Cultivation Nerd

Cloaked in the darkness of night, the figure approaching the graveyard cast an unusual silhouette. He wore a finely tailored dark gray robe, its fabric catching the faintest glimmer of moonlight. His pristine white gloves seemed oddly out of place for someone engaged in such macabre work.

For a grave robber, he looked almost refined—too polished for the task at hand. Yet, the large, square coffin strapped to his back, nearly as big as he was, revealed his true nature. It was a telltale mark of the Silent Harvest Sect, or at least, the false goddess had said so.

I was suppressing my Qi but couldn’t hide my presence completely. Still, the grave robber either wasn’t paying attention, was acting like he couldn’t sense it, or had terrible Qi sensing. My money was on the last option. Nonetheless, I remained cautious in case he was pretending.

The man carefully lowered the coffin beside a freshly made grave, its polished wood gleaming under the pale moonlight. A loud, drawn-out creak sliced through the quiet night when he unlatched the lid, causing him to wince. His head snapped up, and his eyes scanned the darkness with tense urgency.

After a long, silent moment, he let out a sigh of relief. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he returned to his task. The eerie stillness of the graveyard was once again his only companion.

He reached into the coffin and pulled out a shovel, its metal glinting under the moon’s light. He began digging into the soft soil with practiced precision, each scoop adding rhythmically to the growing pile. I stood silently, watching as he worked, completely unaware of my presence.

Gradually, I loosened my hold on my Qi, letting it ripple into the night like a rising tide. At first, it was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone but the most attuned, like Song Song. But as I released more, the air thickened with it, my presence unmistakable even to the most untrained senses.

Then, I unleashed a sharp pulse of Qi, a brief but powerful flare that no Cultivator could ignore. It radiated out into the night like a beacon. Yet, to my surprise, the grave robber remained unfazed. He continued shoveling, his movements steady and unhurried, showing no sign of noticing the energy saturating the air around him.

I frowned. Either the guy was a great actor or a terrible cultivator. By this point, the odds of him pretending seemed slim.

I stepped out from behind the tree, moving deliberately and silently, my eyes never leaving him. Still, he remained focused on his task, oblivious to my presence. Time passed, and beads of sweat formed on his brow. His once-clean gloves were now caked with dirt, and frustration began to creep into his posture. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he muttered curses under his breath.

"Fuck, did they have to bury her so deep?"

I remained still, patiently waiting in the shadow of the night, letting him tire himself out further. His irritation grew with each heaving shovel of dirt thrown aside with increasing force.

As the mound of soil beside the grave swelled, I moved closer, closing the distance in silence until I was just five steps behind him. From this vantage point, I could see him more clearly. His dark, well-tailored robe clung to a lean frame, and under the pale moonlight, his features became distinct. He appeared middle-aged, his face lined with subtle traces of experience, though his movements remained sharp and deliberate. Graying hair peeked from beneath the black dye he used on his head.

I wasn't always confident in judging a cultivator's age—some aged slowly, after all—but as I spread my senses, I detected barely any Qi in his body. His physical condition matched that of a middle-aged laborer, someone who had spent a lifetime in hard, manual work. His body was riddled with minor spinal injuries—it seemed that long nights of digging weren't kind to the back.

I casually placed my hand on his sweaty head. His body jerked in surprise, but by then it was too late. His muscles tensed beneath my grip in a futile reaction; any plan he had quickly rendered useless.

I used my Qi to dampen the mental signals he was sending out. Given how little Qi he possessed, there was no resistance. His physical exhaustion only added to the mental toll, and he succumbed without a fight. In hindsight, this might have been an overly cautious move on my part.

Despite my limited mastery over the Sky Grade Technique, Eight Mind Phantoms, I had improved over the past three months on the road. Though amateurish at best, I had refined the technique to the point where I could disrupt the mental signals a conscious mind naturally sends by touching someone's head. It placed the victim in a dazed, almost hypnotic state. For now, it was relatively easy to resist using Qi—I had to be cautious about who I used it.

I wasn't yet at the level where I could trap someone within their own mind, but I'd tested it on animals along the way, and it seemed to work just as well on humans. Hopefully, he wouldn't end up brain-dead.

Now that I was closer, I had a clearer view of the coffin he had left open.

