Steadily Upgrading Everything!
Chapter 44: Battlefield tax collection.

Chapter 44: Battlefield tax collection.

Brandon stepped forward, and with a twisted smirk, he released his aura.

A violent wave of oppressive energy surged through the clearing, rustling the trees and sending a pulse of heat over the earth.

The flames around the insignia on his chest seemed to come alive, flickering unnaturally as the Spirit Bud Realm pressure rolled out from his body like a crashing tide.

John’s eyes narrowed, and a deep frown carved into his face.

He clenched his fists tightly as his own spiritual energy surged in defense, resisting the oppressive weight.

"Spirit Bud Realm..." he muttered under his breath, the words sharp and edged with disbelief. "I didn’t think he’d actually be this strong."

Behind him, Caros simply chuckled, completely unfazed by the rising tension in the air.

He took a step forward, brushing the dust from his sleeves casually, as though about to deliver a lecture instead of step into a bloodbath.

"Hehehe... well, looks like I’ll have to teach this overgrown torchbearer a lesson," Caros said with a grin, stretching his arms with exaggerated laziness. "You take care of his lackeys. Shouldn’t be too hard, unless they’re hiding something more than ugly faces under those robes."

John glanced back at him, the muscles on his jaw twitching.

The moment Brandon had mentioned Riara, something had snapped inside him.

The image of her, brilliant, proud, a little arrogant but fiercely capable, flashed across his mind.

He thought about the look she gave him when she explained the ship.

The trust in her voice.

The warmth of her smile.

Then, he thought about what Brandon had said he wanted to do.

That same rage began to churn in his chest like magma, climbing up and wrapping around his core like a blazing serpent.

"No," John said, voice firm, almost cold. He stepped forward, his own aura beginning to rise, less dramatic, but sharp like a blade freshly drawn from its sheath. "You handle his goons. I’ll silence this fat bastard myself."

Caros tilted his head, slightly surprised. For a moment, he didn’t respond.

Then, slowly, his grin returned, less amused, more intrigued.

He gave a short nod and slid his hands into his sleeves.

"As you wish, brother," he said with an almost theatrical sigh. "But make sure you don’t die. I’d hate to carry your body all the way back, my back’s not built for martyrdom."

John didn’t answer.

His eyes were locked onto Brandon’s, and the distance between them suddenly felt like the only space that mattered.

The moment John stepped forward, the ground cracked beneath his feet.

Brandon’s grin faltered as he felt a sudden burst of killing intent that wasn’t flashy but sharp, like a knife pressed against the skin with perfect control.

John’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous calm as he drew his saber.

Its edge shimmered under the moonlight, reflecting a cold, hungry light.

Brandon’s face twisted. "Oh? Got a weapon? You think a little iron toothpick will save you, commoner?"

He slapped a talisman on his chest, and instantly a dome of crimson flames erupted around him.

Then he threw another towards John. "Burn in my Flame Tiger Array!"

The talisman split midair, conjuring a massive, roaring beast made of flame.

It lunged forward like a real tiger, fangs bared and claws scorching.

John’s saber blurred. One slash. Then another. Then a third.

Twelve Circle Slashes.

The first circle dispersed the tiger’s flame claws.

The second one carved a path through the searing heat.

By the fifth, he had closed the distance.

On the twelfth, his saber cleaved the tiger in two, dispersing it into embers that danced around them like fireflies.

Brandon’s eyes widened. "What?! You cut through my talisman array?!"

But he wasn’t done. He bit down on a pill and swallowed, his aura flaring as it surged up a notch.

A Power Boost Pill, one that temporarily pushed him further into Spirit Fruit realm.

"Let’s see how long you last now!" Brandon snarled, slamming another talisman into the ground.

Stone spikes erupted around John, stabbing upward from every angle.

John flipped back, barely avoiding being skewered.

His left shoulder grazed a spike and blood splattered across his robe.

His breathing remained calm, methodical.

Behind them, Caros casually intercepted two charging lackeys, his dagger slicing one’s throat before the other could react.

The second barely screamed before Caros’s fist shattered his ribcage.

He paused, eyes locked on John.

"This guy..." Caros thought, brushing blood off his knuckles. "He’s only at Spirit Seed Realm. And yet... he’s forcing Brandon back?"

As John clashed with Brandon, Caros’s gaze lingered on the flow of John’s blade. "That saber technique... Twelve Circle Slashes. A basic foundational move. Most cultivators abandon it after they hit Body Refinement. But he’s refined it, layered it with depth and rhythm. Each slash flows into the next with perfect weight. Who the hell trains a basic technique to this level?"

Brandon hurled another pill into his mouth, his body swelling slightly, veins glowing faintly red.

He activated a defensive talisman and pulled out a small jade shield, an artifact.

He slung it forward to intercept John’s attack.

John’s saber clashed with it and rebounded, sending tremors up his arm.

Brandon followed with a punch wrapped in flame essence, striking John square in the ribs.

John staggered back, coughing blood. The impact fractured three bones.

Caros took a step forward, but John raised a hand.

"No," he growled, spitting blood onto the ground. "He’s mine."

Caros paused.

A slow smile crept onto his lips. "That rage in his eyes... it’s personal. This isn’t about pride. It’s justice. He doesn’t want help—he wants blood."

Brandon laughed. "Still standing? Try this then!" He unfurled a large talisman scroll and channeled qi into it.

