Chapter Six: Oh, Not Bad at All

Because all the requirements were met, Liu Pan became an outer disciple of the Sunbright Sect without any surprises. Under Yang Xun’s guidance, Liu Pan and the other new disciples went to the outer hall to collect their identity tokens, then to the supplies hall to receive all necessary living materials, and finally were brought to “Peak Thirteen.”

Thanks to Yang Xun’s introduction, the new disciples quickly learned some basic facts about the Sunbright Sect. As the most powerful sect in the southern borderlands of Tianfeng Continent’s Southern Prefecture, the Sunbright Sect’s reputation was not just idle talk. The sect housed over eight hundred disciples and occupied more than a dozen mountain peaks—Peak Thirteen was only one among them.

“All right, I’ll leave you here,” Yang Xun said. “Choose any vacant house on Peak Thirteen for yourselves. If you have questions about sect matters, consult the sect rules. If your question isn’t answered there, go to another peak and ask one of the senior disciples.”

As he spoke, Yang Xun glanced at the sky. Before the new disciples could ask anything more, a green light flashed at his feet and, like a startled hare, he dashed down the mountain, leaving the newcomers staring at one another in confusion.

Liu Pan was briefly taken aback by Yang Xun’s abrupt departure, but quickly understood. In the Sunbright Sect, each disciple received limited cultivation resources. To gain more, one had to complete certain tasks. Guiding new disciples was a special task that had to be completed the same day. Yang Xun’s haste was because dusk had already fallen; he needed to report back to the task hall before it closed, or he’d miss out on the reward.

Liu Pan understood, but the others did not. Watching Yang Xun sprint away so frantically, the new disciples erupted into a flurry of speculation.

“What the heck? Why did Senior Brother Yang run off like a rabbit?”

“Could it be something spooky?”

“Maybe someone wants to intimidate us new disciples, and Senior Brother Yang knows, so he left early?”

“How could that be? Senior Brother Yang seemed decent enough. If someone wanted to give us a hard time, he’d at least warn us, right?”

“So then what—”

As the others chattered on, Liu Pan shook his head in exasperation. Being among such “ignorant” people was exhausting.

Sweeping his gaze around, Liu Pan set off toward a house with a decent appearance. He already knew all the essentials about the Sunbright Sect—there was no need for anyone to explain. Listening to these “rookies” babble was a waste of time; he decided to secure a good house first.

However, as soon as Liu Pan moved, he attracted attention. His massive saber was too eye-catching, and his actions were different from everyone else’s—it was impossible not to notice him. Seeing Liu Pan walk toward a relatively well-kept house, the others realized what was happening and rushed toward the houses en masse.

It had to be said, the houses on Peak Thirteen were quite unique—some had no doors, some had no roofs, and some were merely piles of ruined walls, unable to block even the wind. Living in them would be no different from sleeping outside.

And if you weren’t fast enough—in fact, even if you were—securing a good house was never guaranteed, because Tianfeng Continent was a place where strength ruled.

Perhaps because Liu Pan was the first to choose, or because the enormous saber on his back was so intimidating, no one challenged him for the house he’d picked. Thus, Liu Pan entered unimpeded.

The room was simple but tidy—Liu Pan looked around, quite satisfied. He was just about to unstrap the Desolate Saber and sit down when the door was suddenly kicked open.

Clearly, just because no one fought him at first didn’t mean it would stay that way. So, someone coming to kick down the door was no surprise.

According to the original novel, after Liu Kuang emerged from the Cold Abyss, he too joined the Sunbright Sect and went through similar experiences. The only difference was that Liu Kuang had stayed on Peak Twelve, while Liu Pan was now on Peak Thirteen.

The door flew open and a man in a short beast-hide tunic strode in. He glanced around the room at the furnishings, then fixed his gaze on Liu Pan. A fierce aura emanated from him as he barked, “Kid! I want this room. Get lost!”

Get lost? There was no way Liu Pan would leave.

Sizing up the man, Liu Pan found him vaguely familiar. The novel had mentioned that on the seventh day after joining, new disciples would participate in an entry-level tournament. Peak Thirteen had a particularly formidable character at the ninth stage of Martial Warrior cultivation—Jackal.

