Guangxuan Realm.

Eastern Domain.

Yaoguang Holy Land.

“Our ties are cut. From today on, our engagement is void.”

“If you agree, take this bag of spirit stones and leave the Holy Land.”

“If you run into trouble later, considering our families’ past bond, I might help you once.”

In the small servant’s yard, a woman in a black robe, her beauty striking like a fallen immortal, extended her jade-white hand and dropped a storage pouch in front of Ethan Mitchell.

Her starry eyes held a chill, the faint scent on her body brushing against his face, snapping him out of his daze.

What’s the deal here?

He just crossed over, hadn’t even touched the warm meal fate handed him, and now it’s all gone?

Talk about rotten luck.

Ethan tried to hold on, his voice uncertain. “Is there really no chance for us?”

“I’m the Holy Maiden now. You’re a disciple with first-grade spiritual roots—a mere servant. We live in completely different worlds. To put it bluntly…”

“There isn’t.”

Isabella Rivers cut him off without hesitation.

Ethan sighed. So much for ascending with someone else’s help, living the easy road to immortality.

Guess he’d have to struggle on his own.

He patted his waist. Well, his talent might suck, but he still had his trump card. With the Treasure Refining Furnace, he wasn’t totally hopeless. Maybe, just maybe, he had a real shot.

“Alright, fine. I accept.”

“But I’m not leaving the Holy Land.”

“So, uh, do I still get the spirit stones?”

His eyes flickered, the question mild, but his hand was already reaching for the pouch.

Isabella frowned, withdrew her hand, and asked coldly, “Why?”

Ethan’s hand grasped nothing but air. He forced a laugh. “Can’t a guy chase immortality too?”

“First-grade spirit root?”

“So what?”

She paused. “Ten days from now, there will be a servant assessment. The lowest-ranked will be expelled. You won’t make it.”

Ethan froze. “Since when did they start kicking out servants?”

“I’ll be suggesting it to my master.”

“And about whatever happened between us… I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“If I hear you’ve been using my name for anything…”

“Don’t blame me for what happens next.”

“Take care of yourself.”

With that, she turned and walked off.

Ethan stood there, dumbstruck.

What the hell was that?

All that fuss over cutting ties with him?

She even threw in a warning like he’d try to ride her coattails?

Ethan laughed in frustration. “Unbelievable. The way the old me doted on you, following you around like a fool… and in your eyes, I’m just some scum?”

“Fine. Just you wait, Isabella Rivers. One day, in front of everyone in the Holy Land, I’ll cast you aside myself.”Ethan Mitchell slammed the door shut and gritted his teeth as he made his way to the waste pill chamber halfway up the mountain.

As the name suggested, the chamber was where all failed pills were discarded. The Holy Land’s unusable pills ended up here to be burned by underground flame arrays. It was the roughest job on the Outer Peak—suffocating heat, choking stench, and not another soul to talk to. Just endless silence.

He took out a key and stepped into the hall. A blast of heat hit him in the face. Flames surged high, painting everything in crimson. It was like walking into a furnace.

“Ethan.”

A round-bellied man with a greasy mustache strolled in.

“Nathaniel Shaw?” Ethan was a bit surprised. “Didn’t expect you here today.”

Nathaniel Shaw, the outer sect’s steward in charge of servants, better known by his nickname—Skinner Shaw.

Expert at squeezing favors out of people.

“New order from above,” Shaw said while fanning himself. “Ten days from now, servant exam. The weakest gets kicked out. Better do what you can to not be that guy.”

He patted Ethan’s shoulder with a meaningful look. “Hey, I know you gave me a hundred silver when you came in. Don’t worry, I ain’t holding grudges. Between the bottom two, I’m rooting for you.”

Ethan gave a dry laugh in his head. That’s because the other guy only handed over fifty silver. Three months back, when servant duties were assigned, they did a strength test first. Ethan came in dead last and got shoved into this hellhole.

Still, giving up a hundred silver wasn’t the worst move. That poor bastard just gave fifty and ended up digging ore with mortals in the mines. Now that was hell.

“Alright then, good luck. This sauna’s no place for a man.” Shaw wiped his sweat with his sleeve, belly jiggling as he waddled off.

Ethan watched him go in silence.

With a shake of his head, he shut the door behind him and sat down near a pile of scorched pill ash. Next to him was the pill-burning pit, ringed with fire-starting arrays. Now and then a snake-like flame wriggled up from the depths below. Servants who stayed in this place too long all ended up with fire poisoning after a few years.

And once it got in, it burned you from the inside out.

Of course, if you managed to reach Foundation Establishment, your protective spiritual energy could block it.

But Ethan had the worst of the worst—First-Grade Five Element Root. That made him the slowest cultivator you could possibly imagine in this world.

Compared to someone like Isabella Rivers with a Ninth-Grade Ice Root?

Yeah. A total joke."The moment she turned around, the trial was set. When a woman’s heart turns cold, she doesn’t flinch.”

Ethan Mitchell shook his head slightly, couldn’t help but admire that kind of cruelty. If it were him, he couldn’t do it.

Back then, without the Mitchells backing them up, the Rivers family would've been wiped out. What glory would they have now?

“Forget it.”

With a low sigh, he didn’t bother thinking too much. What mattered now was surviving the upcoming trial.

Reaching into his storage pouch, a wisp of weak spiritual energy from his first-stage Qi Refining flowed in. He pulled out a small bronze censer, no bigger than a hand.

Covered in rust, it looked like junk picked up from a pile of scrap.

Aged, plain at first glance, but far from ordinary.

This thing was the reason Ethan’s soul crossed into this world—it came from a street stall back on Earth. So needless to say, this was no common item.

Two faint characters, “Treasure Forge,” were engraved on the lid.

He didn’t know what it was at first. But last night, after a drop of blood to recognize ownership, it all became clear.

“Activate Treasure Forge,” Ethan ordered silently.

A mechanical voice grew in his mind.

“Treasure Forge activated. Energy low. Demonic core required. Energy low. Demonic core required…”

“Tch… That's some serious sci-fi flavor. Guess I’m doing tech-cultivation now,” Ethan smirked, lips curling.

Whoever built this thing had to be a monster of a cultivator. No idea who did it, but this artifact—definitely overpowered.

Its ability? To be precise: "Particle pulse disintegration and energy reconversion for structural rebuild."

In simple words: “Turns trash into treasure.”

Just toss in a demonic core, and it’ll refine bad pills into good ones. One core from a first-level beast could upgrade a full furnace of useless first-grade pills into real, usable ones.

Demonic beasts were split into Mortal and Spirit ranks. Mortal went from level one to twelve, matching each layer of Qi Refining. Pills too had nine grades, tied to the nine great cultivation stages: Qi Refining, Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul, Soul Transformation, Spirit Severing, Integration, Tribulation Crossing, and Great Ascension.

So, with enough first-level beast cores, Ethan would have all the pills he needed for Qi Refining.

And if the Holy Land had anything in excess, it was trash pills.

“Cores… cores… I need a damn core…”

Eyes flashing with excitement, Ethan recalled that behind the Outer Disciple Peak was a rear courtyard where they raised a bunch of first-level Red Feather Chickens.

He didn’t have money for beast cores or the strength to hunt dangerous magical beasts, but he wasn’t about to sit and wait to be kicked out either.

Those birds were ugly, and Outer Disciples didn’t care for the taste. They just sucked up spiritual energy doing nothing. He figured, better to let him, a humble labor disciple, make better use of them.

Waste not, want not. All disciples of the Holy Land—what’s a chicken here or there?