I get up and rummage through my storage until I drag out one atomic bomb.
The system nearly leaves its body. "Player, what do you need that for? That thing has way too much firepower. You'll level the entire trial realm."
I study a marker dozens of miles out. There's an ancient divine sword buried under that mountain, just buried a little too deep. Without an atomic bomb, a Foundation stage cultivator like me could dig for a hundred years and never reach it.
I give the system one solid kick and fly my mech suit straight toward the marker.
The trial realm is breathtaking. The kind of scenery I never once saw during ten years in the zombie apocalypse world. Then, without a shred of remorse, I pull out the atomic bomb, stack dozens of energy shields around myself, and casually toss that little warhead toward the mountain.
A world shaking explosion tears through the air. A wall of scorching heat comes rolling in from every direction. Even behind dozens of layered shields, I can feel the shock wave slamming against my chest.
Half the trial realm collapses instantly. At the epicenter, not a blade of grass survives. Nothing left but one bare, gleaming ancient divine sword. Worthy of the name ancient divine sword. Not a single scratch on it.
My mech suit retrieves it and drops it into my hand. The sword seems a little rattled by the atomic bomb. Honestly, fair enough. It doesn't seem to mind that I'm only Foundation stage. It accepts me as its master without a fight.
Got exactly what I came for. I walk out of the trial realm completely satisfied.
Outside the trial realm, my fellow sect members are in a sorry state. Vera's spirit root is visibly turning black. The other disciples are sprawled across the ground, wailing. The worst off is the potion cultivator. Her right arm is gone. Forget about training. She won't even be able to carry water or chop wood around the sect anymore.
The master never could have imagined this. Every single disciple who entered the trial realm came out broken. The entire peak is on the verge of dying out.
Out of pure habit, he turns every bit of his anger on me. "Ash, what kind of senior disciple are you? How did your sect sisters end up like this?"
I glance down at them with total calm. Vera says nothing. Eli has backed himself into the very last row, not making a single sound.
"Can't help it. Everyone was fighting over who got to protect Eli. This is just how it turned out. But hey, dying for the one you adore. There are worse ways to go. I'm sure they have no regrets."
The potion cultivator is clutching her severed stump, crying so hard she can barely breathe. "That's not what happened. Eli dragged me in front of the beast himself. That's why I'm like this. Master, please, you have to stand up for me. I still want to be a potion cultivator."
I crack open another sunflower seed.
"I could have gotten away. He tripped me and shoved me right into the beast's mouth. My spirit root is completely destroyed. Master, please save me." That one is third sister.
I spit out two seed shells. So much for the beloved script. Nobody's following it anymore.
The master's expression shifts through a dozen emotions at once. But as Eli's biggest admirer, now that his favorite disciple walked away unscathed, there's really no reason to punish him. Eli keeps running his beloved act with professional dedication.
And just like that, the script loops back around. The master turns the full weight of his blame on me.
"Ash, your fellow disciples are in ruins. So why are you completely untouched?"
The way he says it, like simply being alive is the greatest crime I could commit.
I slowly draw the ancient divine sword, surrounded by a sea of envy and pure hatred. I run my hand along the cool blade. "Your disciple was busy retrieving a divine weapon. No time to babysit a pack of wastes."
The master's eyes lock onto the sword instantly. The greed spreading across his face is impossible to hide. His disciples' suffering, completely forgotten. As sect leader, he can recruit a fresh batch of disciples any year he wants. Wastes come and go. An ancient divine sword does not.
"Ash, you, you actually found something like this. Hand it over to your master. Now."
I put the sword away and look at him like he's something I stepped in. "Hand it to you? As if you deserve it."
Dead silence falls over the crowd. Every trace of envy evaporates into sheer horror. They stare at me like I'm already a corpse. A Nascent Soul stage master killing me would take exactly one move.
The master has clearly decided to kill me. Murder for treasure. It's practically routine in the cultivation realm.
He channels his spirit energy and charges straight at me, screaming, "You insolent disciple. How dare you defy your own master. Since you refuse to hand over the sword today, I purge you from this sect."
Late stage Nascent Soul pressure dwarfs Gold Core by a terrifying margin. Spirit energy comes crashing down on me from every direction. I activate my energy shield without breaking a sweat. Twelve layers, stacked clean. This small fry burns through exactly three of them before he's already running on empty.
He stares at me, completely dumbfounded, unable to comprehend how a Nascent Soul full power strike didn't even graze my skin. No surprise, really. Interstellar era energy shields are completely transparent, invisible to everyone else. To them, I look like a godlike cheater, just standing there effortlessly tanking a full Nascent Soul assault.
I fold my arms across my chest and look at him with cold, flat eyes. "Master, according to sect rules, if a disciple wins a challenge against their master, they can take over the position. Does that rule still stand?"
Countless horrified eyes turn to the master. He's completely backed into a corner now. No clean way out. Deep down, he still can't bring himself to take a Foundation stage nobody seriously.
"A Foundation stage cultivator challenging a Nascent Soul master. You have no idea where you stand. Today I clean house and send you, you insolent disciple, to your next life."