Spells Grinding: From Basic Sparks to Divine Arts

Chapter 288: A Heart of Chivalry

The injured youth’s face turned grave. Every muscle in his body coiled tight as he hissed a warning to the family.

“Wake that man up! The moment anything happens, you run!”

The family of three exchanged terrified glances.

The little boy, barely six years old, reacted first. He scrambled over to the sleeping man in gray robes and shook his arm frantically.

“Uncle! Uncle! Wake up! Please!”

At the child’s desperate cry, the gray-robed man’s eyes slowly opened.

There was no grogginess, no confusion. His gaze swept over everyone in the temple with a calm, piercing clarity.

Just as he awoke, the oppressive humidity of the storm vanished. In its place, the temperature plummeted, turning the air biting cold.

Everyone shivered involuntarily.

Riding on a gust of freezing wind, a voice echoed through the temple—eerie, shrill, and impossible to locate.

“Hehehe… I truly didn’t expect such a bountiful harvest tonight…”

The voice was ethereal, drifting between male and female, human and monster.

The family looked up in unison. The sound seemed to be coming from the roof beams, but there was nothing there—only shadows.

The realization hit them like a physical blow: A ghost.

“Waaah… Daddy, Mommy…”

The child burst into tears, burying his face in his mother’s robes, trembling violently.

“Not bad, not bad at all,” the disembodied voice crooned. “Hunting a little mouse, and I get a tender boy as a bonus? Tonight, I feast!”

Hearing this, the injured youth moved instantly. He flashed in front of the cowering family, his golden saber raised high.

“Evil spirit!” he roared, his voice thundering with righteous fury. “Your grudge is with me! These are innocent mortals! If you have any guts, come down and fight me yourself!”

As his words fell, a white shadow drifted down from the ceiling.

It hovered in mid-air, a vague, humanoid shape shrouded in pale mist. It had no face, only a terrifying aura that made the blood freeze in one’s veins.

As the specter descended, the temperature in the temple dropped again, turning the sanctuary into an ice cave.

“A mere Loose Cultivator dares to ruin my fun?” The ghost opened a maw in the mist, emitting a sound that grated on the soul. “Do you think you can leave this place alive?”

“Hmph! You torment the living and plague the innocent! Since I have encountered you, I cannot stand idly by!” The youth stood his ground, fear eclipsed by defiance.

The white shadow laughed, a cold, rasping sound. “I hope your tongue remains this sharp when I am peeling the skin from your bones.”

“Run! Now!”

The youth shouted back at the family, his spiritual energy surging.

His muscles bulged, veins standing out like cords as he channeled every ounce of his strength into his blade.

He had been a cultivator for ten years, reaching the Sixth Layer of Qi Condensation through blood and grit. His technique was unrefined, honed only by desperate survival, stripped of all unnecessary flourish.

With a roar, he swung the golden saber.

The blade cut through the air with savage force, aiming to cleave the ghost in two.

Clang!

The youth’s eyes widened in horror.

The ghost had caught the blade. With one hand. Effortlessly.

“Passable strength,” the entity mocked. “But against me? Useless.”

With a casual flick of its wrist, the ghost sent the youth stumbling backward, nearly losing his grip on the weapon.

The specter’s eyeless gaze swept over the room. “Tonight, you all die here.”

“Sigh…”

At that moment, a soft sigh echoed from the corner.

It was faint, barely audible over the child’s sobbing.

But then, the gray-robed man stamped his foot.

BOOM!

A terrifying pressure erupted from his body, expanding outward like a shockwave. The air itself seemed to heavy, crushing down on the temple with the weight of a mountain.

“Why do you stand by and watch the innocent die?!”

The man roared, his voice carrying the authority of thunder.

The white ghost froze, its mist form trembling violently.

“This aura… Late Foundation Establishment?! Run!”

Panic seized the entity. It turned to flee.

But before it could move an inch, the gray-robed man waved his hand.

A streak of cold light flashed through the temple.

Shnk!

There was no battle. No struggle. The ferocious ghost let out a miserable shriek as the light tore through its form, obliterating it instantly. It dissipated into nothingness, erasing the unnatural cold from the air.

Silence returned to the temple.

The mortals and the youth stared, dumbfounded, at the man standing in the corner.

“An… Immortal Master?”

“Senior! Thank you for saving our lives!”

The injured youth reacted first. He dropped his saber and bowed deeply, his hands cupped in respect. The family quickly followed suit, kneeling on the dirty floor and kowtowing repeatedly.

Suddenly, a shimmer appeared in the center of the room.

The translucent figure of an old man materialized from the ground, startling the kneeling group.

“This humble one is the Mountain God of Mount Yan,” the old man said, ignoring the mortals and bowing to the gray-robed man. “I pay my respects to Senior!”

The gray-robed man frowned, his expression displeased.

“You are the local deity. It is your duty to guard this land. You knew a ghost cultivator was wreaking havoc here, yet you stood by and watched? Why did you not intervene?”

The Mountain God looked both ashamed and terrified. He smiled bitterly. “Please forgive me, Senior. I… I fought this evil spirit some time ago, but I was no match for him. I was powerless to stop him tonight…”

The gray-robed man stared at the cowering deity for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and waved his hand dismissively.

“Fine. You lack the strength. I cannot blame you for that. Go.”

“Thank you, Senior! Thank you!”

Overjoyed at being spared, the Mountain God bowed frantically and vanished into the earth.

The gray-robed man shook his head and turned his gaze back to the group of humans. His eyes lingered on the injured youth.

After a moment of thought, he waved his hand. A weathered book flew from his sleeve, hovering gently in front of the young man.

“You have a heart of chivalry. In a moment of life and death, you chose to stand between a monster and the weak. That is rare.”

The man’s voice was calm but resonant.

“Meeting today is fate. This is a saber manual I acquired some time ago. It is of no use to me, but it may help you on your path.”

The youth trembled, overwhelmed with emotion. He grabbed the book and bowed again, deeper this time.

“Thank you, Senior! I will never forget this kindness!”

The gray-robed man nodded once. Without another word, his figure blurred and shot into the sky, vanishing into the night.