As Long Huang walked away from the medicine pavilion, the crisp sect air filled his lungs, invigorating him. The recent battles in the Sky Cloud Forest had sharpened his instincts, and he understood that to survive the treacherous depths of the Archdevil Mountain Range, he would need more than just brute strength—he needed precision.
"I should buy a bow for the next time I enter the Archdevil Mountain Range," Long Huang thought.
Over the past two months in the Sky Cloud Forest, he had often found himself at a disadvantage against swift beasts and distant enemies, taking pleasure in dispatching foes from afar using improvised branches. A proper bow would give him the reach he lacked. His eyes, pulsing with faint energy, scanned the weapons lining the walls of the armory before locking onto a silver longbow. Its surface gleamed like moonlight on still water.
The weapon exuded a chilling aura, yet there was a deep serenity about it, as if it had been forged not only for destruction but for a perfect harmony between the wielder and the arrow.
"How much for this bow?" Long Huang asked, his voice steady.
The elder, a shrewd old man with sharp eyes, appraised him for a moment before smiling. "You have excellent taste! This is the 'Mysterious Silver Bow,' one of the finest weapons in my shop and a low-tier profound grade weapon at that. Only a true cultivator—one skilled in archery—can unleash its full potential." He paused, gauging Long Huang's reaction. "Its price is one thousand and eighty gold notes."
Though the elder doubted that this young man could afford such a luxury, but he maintained his professionalism.
Long Huang didn't hesitate. "One thousand and eighty gold notes? That's reasonable. I'll take it."
The Mysterious Silver Bow was crafted from rare, high-grade materials, and its power far surpassed that of his arms when hurling tree branches. Properly wielding it required the strength of at least the Meridian Tempering Realm—a threshold that Long Huang had recently crossed.
The elder blinked in surprise. "Are you certain you wish to purchase it outright… and not borrow it?"
Without a word, Long Huang stacked a neat pile of gold notes on the counter and pushed them forward. "I don't have time to waste. Prepare the bow."
The elder's eyes widened. He was shocked that this same youth was spending over a thousand gold notes without hesitation.
"O-Of course!" the elder stammered, quickly retrieving the bow and placing it in an intricately carved box. Not wanting to miss the opportunity for more business, he added, "Would you like arrows as well? I have high-grade ones for three silver each."
Long Huang nodded. "One hundred."
"At once, at once!" the elder stammered, scrambling to package the bow in an ornate ebony case. The arrows he provided were tipped with venom from a Black-Toothed Viper and were deadly accurate.
The transaction was swift. With the Mysterious Silver Bow slung across his back and a quiver of fine arrows at his side, Long Huang stepped out of the pavilion, his mind already racing toward his next destination—the western mountains, his home.
But before he could take more than a few steps, a voice called out behind him.
"Young master, that bow… it has a history."
Long Huang turned to see the elderly man leaning against the doorway, his eyes sharp despite his aged appearance.
"What do you mean?" Long Huang asked.
The old man smiled faintly. "It was once wielded by a master archer who ventured deep into the Archdevil Mountain Range… and never returned. Some say the bow carries his lingering will."
A flicker of interest passed through Long Huang's eyes. "Then it's even more suited for me." With that, Long Huang left the weapon pavilion.
As Long Huang strode away from the weapon pavilion, the weight of the Mysterious Silver Bow rested comfortably against his back. Yet, something gnawed at him—a whisper of instinct, a premonition that his preparations were incomplete.
"A bow grants me range, but what if I'm forced into close combat?"
"Even though I have the Archdevil Limitless Blade Art, which is more of a trump card meant for big battles rather than one-on-one combat," Long Huang thought.
The recent battles in the Sky Cloud Forest had taught him the value of versatility. He had relied on his fists and raw strength, but against a true master—or a demon beast with an impenetrable hide—he would need more.
He stopped mid-stride and turned on his heel, marching back toward the weapon pavilion.
The same elder who had sold him the bow looked up in surprise. "Young master? Did you forget something?"
Long Huang's gaze swept over the weapons once more, this time settling on a long, slender blade resting on a blackwood stand. Its edge gleamed with a cold light, and its hilt was wrapped in dark serpent leather, exuding an aura of quiet lethality.
"That one."
