Steadily Upgrading Everything!
Chapter 43: Open a tavern or something

Chapter 43: Open a tavern or something

John looked at the shimmering ghost core that the snake-like woman had dropped. Its surface pulsed faintly with cold, spectral energy, as though a piece of her soul still lingered within.

Shadows danced in the reflection of its curved surface.

He stepped forward slowly, the echo of his bloodied boots soft against the cold stone floor.

Kneeling down, he picked up the core.

The chill bit instantly into his fingers. It was a bone-deep cold, more spiritual than physical.

A sharp breath escaped his lips, but he held the core steady, letting its eerie glow illuminate his bruised and dirt-streaked face.

Behind him, Caros remained silent, watching carefully.

The fire that once burned in his eyes had dimmed after the brutal two-hour battle.

His body was still trembling from exhaustion, blood crusting on his sleeve and jawline.

But then he blinked in surprise.

John had turned and was holding the core out toward him.

A brief silence passed between them.

Then Caros smiled, slow and honest, his voice breaking the still air.

"Hahaha... You are a man of your words."

He took the core gently, as if accepting more than just an object.

Carefully, he slid it into his spatial pouch and exhaled deeply, the moment feeling heavier than expected.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and pulled out a green-glowing healing pill from his robe, placing it under his tongue.

A soft warmth spread through his body.

John did the same, pulling a red-golden pill from his sleeve and swallowing it dry.

The familiar warmth surged through his veins, slowly mending the cuts and bruises across his body.

"You better go all out next time," John said, his tone sharp and eyes like steel. "Or I’m leaving you behind."

His gaze was cold, heavy with the weight of what they had just faced.

That woman had been a Spirit Fruit Realm ghost spirit, far more agile, precise, and cunning than her serpent partner.

And yet, Caros... hadn’t pushed his limits.

Caros paused for a long moment, then chuckled. The smile that followed wasn’t mocking, it was almost approving.

"You’re better than I expected," he admitted with a slow nod, brushing dirt from his shoulder. "I’ll keep that in mind."

John didn’t reply.

A low hum was all he offered.

"Let’s go outside," he said instead, eyes scanning the dark corners of the cave one final time before turning.

Caros nodded and followed behind.

The two stepped back into the wilds of Blood Ghost Island, the sharp sunlight outside temporarily blinding after the gloom of the cave.

Though injured, the effects of the healing pills worked steadily, slowly restoring flesh and muscle, sealing shallow wounds and easing their fatigue.

A cool breeze swept past, brushing against their worn robes and drying the blood at their edges.

As they walked, Caros suddenly piped up with a grin.

"You know, since we’ve survived a life-and-death battle together, it makes us kind of like brothers now, right? So maybe... you could hand me that escape slip..."

"Fuck off."

John didn’t even glance at him.

The reply came swift, clean, and absolute.

Caros laughed. "Had to try."

Despite their constant jabs, the bond between them had clearly grown.

Side by side, they pushed deeper into the forest, blades flashing, techniques flaring.

They hunted in sync, moving through the dangerous terrain like seasoned warriors.

More and more beast cores were collected, and even John couldn’t deny, they made a good team.

Cores were divided equally.

Not once did Caros argue.

Two days later.

A small clearing near a waterfall served as their temporary camp.

The water crashed down like thunder over smooth rocks, sending mists into the air that sparkled in the afternoon light.

Caros sat near the fire, carefully turning slices of beast meat over a grill rigged from sticks and spiritual thread.

The aroma of charred meat and wild herbs filled the air.

John sat under the waterfall itself, the water pounding down over his bare shoulders, washing away the dirt and blood.

His eyes were closed, breathing slow, rhythmic, meditative.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and blinked, raising his hand.

A soft ding sounded in his mind.

---

[System Panel]

Name: John Coral

Age: 25

Cultivation: Spirit Seed Realm (1297 / 3200)

Upgrade Slot: Soul Piercing Gaze (Level 3) (87 / 800)

(Upgrading at 1 point per 8.5 minutes)

Skills:

• Meditation (Level 6 – Max)

• Breathing (Level 5 – Max)

• Spatial Awareness (Level 5)

• Slow Toad Breathing Skill (Level 10 – Max)

• Double Face Lizard Technique (Level 7 – Max)

• Basic Flame Control (Level 3)

• Alchemy (Level 5)

• Twelve Circle Slashes (Level 4)

• Soul Piercing Gaze (Level 3)

---

His gaze lingered on the Soul Piercing Gaze, now steadily progressing through level 3.

A small smile curved his lips.

It had already been three days since they’d arrived on Blood Ghost Island.

In that time, they’d gathered a respectable amount of cores, fought against dangerous enemies, and honed their techniques in ways that cultivation inside a sect couldn’t offer.

’Just four more days,’ John thought. ’And my Soul Piercing Gaze will reach level four. If Caros ever turns on me, I’ll have a counter.’

His gaze shifted toward the fire, where Caros was now seasoning the meat with a handful of crushed herbs.

John’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He didn’t distrust Caros, not entirely.

But in the cultivation world, trust was always a fragile thing.

’Better to stay one step ahead.’

