173 Petty Bastard

173 Petty Bastard

173 Petty Bastard

I opened my eyes and found myself back in front of the gates. That damned gate, the one I'd seen too many times to count, the one that marked either failure or a beginning I didn’t want. I stared at the iron-bound doors, their ancient wood as unwelcome and familiar as the weight of guilt in my chest. So I hadn’t killed the loop after all. Despite the dread that should’ve taken hold, I felt… relieved. I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the fact that Mao Xian still lived. Maybe, I wouldn’t have to kill him after all.

But still…

“Fuck, I failed.”

It was the result that ultimately mattered.

With a steady breath, I pushed the gates open. The guards flanking the entrance stepped forward with alarm. One of them raised a hand to halt me, his mouth already forming words of protest, but I brushed them off with a pulse of my Will. Their resistance crumbled instantly. They weren’t strong enough to stop the current me, and I wasn’t in the mood to explain myself to those who didn’t matter.

As I stepped through the stairs, whispers rippled through the crowd like wind in tall grass. I ignored them, offering a perfunctory nod here and there, and the occasional “excuse me” when I stepped on robes or nudged past elbows. I wasn’t being polite… I just didn’t want to be bothered with their outrage. My focus was already fixed far ahead, on a figure I couldn’t shake from my mind. Mao Xian sat there, as poised and quiet as a statue carved to smirk.

Just as I drew near the first row of steps, a voice cut through the din. “You dare interrupt the World Summit?” A young man, no older than me by appearance but already puffed up with self-importance, stood from his elevated seat. He had the slim build of someone born to status, not survival. “This is sacrilege,” he said. “Your life is forfeit for such disrespect.”

I tilted my head at him and sighed. “How about I kill you first, then?” I wasn’t even angry. I just didn’t have time for games… or side quests.

The cultivator’s face turned pale with fury and fear, but before he could speak again, a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Tao Long. I had forgotten he was even here. He said nothing at first, just stared down at the fool as pressure radiated from his body.

“Might be nice,” someone muttered from a few seats back, “to be such a pampered young master with a bodyguard in the Eighth Realm.”

Tao Long’s eyes flicked toward the speaker. “You’re growing bold,” he said coldly. “But don’t mistake civility in this place for weakness. You think this man’s cultivation looks like a joke?” He nodded toward me without looking away from the offender. “He’s stronger than I am, even if he looks like that!”

I winced a little at that. “Friendly fire, Tao Long,” I muttered under my breath. “And what do you mean ‘like that’ like seriously?”

Before the tension could thicken, another voice rang out. “Enough.” Tian En, seated in the central dais, glared at me with narrowed eyes. Of the four high seats, only three were filled. The fourth sat empty, like how I remembered. “You bring chaos with you, stranger! This is the Summit, not your personal stage.”

I waved a hand lazily in her direction. “Shove it, old hag. Shouquan sent me. You don’t like it, take it up with him. While I’m busy, do me a favor… guard my body, will you?” I didn’t wait for her answer, and I didn’t care for her dignity. It wasn’t worth half a soul.

Tian En didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. The look on her face was one of stunned silence, as if I’d kicked the ancestral tablet of her clan straight off the altar. Maybe I had. Not my problem. Name-dropping Shouquan ought to put her in place.

Finally, I stood before Mao Xian. Zai Ai, who had been watching me with a scholar’s curiosity, leaned slightly forward, her gaze sharp and appraising. Mao Xian, for his part, looked completely at ease. He smiled, and it was that same cryptic, unreadable smile he always wore.

“I told you,” he said softly. “We’d see each other again.”

Zai Ai glanced between us. “You know this man, disciple?”

Mao Xian shrugged. “Kind of.”

I locked eyes with him, tone flat. “Don’t fight it. You’re going to tell me everything you know.”

Mao Xian didn’t flinch. “That depends on your ability.”

No resistance. No begging. Just calm arrogance.