The elder followed his gaze and nodded approvingly. "The Frostbite Serpent Sword—forged from glacial iron and tempered with the venom of an Ice-fang Wyrm. A single cut slows the enemy's blood, making them sluggish in battle. It's a high-tier, profound grade weapon."
Long Huang reached out, gripping the hilt. The moment his fingers closed around it, a faint pulse of energy resonated through his meridians, as if the blade itself was testing him.
Good. A weapon with spirit.
"How much?"
The elder stroked his beard. "Two thousand gold notes."
Without hesitation, Long Huang produced the coins. The elder's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, simply accepting the payment and handing over the sword in a lacquered scabbard.
With the Frostbite Serpent Sword now sheathed at his waist, Long Huang turned to leave—but then paused.
"A weapon is only as good as the art that wields it."
Before he had begun formal training in swordplay, his combat had always been instinctive and brutal, and the Archdevil Limitless Blade Art was designed for blades—specifically, for dual blades. If he was to wield this sword properly, he needed technique.
"So, to the Martial Pavilion," Long Huang said with a bit of excitement.
The Martial Pavilion stood at the heart of the sect, a grand structure where disciples could exchange combat arts and cultivation techniques.
Long Huang walked toward the desk, expecting the elder to rub his achievements in his face, but as he got closer, he found a young man sitting at the desk.
"Where's the elder?" Long Huang asked curiously.
"Out," responded the young man.
The attendant, a senior disciple with sharp eyes, glanced at him and said, "Looking for something specific?"
"Sword arts," Long Huang replied. "Something lethal."
The attendant smirked. "We have many. What's your preference? Swift strikes? Heavy slashes? Or something… more esoteric?"
Long Huang's fingers brushed the hilt of his new sword. "Something that kills in one stroke."
The attendant's smirk widened. He reached beneath the counter and produced a jade slip, its surface etched with faint, glowing characters.
"The Phantom Fang Sword Art."
"A low-level spirit-grade combat art," the attendant explained. "It focuses on a single, perfect strike—swift as a viper's bite, leaving no room for counterattack. The downside? It consumes a great deal of Qi. One missed strike, and you're vulnerable."
Long Huang took the jade slip, his mind already envisioning the movements. Perfect.
"How many gold notes?"
"Three hundred."
Long Huang handed over the gold notes, and the attendant picked them up without another word.
As he left the Martial Pavilion, Long Huang could feel the weight of his new acquisitions—the bow for distance, the sword for close combat, and now, the technique to make that sword deadly. As he was finally heading home a voice rang out.
"Look who crawled back from the dead, if it isn't the great Long Huang" a young man, seemingly 16 years old emerged
"Did you hide in a hole all this time, or did some beast take pity on you?"
"Chi Wei told me you've changed a lot but to me you're still a inferior ordinary grade bloodline holder"
"But you've become quite the eye candy, I have some elderly women in my family that would love you" said the young man .
Long Huang didn't need to turn to know who it was, Lin Feng, a rival disciple who had always looked down on him, unlike Chi Wei, who had a valid reason for hating him. Lin Feng didn't. Lin Feng stood with his usual entourage, a smug grin on his face.
"Fuck do you ever shut up fuck" said Long Huang as he was a bit irritated.
"What did you say repeat that" exclaimed Lin Feng.
Ignoring him, Long Huang continued walking, but Lin Feng stepped into his path. "What, no words? Or are you still shaken from nearly dying?"
Long Huang met his gaze, his voice calm but edged with warning. "Move."
Lin Feng smirked. "Or what? You'll run away again?"
Long Huang's body started to radiate a powerful killing intent that seemed to come to life his emerald green eyes started emotionlessly at Lin Feng as if he was already dead to him.
The surrounding disciples tensed, sensing the brewing conflict. Before things could escalate further, a sharp voice rang out.
"Enough!"
The senior from the Martial Pavilion strode forward with a stern expression. "This is a place of cultivation, not childish squabbles. If you wish to fight, save it for the competition."
Lin Feng scowled but backed off, shooting Long Huang a final glare. "This isn't over."
"Oh my goodness, do you all have a 'How to Be a Villain' handbook or something?" Long Huang said, clearly annoyed by people like Chi Wei and Lin Feng. He then turned and headed to his home. As he headed home he counted his money to see how much he was left with after his shopping spree.