.
Fatty Wu waddled in, sweating profusely despite the cool air. Behind him walked Su Mei, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger, her eyes scanning the shadows of the hall.
"The disciples are gathered in the courtyard as you ordered," Fatty Wu said, wiping his forehead. "Everyone is freaking out. Half the Elders are plotting a coup, and the other half are packing their bags."
"Let them plot," Lin Fan said, closing the interface. "It saves me the trouble of identifying the dissidents."
Su Mei stepped forward. "You killed a Golden Core master. The shock value buys you a day, maybe two. But the Iron Blood Sect has three thousand members. Once the fear wears off, they will rush you. Your gun has infinite ammo, but can you pull the trigger three thousand times before one spell hits you?"
"I don't intend to fight them all, Su Mei," Lin Fan said. "I intend to employ them."
He tossed the Iron Blood Formation Key to Su Mei. She caught it, surprised.
"Lock down the mountain," Lin Fan ordered. "Activate the defensive perimeter. No one leaves. No one enters. We are now a closed ecosystem."
He stood up, the Mantle of the Villain trailing behind him like a shadow.
"Let's go evaluate our assets."
The main courtyard was a sea of murmurs. The disciples were segregated by rank—a tradition of the cultivation world.
On the left stood the Inner Disciples and Elders. These were the elites. High talent, good spirit roots, arrogant expressions. They wore silk robes and glared at the main hall with barely concealed rage.
On the right stood the Outer Disciples and Servants. These were the "trash." Those with clogged meridians or poor backgrounds. They swept the floors, cooked the meals, and served as sparring partners (punching bags) for the elites. They looked terrified, heads bowed.
Lin Fan stepped out onto the balcony overlooking them. The murmurs died instantly.
"Listen closely," Lin Fan's voice was amplified by the Sect's array. "I am changing the organizational structure of this Sect."
He pointed to the Inner Disciples on the left.
"You lot. You have spent your lives cultivating, meditating, and learning to channel Qi. You are proud of your Spirit Roots."
The First Elder, standing at the front, straightened his back. "Indeed! We are the foundation of this Sect! If you think you can rule without us—"
"You are obsolete," Lin Fan interrupted.
A ripple of shock went through the crowd.
"Your cultivation takes decades to mature. You consume massive amounts of resources—pills, stones, herbs—and in return, you produce a fireball that can be stopped by a simple water talisman. You are high-maintenance and low-output."
Lin Fan shifted his finger to the Outer Disciples on the right—the servants, the failures.
"You. Look up."
The servants hesitantly raised their heads.
"You have no talent. You have no future in the Dao. You have been told you are trash," Lin Fan said. "But you have hands. You have eyes. And unlike these arrogant peacocks, you know how to work."
Lin Fan pulled the Desert Eagle from his holster.
"In my new world, talent is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is: can you follow instructions?"
He tossed a blueprint scroll down to the terrified group of servants. It wasn't a cultivation manual. It was a diagram for an assembly line part—a trigger mechanism.
"I am abolishing the Inner and Outer distinction," Lin Fan declared. "From now on, there are only two classes in the Iron Legion."
He pointed to the servants. "Operators." He pointed to the elites. "Batteries."
"Batteries?" The First Elder sputtered. "What madness is this?"
"I need energy to run the machines I am about to build," Lin Fan explained calmly. "The ambient Qi in the air is too thin. I need concentrated sources. You Inner Disciples have spent years storing Qi in your Dantians. You are walking fuel cells."
He snapped his fingers.
[Seal 2: Sovereign's Blueprint] highlighted the layout of the courtyard. Lin Fan saw the flow of the sect's defensive formation. He manipulated the Admin Token in his pocket.
ZZZT!
The ground beneath the Inner Disciples glowed red. Gravity multiplied by ten within their designated zone.
Hundreds of elites collapsed to their knees, screaming as the formation suppressed them. The First Elder tried to channel a spell, but the pressure dispersed his focus.
"Su Mei," Lin Fan commanded.
The assassin appeared from the shadows, holding a stack of heavy iron collars—slave artifacts Lin Fan had looted from the Tower's dungeon floor.
"Collar them," Lin Fan said. "Throw the Elders into the Core Room. Hook them up to the central furnace. If they stop circulating their Qi to power the fire, the collars will detonate. As for the Inner Disciples… shackle them. They will work the mines."
He turned his gaze to the stunned servants on the right. They were trembling, watching their former masters being chained up like dogs.
"As for you," Lin Fan addressed the servants. "Your days of sweeping floors are over. Report to the Smithy. Fatty Wu will give you your rations—meat, not gruel. You start training on the lathes tonight."
"What… what are we making, Sect Leader?" a brave servant girl asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Lin Fan smiled.
"The future."
Later that night – The Smithy.
Lin Fan stood over a drafting table. He had spent 2,000 Spirit Stones in the Sovereign's Shop to buy a specific blueprint: The Type-1 Spirit Musket (Mass Production Variant).
It wasn't a sophisticated weapon like his Desert Eagle. It was ugly, blocky, and brutal. It didn't use gunpowder. It used a simple "Qi Cartridge." The user didn't need to be a cultivator to fire it. They just needed to load a cartridge (filled by the Battery-class slaves) and pull the trigger.
[Blueprint Analysis]
Weapon: Type-1 Spirit Musket.
Range: 400 meters.
Penetration: Can pierce standard Tier-1 Qi Barriers.
Production Cost: 15 lbs of Iron, 1 Low-Grade Spirit Stone.
Fatty Wu looked at the drawing. "Boss, this… this is blasphemy against the Dao. You're giving mortal weapons the power to kill cultivators?"
"I'm democratizing violence, Fatty," Lin Fan said, picking up a hammer. "Now, fire up the furnace. The Elders are screaming in the Core Room, which means the heat is rising. Let's not waste their suffering."
The glow of the forge lit up Lin Fan's face. The industrial revolution had arrived in the cultivation world, and it was being fueled by the souls of the old guard.