I didn’t waste time. My lips never moved, my fingers never twitched, and no sigils lit the air. I simply willed it… and cast Divine Possession. Light folded around my consciousness. A golden tether snapped into place. I passed through the barrier of his soul and found myself submerged in the weightless space of his existence. He didn't reject me...

I was inside.

"Mao Xian."

It was the only name he knew. His past was a shattered mural, the edges smudged and the colors blurred beyond recognition. Whenever he tried to recall his childhood, it was always the same: the image of fire sweeping over stone, of screams vanishing beneath the roar of heaven, and the flying immortals who descended from the clouds like wrathful gods. They didn’t need armies. Just a gesture, a flick of the hand… and mountains fell, people vanished, and homes turned to ash. That was a memory he would remember forever. Maybe the only one that mattered to him.

But not to me.

To Mao Xian, it was a trauma buried beneath layers of coping. To me, it was a locked door waiting to be opened. And I had the key.

The Soulful Guiding Fire burned inside me like a patient candle, and with it, I moved through the maze of his soul… through echoing thought-halls and disjointed memory fragments that shivered at my touch. The fiery emerald butterfly fluttered in the air, and I followed. I didn’t force them. I coaxed them forward, tracing their warmth to the core. When the barrier of resistance faded, a story began to unfold, not in words, but in scenes. I watched as if through the eyes of a silent ghost.

A cave. Cold air. Fur rugs beneath stone walls.

A woman screamed.

An old midwife, wrapped in rough hides and sinew-threaded beads, held a newborn aloft in the flickering firelight. The cry of an infant rang through the cave like a declaration: I am here. I exist.

The mother wept. The father trembled. And the moment the child was placed at the mother’s breast, a strange peace settled in the memory. For a second, even I could feel it. That warmth. That desperate, biological intimacy of survival and love.

I stood there in that moment, outside of time, my body frozen while my soul watched, and felt the infant’s panic fade as nourishment replaced fear. The guiding flame didn’t just show me the past. It let me feel it. Mao Xian’s first breath lived in my lungs now, his cries echoed in my chest.

The world around the cave was primal. Crude huts etched into cliff faces. Rope bridges slung over deathly chasms. Children that leapt between stone towers like monkeys. The Mountain Clan lived as one with the stone and snow, their bodies hardened by generations of survival, their culture developed around strength and song. They were not savages. Their language was complex, rich with metaphor and tone. Their stories were told through chants, their gods represented by symbols carved into rock… horns, wheels, winds. But the greatest of these gods was the horned bull, etched above every hearth.

There was no cultivation here. Not yet. No glowing veins or golden cores. And yet… I watched as Mao Xian’s father, a lean man with wiry limbs and no qi to speak of, shattered a boulder with a swing of a wooden staff. The boy watched, wide-eyed, and tried to mimic the motion until his hands bled. Every time he failed, his father said nothing. But when the child finally managed to crack a stone, a single proud nod was all he received.

Years passed like pages in a book I hadn’t known I was reading. Mao Xian grew taller, but was still much a child. He rarely smiled, but when he did, it was when no one else was looking. He was loved, though not spoiled. Adored, though never idolized. The Mountain Clan didn’t believe in exalting individuals. Everyone served the mountain. That was the creed. That was the way.

Then he came.

A man in a robe the color of wet stone, speaking words like poison honey. He stood on a ledge overlooking the entire clan and spoke of things that didn’t make sense to them. “Cultivation,” he said. “Eternal life. The path to the heavens.” He spoke of sects and cores and realms, and the Mountain Clan listened in silence.

Then they laughed.

Not out of rudeness… but confusion. His teachings weren’t merely unfamiliar. They were heretical. In their view, to live forever was to defy the sacred cycle. To refuse death was to unbalance all things. The ancestors must die to guide the living. To cheat that was madness.

They asked him to leave.

He did not.

