Sabrina sat up and turned her back, loosening her clothes to reveal a blood-soaked wound beneath her snow-white, jade-like neck. She took out a small jade bottle, squeezed out the clotted blood from the wound, and began applying medicine to herself.
"I said so many things to you that night—I can't even remember them all." Her ears reddened slightly.
Actually, that night she thought she’d never escape alive, so she said a lot of foolish things to Quinn—things that would make even a boy blush if he said them, but she’d boldly confessed anyway, figuring Quinn couldn’t hear her.
Unexpectedly, she survived. She’d assumed she’d never meet Quinn again in this lifetime, and that night’s wild words would remain a bittersweet memory. But against all odds, she’d run into that ‘shadow boy’ who’d listened to her through the darkness once more.
Quinn looked up at the sun overhead, fighting the urge to fly up and smooth it out, then stepped in front of her, reaching out to help with the medicine. Sabrina quickly covered herself. "Men and women shouldn’t touch—"
Quinn hurriedly said, "I’m an Apothecary. I just want to help apply the medicine. A healer’s heart is as pure as a parent’s—I promise I won’t get any funny ideas."
Sabrina recalled he’d said he was a ‘slightly famous’ Apothecary, so she relaxed, watching him curiously as he treated her wound. His hands were deft, and she couldn’t help but ask, "You’re clearly skilled in numerology—how come you’re so good at medicine too?"
Quinn examined the wound above her chest, studying it carefully. "I’ve studied medicine for over ten years. Numerology, only three. Honestly, my medical skills are much better than my numerology."
"How long are you going to keep staring?" Sabrina snapped, pulling her clothes together.
Quinn quickly stopped her, gently sliding her clothes down to her shoulders. "A healer’s heart is like a parent’s. Hm, your skin is very fair, and your shoulders are quite round... Don’t move!"
He frowned slightly. Sabrina’s wound had been left by a demon expert; demonic magic and qi lingered in the cut, corroding her flesh and vital energy.
Such wounds are hard to stop bleeding and even harder to extract the demon qi. The ointment she’d just applied had already turned black, clearly overwhelmed by the demonic energy.
Quinn squeezed out the blackened ointment from Sabrina’s wound and sniffed it, then shook his head.
This ointment wasn’t the right remedy.
"Ouch! This ointment is for drawing out poison. After it pulls out some of the demon toxin, you have to change it again."
Sabrina cried out in pain, then took out a few more bottles of ointment. "You have to apply it ten or more times to get all the poison out... Your eyes keep wandering, so I’ll do it myself!"
Quinn took out some herbs from his Glutton Dragon Pouch and began refining medicine with his own alchemy methods. "Demon toxin isn’t actually poison. It’s just that you practice divine-path arts and your opponent uses demon-path arts—their vital energies clash, so it feels like poison. The ointment you’re using isn’t really for drawing out poison, either—it’s a variant of a spirit pill, just not fully refined, so it’s in paste form. It only turns black because it’s contaminated by demon qi. Using it to extract demon qi is a bit wasteful."
As he spoke, a qi-forged pill furnace appeared in his palm. He refined medicine directly in his vital energy, reversing water and fire, harmonizing dragon and tiger—his alchemical techniques shifted so quickly that Sabrina was dazzled.
A moment later, Quinn dispersed his qi, and more than ten pills dropped into his hand.
Quinn crushed one pill and applied it to her wound. "In another world, I’m the Cult Master of the Heavenly Saint—also called the Heavenly Demon Cult Master—so I understand demon-path arts. Demons are born from the heart; whether god or demon, it’s all a matter of inner image shaping the outer. I’ve got some experience treating wounds caused by demonic divine arts."
Soon, Sabrina felt a cool sensation at her wound—the demon qi was completely drawn out. Then the coolness turned to warmth and then to itching, a sign the wound was beginning to heal.
"It’s healing this fast? Earlier you said you were only slightly famous in your world?"
Sabrina’s eyes widened. She quietly grabbed her other braid to cover the opposite side of her chest, and asked curiously, "A ‘slightly famous’ Apothecary can whip up a demon-restraining elixir that fast?"
Quinn stuffed the remaining pills into her hand and grinned sheepishly. "I was just being modest. Actually, I’m pretty well-known—very famous, really. You didn’t realize I was just being humble, did you?"
He couldn’t help but show off a little. "Most people don’t catch on!"
Sabrina wondered aloud, "You’re not going to help me apply the medicine anymore?"
Quinn moved on to treat others. "I was just checking the wound—applying the medicine is up to you. There are other people who need help."
Sabrina pulled her clothes back on and watched him bustling about. She thought to herself, "He really does have a healer’s heart—nothing improper at all. A rare gentleman, even if his eyes do wander sometimes…"
Quinn gave rough treatment to the wounded spell-casters on the altar, then looked down—countless spell-casters and Skyfiends lay sprawled below the altar and across the battlefield. Some people were carrying the injured, others were executing demon survivors who hadn’t yet died.
This vast battlefield was littered with the remains of divine arts—blazing fires, burning war-chariots, fallen corpses, flags draped over flames, and spirit weapons stabbed into the ground at odd angles.
Farther away, the fighting still raged on.
This world was shockingly brutal. Though Quinn had crossed many battlefields, the scene before him still shook him to the core.
