Bandits

In a silent cave, a young man's breakthrough in cultivation caused a loud sound. "I've reached the peak," he announced, his voice echoing with the power of his newfound strength.

His companion, a man of eighteen, nodded in approval. "Excellent. Now you can begin Qi sensing."

The conversation shifted to their absent friend, NeiNo. "Where did he go?" the young man inquired.

"He's toiling away on the farm," came the reply.

A sigh escaped the young man's lips. "Can't you just give him some money?"

"No," his companion responded firmly. "I need to save my silver for a new weapon."

The topic turned to the promised pills. "Where are they?" the young man asked.

"Oh, those pills," his companion said with a hint of mischief. "I sold them too."

The young man's frustration was palpable. "I earned those by defeating bandits alone," he protested.

"Well, now what?" he sighed, seeking a new plan.

"I've heard bandits will soon pass through the mountains. It's a good opportunity for you to adjust to your current realm," his companion suggested.

The young man agreed, but their planning was interrupted by a distraught man bursting in, tears streaming down his face. "I can't do this anymore," he declared.

The young man offered a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know how it feels," he empathized.

The man lamented his meager earnings from endless farming, only fifty silver, half the cost of a weapon. But his greatest concern was the change in his skin tone from the sun's relentless exposure.

The young man stepped outside, seeking solace under the blue sky, reflecting on his journey since arriving in this world. He had hoped to dominate with a system, but fate had other plans. Despite this, his exceptional aptitude marked him as a genius among geniuses.

His past life, filled with mundane routines and the joys of Manhwa, manga, and anime, seemed a world away. His current goal was clear: to reach Qi sensing.

Interrupted by his black-haired friend, the young man dismissed his mutterings. "Nothing," he said, though it was the sixty-eighth time he'd been caught in his thoughts.

"Let's get moving," urged their sensei, a man nearing his forties.

The group pressed on, reaching the bandits' base, where they decided to rest. The old man casually tossed some pills to Neino's mouth while he was sleeping, who was allergic to it.

Elsewhere, in a lively forest, a hooded man observed the bustling trade between the Alchemy, Blacksmith, and Talisman sects. His presence went unnoticed until a simple question about his allegiance led to a swift and deadly response.

The once vibrant forest fell silent, except for the howls of beasts and the sneeze of the white-haired man called Neino, irritated by the pills. "It will be fine," the old man reassured him, signaling him to move on.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain, Zenith, Neino, and their seasoned sensei prepared to confront the bandits. Their rest had been brief but rejuvenating, and now they stood at the precipice of a decisive battle.

With a nod from their Sensei, they advanced towards the bandit encampment, their movements silent and precise. The air was thick with tension, but their resolve was unyielding. They had come not just to fight, but to assert their dominance and secure their place in this perilous world.

The clash was swift and brutal. Zenith, with his peak stage cultivation, was a whirlwind of destruction, his black hair a stark contrast against the flashes of his blade. Neino, fueled by the indignation of his toil and the injustice he had endured, fought with a ferocity that belied his exhaustion.

Their sensei, a figure of stoic strength, orchestrated the assault with tactical brilliance, ensuring that each strike was lethal and every move was calculated. The bandits, caught off guard by the ferocity and skill of their attackers, were swiftly overwhelmed.

As the dust settled and the cries of the fallen faded, Zenith, Neino, and their companions stood victorious.

In the aftermath of the fierce skirmish, Zenith and his companions, their adrenaline still coursing through their veins, turned their attention to the spoils of their victory. The bandit encampment, now silent and desolate, was ripe for plunder.

They moved methodically, scouring the tents and fallen foes for anything of value. Weapons gleamed in the fading light, coins clinked as they were gathered, everything was carefully inspected and pocketed.

Neino, his white hair now streaked with the dust of battle, found a small chest hidden beneath a tattered cloak. With a nod from Zenith, he pried it open to reveal a trove of silver, enough to purchase not just one, but several weapons.

Their sensei, ever watchful, kept an eye on the surroundings, ensuring that no straggling bandits would catch them unawares. He knew that in this world, complacency could be as deadly as any blade.

As the night deepened, they divided their loot, each share a testament to their skill. With their pockets heavier and their future a bit more secure, they prepared to leave the site of their triumph.

The journey back to the Town was quiet, each man lost in thought, contemplating the impact of the night's events on their paths forward. For Zenith, the black-haired peak stage cultivator, the loot was more than just material gain—it was a symbol of his ascent to power and a stepping stone towards greater ambition.

Flush with their newfound wealth, Zenith and his companions made their way to the bustling market at the heart of the town. The air was filled with the sounds of haggling merchants and the scent of exotic spices. Amidst the chaos, they sought out a vendor known for his collection of exquisite masks.

"We'll take the finest masks you have," Zenith said.

The vendor, sensing the urgency and excitement of his customers, presented a selection of masks, each more intricate and mysterious than the last. They were crafted with such skill that they seemed to be able to almost Conceal any type of detection skill.

Neino, still weary from the battle but invigorated by their victory, chose a mask that resembled a fierce tiger, its eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. Zenith, ever the strategist, selected a mask that bore the visage of a mythical phoenix, symbolizing his rise from the ashes of his old life to the pinnacle of power.

Their sensei, wise and discerning, picked a mask that mirrored the calm and depth of the ocean, a reflection of his vast knowledge and experience.

With their new disguises in hand, they prepared for the upcoming auction event. It was not just an opportunity to acquire rare and powerful items but also a chance to mingle with the elites of the cultivation world.

As they donned their masks, their identities concealed, they stepped into the world of shadows and intrigue that the auction promised. It was a place where fortunes could be made or lost in the blink of an eye, and they were ready to seize whatever advantages they could.

The auction would be their next battlefield, and with their masks as their armor, Zenith and his companions were poised to claim victory once again.