Spells Grinding: From Basic Sparks to Divine Arts

Chapter 230: Drawing the Sword to Help

The battle below was a lopsided affair.

One side consisted of eight attackers: two Foundation Establishment cultivators leading six Qi Condensation juniors. They moved with practiced coordination, tightening the noose around their prey.

The other side was a lone young man.

He was in his early twenties, his once-handsome features smeared with grime and blood. Clad in a tattered black robe, he wielded a longsword with desperate elegance, barely deflecting the barrage of spells raining down on him.

Qin Lu narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t been mistaken.

It was Wei Zimo.

Once the crown jewel of the Wuji Sect, a genius seen once in several centuries, his name was emblazoned on the Prodigy Roll of the Nine Truths Langya List. He was supposed to be the future of the sect.

“The sect has collapsed, yet he survived,” Qin Lu mused, watching from the clouds. “But why come back here? Is he suicidal?”

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Below, the rhythm of battle intensified. Magical Artifacts and Talismans exploded around Wei Zimo, forcing him back step by bloody step. Despite his talent, he was outnumbered and exhausted. Death was moments away.

Qin Lu watched impassively.

He felt no obligation to help. His relationship with the Wuji Sect had been strictly transactional: they provided a market, he paid rent. When they failed to provide security, he left. There was no loyalty owed, no debt unpaid.

However, his presence didn’t go unnoticed.

The attackers spotted him hovering above. Immediately, two Qi Condensation cultivators broke formation to keep a wary eye on the intruder.

Wei Zimo saw him too. Desperation flared in his eyes.

“Fellow Daoist! Please! Help me!” he screamed, his voice hoarse. “If I survive this, I will reward you generously! I swear it!”

“Generous rewards?”

Qin Lu’s lips curved slightly.

It occurred to him that Wei Zimo had escaped the siege of Mount Cangwu. As the sect’s top disciple, he likely carried the core inheritance—or at least a significant portion of the sect’s treasury.

That changed things.

“Hey! You up there!”

One of the attackers, a ruddy-faced Foundation Establishment cultivator, shouted aggressively. “The Dragon Tiger Sect is conducting business. Piss off if you know what’s good for you!”

“Hmph!”

That sealed it.

Qin Lu hated threats almost as much as he loved profit.

The Silver Sand Sword materialized in his hand.

“I hate the Dragon Tiger Sect the most!” he roared, adopting a rough, booming voice. “Today, this old man is meddling whether you like it or not!”

Whoosh!

He swung his sword. A beam of white Sword Qi, infused with the sharpness of the [Cutting Technique], screamed down from the heavens.

BOOM—!

The earth shook. Dust billowed into the air as the strike carved a massive fissure between the two parties, splitting the battlefield in half. The trench was over a dozen zhang deep, a terrifying display of power.

“Foundation Establishment… mid-stage!” “Who is this guy?!” “That beard… is he from another prefecture?”

The Dragon Tiger Sect cultivators stumbled back, their faces pale. The power behind that single strike was undeniable.

Qin Lu descended, landing heavily between Wei Zimo and his attackers. He glared at them through his disguise—the fierce, bearded visage of Li Kui.

“You know my strength? Good! Then why aren’t you bastards scrambling?”

The ruddy-faced cultivator grit his teeth, his expression ugly. “You have nerve! Do you truly not know the power of the Dragon Tiger Sect?”

“I don’t give a damn who you are!” Qin Lu spat, playing the role of the unhinged rogue to perfection. “Scram or die! I’m itching to cut some heads!”

“Fine! Fine!”

The leader trembled with rage, but he wasn’t stupid. Fighting Wei Zimo was one thing; fighting a fresh mid-stage expert alongside him was suicide.

“Dare you leave your name?!” he shouted, trying to salvage some dignity.

“Tch!” Qin Lu slapped his chest. “A true man doesn’t change his name! I am Li Kui, known as the Black Whirlwind! Remember it well, you bastards!”

“Li Kui… Black Whirlwind… good! You’re dead! Let’s go!”

The leader waved his hand, and the group retreated hastily, looking more like fleeing rats than conquering heroes.

Qin Lu watched them go, waiting until they were specks on the horizon before turning around.

Wei Zimo stood there, leaning on his sword for support. He was a mess of blood and bruises, trembling with exhaustion.

Seeing his savior turn, Wei Zimo straightened up with difficulty, clasping his fists in a respectful bow.

“I am Wei Zimo. Thank you, Fellow Daoist Li, for saving my life. I will never forget—”

“Save the speeches,” Qin Lu interrupted, his voice rough and impatient. He held out a hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

“I’m a busy man, Genius Wei. Let’s talk about that ‘generous reward’ you promised. Pay up.”