Who could have known that this one slash would be so terrifying? The sword light was dazzling, like a bolt of lightning shooting from his hand in an instant, forcing him to close his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw that the ground looked as if it had been struck by lightning, a deep trench slashed into it, crisscrossing in all directions.

　　“Holy shit...!!!”

　　John Sullivan’s face was expressionless, but inside he was absolutely thrilled.

　　Even more badass than he’d imagined! Truly worthy of being a grandmaster who commands his own peak. With this level of skill and swordsmanship, if he kept practicing diligently, maybe when the time came—if he absolutely had to face off against the future overpowered Charles Clark—he might at least manage to escape in a panic!

　　Yes. If he could escape in a panic, John Sullivan would be secretly delighted for three days. His requirements really weren’t high; as long as he could stay alive, that was enough...

　　He wanted to practice a bit more; the sooner he became proficient, the better for all his plans. But then he heard the faint sound of dry branches being stepped on.

　　Actually, the sound was quite far away, but now his five senses were extremely sharp—it was hard not to notice. John Sullivan glanced at the deep trench on the ground, sheathed his sword with a swish, and retreated deeper into the cover of green leaves.

　　The footsteps drew closer and closer, and John Sullivan realized there was more than one person. Sure enough, a moment later, the first to appear was Charles Clark’s face, which seemed to come with its own soft glow and highlight, but the first voice to ring out was a crisp, tender girl’s voice.

　　“A-Luo, A-Luo, look! There’s a huge trench in the ground here!”

　　Hearing this nickname, John Sullivan, hiding in the shadows, almost stumbled over his own feet.

　　The system kindly provided a brief introduction: [New character, John Sullivan’s youngest female disciple, Grace Hill.]

　　“Shut up, I don’t need your introduction. Who else would call Charles Clark that? I know already.” John Sullivan’s face was expressionless.

　　The pretty young girl following behind Charles Clark came into view. She looked even younger than Charles Clark, her hair tied into bunches with orange ribbons, looking innocent and lively—the standard cute junior sister character that every cultivation novel needs.

　　And this little junior sister made John Sullivan feel a bit complicated.

　　That was because he had designs on Grace Hill. No, actually, it was the original John Sullivan who had designs on Grace Hill.

　　John Sullivan’s character was a hypocrite. Since he appeared pure and ascetic on the surface, his inner self had to be lecherous, shameless, and despicable. As a master, he harbored filthy thoughts toward his obedient and lively little disciple. He’d tried to make a move several times and almost succeeded.

　　Daring to lay a hand on the protagonist’s woman—well, you can imagine the outcome!

　　When John Sullivan read the book, he’d even wondered why Charles Clark didn’t just castrate him while he was at it. He even went to the reader comment section and joined the crowd in spamming “Castrate him! If not, I’ll drop the novel!”

　　If that campaign had succeeded back then... heh.

　　He’d definitely have to chop off the hand that helped bump up that thread!

　　Charles Clark glanced over, seemingly uninterested, just giving a gentle smile. Grace Hill, however, wanted to cling to him, so she made small talk: “Maybe some senior brother was practicing sword energy here?”

　　Charles Clark was holding an axe, starting to chop a tree, and replied, “Impossible. On Qingjing Peak, the only one with that level of skill is probably Master.”

　　John Sullivan coughed inwardly: Kid, you really know your stuff.

　　Grace Hill sat on a big green rock lying on the ground, cupping her face. “Oh. Then maybe it was struck by lightning.”

　　Charles Clark ignored her, just kept chopping wood, axe rising and falling, working diligently.

　　These trees weren’t thin or weak, but the axe was half-rusted and dull. At this time, Charles Clark was only fourteen, so chopping was very hard work; soon he was sweating all over. Grace Hill got bored again and whined, “A-Luo, A-Luo, come play with me!”

　　Charles Clark didn’t even bother to wipe his sweat, kept chopping, and said, “No. Senior brother said after I finish chopping firewood today, I still have to fetch water. If I finish quickly, I’ll have some time left for meditation.”

　　Grace Hill pouted, “Senior brothers are so mean! They’re always making you do this and that. I think they’re just bullying you on purpose. Hmph, I’ll go tell Master, and I guarantee they’ll never dare do it again.”

　　John Sullivan was shocked. No, no, no, please don’t come tell me! What am I supposed to do? Which side am I supposed to scold?

　　At this time, Charles Clark was still young, had suffered much in life, but his heart was still as pure as a white lotus. He said sincerely to Grace Hill, “Please don’t. I don’t want Master to be troubled by these little things. The senior brothers don’t mean any harm, they just want to give me more chances to gain experience since I’m young.”

　　John Sullivan was really moved by this kid: If only you could always be this sensible!

　　Amid Grace Hill’s chattering, Charles Clark chopped enough firewood, put the axe away, and sat down on the green rock, crossing his legs and closing his eyes to meditate.

　　John Sullivan let out a long sigh in his heart.

　　Actually, the protagonist’s overpowered nature was already foreshadowed in these early tragic scenes. Clearly, James Reed had given him a fake introductory cultivation manual. The more he practiced according to it, the more useless it should have been. But Charles Clark, relying on his extraordinary talent and the half-demon bloodline hidden in his body, somehow managed to stumble his way into developing his own method... It was just too unbelievable!

　　As he was sighing, another burst of chaotic footsteps sounded.