“Jackal?” Liu Pan asked, uncertain. The man looked familiar, but after all, he was a character from the novel, and there hadn’t been detailed descriptions of his features.

At Liu Pan’s words, the man paused, looked at him again, and his expression darkened. “I remember you. You’re Liu Pan, aren’t you? How do you know my name?”

Liu Pan smiled—though his actions here differed from Liu Kuang’s in the original novel, much of the information could still be inferred from it.

“I heard you introduce yourself during the entrance test outside the mountain gate,” Liu Pan replied casually.

“Impossible!” Jackal’s face grew even darker. “I remember you were the last to take the test. When I was up, you weren’t even there!”

As he spoke, his gaze flicked to the massive saber on Liu Pan’s back—clearly, Jackal had noticed Liu Pan’s striking appearance during the test.

Liu Pan could only sigh inwardly. Carrying the Desolate Saber was certainly impressive, but it brought plenty of inconveniences—and honestly, it was a bit much. Show off too often, and you’d get struck by lightning eventually. But he had no choice; he didn’t possess the Wildflame bloodline.

If he had, the Desolate Saber would have recognized him as its master, and he could have stored it within his dantian, out of sight and mind. But without the bloodline, he had to carry it openly.

Suppressing his annoyance, Liu Pan stood up and headed toward the door, speaking to Jackal as he passed. “Let’s take this outside. No point arguing over names. You want this room? Then let’s fight for it. Winner takes it. If we wreck the place in here, no one will be able to live in it.”

So straightforward? Jackal was caught off guard by Liu Pan’s calmness and began to regret coming.

Outside, quite a few disciples had gathered, drawn by the commotion of Jackal kicking in the door. Many were already curious about the saber-wielding Liu Pan. Now, seeing Jackal about to fight him, they were eager to see if Liu Pan was just putting on a show or if he truly had the strength to back it up.

“Go ahead,” Liu Pan said quietly.

Jackal was at the peak of the ninth level of Martial Warrior—his cultivation was slightly above Liu Pan’s. But Liu Pan was not the least bit afraid. As the author, he already knew Jackal’s weakness, and after a month of brutal training under Yan, he feared no one below the rank of Martial Master.

That month had been about more than enduring waterfall pounding—it included life-or-death battles against nearly a hundred beasts.

Jackal frowned. If Liu Pan’s composure inside the room had made him uneasy, his calm now was infuriating. Liu Pan stood with his arms relaxed, showing no intention of fighting. He hadn’t even drawn the huge saber from his back, as if Jackal posed no threat at all.

It was an insult.

“Arrogant!” Jackal hissed, launching himself at Liu Pan. As a martial cultivator, especially one with some skill, how could he tolerate such disrespect?

The moment Jackal moved, so did Liu Pan. His right hand reached up behind his ear and, in a flash, gripped the hilt of the Desolate Saber.

Though the saber hadn’t recognized him as its master, it wasn’t unusable—just a bit unorthodox. No slashing, no hacking—the only attack was to smash.

But Liu Pan didn’t intend to use it that way, nor did he think he could hit Jackal with it. The saber was merely a tool to create an opening.

Jackal was fast—a faint green glow flickered at his feet, proof of a practiced footwork technique. In less than half a breath, he closed to within three meters of Liu Pan.

As Jackal drew closer, Liu Pan’s eyes narrowed. With a sharp swish, he drew the Desolate Saber and, without hesitation, plunged it into the ground three feet in front of him and to his right.

Jackal sneered inwardly as Liu Pan drew the saber. The thing was enormous and obviously heavy. Using such a weapon to match his speed was a fool’s dream.

But the next instant, Jackal’s expression changed dramatically. Liu Pan hadn’t swung the blade; he’d stabbed it into the ground—right in the path of Jackal’s attack.

If he kept going, he would crash into the saber before he could reach Liu Pan.

“How—”

Startled, Jackal stomped hard on the ground, veering away less than a foot from the saber.

But before he could breathe a sigh of relief, a teasing voice sounded in his ear.

“Not bad! Your speed’s pretty impressive.”