The ground quaked.

A flaming serpent spiraled out of the scroll and lunged at John like a burning whip.

Simultaneously, Brandon flung several throwing knives enchanted with fire Qi.

John rolled to the side, one knife cutting deep into his thigh.

Blood gushed out, but he didn’t slow.

He vanished into the shadows for a breath and then appeared again behind Brandon.

"Twelve Circle Slashes," he whispered, his saber dancing in a blur again.

This time, five strikes landed in rapid succession.

One sliced Brandon’s shield.

Another cut his leg.

A third gashed his shoulder.

Brandon screamed and unleashed another barrage of flame techniques.

John ducked, parried, and blocked, but his movements were slowing.

His chest was burned.

His leg was bleeding.

His left eye had swollen shut from a grazing hit.

And yet...

He stared into Brandon’s face, eyes glowing with a faint, eerie light.

"Time to end this."

"Soul Piercing Gaze, Level Three!"

A sharp crack echoed through the clearing as a thin, radiant beam of light erupted from the center of John’s forehead.

The beam wasn’t thick, but it shimmered with blinding brilliance, like a blade of pure soul energy, condensed and focused to a deadly edge.

It pierced through the air with a high-pitched screech and slammed directly into Brandon’s forehead.

"Aaaaghh!" Brandon howled, his body convulsing violently.

The beam didn’t just burn flesh, it sliced straight into his spirit.

His defenses meant nothing against it.

Brandon’s pupils dilated. Blood poured from his eyes, ears, and nose as his body spasmed on the ground.

He writhed and screamed, the beam pinning him in place as if skewering his soul.

He clawed at the ground, screaming, "Get it out! GET IT OUT!"

Images, illusions, and pain flooded his mind, flames devouring his wealth, shadows laughing at him, the world crumbling as he screamed for help that never came.

The beam faded only after a few seconds, but Brandon remained on the ground, twitching, barely conscious.

John walked up, each step shaky, every breath labored.

His ribs screamed with pain.

His vision blurred from blood loss.

But his grip on the saber never faltered.

"You shouldn’t have touched her name with that filthy mouth," he said coldly.

With a final swing, his saber cleaved through Brandon’s thick neck.

The head rolled across the dirt, stopping with a dull thud, eyes still wide in terror.

Silence followed.

Caros walked up slowly, stepping over the bodies of the last few Flamewell lackeys he had dispatched without effort.

He whistled low as he looked at John’s blood-covered figure.

"You know," he said, eyes twinkling. "Most people wouldn’t survive a fight like that. And even fewer would win it."

John didn’t respond immediately.

He just collapsed to his knees, panting.

Caros knelt beside him, offering a pill. "You’re a strange one, John Coral. A soul technique like that... and a basic saber style trained to this level? You’re either a madman or a monster."

John took the pill, swallowing it dry. "Then let’s hope I’m the right kind of monster."

The girl, who had been hiding behind a rock throughout the battle, stepped forward with cautious but grateful steps.

Her robe, newly given by Caros, was stained with blood, but her trembling had stopped.

She looked at John, then at the headless corpse of Brandon, and finally bowed deeply. "Thank you... both of you. I... I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been here."

John, panting and leaning on his saber, gave a slight nod.

Blood still dripped from the gash above his eyebrow. "You’re safe now."

Caros grinned, spinning a dagger in his hand as he casually stepped over a few bodies. "You’re welcome. I accept payments in spirit stones, rare beast meat, or kisses on the cheek, just putting it out there."

The girl looked at him with an amused yet exhausted smile. "I’ll pass... but thank you, truly."

John raised a brow. "Ignore him."

She laughed softly, then gathered herself and offered a proper introduction. "My name is Mei Lan. From the Silverplume Clan of Northwind Prefecture."

Caros whistled. "Silverplume? Fancy bird people. Heard your clan trains on mountaintops and eats cloud berries for breakfast."

She gave him a look. "We also throw people off those mountaintops for talking too much."

Caros raised his hands playfully. "Duly noted."

John sat down with a quiet grunt, pulling out a healing pill.

His whole body ached, and several wounds still bled through his robes. "You should go before more of his friends come. We’ll be fine here."

Mei Lan bowed again, more deeply this time. "I owe you both. If you ever visit Northwind, ask for me. My clan will honor your help."

Caros mock-gasped. "An invitation to a clan of beauties? John, did we just become heroes or what?"

John ignored him. "Be safe."

With a faint smile, Mei Lan vanished into the woods, her steps lighter than before.

Once she was gone, John finally laid down fully, the pill melting in his mouth, warmth seeping into his injured flesh.

Caros, meanwhile, crouched by the dead, expertly looting spatial bags and muttering to himself. "Let’s see... two mid-grade talismans... some spirit coins... ooh, spicy powder, what were you planning to do with that, creep? Ugh."

John opened one eye. "You done robbing corpses?"

"Please," Caros replied without looking up. "This is called battlefield tax collection. I’m practically a civil servant."

John gave a weak chuckle despite the pain.

Caros walked back with a small mountain of bags and dumped them near the fire. "Want anything, or do you just want to keep bleeding dramatically into the grass?"

John swallowed another pill and rolled onto his side. "Just a nap."

As the fire crackled beside them and the sun began to set behind the twisted trees, John drifted into much-needed rest, while Caros sat cross-legged with a grin, rifling through someone’s valuables like a merchant on festival day.