Idle Money System

Shanks, hearing this, did not back down. He responded with a cold look.

"I meant every word I say. You cultivators are no different than us Warriors. Why don't you prove if my judgment is wrong?"

"Ohh," the man said as he stepped one foot and vanished on the spot like air.

Shanks barely blinked before the man vanished from sight. His instincts kicked in, and he sidestepped just as a fist sliced through the air where his head had been a moment ago.

The force of the blow created a gust of wind that sent dust scattering across the warehouse floor. Discover exclusive content at empire

"Fast," Shanks muttered, already on high alert.

Before he could fully process the attack, the man reappeared, this time delivering a sharp kick to Shanks' ribs.

The blow sent him skidding across the floor, crashing into a stack of crates that toppled over him.

Shanks coughed, clutching his side as he pushed himself back to his feet.

The man stood casually, hands back in his pockets, a faint smirk on his face.

"You're slower than I expected," he said, his voice calm, almost mocking.

Shanks steadied his breath, his aura flaring as he prepared himself. He rushed forward with incredible speed, his fists glowing faintly as he unleashed a series of rapid punches.

"Steel Tiger Strike!" he roared, his strikes aimed at the man's vital points.

But the cultivator moved like water, effortlessly dodging each blow with minimal effort. His movements were so fluid and precise that it felt as though he was toying with Shanks.

As Shanks threw a powerful right hook, the man caught it mid-air, gripping his fist tightly.

"Predictable," the man said with a sigh before twisting Shanks' arm and delivering a crushing knee to his stomach.

The force of the impact made Shanks doubled over, the air leaving his lungs as he stumbled backward.

But he didn't fall. Instead, he planted his feet firmly, his face twisting in pain but his determination unshaken.

"You're tough, I'll give you that," the man said, still looking relaxed.

"But toughness alone doesn't close the gap between a warrior and a cultivator."

Shanks wiped the blood from his lips and took a deep breath. He lunged again, this time feinting a punch before spinning into a powerful sidekick. The blow connected, landing squarely on the man's chest.

But the man didn't budge.

"You call that power?" he mocked, grabbing Shanks' leg before twisting it and tossing him across the room like a ragdoll.

Shanks crashed into the concrete wall, as a spiderwebbing crack formed from the impact.

The cultivator didn't wait, appearing in front of Shanks before he could recover. He drove an elbow into Shanks' shoulder, followed by a backhanded strike that sent him sprawling across the floor.

Shanks groaned as he tried to get up, his body battered and bruised. The pain was overwhelming, but he refused to let it break him. He forced himself to his feet again, his stance shaky but defiant.

"Still standing? Impressive," the man said, dusting off his tunic. "But you're wasting my time."

With that, the man's aura surged, and he vanished once more. Shanks barely had time to react as the cultivator appeared behind him, striking the back of his knee and forcing him to kneel.

"Tiger Fist" Shanks roared, spinning into a desperate counterattack, his fists glowing as he unleashed a barrage of strikes.

The sheer force of his technique cracked the ground beneath them, sending shockwaves through the air.

But the cultivator was unfazed. He deflected each strike with ease, his movements a blur.

"Too slow," he said coldly, driving his palm into Shanks' chest with enough force to send him flying backward.

Shanks hit the ground hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop. His body was battered, his breathing ragged, but his eyes still burned with determination.

The cultivator stood over him, his expression one of mild disappointment. "Is this the best you can do? I expected more from someone who claims warriors are equal to cultivators."

Shanks clenched his fists, his battered body trembling as he tried to push himself up once more. Blood dripped from his mouth, but he refused to back down.

"You're strong," Shanks admitted, his voice hoarse. "But this fight isn't over yet."

The cultivator's smirk returned. "Bold words from someone lying in the ground."

The battlefield fell silent for a moment, the air heavy with tension. Shanks' body ached, but his resolve remained unbroken. The fight wasn't over—he would make sure of that.

Shanks forced himself to his feet, his body trembling under the strain of his injuries. Blood trickled down his forehead, and his breaths came in ragged gasps, but his resolve remained unshaken.