Inside lay a corpse, its skin pale and stretched tight over the bones, a macabre contrast to the almost serene expression on its face. The body's eyes were closed, and its hands were folded across its chest in a traditional burial pose. However, it was difficult to discern whether the body had once belonged to a man or a woman. The head was entirely bald, and time had ravaged much of the corpse, leaving it shrunken and decayed, with the appearance of a withered, almost zombified figure.

It also reeked of decomposing death. Which left a gross taste on the back of my throat.

I could sense some lingering Qi in the corpse, though it was far less than expected. Had the grave robber been in a recent fight, expending all the Qi he had stored in the cadaver?

“Do you belong to the Silent Harvest Sect?” I asked, crouching next to the coffin as I inspected the corpse. Even the Qi couldn’t stop the decay from setting in.

“Yes, I joined the Silent Harvest Sect when I was six. My mother abandoned me after I was born, the result of a bandit’s rape,” he replied, his words slightly mumbled but still understandable. “My master saw potential in me, and I joined the Sect. Even the Sect Leader took an interest, treating and training me like I was his own son.”

He continued talking in his dazed state, revealing more of his life story. It had started tragically, but things turned out relatively okay for him. Apparently, he was here on behalf of his disciple, procuring a corpse for her.

“How many disciples does your Sect have?” I asked, interrupting his rambling.

“I don’t know the exact numbers, but it’s around five hundred. We used to have more, but the beast waves killed many of us. Some of our members are researching how to use monstrous beast corpses as companions instead of human ones. It takes twenty of us to bring down a Qi Gathering monstrous beast; even then, there are usually casualties. Monstrous beasts are too powerful,” he said.

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At least it seemed like our cultivation stages aligned name-wise, based on how he described them.

I stood up, meeting his hazy gaze. He still seemed out of it, though a faint frown had formed on his face.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I asked.

“No,” he answered immediately. “The Sect Leader forbids it. If a human dies holding resentment against us, their corpse will attack us as soon as we revive it. The Sect Leader also warns us not to be discovered. If people knew what we were doing, they would hate us. That would make finding corpses difficult, and anything we raise would likely turn against us.”

Huh. That was interesting. The technique had some severe drawbacks.

Given their corpse-stealing habits, I had assumed they were evil. Sure, their reasons for avoiding killing were pragmatic and calculated, but ironically, this was the closest I’d come to encountering a righteous Sect in these lands.

Even the most upright Sects didn’t punish their students for killing a mortal or two—it wasn’t worth their attention. But these guys had to avoid making enemies, or their entire operation would fall apart.

They might have passed for a righteous organization if it weren’t for the whole grave-robbing thing.

“How strong is your Sect Leader?”

“Our previous Sect Leader died in the last beast wave. His brother leads us now, using the corpse of the dead Sect Leader. In a way, he’s still protecting us, even in death,” the man said. “The current Sect Leader is strong enough to defeat a Qi Gathering beast on his own.”

“How do you cultivate?”

He began explaining their cultivation process, which seemed more instinctual than formal methods. Only those with a natural talent for sensing Qi could practice it effectively. It was a shame that all that potential was being squandered on a mediocre corpse manipulation technique.

"Where is your Silent Harvest Sect?" I asked.

This time, his answer was more concrete, though surprisingly so.

With that information in hand, I wondered what to do with him. My initial plan had been to kill him, but he wasn't hurting anyone. He hadn't seen my face, and though he might not remember much of our conversation, the memory wouldn't be erased entirely.

Theoretically, the Eight Mind Phantoms Technique could lock someone's mind—so it should be able to block specific memories, too. But attempting something like that was risky. I could end up causing significant brain damage. I hadn't tested it before, and there was a chance I might accidentally lock core parts of his mind, like the instinct to breathe.

Grave robbing was bad, but at least the Sect was killing monstrous beasts in the area. They were putting the corpses to good use, or so they claimed.

Of course, it was easy for me to say that, considering none of my loved ones' bodies were being desecrated.

No matter how I viewed it, trying to intervene based on my emotions would only create a greater problem. Even if I tried to mediate between the Silent Harvest Sect and the people, no sane farmer would willingly donate their dead.

The best course of action was not getting involved.

