Cultivation Nerd-Chapter 236: A Monotonous Life

"Get down!" someone yelled in a gurgling shout. The voice pierced through the chaos, instinct overriding thought. Mao Zhi dropped to the ground just as a deafening blast shattered the air around him. His eardrums felt like they were being stretched and twisted, the vibrations rippling through his skull like wet fabric being wrung out.

Then came the wind, so strong it slammed into him, sending him hurtling backward. His back hit the wall with a sickening thud, the impact rattling his bones. His body crumpled to the ground, his vision blurring as the world spun around him.

Darkness tugged at the edges of his consciousness. The last thing he felt before succumbing to it was the bitter chill of snow against his cheek.

...

When Mao Zhi's eyes fluttered open again, he had no idea how much time had passed. His body ached, every muscle sore from the impact. The cold, unforgiving ground had left half his face numb.

Groaning, he pushed himself upright, wincing as his joints protested. Around him, the scene was grim. Men and women staggered through the ruins of what had once been the town's gate. Some limped, others clutched at wounds, and more than a few were sprawled motionless on the ground.

The air was thick with the sounds of grief, guttural sobs and quiet weeping. Fires crackled in the distance, smoke rising to the gray sky in thin tendrils. Amid the chaos, squad captains barked orders, trying to restore some semblance of order to the shattered ranks.

Mao Zhi rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog in his mind and stop the ringing in his ears. He caught snippets of conversation as he moved through the crowd.

"Something must have happened at the Blazing Sun Sect," an old, gravelly voice said nearby. The speaker was a weathered elder. "The stealth arrays are broken. The mountain is visible now… or at least, what's left of it."

Mao Zhi stiffened at those words, dread pooling in his gut.

A hand clapped his shoulder, startling him. He turned to see one of his fellow guards, a man with a weary expression and blood staining his uniform.

"You're part of the team heading to the sect," the guard said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need to see what's happened."

Mao Zhi's heart sank.

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His wife, he hadn't even had the chance to have a child with her. No, what if Lian Mei was pregnant? Would he leave his child an orphan before they were even born?

But in the end, he had no choice but to follow. There was still a chance he might live if he obeyed, however small it seemed. Insubordination against a cultivator, on the other hand, was a guaranteed death sentence.

They gathered just outside the gate. From somewhere unseen, in the blink of an eye a large wooden platform appeared, creaking under its own weight as it settled into place. Guards and cultivators from the Blazing Sun Sect descended from the platform, their dark red uniforms standing out against the snowy backdrop, marking their rank and authority.

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A faint shimmer passed over the platform as a translucent layer of spiritual energy formed beneath their feet. Soon, shadows darkened the sky as flying boats, carpets, and other enchanted objects descended. The air buzzed with a hum of spiritual energy, and the faint scent of burning incense wafted from the magical artifacts.

After quick organizing, as many guards as possible climbed aboard the various floating crafts. Mao Zhi ended up on one of the small boats, squeezed in with a handful of other guards. The boat jerked upward, and he grabbed the side for support.

The boat blasted forward at an incredible speed. A protective barrier formed around the platform, keeping the wind at bay, but Mao Zhi still clung tightly to the wooden sides. The blurred ground rushed past beneath them, stretching out like a distorted painting.

A chill ran down his spine. The surreal sensation of flying, combined with the day's events, left him feeling disconnected from his own body. He hadn't even had time to process everything that had happened.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the boat began to slow. Ahead, the mountain came into full view, or what remained of it. The once-majestic peak loomed like a scar on the horizon, blackened and crumbling. The top of the mountain appeared molten, as though fire had melted the rock itself.

The acrid scent of smoke filled the air, stinging Mao Zhi's nose and throat. Burnt wood, scorched earth, and something more pungent lingered. A foul, sickly-sweet odor that made his stomach churn.

Mao Zhi had no idea what the mountain had once looked like, but now it stood as a testament to devastation. The landscape was a sea of ash, with twisted remnants of buildings jutting out like the bones of a long-dead beast. Embers floated lazily through the air, glowing like dying fireflies.

The elder in charge, the same stern middle-aged man who had stood at the town gate, stepped forward, his expression as grim as ever.

