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

CRACK!

Zhang Yun's fist collided with the puppet's forehead in a shower of crystalline sparks. The embedded beast core shattered like sugar glass, its iridescent fragments scattering across stone tiles. The puppet's metallic frame froze mid-twitch before collapsing into a lifeless heap.

"Master?!" Xu Ming blurted, eyes darting between the smoking wreckage and his unfazed teacher. Even Wu Xiaopang's chubby cheeks quivered with disbelief—they'd just witnessed their master sucker-punch a Nascent Soul entity.

"Poisoned hospitality," Zhang Yun dusted his knuckles, nodding toward the remaining teas. "Two brews carried his soul anchors. The third? Soulrot for easy possession."

The disciples exchanged wide-eyed glances. Though the intricacies escaped them, their master's word was scripture.

"Now," Zhang Yun turned his back to the smoldering puppet with deliberate nonchalance. "Let's see what trinkets this corpse left—"

SHINK!

A serrated blade erupted from the puppet's wrist, spearing through where Zhang Yun's heart had been—only to bisect empty air.

"Afterimage?!" The puppet's hollow voice cracked with disbelief.

"Left thigh. Now." Zhang Yun materialized behind the construct, sword already buried in its joint. Another core exploded. Before the puppet could react, his blade danced right—final core detonating in a shower of golden dust.

The chamber shook as the puppet's frame crumpled, gears grinding to stillness. "Three Golden Core beast cores?" Zhang Yun crouched, poking the wreckage. "Generous budget for a grave-robber's decoy."

"Y-You…" The puppet's voice warped with static. "How…?"

Zhang Yun smirked. "Even blindfolded, I'd smell your shoddy craftsmanship."

Xu Ming coughed awkwardly. Wu Xiaopang studied the ceiling tiles.

The puppet's eye-flames flickered violently. This brat had dismantled his millennia-honed scheme like disassembling a child's toy! A mere Foundation Building ant shouldn't—

"Enough nostalgia." Zhang Yun's blade tip kissed the puppet's chestplate. "Hand over your treasures. I'll make it quick."

"Quick?!" The construct wheezed metallic laughter. "My soul essence repels all mortal qi! You'd need—"

"Xu Ming," Zhang Yun snapped fingers. "Golden Dragon Qi. Chest strike."

The disciple blinked but obeyed. His fist erupted in dragon-shaped radiance—

"WAIT!" The puppet's voice spiked two octaves. "That's—!"

CRUNCH!

Xu Ming's punch cratered the armor. Golden tendrils of dragon qi seeped through cracks, igniting sizzling black smoke within.

"AAAAGH! CEASE! CEASE!" The Nascent Soul fragment materialized—a translucent old man writhing as dragonfire consumed his spectral legs. "HOW DOES A MORTAL POSSESS PURE DRAGON—?!"

"Xiaopang," Zhang Yun yawned. "Your turn."

"With pleasure!" The plump disciple's fist blazed tyrannical gold.

"NO! THAT'S TYRANT'S ESSENCE! IMPOSSIB—"

BOOM!

The second punch atomized the remnant's left arm. The spectral figure flickered like a dying candle, gaping at Wu Xiaopang. "T-Two supreme constitutions… in this backwater era…?"

Zhang Yun waved a hand, dispersing the residual energies. The crippled soul remnant now resembled moth-eaten lace, barely maintaining human shape.

"Now," he leaned close, smiling sweetly. "Shall we discuss your vault's security codes?"

The Nascent Soul's remaining eye twitched. After three millennia of scheming, he'd been bested by… this?