I just had to quench my curiosity and move on. This was a moral gray area, and when emotions got involved, things could get messy. It was better to think things through logically.

Sighing, I wrapped my arms around the man's neck in a chokehold and began counting. His physique had been rather average, so a chokehold should work just as well on him as anyone else.

After about ten seconds, his body went limp. I held him for another five seconds, just to be sure, then gently let him go.

Laying him down next to the grave, I used the Dancing Jade Armor technique to create a translucent green wall, pushing the earth he had dug back into the grave.

Next, I used the jade armor to form two large arms, lifting the coffin, the shovel, and the man's unconscious body. I carried them into the forest and gently laid him down beside the closed coffin and shovel.

"Sorry, but I need you to stay unconscious for a bit," I murmured.

I pulled out a black robe from my storage ring and put it on. I tousled my hair and hunched my back, suppressing the natural Qi that emanated from my body.

With five hundred members, I doubted the Silent Harvest Sect kept a detailed registry. Sometimes, disciples just appeared.

I moved through the valley, heading east as the grave robber had directed me, and soon enough, I came upon the abandoned village. The sturdier and more well-built stone houses than those in the previous villages I'd passed stood in eerie silence.

It didn't take long to notice the signs of destruction. A beast wave had clearly torn through the area. Deep claw marks marred the stone walls, gouging out large chunks and leaving jagged scars as evidence of the chaos. The remnants of the village were hauntingly still, save for the occasional scurrying of mice darting between broken stones and debris. The air hung thick with the weight of something left behind as if the village's final moments still lingered.

The strangest thing about the village wasn’t the claw marks or the dilapidated stone houses—it was the eerie absence of corpses.

As I walked through the deserted streets, there wasn’t a single bone, no trace of the villagers who should have perished in the destruction. The village had clearly been ravaged, and it stood to reason that lives had been lost. Yet, the complete lack of bodies was unnerving. Monstrous beasts wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to destroy the place without humans to hunt. Without prey, they wouldn’t have bothered leaving violent scars on the stone or tearing through the village recklessly.

Something—or someone—had taken great care to remove all bodies after the devastation.

Despite the destruction, I continued down the stony streets, noting how well-preserved they were. As I reached the southernmost part of the village, one particular house stood out. By the entrance was a statue, partially hidden in the shadow of the crumbling structure.

The statue depicted a goddess, her naked body cloaked only by a drape over her head, concealing her face in shadow. Her pose exuded grace, though time had not been kind to her. The stone had eroded, smoothing out what must have once been intricate carvings. Most of the finer details had been lost to the elements, leaving behind a haunting, faceless figure. Something about her felt out of place.

I stepped inside the house, and immediately the air grew heavier. The interior was a stark contrast to the weathered exterior. The walls were adorned with carvings, each one depicting voluptuous men and women locked in intimate, obscene acts. The artistry was crude but deliberate as if the creator had sought to immortalize these scenes in all their vulgarity. The atmosphere was thick with an unsettling aura, as though the walls whispered of long-forgotten indulgences and dark desires, their presence inescapable and claustrophobic.

The many intricately carved dongs on the walls didn’t help ease my discomfort. The detail was so vivid it felt like they might come to life any moment.

I moved past the grotesque carvings, navigating the narrow hallways, and eventually found myself in the backyard. Oddly, the house’s interior was not covered in cobwebs or dust—it seemed almost well-maintained. The backyard, however, was a different story.

Nature had reclaimed the space, with weeds and overgrown grass spilling over the stone pathways, creating an untamed jungle of green. In the center of the yard stood a striking statue of a large naked man crouched low as if offering me his hand. The craftsmanship was startlingly meticulous, with every detail—right down to the muscles and private parts—rendered with precision. The statue exuded strength and vulnerability, its posture inviting yet unnerving, especially against the wild backdrop of the wild yard and the meticulously crafted male appendage.

“What kind of pervert made this place?” I muttered under my breath.

I didn’t linger long. Grabbing the hand of the statue, I twisted it. A soft clicking echoed, and the ground trembled as the sound of grinding stone filled the yard.

A square, car-sized opening appeared beside the statue, revealing a dark staircase descending into the earth.

The Silent Harvest Sect... I sighed.

The things I do for knowledge…

With that, I stepped onto the darkened stairs.

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