"Check for any survivors in the Outer Sect," he commanded. "We will search the Inner Sect."

Despite the overwhelming scene, the guards moved with practiced efficiency. The cultivators remained eerily calm, their expressions unreadable as they assessed the damage. Mao Zhi's captain, a grizzled veteran of the town guard, led their group toward a half-melted tower that loomed in the distance.

"Do any of you know where the Inner and Outer Sect are?" one of the guards muttered as he trudged alongside Mao Zhi.

Mao Zhi shook his head. The cultivators hadn't specified the difference or any landmarks between the inner and outer Sect.

Perhaps it was something obvious?

After an exhausting climb up countless stairs, they reached the tower. The upper levels had melted and collapsed, but the lower sections seemed relatively intact.

By the time they reached the entrance, most of the guards were panting and wiping sweat from their brows. The cold air bit at their skin, but the exertion kept them warm.

Inside, the tower was a scene of chaos. Scorched books and scrolls littered the ground, some still smoldering. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning paper and ink, mingling with the scent of charred wood.

"Must have been some kind of library," one of the soldiers murmured, nudging a half-burned tome with his boot.

The further they ventured into the tower, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The walls were now blackened and cracked. The lingering heat made the air heavy, each breath thick with smoke.

Then came the corpses.

The stench of death hit them like a physical blow, making some guards gag. The bodies were no more than ashen clumps, their flesh charred and steaming. The smell was nauseating, a sickening mix of burnt meat and decay.

As they moved deeper into the tower, they found more bodies. These corpses were less burned, with patches of blistered flesh still clinging to bone. Their twisted expressions spoke of agony and desperation.

“Do you think any of them are alive?” asked one of the soldiers.

“Doubt it,” another answered, shaking his head grimly. “This kind of heat burns the lungs almost instantly. If stone didn’t stand a chance, what do you think happened to their throats and chests?”

“This place still feels like an oven,” someone else muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. His armor clinked softly with the movement. “Every breath feels like it’s scorching my throat.”

“It took us a couple dozen hours to get here since the explosion,” said another, running a hand across the soot-streaked wall. “And it still feels like my skin’s cooking.”

A couple dozen hours? Mao Zhi blinked, his thoughts sluggish. Just how long had he been knocked out?

The oppressive heat made his head swim. The walls radiated warmth, like the inside of a stove that hadn’t cooled. Even the ground beneath his feet seemed to pulse with lingering heat.

“Still,” one guard grumbled as he poked at a fallen body with his spear, “why were there so many stairs leading to a library?”

“Who cares about that?” another retorted, wrinkling his nose at the acrid smell. “I’m more concerned about whether we’re supposed to be collecting these corpses. They’re unrecognizable, but just leaving them here doesn’t sit right. Most of these were probably kids.”

“They got what was coming to them,” someone else muttered darkly. “These cultivators walk around like they own the world. Maybe this’ll teach them a lesson.”

Mao Zhi winced at the words, a pang of guilt and anger twisting in his chest. His mind flashed to Liu Feng, the boy he had guided through town not long ago. He knew not all cultivators were arrogant or cruel. Some, like Liu Feng, were just kids trying to survive in a world that demanded too much from them.

“You should watch what you’re saying,” Mao Zhi interrupted, his voice low but firm. “They were just kids. There was this one… a good kid. Fuck, I hope he was out on a mission or guarding one of the cities during the beast waves.”

The guard who had been badmouthing the dead paused, shame flickering across his face. “Ah, sorry, man. I didn’t know you knew someone.”

The tension eased slightly, though the air remained heavy with unspoken tension. The rest of the guards fell silent, no longer willing to speak ill of the dead. They all knew where Mao Zhi was coming from. Many of them had dealt with both the arrogance and humanity of cultivators firsthand.

“Oh, look,” someone said, breaking the silence. He pointed to a body near the edge of the room. “This one’s preserved better.”

Mao Zhi followed the guard’s gaze. The corpse lay twisted at an odd angle, its clothes scorched and tattered. What caught their attention, however, was the melted glass still clinging to the body’s face, a pair of lenses fused to the skull.

“Must’ve been a stronger cultivator,” the guard murmured, crouching to get a closer look.

It was just another body amongst the many...