Chapter 137: Glorious Mythical Sect
Nestled deep within the rugged, sky-piercing peaks of the Northern Hashian Mountains on the Jura Eastern Continent lay the grand compound of the Glorious Mythical Sect.
Spanning thousands of square miles of lush, mist-shrouded valleys and carved mountain faces, the sect was a dominant local power.
Below their high-altitude sanctuary, across the vast valleys of the Hashian range, the sect held absolute administrative dominance over thousands of bustling human cities, harvesting heavy tribute, rare medicinal herbs, and fresh talent every single year.
As the golden morning sun rose above the jagged eastern peaks, its light illuminated a domain of breathtaking grandiosity.
Spacious white-marble training grounds, floating pavilion bridges, and towering pagodas built from rare timber dotted the mountainsides.
Tens of thousands of sect disciples roamed the pristine stone pathways, clad in their iconic, pristine sect uniforms—ivory robes embroidered with intricate golden thread that shimmered like radiant light under the morning sun.
Laughter and the lively hum of conversation echoed across the courtyards.
Groups of young disciples gathered near crystal-clear mountain streams, casually discussing martial techniques, laughing over recent sparring matches, and enjoying the serene atmosphere.
To any outsider, it was a picture-perfect sanctuary of celestial cultivation.
Nearly all of these lower-tier disciples were at the Martial Warrior realm, diligently pushing their bodies and spirits to break through their physical limits.
Only a handful of true prodigies—the inner disciples and elite vanguards—had managed to step into the revered Martial Master realm, earning high-grade spiritual robes and private cultivation caves along the upper cliffs.
Yet beneath this gleaming facade of purity and righteous cultivation lay a stomach-turning, blood-soaked truth.
Deep within the high northern peaks, hidden inside the heavily guarded Tower of Supreme Clarity, a heavy incense burned inside a colossal bronze burner.
The thick, fragrant smoke failed to mask the faint, metallic scent of dried blood that hung stubbornly in the cold mountain air.
Three men sat around an ancient, carved jade table inside the inner sanctuary.
They wore crimson-trimmed elder robes, their deep, heavy breaths causing the ambient mana in the room to ripple gently.
All three were high-ranking Sect Elders—and all three had reached the formidable Martial General realm.
For a minor sect operating in the wild expanses of Jura, their power structure was formidable.
The supreme Sect Leader reigned at the absolute pinnacle as a true Martial Lord, while the governance of the entire domain was held by twelve ruthless Sect Elders who stood firmly in the Martial General stage.
The Third Elder, a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and thin, calculating eyes, leaned back in his carved chair, a satisfied smile touching his lips.
"Brother Elder," the Third Elder spoke, playing with a polished ivory token in his hands. "What is the update on our recent supply line? Has the Mayor of Kaelos City delivered the latest batch of goods as scheduled?"
The Second Elder, an older man with silver-streaked hair and sharp, predatory features, chuckled softly. "You worry too much, Third Brother. Mayor Kaelos has proven himself to be an exceptionally diligent dog.
He knows his position depends entirely on our favor."
The Second Elder took a slow sip of hot spirit tea before continuing. "According to the latest raven dispatch, a fresh batch of a hundred high-grade beastman slaves will arrive at our secret northern valley within three days.
Mostly young males and female cultivators—their mana cores are ripe, brimming with raw, unrefined vitality."
"A hundred?" The Fourth Elder, a stout man with heavy golden rings on his fingers, grinned broadly. "Remarkable! The beastmen in the surrounding border forests have grown increasingly paranoid lately.
They are aware of our hunting parties, hiding deep within subterranean caves and ancient ruins like terrified rats.
Yet Mayor Kaelos’s mercenary guilds still manage to root them out for us."
"Rats or not, they are magnificent livestock," the Second Elder laughed, his deep voice echoing sinisterly off the marble pillars of the temple.
"Their flesh is wonderfully sweet and exceedingly rich in primordial nutrients. After a long session of closed-door cultivation, nothing restores a cultivator’s physical vigor faster than a hot stew cooked from the meat of a young beastman."
"Indeed," the Third Elder agreed, his eyes gleaming with dark pleasure. "And their mana cores... Ah, extracting them while they are still breathing provides the purest energy.
Refining those cores into our sect’s signature Spirit Augment Pills has allowed our elite Martial Master disciples to double their breakthrough rates this season.
Even the Lord Sect Leader personally commended our hard work during yesterday’s private assembly!"
The three elders shared a loud, casual laugh, discussing the horrific slaughter and cannibalism of thousands of sentient beings with the same carefree indifference one might use when discussing the slaughter of common farm cattle.
However, as the laughter died down, the Second Elder’s grin faded, replaced by a dark, cautious frown.
He tapped his finger lightly on the jade table.
"While the results are splendid, we must remain exceptionally vigilant," the Second Elder warned, his voice dropping to a low, cold tone.
"We cannot forget who rules this quadrant of the continent."
The room grew quiet.
The names of the upper hierarchy carried an undeniable weight.
"The Myriad Heaven Sect..." the Fourth Elder muttered, his throat visibly tightening.
"Precisely," the Second Elder nodded solemnly. "We are merely a subordinate, minor sect under the massive umbrella of the Myriad Heavenly Sect.
They are an ancient, terrifying super-faction ruled by Martial Emperors and Demigods. On the surface, they strictly enforce the traditional code of righteous cultivation.
If those old monsters ever find out that our Glorious Mythical Sect is actively consuming beastman flesh and harvesting living mana cores right under their noses... they will erase our entire mountain range from the map within an hour to protect their pristine reputation."
The Third Elder sneered slightly, though a faint cold sweat broke out across his forehead. "We have kept everything sealed.
No beastman leaves our valleys alive, and the disciples are bound by soul-oaths."
"It is not our disciples I am concerned about," the Second Elder countered, leaning forward with a dark, murderous glare.
"It is the loose ends outside our gates."
The Fourth Elder’s eyes flickered with understanding. "You mean... Mayor Kaelos?"
"The Mayor of Kaelos City has served us well, yes," the Second Elder admitted smoothly, taking another slow sip of his tea.
"He has filled our larders and captured thousands of beastmen without raising suspicions in the southern provinces.
But a mortal human with too many secrets is a liability we cannot afford to keep indefinitely."
A cold, cruel smile spread across the Second Elder’s face.
"Once this final grand shipment of a hundred beastmen is delivered and processed into pills, we will cut the line," the elder declared coldly.
"We will frame Mayor Kaelos for corruption, deploy an execution team, and butcher his entire household alongside every mercenary who participated in the hunts.
We will burn Kaelos City’s records to ash."
"A pity," the Third Elder chuckled, shaking his head with mock sympathy. "He was quite a useful dog. But erasing all traces of our operations is paramount."
"Indeed," the Fourth Elder agreed, raising his tea cup in a toast. "To absolute secrecy, and to the eternal prosperity of our Glorious Mythical Sect."
The three Martial Generals clinked their cups together, their arrogant laughter reverberating inside the grand, incense-filled temple.
They sat in their fortress of stone and gold, entirely unaware that far to the west.
A brutal storm was approaching.