CHAPTER 65: DON’T GO DYING TOMORROW, PEASANT.

"Why?" John asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Benneca’s face, looking for even the smallest flicker of emotion.

Benneca stayed silent for a long moment, her gaze steady and unreadable, as if she were weighing every possible outcome before speaking.

Crimson, who only seconds ago looked ready to explode, now stood quietly beside her, the rage in his eyes dimming into something closer to reluctant restraint.

Finally, Benneca spoke, her tone clipped and cold. "It’s not something you need to know. Your task is simple, finish the job, then leave. We will handle the rest. If you do this, you will be forgiven by the three Silentswords for taking Crimson’s sword... and you will return my sword once we come back to the sect."

John listened without interrupting, his expression calm but his mind racing.

Her voice was as steady as ice, but he could hear the underlying weight in her words.

She was hiding something, something big. And the fact that both she and Crimson were being this cooperative only made his suspicion grow stronger.

After a moment of silence, John’s lips curled into a grin. "Still a no," he said, deliberately dragging out the words. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "But... if you can give me three more of those poisoned fruits, I might consider helping you."

"You...!" Crimson’s voice burst out like a clap of thunder, his face twisting in disbelief and rage.

His earlier calm shattered instantly, and it looked like he was about to leap forward and tear John apart on the spot.

Before he could take a step, Benneca’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Deal," she said flatly, without even a pause to think. "We will come back tomorrow."

And with that, her figure blurred and vanished into the shadows, leaving only the faint rustle of her departure.

The moment she was gone, Crimson stood there for a heartbeat, his jaw working in frustration.

His brows twitched, and he gave a sharp, disdainful snort. "Keep that sword safe. If anything happens to it, she will hunt you from Heaven to Hell... and when she finds you, you won’t even have time to regret it." His voice was low and dangerous, and then, just like Benneca, he too disappeared into the darkness.

When they were gone, John chuckled softly to himself. "Keep it safe, huh?" He lifted the black sword, its surface absorbing the moonlight like a void.

Spinning it effortlessly through his fingers, he examined the strange patterns etched faintly along the blade’s edge. "I wonder how Riara and Caros will react when I tell them about this..." A sly grin spread across his face.

That night, he returned to his cottage and sent word for Caros and Riara to meet him.

By the time the moon had climbed high into the night sky, the three of them were gathered around his table, a feast of roasted spirit boar meat filling the air with rich, savory aroma.

Caros tore into a piece of meat with sharp precision, then looked up. "Why did you call us two? I doubt you went through all this trouble just to feed us well," he said, speaking around the mouthful he had already taken.

"Hmph..." Riara, reclining lazily on the bed, gave a mocking snort. "Caros, you’ll remain a peasant your whole life if you can’t recognize proper hospitality when you see it. I am royalty, after all. He’s my friend, although also a peasant, so it’s only natural he treats me regularly." She smirked, sipping from a cup of strong spirit wine.

Caros didn’t even glance her way, clearly used to her barbs by now, and focused on John instead.

John leaned back in his chair, smiling in that deliberately infuriating way of his. "Guess who came to apologize to me today?" he said, drawing out the question like it was a precious secret.

Caros’s brow rose in mild surprise, while Riara’s attention immediately sharpened, she set her wine cup aside and straightened up on the bed. "Who?" she asked.

"Crimson and Benneca," John said, grinning like a fox who’d just raided a chicken coop. "They practically got on their knees and begged me for forgiveness. Hahaha..." He threw his head back and laughed, enjoying every second.

A confused frown spread across Caros’s face. "Don’t mess around. Just tell me what really happened."

Riara, on the other hand, laughed along with John, though hers was sharp and confident. "What’s so hard to understand, Caros? Clearly, they’ve regained their senses before I had to beat them into a pulp. They were so terrified of me that instead of facing me directly, they went running to John."

"You..." Caros shot her a flat look. "You’d have pissed yourself if they knocked on your door." Then, turning back to John, he added, "Well? Out with it."

With a grin, John reached under the table and pulled out the black Silentsword, placing it in full view.

