The spiritual blade drew ever closer to Namaha, still standing casually in the middle of the bustling market, eating his jalebi as if the attack didn't even exist.
The blade struck him.
And shattered—instantly, violently—into glittering fragments that dissolved into nothingness.
The green-robed cultivator's jaw dropped. The crowd gasped, eyes bulging in disbelief.
Namaha simply turned away, ignoring them entirely, still savoring his sweet.
The cultivator's face twisted in rage. How dare you ignore me! He gathered a swirling green aura in his right hand, spiritual pressure rolling through the air.
Meanwhile, Namaha's gaze had drifted lazily toward a nearby wooden doll shop. His eyes lit up.
The cultivator's scream cut through the noise:
"Serpent Palm!"
A spectral serpent formed from the green aura erupted from his palm, surging forward. But before it could strike, Namaha stepped sideways—without even looking—his attention fixed entirely on the shop. The serpent shot past him and slammed into a wall.
BOOM!
The impact blasted the wall into rubble, smoke billowing out.
Namaha glanced idly at the destruction. "Huh? Firecrackers? Is there some kind of festival going on?" He shrugged. "Who cares."
Before him, the old woman running the doll shop trembled in terror.
The green-robed cultivator's fury deepened.
The crowd whispered frantically among themselves.
"Isn't that guy a mortal?" someone asked.
"Yeah… I can't sense any spiritual energy from him at all."
"But—he's ignoring a Foundation Establishment cultivator! That's humiliating."
The cultivator heard every word. His fists clenched. He roared, "HEY! Are you ignoring me?! If you're a real man, then fight me head-on!"
Namaha continued browsing the dolls. His hand reached out and picked up a small warrior figurine. "I want this. How much does it cost?"
The old woman was still trembling, clearly desperate to avoid being caught up in the fight. "This is free," she said quickly.
Before Namaha could reply, she hurriedly wrapped up her shop and bolted down the street.
Namaha blinked. "Wow, this old woman is fast for her age. Mortals are surely unpredictable."
He studied the warrior doll in his hand and smiled.
The little boy from earlier—the one who had bumped into Namaha—ran up to him, wide-eyed. "Ah, senior!"
Namaha looked around, then pointed at himself. "Me?"
The boy nodded urgently and pointed toward the green-robed cultivator. "Look—there!"
Namaha turned to see the cultivator standing with his aura flaring violently. The crowd instinctively backed away.
"That guy's here to fight you," the boy said.
Namaha looked genuinely confused. "What? Fight me? But I don't even know him."
The boy didn't answer—he just ran off.
Namaha's eyes met the cultivator's.
Namaha waved casually. "Yoo."
The cultivator's rage exploded. In my entire life, no one has ever ignored me like this—not even my crush! His voice was raw. "Who are you?!"
"Namaha," came the casual reply.
The cultivator's body blazed with green light, a massive serpent aura coiling around him.
"Serpent Venomous Crunch!" he roared.
From the space between his palms, a serpent of pure aura—larger and more potent than before—shot forth, hissing.
Namaha didn't even glance at it. Instead, he looked at the wooden doll in his hand, then lazily tossed it toward the incoming attack.
The serpent collided with the doll—and vanished without a trace.
The cultivator froze, jaw slack. Then the doll smacked him squarely in the forehead.
"Ah—!" He grabbed his head, which was already swelling, and kicked at the doll in frustration.
A protective barrier shimmered around the doll. The moment his kick connected, a sickening crack rang out—the bones in his leg shattered.
He screamed in agony, tears welling in his eyes, and began hopping away.
Before disappearing into the distance, he shouted, "I will not forget this! You… just wait for me!"
Namaha tilted his head. "Why does this feel familiar… like the start of those novels?" He raised his hand and the doll instantly flew back into his grasp. "Never mind."
He tossed it lightly in the air, smiling. "Quite a good toy. So… how long have you been inside this doll?"
A trembling demon spirit stared out from within the doll, its form flickering in disbelief. How… how does he know? Even great experts can't see through this.
Namaha's eyes suddenly lit up again. Across the street stood a sugarcane juice stall.
"I'll talk to you later," he said cheerfully, slipping the doll into his space ring.
Inside the space ring, mountains of gold, silver, copper coins, treasures, and artifacts stretched beyond the horizon.
