10,000x Cultivation: I Gain Power by Adopting Training Acolytes

Golden light erupted from the South Mountain Grand Elder's body like molten metal pouring from a forge. His robes disintegrated under the surging energy, revealing skin that shimmered with an otherworldly metallic sheen. Veins bulged like cables beneath his transformed flesh, each muscle fiber crackling with amplified power. The air itself seemed to thicken under the oppressive weight of his ​Adamantine Trinity Transformation—a signature technique that elevated his aura to near-suffocating levels.

"To force out his trump card so quickly…" The saffron-robed daoist muttered, his wrinkled fingers tightening around his banner. Even as a bystander, he felt the primal threat radiating from the transformed elder.

Yet Zhang Yun merely flicked his sword with a duelist's nonchalance. "About time," he remarked, the blade humming as if eager for blood. "Let's see if your shiny skin holds up."

The Grand Elder's lips curled into a sneer. Fool! His Adamantine Trinity didn't just enhance strength—it turned his body into living armor. Let the upstart slash at his legs all day; not even Nascent Soul experts could breach this defense. He raised his broadsword, anticipating the sweet moment when Zhang Yun's futile strike would leave him open for a bisecting counter.

But the expected impact never came.

Where—?

The elder's sneer froze as Zhang Yun's blade dissolved mid-swing—a phantom feint. Before his gold-tinged eyes could track the movement, searing pain erupted through his right shoulder.

"GAAAH!"

The metallic sheen drained from his skin like paint washed by rain. His knees struck stone as spiritual energy hemorrhaged from the wound—a ruptured meridian node leaking golden mist. The daoist's banner slipped from numb fingers as he stared at the sword embedded in his flesh. How? The node's location was his most guarded secret, buried layers deep beneath muscle and qi pathways.

Zhang Yun leaned closer, his smile glacial. "Surprised?" He twisted the blade, eliciting a wet crunch. "Your 'invincible' technique has a fatal flaw—it turns you into a glowing lantern. That golden glow? Just a map to your weakness."

The Grand Elder's remaining disciples stared in petrified horror. Their master—the indomitable pillar of South Mountain Sect—kneeled like a chastened child, his lifeblood pooling around Zhang Yun's boots.

"Y-You can't…" the elder rasped, desperation cracking his voice. "South Mountain will hunt you to the ends of the—"

Schlikt.

The blade withdrew only to flash again—a silver viper striking throat instead of shoulder. The Grand Elder's head tumbled backward, frozen expression a mask of disbelief.

"NO!" A disciple lunged forward, sword raised in suicidal fury.

Zhang Yun didn't bother turning. His free hand flicked outward, spiritual energy condensing into a crescent moon of light that sheared through two necks mid-charge. Heads bounced across the mossy stones, their horrified stares locked eternally on their fallen master.

The saffron daoist's throat bobbed as Zhang Yun turned, blood-drenched sword resting casually on his shoulder. "Your turn, old man. Care to test my hospitality?"

"T-This humble one merely…" The daoist retreated, tripping over his own banner. "A misunderstanding! I'll leave the herbs—"

Thunk!

Zhang Yun's blade quivered in the stone floor, barring the escape route. "You misunderstand," he said, wiping gore from his cheek with eerie calm. "This isn't negotiation. It's a lesson."

He stepped over the headless corpse, boots leaving crimson prints on the moonmoss. "Spread this truth: My disciples and I claim this sanctuary. Those who trespass…" His smile didn't reach his eyes. "...become fertilizer for my herb garden."

The daoist fled without dignity, robes flapping like panicked bird wings. Xu Ming stared at his master's silhouette backlit by glowing herbs—a vengeful deity framed by carnage.

"Master," he whispered, equal parts awe and terror tightening his chest, "what are you?"

Zhang Yun crouched to harvest a prismbloom, bloodied fingers gentle on its petals. "A gardener," he replied, voice softer than the spring's murmur. "Tending flowers… and pruning weeds."