The memory skipped violently. Like a thread snapped under pressure.

The fire came next.

I stood, powerless, as white flame raged across the stone village. Children screamed. Warriors bled. The flying immortals returned, gliding through the sky like falling stars, and death followed behind each of them. I saw Mao Xian, young, crying, being dragged by his mother through a collapsing tunnel. The last thing he saw of his father was a roar, a rising club, and a pillar of lightning that split the world.

They ran into a cave deeper than all others, into a shrine that smelled of blood and pine ash.

They were praying.

The entire surviving clan knelt before a giant carving of a bull's skull with six eyes, whispering a chant I didn’t understand. Their god, it seemed, was not a being of mercy. Their god was a god of sanctuary, of retreat, of escape! This wasn’t merely faith… it was desperation channeled into ritual.

And then, something impossible happened.

The entire memory trembled, and reality folded like cloth.

A great bell rang… not from metal, but from existence itself. I watched in awe as the cavern glowed, as the very realm tore itself from the threads of fate. The mountain cracked. The land around it screamed.

And then they vanished.

One moment, they were in a realm of fire and war.

The next, they were gone.

The Hollowed World.

Every hundred years or so, the Hollowed World welcomed visitors from the Greater Universe. Not by choice. Not with parades or banners. Entire realms and whole civilizations would descend like drifting islands from beyond the stars, crashing into the Hollowed World’s shifting landscape.

Mao Xian’s realm had been one of them.

I stood inside his soul, my consciousness woven deep into the strands of memory. What I saw wasn't just history… it was pain immortalized, layered into bone and marrow, carved into the folds of his mind like it had never truly ended.

The skies were torn open, split like old cloth by golden warships and flying fortresses that gleamed with celestial might. I recognized their banners: the Empire’s Nongmin, the Union’s Seven Colors, the Heavenly Temple’s radiant wheel, and the Martial Alliance’s Might. They didn’t come to negotiate. They came to exterminate.

I felt the fear of a child as if it were my own. Felt the stone under my feet, the stink of burning fur and blood. The Mountain Clan had always been strong, but what was brute strength against the divine arts of the Tenth Realm? I saw villagers cut down mid-prayer, warriors skewered in the midst of battle songs, elders weeping as their bodies turned to ash under the light of judgment.

From a child’s perspective, I watched his world end.

“It’s not new to you, is it?” said a voice beside me. Adult Mao Xian, or at least the part of him conscious within the memory, had appeared. He stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You’ve seen slaughter before. You’ve done it. But now, you get to see mine.”

He turned his head, black eyes glinting. “I’m sure you know the rest is history.”

“Get out,” he said, not angry… just final. "You should leave now that you've seen what you want to see..."

“No,” I answered firmly. "I am not done yet."

I turned back to the scene even as he tried to push me out with intent. The Soulful Guiding Fire flared in resistance. His mind was strong, but mine had been tempered by fire and madness. I held my ground and watched.

I saw the memory shift like a dream collapsing into another. Zai Ai now stood over a much younger Mao Xian. He must have been ten, maybe eleven, ragged from survival, still raw from grief. She scolded him with a voice like thunder. “No! You call that an appraisal? You’re confusing spirit density with soul alignment. Again.”

Her words were harsh, but there was care beneath them… just buried and warped. To him, she was a master, but also something more. A mentor. A mother figure. One he didn’t know how to love. One he feared, admired, and wanted to surpass.

He grew under her shadow. And as he left it, he ventured further into the wider world.

The memory leapt forward.

I narrowed my eyes as I saw it: a stone vault cracking open in a forgotten ruin, revealing a faintly glowing book. I nearly cursed aloud. It was a Legacy Advancement Book… not just any, but the Divine Path of the Paladin. The same one I had used as the backbone of my entire build. Divine Smite, TriDivine, Divine Possession… this was the blueprint of my early power.

“Really?” I muttered. “You too?”