The faint hum of its aura filled the room, and both Caros and Riara instantly grew more alert.

"Alright," John said, leaning forward. "Here’s what really happened..."

And then, in detail, he told them the entire story.

Crimson’s gaze lingered on the black Silentsword in John’s hands.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and the faint pulse of killing intent in his eyes betrayed his otherwise calm posture.

"John," he said finally, his tone low and steady. "You should stay cautious. Benneca may have made a deal with you, but don’t think for a second that it makes you safe. When she smiles, it’s because she’s already planned five ways to kill you." He leaned in slightly, his voice sharpening. "And if you misuse that sword, you won’t just have her to worry about—you’ll have the entire sect’s elite on your trail. Remember that."

Riara burst out laughing, leaning back on the bed with a wine cup in hand. "Oh, please. As if he’s the one who should be cautious. If anyone needs to worry, it’s Benneca. She’s playing with someone far trickier than she realizes." She glanced at John with a smirk, her tone dripping with arrogant amusement. "Besides, I’m here. If anyone dares lay a finger on you, they’ll have to deal with me first."

Caros gave her a sideways glance but said nothing, clearly used to her self-importance.

Crimson shook his head in mild exasperation, his cloak swaying as he turned toward the door. "Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you." Without another word, he stepped out into the night.

Riara followed a minute later, stretching lazily as she left, tossing a parting remark over her shoulder.

"Don’t go dying tomorrow, peasant. I’d have no one to drink with."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving John in the quiet glow of the spirit lanterns.

He exhaled slowly and sat back down at his table, pulling the two scrolls from his storage ring.

The parchment crackled softly as he unrolled the first one, his eyes scanning the densely written symbols and diagrams of the Death Clone Technique, a forbidden art that created an illusionary double infused with a fragment of the user’s essence.

The second scroll detailed the Ten Serpents Breathing Skill, a cultivation method that imitated the flexibility and strike patterns of ten different serpents, each with its own breathing rhythm and combat rhythm.

After memorizing both, John closed his eyes briefly, then willed open his system panel.

---

[System Panel]

Name: John Coral

Age: 25

Cultivation: Spirit Seed Realm (1512/ 3200)

Upgrade Slot: Empty

Skills:

Meditation (Level 6 – Max)

Breathing (Level 5 – Max)

Spatial Awareness (Level 5)

Slow Toad Breathing Skill (Level 10 – Max)

Double Face Lizard Technique (Level 7 – Max)

Basic Flame Control (Level 3)

Alchemy (Level 5)

Twelve Circle Slashes (Level 4)

Soul Piercing Gaze (Level 5)

Lightning Bull Kicks (Level 3)

Death Clone Technique (Level Zero)

Ten Serpents Breathing Skill (Level Zero)

---

His eyes flickered with calculation as he tapped the first scroll’s entry.

"Place Death Clone Technique in auto-upgrade panel and set level cap to Level Two."

The system chimed in response, its cool mechanical tone echoing in his mind.

[Death Clone Technique (level zero) (1/100)

(Upgrading at one point per ten minutes.)

A thin grin spread across his lips. "Tomorrow... this will be useful."

John collapsed onto the bed, the warmth of the meal and the exhaustion from the fight pulling him under almost instantly.

His eyes shut, and before he knew it, the night passed in a blur of dreamless rest.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sharp pounding on the wooden door jolted him awake. "John! Open up, you lazy bastard!" Crimson’s familiar voice rang out, carrying both irritation and impatience.

John groaned, rubbing his eyes before dragging himself out of bed.

He unlatched the door, revealing Crimson standing there with his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You planning to sleep until the sect’s gates rust shut?" Crimson teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

John waved him in. "Come in, come in. Let me just get ready."

He grabbed a clean set of clothes and stepped into the small bathing room.

The hot water sluiced away the last remnants of grogginess, and by the time he emerged, his hair damp and tied back, his eyes were sharp again.

"I’m ready," John said simply, tightening his belt and giving a small nod.

Crimson grinned, his eyes glinting. "Good. You’ll need to be."