"Medicine can’t save this world."
Quinn shook his head. His medical skills could only save a handful of people. To heal all the wounded on the battlefield would take months, but here, there was a small war every three days and a big one every five—he simply didn’t have the power to save them all.
He looked up. The irregular suns overhead gradually dimmed, turning red.
These two suns seemed fixed in the sky, never moving, only darkening at set hours.
"The Sun-Maker God who built these two suns had some interesting ideas, but their numerology was terrible..." Quinn withdrew his gaze, still finding the suns an eyesore.
"So ugly! If I keep staring, I’ll end up flying up there to fix them myself..." he thought.
[Irrelevant system message skipped.]
He slowly walked along the edge of the altar, circulating his vital energy and activating the Overlord Three-Core Art. His Spirit Embryo and soul suddenly fused into his Primordial Spirit—body and spirit as one.
His Primordial Spirit stood atop the spirit-platform, unifying the Six Directions. Sun and moon hung above his head, the Five Luminaries stretched across the sky, and as his vital energy surged, it flooded through every limb and bone—each strand of hair floated lightly, infused with qi.
This battle had shown him the true strength of spell-casters from another world. Experiencing life and death on the battlefield had subtly shifted his mindset.
Ever since his duel with the First Human Emperor, he’d been in a slump. In fights, he couldn’t even bring himself to use his techniques, earning a harsh scolding from Butcher.
It wasn’t that he was afraid to attack—he just felt that no matter what technique or divine art he used, it was wrong.
The reason wasn’t just that his confidence had been shaken by the First Human Emperor. That duel had also raised his perspective to a level he’d never imagined before.
From that new height, looking down at all the techniques and divine arts he’d learned before, they were riddled with flaws!
His vision had soared, but his foundation wasn’t strong enough to let him break through to the next realm. So whenever he faced an enemy, he felt any move he made would be instantly countered, and he’d die in the next moment.
He kept seeing his opponent as the First Human Emperor, which gave him that illusion.
But on the battlefield, Quinn had no time to think about any of that. The situation changed in an instant—he couldn’t worry about flaws, he just unleashed his techniques and cut down powerful foes.
After this fight, Quinn suddenly felt he was standing at the threshold of a major transformation.
If he could cross this threshold, he’d find blue skies and a broad, glorious road ahead!
Radiant clouds gathered around him; his vital energy flowed through his body, linking the Spirit Embryo, Five Luminaries, and Six Directions divine treasuries. The light of sun, moon, and stars illuminated his divine treasuries, making him shine like a being of pure light.
Even his Heaven-Man divine treasury was revealed, its gateway shining forth.
Beneath the Six Directions divine treasury, a deep, shadowy gateway flickered in and out of view—the portal to the Life-and-Death divine treasury, linking to Youdu.
Quinn walked calmly. In Little Jade Capital, he’d studied the divine treasuries of the godly Qin Chongming, spending a long time exploring them.
Since then, he’d begun to reshape his own divine treasuries, patching up his weaknesses.
Boom—
His vital energy rumbled, sending out waves of dragon roars. Dragon qi coiled around him, diving in and out, tempering his flesh. Suddenly, Quinn’s hands became blades—he walked along the altar’s edge, slashing as he went.
Wind howled, blades fell like rain—a night battle as fierce as a storm.
The great sun rose, leaping from the sea; sunlight danced over a thousand waves in the eastern ocean.
Gold-inlaid blades, white jade fittings—night pierced the window, light bursting through. A man of fifty, his achievements unmade, stands alone with blade in hand, gazing at the eight wilds.
Heroes surviving calamity become the people’s hope; every step leaves a trail of smoke!
On this vast, bloody battlefield, Butcher’s blade technique suddenly came alive, reflecting the great tribulation of this world.
His blade grew ever faster—then, in an instant, the blade-light vanished. Wind, rain, sun, and sea all disappeared. Quinn’s fingers became a sword; his vital energy vibrated into sword threads, delicate and precise. Suddenly, his swordplay sped up—silver dragons danced wildly above the altar.
Quinn strode across the altar, sword in hand, sword-light streaking through the sky—faster and fiercer with every step.
The calamity of Supreme Emperor Heaven touched his heart; unconsciously, his emotions and insights flowed out through his sword and his vital energy!
Third form of the Sword Diagram: Sovereign’s Calamity Unleashed.
But at the peak of the calamity’s eruption, Quinn suddenly dispersed all sword-light. His sword-fingers jabbed at his brow—not just his own, but his Spirit Embryo Primordial Spirit’s brow too. All his spirit, all his sword qi, focused into that one point.
He’d grasped the meaning of tribulation.
Tribulation is disaster—a struggle for survival among millions, seeking hope in hellish suffering. Butcher’s kind of hero carves out hope with a blade; Village Chief’s kind of Human Emperor forges a path through hardship. Behind every hero, the people struggle and sink.
Blood and flesh buried in the earth.
His two fingers thrust forward—one sword-light arced like a rainbow, spanning ten miles of sky.
In the sky, half a sun’s light faded completely, leaving only that sword-light.
With that strike, Quinn stood dazed atop the altar. He’d cast aside Village Chief’s sword diagram—suddenly, he felt he’d found his own path.