The Blade of Earth - 1 (Patreon)

As a sword cultivator who was barely thirty years old, I had a simple perspective in life, as one happened to develop when they had been trained non-stop since childhood — except the few rare times I managed to slip away despite the punishment — just because I was fated with the Path of the Sword — with capital letters. 

I liked beautiful ladies, I didn’t enjoy fighting … and I hated when people pointed any kind of weapon at me. 

This was why I had mixed feelings as one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid my eyes upon pointed her sword at me, especially since her angry expression was making her even more beautiful. Too bad she was wearing a shapeless, loose robe rather than anything more form-fitting. 

Which was a pity, as, with the portal of light glowing behind her to alight her purple hair, she would have looked amazing in a skirt and blouse. 

I needed therapy. 

Too bad cultivation sects didn’t believe in such things. Admittedly, I only knew such a thing existed because of a few jokes. It wasn’t like the people who raised me believed in therapy anymore. 

“You’re lucky that young mistress had vouched for you, dog, or I would have cut you in pieces. But it’s a fitting fate for you to rot in this mortal world.” 

“I thought my mission was to guard the dimension in case of a demonic incursion, Protector Ashira,” I said as I stood up, not bothering to hide my sarcasm even as I patted my mismatched outfit. Was teasing her like this smart? 

Considering she was far stronger than me even at my best, certainly not. 

I was a mere inner disciple, and she was one of the Protectors of Heavenly Sword Sect, one of the rare martial cultivators of the Golden Core realm that was tasked to follow the orders of the council. Mocking her was a terrible idea even under the best of circumstances. Let alone now, the first day of my ‘mission’ — which was exile all but in name. 

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time my tongue put me in trouble.

I was lucky that my exile was a compromise, and she couldn’t punish me for a bit of teasing.  

Still, my sentiment about my tongue was shared by my escort, if her next move was any indicator. She raised her blade and pressed it against my throat. “Maybe I should cut your tongue. Imagine how good of a cultivator you would be if your tongue didn’t constantly put you in trouble.” 

That was a warning to stop talking. A good warning, even. Unfortunately, after the last few days I had, I was too frustrated to take that very reasonable advice. “It’s not like that’s the body part that puts me in the most trouble,” I said, only for her sword to dip into my midsection. 

“That would have been even easier to get rid of,” she said angrily. 

Another warning to stop talking. This time, an even better one. I should have stayed silent. I really did. “What would your young mistress say if you remove her favorite toy —” I quipped instead … one that was interrupted by a backhanded slap as I found myself flying backward.  

I hit against a wall … and shattered it, pain hitting me hard. Still, this was her holding back. If she used her full power, even without the seal, I would have ended up dead. 

Even for a genius, the difference between Foundation Establishment and Golden Core was no joke. 

I forced myself to stand up, which was hard. It had been a while since I had felt such intense pain, which was the inconvenience of being sealed. The seal had pushed my Foundation Establishment cultivation back to the Essence Gathering stage. 

One of the rules of the council, limiting the displays of powers in the mortal world. 

I took a deep breath, doing my best to ignore my anger. It was one of the skills I had to develop back when I was still an outer disciple, though my track record was spotty at best. For all the rules the sect had, the implicit rule had always been the dominion of the strong. They might not just come out and kill a young disciple for disrespect … but they had hundreds of methods to take revenge. 

Thanks to my tongue, I had experienced, and continued to experience, quite a bit of them. 

My exile came from another mistake … this time, not even my fault. I had joined a fun mission to destroy a void-caller base, and during the mission, I flirted with a beautiful but mysterious disciple I never met before. She responded, and we had some fun times together on the way back. 

Only when I returned to the sect, and one of my rivals gleefully announced to the sect that I had defiled the granddaughter of a council elder, I learned exactly why I was unfamiliar with her. 

I felt resentful … but also glad. I had heard that she had to threaten her grandparents to take the execution of the table. I still ended up with a mission that was even disdained by servant disciples, ending up effectively exiled, officially assigned to a secret mission that was directly assigned by the council, bypassing all the official channels.

My idiot rival who decided to reveal the event to the rest of the sect as a method to attack me wasn’t that lucky. Some cultivators, especially the sect-born ones — the pure ones, they called themselves — were stupid enough to shock me. 

How did he expect, I had no idea. 

“Maybe you should learn to keep your mouth, Blake. Or you might end up squashed under one of these metal carts. I heard it’s a common way to die,” she said as she threw a small linen bag at me. I caught it. My little care package.

“I wouldn’t do that and leave you bereft of the satisfaction of beheading me, Protector Ashira,” I said, unable to resist throwing one last quip. 

I had a problem. 

However, this time, it didn’t work as I intended. “I take that as a promise, disciple. See that you don’t,” she said, her big smile genuine as she clearly imagined doing exactly that. “When you get bored of living, just break the seal. I’ll happily make the trip through the void again just for the pleasure.” 

With that, she turned and left, leaving me alone with my exile, disguised as a mission. 

Yet, despite the pain and the frustration, I couldn’t help but smile even as I looked around. “Home sweet home,” I said as I examined my immediate surroundings. A dirty, abandoned alley that was already a mess before the Protector used me as a projectile weapon to shatter a wall, housing a smelly metal dumpster. 

Not the most pleasant locations. Probably an intentional slight, the greatest insult she could deliver without angering her young mistress. That, and deliberately leaving me alone without arranging any kind of safe house. 

A quick check showed that the linen bag only included a birth certificate and a driver’s license, and nothing else. No prearranged residence, no money, no contacts and addresses for emergencies. Just some official identity documents, and nothing more, showing they were petty enough to make my so-called mission as problematic as possible. 

Still, it didn’t matter. 

I was back on Earth. 

And, not just a random place, but Little Oak, a random town in the middle of America. 

My hometown, the place I hadn’t seen since I had been ‘recruited’ almost two decades ago, never to step back again due to the strict sect rules… 

“It’s good to be back,” I murmured as I stepped out of the alley. 

I had a lot of things to do … starting from eating the cheapest, the most disgusting burger, maybe even a milkshake. 

Despite everything, I was in a mood to celebrate. They might think that leaving me Earth, where the spiritual essence thin enough that it might not exist, with my cultivation partially sealed, was a punishment… 

For me, it was a holiday. 

First real holiday since I was twelve.