Gallery Frets Over the Newbie's Breakneck Growth
While Choi Do-yul, having obtained a new Cultivation Art and secretly deducing who had hidden it away, was lost in thought, the Xianxia Gallery was abuzz with conversation centered on him.
Mangap sank under Cheongsim's counterattack.
The troll was swiftly punished.
The poster panicked. They'd assumed it would be hidden like the others. They just wanted to vent once, not actually curse the high-niks. Too late to delete now—the high-niks' time was in the realm of stasis, so cleanup was impossible.
Under Cheongsim's threat, even the divine spirit beasts and Immortal Beasts turned meek as lambs.
Everyone clammed up like turtles.
Question marks popped up over Cheongsim's head.
Myeolgeuk, scratched despite staying quiet, began knitting while gazing at the moon. She wove Cheongsim's fate thread with red string. Have a nice love life.
Cheongsim laid down the law.
Cheongsim was satisfied. The high-niks actually listening to her? A first in her life.
Ascended cultivators touch the Dao, becoming law-like existences with wills akin to heavenly principles. In simple terms, they are providence with intent. Their vast consciousness is like ants touching an elephant—mortals can't grasp it. Even idle, their presence spans heaven and earth, making all things bow. Thus, their words carry binding force, even on themselves. Like a storm that, once formed, can't just vanish with "Surprise, it was fake." Their wills inevitably shape the world.
But do you know? You can hide the truth without lying.
If Cheongsim had a flaw, it was regressing her physical age to infancy. Aside from her heavenly medicine, her mind was perpetually a flower field. So, for their own reasons—or to pull the Heavenly Seedling into their faction amid the righteous-demonic war—the high-niks were dyeing Choi Do-yul in their colors. Still, they had helped Cheongsim before, so...
Thus, the high-niks hid their sly intentions. Some had finished their schemes, others spoke truth but left loopholes, and one hadn't even appeared. All concealed their motives while playing house with Cheongsim.
But even the innocent-seeming Cheongsim was plotting in her own way.
"The newbie must ascend to the Upper Realm. Only then can I undo my Heavenly Punishment. I'll grow up too!"
Despite her childlike form by necessity, Cheongsim had fought through wars from earthly battles to galactic ones, reaching the great boundary. Amid the web of deceptions, she too hid her intentions.
At that moment, Celestial Maiden Hong-yeon, weaving red silk on the Milky Way as her loom, smirked. She tugged at the fate threads of the rice-blinded high-niks.
Please just leave me alone.
"Is that the last one?"
Myeolgeuk, having tidied up for now, gazed distantly at the horizon. One more thing left to handle.
"Goblin, oh goblin. Your slashes are so puny now."
A yawn escaped. Boring, tedious. The Wind Blade's dagger posed no threat anymore.
Seeing is so important, huh.
Actually, "seeing" wasn't quite right. My eyes were half-lidded in deep contemplation, moving only one arm—elbow down, at that. Why? Just felt like it. A long-held dream. Once more accustomed, I'd hold a book in one hand.
"Kkirararak!!!"
The goblin looked pissed. Understandable—I'd taken out all but him, now posing.
But this wasn't toying. In reality, not the internet, Tetonom Choi Do-yul doesn't deceive others. This was training. Consensual. Right?
"Krakrakrakra!!!"
The goblin suddenly roared, flailing its dagger wildly. Amateur. In this stage, you're the extra, I'm the protagonist. Spotlight's mine by right. So my line here was clear.
"Slow."
Cool. Chills. "Slow" while fighting foes—bucket list item. Key is the impassive face. My score? "Kronk!"
...Feels like minus 100. But the deduction's on him. Swinging hard means nothing if it's all straight lines. Track the start, the path's visible. Can't hit if I don't let it. Misses mean slow. Truth.
"Krarak!"
Your rage changes nothing. Still, helpful. Understood why arts have subtleties. Simplicity and monotony equal weakness. Like this goblin swinging at me.
Should I hone my technique too?
But that takes time. Tried every martial art once—know effort's honest. Talent shortens practice, not absolute. I'm just physically overwhelming now; aptitude's average. So steal it. Prime textbook before me.
Sword path's simple. Blind rage, red eyes, no rules—but much to learn: wind technique's essence. Not suddenly wind root drifting, just snag wind's strengths. With Crimson Blaze Sky-Mantra, possible.
"Show me more. This isn't your limit!"
"Kronk!"
Goblin's slashes sharpened. Yes. You could do it.
Wind Blade's wind was free—formless. Footing stamps. Invisible air bullets. Sharp formless blade on dagger. Wind arts versatile, varied.
Flames are formless too. Was I trapped in preconceptions?
Deflecting attacks with one hand, thoughts flowed. Must Flame Fist be fists? Feet make Flame Kick, defense Flame Armor. So I can wield flames like this goblin.
First try: lightly breathe flames for acceleration—
Fwoosh—!
"Kkik!!"
"No!"
Flames unintendedly burst from elbow, jet-punching at Mach speed into goblin's philtrum. It went groggy instantly.
"Ki, rwuk."
"G-get up. Can't collapse here. You have a job!"
Rise, textbook! You can do it. My road's long. But cruel.
"Kk, kkueu. R..."
It never rose, departing on a long journey. Amen. Next victim... none?
Shame—
"Kr..."
"Goblin!!"
I'd hoped one survivor! For the record, I'm no bully tormenting the weak.
"...Gr?"
For real.