-“That won’t be necessary,” Vassily said, shaking his head with a
smile. “I don’t have much time left.”
Though he could not hear Jokovich, he was aware of what the latter said through his spiritual sense.
“I can no longer see nor hear. Leave me. Let me die here.”
Vassily sat quietly on the mound of soil he had excavated. Extending the reach of his spiritual sense,
he savored one final look at the world.
He had never looked at a chip of gravel or a blade of grass so acutely before.
In the mud beneath the ground were motionless insects that did not appear to have survived the winter,
but Vassily could feel the frailty of their pulse.
The great cultivator, famed throughout Epea, suddenly felt remorse. He regretted never taking the time
to appreciate anything in the world.
Though all he could see at that moment was clearer than his eyes ever could, it no longer had any
color.
“If I were a farmer like my father instead of a cultivator, I might be happier than I am now.”
Following the murmur, Vassily’s aura severed abruptly.
Seven beams of spiritual sense fell onto Vassily, searching for signs of life within him.
He no longer had a pulse. In the face of impending death, he did not struggle or lose control.
Instead, he had ended his life, choosing to leave on his own terms to preserve the final shred of dignity
befitting a legend.
Jokovich turned to the cultivator who spoke beside him.
“Mr. Vassily has lived under the surveillance of Western Army, has he not? Does he have any kin?”
“No,” the one-eyed cultivator answered with a frown. “According to our records, Mr. Vassily never
married, but he did have a brother who passed away a decade ago, leaving behind two nephews at
Karaja Castle.”
Jokovich waved lightly, and Vassily’s right arm rose.
The spiritual energy bound at the storage ring on his index finger slipped away, then floated toward the
one-eyed cultivator.
“This is Vassily’s final possession. Feel free to look at the treasures within, but please hand this ring
over to his nephews. This belongs to them.”
The one-eyed man clenched Vassily’s ring in his fist.
“You have our word. Western Army upholds honor, and we will make sure this gets to them intact.”
Jokovich did not say much else. He lifted Vassily slowly and placed him in the hole he had dug before
he died.
The six cultivators looked solemn. All of them placed their right hands on their left shoulders.
Renowned for being a nation of warriors, Remdik’s people held a legendary figure like Vassily in high
esteem, even if they did not agree with him.
Vassily’s body continued to disintegrate. On its journey down the pit, his skin began to excrete black
poison liquid.
Jokovich and the others raised the soil above and filled the crater so the old man could finally rest.
After they were done, Jokovich turned to regard the six behind him.
“Jonathan has escaped with an extrication technique that is beyond the range of my spiritual sense.
We have no means of determining the direction he is headed in. Judging by his tracks, however, he
most likely headed south. His purpose in coming to Ballachov was to leave by sneaking into an aircraft.
Since he is now aware of the Western Army’s restraining order, he will not hold on to any hope but will
instead return to Chanaea. The quickest way is to head south.”
After Jokovich spoke, he turned to leave.
Behind him, the one-eyed cultivator spoke up again.
“What is the meaning of this, Jokovich? Does Sanctuary not intend to pursue Jonathan anymore?”
Jokovich turned slowly around to regard the one-eyed cultivator.
“Have you rescued the fatty named Nicholas?”
The cultivators glared at Jokovich. Having intended to rescue Nicholas, they learned with their spiritual
sense that he had been crushed to death beneath the earth only after digging seventy meters deep.
Jokovich clearly intends to seek trouble by bringing it up.
“Kindly explain yourself, Jokovich,” said the one-eyed cultivator, taking a step toward Jokovich. “Are
you happy about the casualties Western Army suffered?”
“I mean to ask you,” Jokovich replied with a chuckle. “Did you three not notice Nicholas’ cause of
death?”
As Jokovich spoke, he pointed at the ground beneath his feet.
“Mr. Vassily met his end by Jonathan’s scheme, just like Nicholas did. There was no way Jonathan
would have survived when I joined forces with him. Now Vassily is dead. Do you think our cultivation
level is low, or is Jonathan lucky? I’m done trying to kill him. I don’t want to lose my life.”
Jokovich walked slowly past the one-eyed cultivator.
“I recommend all six of you work together. I have brought five others with me from Sanctuary, but I am
the only one who survived after meeting Jonathan for less than twenty minutes.”
The others were shocked.
Every country in the world was sensitive to matters pertaining to their sovereign borders.
Even a small nation would go to great lengths to establish its borders to defend its nation and intimidate
its neighbors.
However, there was an exception—the northern border with Merania.
The border between Merania and Remdik and the one between Merania and Chanaea were merely
symbolic.
If either of those two nations decided to invade, Merania would not stand a chance, even if it stationed
its entire military force at the border.
Merania would think twice before stepping across its borders as it did not dare offend either one of its
very strong neighbors.
However, Meranians were rather positive. As defending their borders served no purpose, they opted
instead to open their gates to let foreigners through for their convenience, all while collecting entrance
fees.
That was when they realized none of it was a problem. Sandwiched between Chanaea to the south and
Remdik to the north, Merania became the only country in the world of its kind.
In fact, the primary duty of the troops at the border was to collect entrance fees. In this manner, their
nation’s borders had been turned into a toll station.
One day, a figure whose steps were rather unstable appeared before the sentries at the border
between Merania and Remdik.
Unlike the tourists who reached there by bus, she arrived, with a haversack on her back, one step at a
time.
The frighteningly emaciated figure was none other than Ksana, who had led Charleigh in their escape.
Ksana heaved a heavy sigh at the sight of the gate ahead.
With a flip of her palm, she produced the communication device Jonathan gave her and brought it up to
her lips.
“This is Ksana. Charleigh lives. We have arrived at Merania.”
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