"This isn't over," Shanks muttered, his voice low but resolute.

The cultivator tilted his head, hands still tucked casually into his pockets. "Still standing? I have to give you credit, warrior—you've got guts. But guts alone won't save you."

Shanks closed his eyes, his aura beginning to shift. His breathing slowed as he focused, pulling every ounce of energy from the depths of his being.

Suddenly, his body erupted with a fiery aura, golden and fierce, surging around him like a blazing inferno.

The ground beneath him cracked and trembled under the force of his power. His muscles swelled slightly, veins bulging as his strength tripled instantly.

"Ten minutes," Shanks whispered to himself. "That's all I've got."

The cultivator raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh? Finally, getting serious are we? Let's see what this little trick of yours can do."

With a roar, Shanks launched forward, moving faster than ever before. His fist slammed into the cultivator's guard with such force that it created a shockwave, sending debris flying in all directions.

The cultivator staggered slightly, his smirk faltering for the first time.

Shanks didn't give him a chance to recover. He unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes—punches, kicks, elbows—all with the force of a raging tiger.

Each blow cracked the air, and the cultivator was forced to dodge and block with precision, his movements no longer as casual as before.

"Steel Tiger Barrage!" Shanks roared, his fists glowing brightly as he delivered a flurry of powerful punches.

The cultivator finally looked annoyed, his movements still fluid but noticeably faster as he began countering Shanks' attacks.

"Not bad," he said, deflecting a devastating hook. "But still not enough."

With a sharp twist, the cultivator grabbed Shanks' wrist mid-strike and yanked him forward, delivering a crushing knee to his abdomen. Shanks grunted in pain but didn't back down.

He spun out of the hold, using the momentum to deliver a spinning kick that grazed the cultivator's jaw.

The impact sent the cultivator sliding back a few feet, his expression shifting to mild irritation.

"You're starting to get on my nerves, I'll give you that as a compliment," the cultivator admitted, brushing his cheek.

Shanks didn't respond. He charged again, his movements wild but powerful, each attack pushing the cultivator further back. For a moment, it seemed like the gap between them was closing.

But just as Shanks threw another powerful punch, the cultivator sidestepped effortlessly. He grabbed Shanks' arm and twisted it behind his back, slamming him face-first into the ground.

The golden aura around Shanks flickered slightly as he struggled to break free.

"You're running out of time, aren't you?" the cultivator said mockingly, pressing his foot onto Shanks' back.

With a roar of defiance, Shanks exploded upward, knocking the cultivator off balance. He turned and delivered an upward punch, his knuckles glowing with raw energy.

The cultivator blocked it with one hand, though the force sent him skidding back. He looked at Shanks with a mixture of amusement and boredom.

"Is that really all you've got?" he said, shaking his head.

Shanks' time was running out. He knew it. His golden aura was already beginning to fade, and his body felt heavier with every second.

But he refused to stop. He charged again, pushing himself beyond his limits, delivering a final series of attacks with everything he had left.

The cultivator, however, didn't even get fazed anymore. He dodged and countered with ease, treating Shanks' power-up as little more than a distraction.

As Shanks threw one last desperate punch, the cultivator caught it mid-air, his grip like iron.

"Enough," the cultivator said coldly.

With a single motion, he drove his fist into Shanks' chest, the impact sending him flying backward.

Shanks crashed into the ground, rolling violently until he came to a stop at Benjamin and Valentine's feet.

His golden aura disappeared entirely, and his body lay motionless, bruised and battered.

Valentine gasped, rushing to his side. "Uncle Shanks!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. As she carried him to sit up on the ground.

Benjamin knelt beside him; his expression was grim. "You gave everything you had," he said quietly, his fists clenching.

The cultivator stood in the distance, his hands back in his pockets, his expression calm and unbothered.

"This is the difference between a cultivator and a warrior," he said, his voice echoing through the battlefield.

Shanks' breathing was faint, his body completely spent. But even in his beaten state, his eyes opened slightly, filled with vitality. He had lost, but his will remained unbroken.