Mao Xian’s ghostly echo grinned beside me. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

Judging by the sound of his tone, he seemed to know a lot about the legacies. I watched as he claimed it. Fought for it. Bled for it. He didn’t receive it as a gift… he earned it in fire as he competed with fellow explorers and treasure hunters. And then as Mao Xian grew in power, he made a name for himself and a purpose. The difference between us wasn’t the Legacy. Instead, it was the purpose we wielded our power. He used it not to protect others but to elevate others and give them a fair chance. I watched in the memory as he hunted bandits, saved villages, and raised the Adventurer's Guild from dirt.

In other words, he wanted justice. Or maybe vengeance. Maybe he didn’t even know the difference anymore. That was why... everything led to what was happening right now.

“You can watch all you want,” he said, “but once this trick of yours ends, you’ll just die all the same. And the loop will repeat again. And again. And again.”

“What’s your goal?” I asked.

“To punish those responsible for my clan’s demise,” he said without hesitation. “Starting with the Empire. The Heavenly Temple. The Martial Alliance. The Union.”

He named them like a prayer. Like a curse! I understood now how he had managed to possess me. If he had acquired the Divine Possession skill, it would explain everything. But there were still questions that clawed at the walls of my mind.

Where had the angels come from?

What was the root of this time loop?

Why did he need my body?

I didn’t get a straight answer. Instead, the next memory took shape.

We now stood in front of a courier outpost in some snowy hinterland. I recognized it immediately. It was the same damn base Mao Xian had turned into the Adventurer’s Guild headquarters. The place where he and his Master Zai Ai would always convene..

“I'm sure you're curious,” he said, folding his arms again. “Why you, Da Wei?”

“Obviously,” I muttered. “Would’ve been great if you wrote me a letter instead of bodyjacking.”

He smiled faintly. “I need your body. Your strength. Your connection to things that shouldn’t exist. And I’m going to get it.”

There was no malice in his tone. Instead, there was only conviction.

“Is that it?” I asked. “You think you can hijack everything I’ve built? My friends? My skills? My stupid, broken legacy?”

“Yes,” he said simply. "I am going to become you if I have to."

The light around us began to dim. I felt the tether begin to unravel. Divine Possession didn’t last forever, even if I pushed my limits. My time inside his soul was running out. It wasn't helping that he was fighting against my Ultimate Skill.

I stepped forward, and even though I knew he wasn’t truly there, I looked him in the eyes. “You’re not the only one with a grudge. You’re not the only one who's lost a clan. You’re not even the only one with a damn Paladin build. So do me a favor, Mao Xian. Just stop.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Try me.”

I didn’t answer immediately. My eyes scanned the shifting light, the illusion of a time long past when the Hollowed World welcomed visitors from beyond… realms like the Mountain Clan’s, descending with hope and desperation. But those days were lies wrapped in tragedy. The Empire, the Heavenly Temple, the Union, and the Martial Alliance had gathered to commit genocide under the banner of protection. The Tenth Realm cultivators united… to erase a people.

I asked quietly, “Who’s backing you?”

Mao Xian said nothing. The silence didn’t feel like defiance… it felt like pity.

I frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged.

Frustrated, I pulled at the memory itself, felt it shatter into rays of light like a kaleidoscope around me. Space twisted, time churned. I dove deeper, let the memory unravel.

“You’re not going to find anything,” Mao Xian said, even as the shards of time swirled.

“Then that only means I’m looking in the wrong direction,” I murmured. “But I’ll find something. I always do.”

The scene accelerated. I saw his Adventurer’s Guild grow further in success… his dream of a better world crawling toward life. He hadn’t been lying. There was nobility in him once. And then, something tried to swallow me. The memory pulled at my soul, its warmth was just as intoxicating. The joy of purpose. The bond of comrades. A future worth building.

No.

I clenched my fists and pulled away, tearing myself free. I refused to be immersed. Not now. Not like this!

