Chapter Thirty: Everyone Is Here for the Legacy

What Kyle was doing, Wu Yue had no idea, nor did he care to know. He didn’t even want to use the shared vision; he never wasted time on unnecessary things.

Coming to Black Veil City was more of a detour than a mission to find the key. Wu Yue wanted to visit Luoyang. As one of the major powers in the Celestial Spirit Realm, acquiring some innate energy there shouldn’t be difficult.

Firstly, the southern sect was too far away—just walking would take years, at least five or six. Especially since it was said to be a land of heroes and prodigies, teeming with cultivators whose favorite pastime and entertainment was magical dueling. Considering his own combat strength and the two children in his team, Wu Yue decided to abandon the idea for now.

Secondly, the First Emperor of the Great Qin Kingdom had issued a decree to abdicate, but the heir was not the widely expected crown prince—it was an obscure young prince. This stirred undercurrents in Luoyang. Wu Yue had no other motive; he simply wanted to see for himself and to meet the young girl, Li Suizhu.

Now, Wu Yue sat in a small courtyard, carefully admiring a prestigious invitation card. On its back was a painting of a fierce tiger descending the mountain, overlaid with several layers of golden powder, making it a piece of great artistic and collectible value. Compared to the majestic vigor on the reverse, the front was more refined, inscribed in graceful calligraphy inviting Wu Yue to a banquet.

The invitation came from the leader of the Fierce Tiger Gang and his wife. To be honest, Wu Yue was quite curious about them. One was ugly, the other beautiful—a seemingly infertile yet loving couple. It was said that the true power rested with the beautiful Mrs. Fierce Tiger. Wu Yue’s curiosity was piqued, so he readily accepted. After all, there was no reason to refuse. This was their territory; offending them would be unwise, and it would satisfy his curiosity. A classic case of “why not?”

As for finding the key, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Wu Yue could only say, “Let it be,” letting everything drift away with the wind.

Kyle finally climbed ashore. The summer sun quickly dried his clothes—and that thick iron armor. Straightening his back, he gripped his sword tightly. No matter the obstacles in the water, Kyle never thought of abandoning his weapon. What is a knight without a weapon?

As for a mount—sorry, as a noble Sky Knight, he would never tolerate a mount confined to the ground. Of course, if it were a dragon, then all bets were off.

Kyle left the Chu River and headed toward the village. No matter how much he disliked wearing fine robes, once clad in armor, he was a true knight, strictly adhering to the code of chivalry and bearing the heart of a knight. It was a paradoxical nature, yet Kyle embodied it perfectly.

He walked slowly, gravely injured. The intense icy cold had frozen his heart, and the river’s current battered him. He sensed his time was short. So he resolved to find a successor. The honor of the Sky Knight Kyle must be passed on; the ancient spirit of knighthood must endure.

Thus, on this land, there appeared a man clad in iron armor—not a soldier, but one who called himself the Sky Knight—a knight who did not ride horses. This strange man’s greatest hobby was wandering between villages, grabbing a child and asking, “Are you willing to sacrifice for the light?”

Yet, his only reward was a severe beating. Still, this knight never laid a hand on ordinary folk, which made people believe he was a fraud. After all, cultivators were proud and skilled in magic. What use was this iron-clad fellow except for taking a beating?

Even so, Kyle would lift his head and proudly ask, “Do you believe in the light, sinners?”

“Do you believe in Grandpa’s fist?” came the reply, followed by another solid beating.

Coincidentally, outside Black Veil City, there was another such man. He was called Boss Dao, though that was merely his current title. His name still inspired fear, but the nature of that fear had changed.

Alone in a courtyard sat Boss Dao, sweat streaming down his forehead. His arms stretched forward, wrists marked with scars—now another fresh wound, bleeding steadily.

The blood dripped onto a silver plate, forming droplets that rolled and eventually became pills held in the hand of a monkey. From a bone-deep scar, the blood was just enough to produce five or six pills. Whenever the blood ceased, Boss Dao would lift his head to the hall and gaze at the words and images floating in the air—words invisible to others. At such moments, he often gave a bitter smile.

With a palm swipe, a small jar appeared. The coveted key—finally obtained—but he had no life left to enjoy it.

As for his successor, Boss Dao reluctantly accepted the monkey. Every cultivation method in the world had its wonders and distinctiveness, and the more miraculous the art, the harsher the demands on the cultivator. Boss Dao’s Death Crow Technique was among the most extreme; meeting the monkey was a stroke of luck.

Even though the monkey was but an average talent, Boss Dao had no choice but to pour his remaining strength into passing down his legacy. Remembering his master’s dying words—that even if left unburied and unremembered, the lineage must continue—this was the harsh reality for many cultivators today. The inheritance must never be broken!

Boss Dao rested briefly, then sliced his arm again. Drops of fresh blood fell and turned into red pills. His expression remained unchanged, but his breath grew weaker with each drop.

There was a third coincidence.

High above the earth, tens of thousands of miles from Black Veil City, several dragons furiously beat their wings. Each bore a rider with a stern expression. At the forefront was a frost dragon carrying an elderly man in white robes, who urged them on. The dragon beneath him struggled to increase speed but was clearly outmatched.

“We must find the young master before his coordinates vanish!” the old man roared in a strange accent—clearly not from the Qin Kingdom.

Seven or eight dragons streaked across the sky, leaving trails of powerful gusts. These dragons were exclusively bred by the Sky Tower, renowned for their toughness, strength, speed, flight, and intelligence. As a mysterious and elite sect, they had long refrained from roaming the mortal realm, so their sudden appearance was bound to cause a stir.

Moreover, the people of Sky Tower were notoriously rude. Flying over another sect’s domain was a provocative act.

But the Sky Tower cared little for such niceties. Their young master—the sole legitimate heir—had fled at the critical moment of power transition between old and new tower masters. The young master had run away! Sky Tower was now utterly frantic, ready to kill anyone who stood in their way without a word.

Thus, the storm was about to break.