Chapter Forty-One

The path down the mountain was rather rugged, and from time to time the flapping of wings echoed from the trees above. Cheng Yuan knew those were the chickens—timid, yes, but some bore grudges. Annoyed by being followed, Cheng Yuan picked up the little tiger. “Use Tiger's Thunderous Roar on that flock of hens.”

At the roar, a hen collapsed on the spot. If it had been an adult-tier creature like an Icefeather Chicken, it might have escaped by flying, but with these mere fledgling hens, were it not such a hassle to climb the tree, Cheng Yuan could have killed them himself.

The hens scattered in terror. Cheng Yuan had no intention of picking up the fallen bird; it wasn’t dead, just badly bruised, likely with a few broken bones and paralyzed from the shock. Turning away, Cheng Yuan listened to the flustered commotion behind him. The little tiger, nestled in his arms, craned its neck, eager to admire its handiwork.

Cheng Yuan paid the matter no further mind. With the hens no longer causing trouble, he made his way smoothly to the foot of the mountain. Gazing at the dense fog a few hundred meters away, he knew that was the boundary of the instance. Beyond it, there might as well be an insurmountable wall.

As Cheng Yuan explored northward along the mountain’s base, atop the mountain, before the statue of the Mountain Lord, stood a dozen or so elders and over a hundred able-bodied men, all gathered around the stone effigy.

An old man leaning on a cane spoke, “The Chicken King has been sacrificed—by human hands.” A man asked, “Village Chief, is there anything we can do?” The old man’s brow furrowed. “He’s begun the ritual, and with a creature of kingly rank. That means he’s a devout follower from another village. He won’t let any of the other kings go. The more powerful the five sacred beasts offered, the greater the Mountain Lord’s recovery. For the first offering to be so noble…”

His tone grew grim. “Then we must protect the other kings. Guard them here. Without further sacrifices, should the Mountain Lord grow angry, there will be deaths.”

The crowd immediately understood, nodding solemnly at the elder who had proposed this plan—“truly shrewd.” Soon, the troublesome Ironhorn Blackwater Ox was brought over. The ox nuzzled a young man nearby, who was moved and patted its massive horn. “Big Black, you still remember me.”

Very soon, the Fireclaw Tiger-striped Dog wagged its tail joyfully, resting its paws on the youth’s waist and nudging him with its nose, whining affectionately. The sheep and pig displayed similar attachment. Had Cheng Yuan witnessed this scene, he would have realized at once that these five sacred beasts were simply the animals raised by the villagers.

While the village menfolk guarded the adult-tier creatures, Cheng Yuan was already infiltrating—no, sneaking into—the village. Arriving at the entrance, he looked confused. Two children playing with mud glanced up at him without the slightest wariness. “Big brother, who are you?”

Cheng Yuan smiled. “A traveler from afar. My name is Cheng Yuan.” One child frowned, “Cheng Yuan? Who’s that?” Just then, a door creaked open. A woman with a basket, shoes freshly donned, stepped outside and instantly noticed Cheng Yuan. His air was utterly unlike the villagers—reminding her of a rare sort of person she couldn’t quite recall. Handsome and gentle in demeanor.

His appearance alone dispelled any suspicion the woman might have held against a stranger. “And you are?” Cheng Yuan was about to repeat himself when the child piped up, “Mama, he’s called Cheng Yuan, a traveler!” For a child still playing in the mud, remembering the phrase “from afar” was a tall order, but he’d gotten the main point.

Cheng Yuan nodded politely. “Ma’am, why is your village so quiet? Where are all the men?” Indeed, since he’d arrived, aside from the woman, he’d seen only two children. This was the village entrance, after all.

The woman suddenly said, “So a learned gentleman has come. Our Old Ox Village welcomes you.” She’d recognized the word “ma’am” from long-buried memories—a term used by someone educated when addressing a young lady. In her mind, anyone who had studied was a gentleman.

Cheng Yuan was taken aback. “I’m just a traveler, not a landlord.” “But have you studied?” “Yes, I have.” “Then you’re an educated gentleman.” Cheng Yuan pondered the connection between being learned and being called “gentleman.” Perhaps he truly was in some ancient world where knowledge was monopolized.

The woman proceeded to invite him inside, but Cheng Yuan said, “I have two companions.” At the surprise in her eyes, he clapped his hands, and a little tiger leapt from the underbrush. At the sight of the tiger, the woman instantly panicked. “Tiger!” Before Cheng Yuan could react, there was a bang—he turned to find the road empty, only a basket spinning on the ground.

He glanced at the window, where a pair of fearful, wary eyes peered out. Truth be told, this was the first time he’d seen the little tiger’s charm fail to work on humans. Stroking its head, Cheng Yuan said, “This is the first time you’ve frightened someone—how unexpected.”

At home, the little tiger always acted like a kitten, ambushing people from corners, attempting sneak attacks as they walked by. Sadly, its light weight meant no one—whether human or beast—was ever startled.

As Cheng Yuan approached with the tiger, the window slammed shut, and the entire village fell into utter silence. He realized the plot for this instance likely couldn’t be advanced now, but that was fine. He’d just wait for tomorrow’s reset.

This time, Cheng Yuan didn’t bother leaving anything like a meditation talisman behind—he felt there would be no trouble—and retraced his steps.

For the next two weeks, Cheng Yuan did little but kill chickens each day. He even automated the process, as the little tiger’s skill-stacking technique had succeeded. Its chicken-killing speed had dropped from several minutes to under ten seconds. Wind Sprint + Hooked Claw + Piercing Claw + Throat Lock + Storm Fang + Iron Tooth + Pounce—once all these skills were stacked, unless the Icefeather Chicken could fly faster than the little tiger could run, its neck would be snapped in an instant. Normally, nothing could outrun the little tiger.

With the accumulation of skills, training efficiency soared. Looking at the nine-second simulation record, Cheng Yuan fell into thought. Skill stacking was powerful, but drained energy far too quickly. Every skill had its own exertion technique and energy flow. This method amounted to instant, massive overload for ultimate efficiency. Using only Throat Lock would take a few minutes, and after killing an Icefeather Chicken, the little tiger would have energy to practice other skills. Now, its stamina bar was emptied in ten seconds.

Within those brief seconds, it would already be panting, tongue lolling in exhaustion. Fastest, but most tiring, and the skill proficiency rose quickly. The Barbaric Swamp Giant Lizard couldn’t achieve this effect, but it had another specialty: dueling the Icefeather Chickens at range—one firing water jets, the other ice arrows. Visually, it was like a magical showdown, but there was a gap in levels. The lizard simply couldn’t beat a flying Icefeather Chicken, nor could it match the little tiger’s instant close-combat kills.