The world reassembled.

She was waiting for me.

Aixin.

She wore Joan’s face, that same serene smile, except the glint in her eyes belonged to something ancient and cruel. She sat on a throne that hadn’t existed in this memory until now… golden, ornate, and wrong. Mao Xian stood beside her like a statue, silent and watchful.

“I knew we’d see each other again,” I said, my voice steady. “But to think it’d be this soon.”

She stirred her tea with one delicate finger and smiled. “Careful now, Wei. I might cast Heavenly Punishment on you too early.”

“Get in line,” I muttered. “What do you want?”

“Your soul,” she said plainly. “Your legacy!”

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to punch her in the face so badly, but I knew better. Power like hers didn’t need theatrics. It simply needed an opportunity. In simpler terms, I would be crushed like an ant.

“Earth,” she added softly. “I want Earth.”

The look in her eyes chilled me.

I asked, “What is Mao Xian to you?”

“My slave,” she said, unapologetic and unflinching. "So?"

I turned toward Mao Xian. “What do you think Zai Ai would feel about that? Is revenge really worth this?” I gestured to Aixin, staring at her and then back at him. "I mean, look at her... That's not even her face! She's using you to advance her own agenda... I mean, to each of their own, but she isn't even thinking of you as an individual and sees you as a slave! I will ask again. Is this really worth it?"

His gaze didn’t shift. “Yes.”

“Enough that you killed a woman, took her vulnerabilities, and brainwashed her?”

I moved us again. The memory twisted on my command, reshaping into the moment Mao Xian struck Shan Dian down. The beheading. The mending. The manipulation. All of it. Her body, her soul, twisted for his cause. It was ironic that it happened during the Cleanse, but this choice hadn't been Mao Xian's.

"She deserves it," remarked Mao Xian plainly.

“You’re better than this,” I said. I meant it. “I felt your pain. You wanted justice. Not this.”

“I’m sorry,” Mao Xian whispered. A tear welled in one eye. “But I want my ‘heaven’ back.”

I smiled bitterly, a smile with no joy. “Me too, buddy.”

I closed my eyes for a second. Let the bitterness settle.

“But I’m a petty bastard,” I said. “If I can’t have it, then it’s better no one does.”

My Divine Soul flared. I felt it burn from my core, not with light but resolve. The kind that could level mountains or tear down legacies.

“Exalted Renewal.”

A skill I’d never dared to use to its limit.

In LLO, there were always weird skills with special costs. Spell slots, Will Points, Rage, Aura, you name it. But Exalted Renewal? That was in a different league. It cost me Exp Points. Every point gone was a piece of your story gone. In exchange, it would raise my stats every second at an exponential rate. On top of that, it would allow me to cast Divine Word with 'mana' multiple times, instead of using Spell Slots.

But when it ended, my Legacy… would be snuffed out. And so would I.

“A death that no one walks away from,” I whispered, turning to Aixin. “Let’s see you match that, bitch.”

Aixin rose from her throne, the mask of Joan cracking as her fury radiated like divine fire. Her eyes blazed as she stepped forward.

“What are you doing!?” she screamed. “Do you think you will get the last laugh… because you decided to commit… suicide!?”

The spell began to glow inside me, a second sun birthing in my chest.

She kept walking toward me and then stopped a step away as she leveled her gaze at me. I met her eyes defiantly. And then…

I pulled the skin under one eye and stuck my tongue out.

“Blegh~! You lose, bitch,” I spat. “Must suck to only act in this world through a proxy, right? Because if you want me so bad, you would have come yourself. Come on, your move. I am waiting. Don't take too long, okay?”

The light surged, the world trembled, and my soul ignited. Everything I was, every level, every title, every bonus trait, and achievement burned for this one moment.

No heaven for you, Mao Xian.

No heaven for me either.

And most importantly, no Soul for Aixin, no Legacy, and no Earth.