The demon spirit's eyes widened in terror. What is this? This much treasure—inside a space ring? How could it even fit? Who is this mortal?!
Namaha was already at the stall, sipping sugarcane juice and wandering happily among the vendors.
Meanwhile…
Inside a grand hall, a man in his mid-twenties sat on a throne. His eyes blazed as he shouted at the kneeling green-robed cultivator.
"You lost to a mortal? How dare you bring shame upon our White Wolf Gang!"
The cultivator, Hua Fan, trembled. "Master… that man is not simple. None of my attacks worked against him. He must be using some kind of artifact."
The man on the throne—Xia Hong—smiled greedily. "A powerful artifact belongs in our hands, not wasted on a mortal."
The other members in the hall grinned, their faces dripping with greed.
Nightfall.
Outside a bustling restaurant, Namaha strolled in.
The receptionist turned—and froze. It was Hua Fan.[That Green Robe Cultivator]
"You?!" Hua Fan's voice was filled with shock. "What are you doing here?" He took a fighting stance.
Namaha looked puzzled. "What do you mean? What do people do in a restaurant? Battle? No—they eat. Bring me food."
He walked toward a table.
Hua Fan's rage boiled over. He smashed a table in front of him and lunged, delivering a fierce punch to Namaha's chest.
CRACK!
His own bones shattered. Hua Fan screamed, clutching his ruined fist.
The restaurant's boss emerged. "What's going on here?!" His eyes widened at the scene.
Hua Fan, crying, pointed. "Boss, this is the one I was telling you about! He's got some kind of artifact—"
A deep voice interrupted.
"Well, well," Xia Hong stepped forward, aura rolling out like a storm. "I didn't even have to look for you. Saved me time—this is what luck is." He laughed loudly.
Namaha, sitting calmly at the table, drank his water.
"Hey! Are you even listening?" Xia Hong barked.
Namaha didn't hesitate. "Not even one percent."
Xia Hong's face darkened.
"Who wants to listen to your nonsense?" Namaha continued. "I'm here to eat food, not your words."
Xia Hong roared, pulling out a massive hammer. He swung it down toward Namaha's head.
A huge shockwave erupted on impact, cracking the restaurant's walls. Xia Hong smirked. "How's that? Did you like my 'food'?"
Then—crack.
The hammer fractured.
His smile vanished.
In an instant, the earth-grade weapon shattered into pieces. Xia Hong's eyes bulged. "An earth-grade weapon… broken… just like that?"
He leapt back, voice shaking. "What kind of artifact are you using?"
Namaha lowered his head slightly. "Enough of your nonsense. You're irritating me like a fly."
He raised his hand and flicked his finger.
BOOM!
A shockwave exploded from the flick, striking Xia Hong and Hua Fan. Their jaws dropped—then their bodies disintegrated into nothingness, not even dust remaining.
The shockwave blasted through the wall behind them, tearing across the city. People in the streets screamed as the sheer pressure sent them flying. It crashed into a distant mountain—BOOM—leaving behind a massive crater and a tunnel through solid stone.
The remaining patrons of the restaurant stared at Namaha, their souls practically leaving their bodies.
Namaha turned his head. "Can I get food here?"
Terrified, their souls snapped back into their bodies. Some ran to the kitchen, others scrambled to serve him water and sweets.
"You should have done this before," Namaha said, and began eating happily.
After finishing, he stepped outside. Behind him, the restaurant staff collapsed to their knees.
"Now… we can die," one whispered, as their souls finally fled their bodies.
Namaha wandered the streets. I should find a place to rest.
He spotted a green-haired man with two swords in his hands and one clenched in his mouth, a large scar over one eye.
"Hey," Namaha called. "Do you know where I can stay for the night?"
The man pointed toward a building. "There's an inn there."
Namaha thanked him and walked away.
Inside the inn, the receptionist looked up—and froze.
"You again!" It was the old woman from the wooden doll shop.
Namaha's face brightened. "Hey, old woman! Weren't you the one selling wooden dolls?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"What can I get in an inn other than a room to stay in? Dragons?"
She quickly shoved a key into his hand. "Room number 09."
Namaha walked away.
From the corner of the hall, a mysterious woman in a white cloak and veil watched him silently, her gaze heavy with hidden motives.
To be continued…