He leaned back into the waterfall, letting its pounding rhythm drown out his thoughts, for now.

After finishing his bath beneath the waterfall, John walked over to the fire.

The scent of roasted beast meat wafted through the air, rich and mouthwatering.

His stomach growled involuntarily.

Sitting beside Caros, he picked up a piece of the sizzling meat and took a bite.

To his surprise, it was tender and perfectly seasoned, its flavor bursting across his tongue.

"This is... actually good," John muttered, raising his brows in genuine shock.

Caros leaned back and let out a booming laugh. "Told you! I am a great chef. You thought I was just a pretty face, didn’t you?"

John took another generous bite and nodded with mock seriousness. "Maybe you should quit scheming and cultivating altogether. Open a tavern or something."

Caros held his chest in mock offense. "You know, you don’t have to be so blunt all the time, right? There’s such a thing as subtle praise. Look it up sometime."

John smirked, about to respond with another dry remark, but then suddenly stopped mid-motion.

His eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted toward the trees.

Caros noticed the shift in his demeanor and immediately followed his line of sight. "What is it?" he asked, his voice lowering.

From between the shadowed trees came the sound of hurried footsteps, desperate, frantic.

A moment later, a young woman in torn red robes burst into view.

Her face was bloodied, her lower lip trembling.

Bruises marked her arms and legs, and her eyes were filled with tears.

She stumbled toward them, gasping for breath.

"Please..." she cried, her voice ragged and pleading. "Please save me from those monsters..."

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed right in front of John, sobbing uncontrollably, her fingers digging into the dirt.

John didn’t move.

His eyes stayed fixed on the woods behind her.

Caros stepped forward and gently helped her up. "Whoa, hey, no need to grovel in front of me. I mean, I get it. I do look like a god and all, but..."

"Caros," John said, cutting him off coldly. His voice was low, but edged with steel.

Caros looked up and froze.

A dozen figures emerged from the forest, dressed in blood-red robes, the fiery insignia of the Flamewell Clan emblazoned proudly on their chests.

Their expressions were twisted with arrogance and malice, and the air around them shimmered with heat.

But John’s focus was locked on one man in particular, a fat cultivator with sharp eyes, a smug grin on his face, and a cruel glint in his pupils.

"Brandon Flamewell..." John muttered, his fists tightening.

The name was spoken like poison.

Recognition flared in the man’s eyes the moment he saw John.

"Hahaha!" Brandon laughed, his voice echoing like a whipcrack through the trees. "I knew I’d run into you on this island, you filthy commoner. And look, fate is truly smiling on me today!"

He gestured toward the girl now hiding behind Caros, who had draped a clean robe over her.

"First, I’ll kill you..." he sneered, drawing his blade slowly, "...and then me and my brothers will have some fun with that bitch."

John stepped forward, his aura beginning to rise.

The playful sarcasm in his eyes was gone, replaced by a stormy calm.

He cracked his knuckles slowly and took one deep breath, his voice low and dangerous.

"You can try."

"Oh? You think I’m scared of a pathetic commoner like you?" Brandon’s voice rang out, thick with contempt.

He let out a booming laugh that shook his bloated frame, his gut bouncing beneath his crimson robes.

Each breath he took wheezed slightly, but the malice in his eyes burned brightly.

He licked his lips with a slow, disgusting motion, his tongue dragging across yellowed teeth. "It’s actually perfect that you ran into me here. The heavens must truly favor me."

John remained still, watching him with an unreadable expression, but a storm had already begun to churn within his gaze.

Brandon took a step forward, his grin stretching wider as the forest around them seemed to grow hotter from the mere presence of the Flamewell Clan cultivators.

"That Greenblade girl," Brandon sneered, "she managed to slip out of my grasp before I could properly teach her where her place is. Tch. Such a shame. I was this close."

He raised two fingers and pinched them together, laughing again, his breath reeking even from a distance. "But no matter. She can’t run forever. First, I’ll cut you down right here..."

He pointed his blade at John.

"...and then I’ll hunt her down. When I find her, I’ll gift her your severed head, so she remembers just how useless you were. Then I’ll shatter her pride, piece by piece. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until she begs at my feet like a dog."

The flames carved into his blade shimmered, and he swung it through the air once, a trail of red-hot sparks flying off the tip.

Around him, his lackeys laughed raucously, each one sneering at John and Caros as if they were nothing more than prey waiting to be butchered.

While the air grew heavier with Brandon’s seething arrogance, Caros leaned back slightly and popped a small roasted fruit into his mouth.

He chewed slowly, eyebrows raised in faint amusement, as if watching a street performer put on a one-man show.

"Huh," he mumbled between bites. "This guy talks a lot for someone shaped like a wine barrel."

But John... John didn’t move.

He was staring at Brandon like a wolf watching a bloated pig wander into its territory.

The air shifted around him, and a faint hum pulsed from deep within his core.

The temperature that had risen from the flame cultivators began to falter, overshadowed by something darker, colder, and far more focused.

John finally took a step forward, the earth beneath his foot cracking slightly from the pressure.

"Big words..." he said quietly, voice like ice on steel. "Let’s see if you can back them up."