Immortality Starts From Making Money.

"Who are you?" the woman asked in a low, sharp voice that sliced through the heavy silence like a blade.

Her eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion and disdain.

The man standing opposite her did not answer.

He simply stared—unblinking, unmoved, his face carved in stone.

Only the wind stirred, tossing the dust and debris between them like the opening act of an approaching storm.

The tension was suffocating.

All around them, hidden behind shattered walls and scorched trees, dozens of cultivators watched.

No one dared to move.

No one dared to speak.

The sheer pressure between the two figures was enough to rob them of breath.

Curiosity, confusion, and a mounting sense of dread tangled in their hearts like weeds choking a well.

Who was this man? they all thought, unable to tear their eyes away.

For him to stand before her—the Crimson Fan Deviless, infamous for her ruthlessness and formidable strength—he couldn't be ordinary.

No, this was no fool stepping into death. This man must be powerful… terrifyingly so.

Perhaps… he too was a Golden Core expert.

The man's lips finally parted, and in a voice as cold and steady as winter rain, he said only three words. And that was enough.

"Thousand Wealth Chamber."

The air shifted.

Gasps!

Dozens of onlookers inhaled sharply, disbelief rippling across the ruins like a dropped pebble on still water.

The Thousand Wealth Chamber!

They had expected retaliation, of course. No one attacked the Thousand Wealth Chamber and walked free.

But to send just one man?

What did it mean?

The woman's brow furrowed.

A faint scowl crept across her face, disrupting her earlier confidence. She had heard the tales—everyone had.

But unlike others, who trembled at whispers of the Chamber's shadowy reach, she felt something far different: contempt.

Not of the man. Of what he represented.

Pride curled her lips into a sneer.

"So," she said coolly, "you're the dog they sent."

Though her voice barely rose above a whisper, it echoed unnaturally loud across the battlefield—each word landing like a slap in the face of those who heard it.

Eyes widened in shock.

Was she insane?

This… this was sacrilege. No one, not even sect leaders, dared insult the Thousand Wealth Chamber so openly, let alone face-to-face.

And yet here she was, spitting venom directly at one of their supposed experts.

The man, however, remained still—his face as calm as ever, unaffected by her insult.

His poise was unnatural, unnerving. Like a blade resting in its sheath, quiet and waiting.

But the woman wasn't finished.

"You think I'll cower like the others?" she said, voice rising with contempt.

She clicked her tongue, the sound sharp and mocking. "I am not them. Don't delude yourself with your little titles and paper-thin fame."

She lifted her chin, her crimson robes fluttering in the rising breeze.

"If you truly wanted to intimidate me, you should have sent someone worthy. A mere Stage 1 Golden Core cultivator? Laughable."

Whispers stirred among the crowd.

"So… he really is Golden Core?"

"But she's stronger."

"She must be. Otherwise, why would she mock him so brazenly?"

"Do you think the Chamber had no stronger expert to send?"

"Foolish talk. You don't understand their ways. Keep quiet now before you say something you'll regret!"

Amid the low murmurs, the man finally spoke again, voice flat but edged with steel.

"Are you done?"

The woman blinked. His indifference caught her off-guard. No anger. No retort. Not even curiosity about her identity.

She frowned. At the very least, he should have asked who she was.

Still, she recovered quickly and scoffed. "I should be the one asking that," she replied.

"Your Chamber might hold sway in this backwater region, but your time is running out. My people are coming."

Shin!

A sharp, high-pitched sound rang out—then came light.

A sudden flash exploded across the battlefield, blindingly bright. Many watching instinctively shielded their eyes or turned away.

What was that?!

Even the woman squinted, her instincts flaring like a thousand alarm bells screaming in her bones.

Danger.

It poured off the man in waves.

But how? He was only a Stage 1 Golden Core cultivator!

His voice rang out, deep and unwavering.

"Dust Severing Slash."

The brightness intensified, burning into their eyes.

The earth beneath their feet vibrated as sword qi filled the air. It wasn't just bright—it was razor-sharp.

Those standing even at a safe distance felt their skin prickle, their spiritual shields tremble.

The pressure… was suffocating.

It wasn't aimed at them, yet they felt that if they moved, even slightly, they would be sliced clean in two.

Time froze.

In that moment, the woman's confidence shattered.

Gone was her previous arrogance. Her face twisted in terror as she recognized the power within the approaching strike. The speed. The precision.

The intent to kill.

She barely managed to unfold her fan and whispered in desperation—

"Mountain Butterfly Cicada!"

A brilliant cocoon of light enveloped her body, forming a shield of fluttering spirit butterflies.

A powerful mid-grade Earth defensive technique. One that had saved her countless times.

But not today.

Bang!

Rip!

The strike landed.

A sound like mountains splitting filled the battlefield, followed by a blood-curdling scream.

Ahhhhhhh!

The woman staggered backward, the protective light shattering like glass. Blood sprayed from a deep gash carved across her chest.

Her fan clattered to the ground, broken. Her crimson robes, once pristine, were torn and stained red.

She collapsed to one knee, gasping, her strength ebbing away. Her eyes stared at the man in horror.

How…?

The Mountain Butterfly Cicada was a technique she trusted with her life. It had never failed her.

Until now.

Not only was it broken—it had been torn apart like fragile silk. By a man supposedly weaker than her.

She shook her head slowly, disbelieving, blood dripping from her lips.

"What… are you?" she whispered, trembling.

And for the first time, the calm man took a step forward.

With a slow, deliberate step, the man closed the short distance between them. His every movement was like the ticking of a death clock—inevitable, unstoppable.

The woman's breath caught in her throat.

Her body trembled violently, not from the cold wind that blew through the ruins around them, but from the crushing threat radiating off the man like a silent storm.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a war drum, each thud louder than the last.

"I mustn't let him get any closer," she cried within her heart, panic drowning her thoughts.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself up on shaky legs and stumbled backward, each step a desperate retreat.

But the man remained unhurried. His eyes held no anger, only the calm certainty of someone delivering divine justice.

He finally spoke, voice low and even, yet each word landed with the weight of a mountain.

"You collided with the evil sects and brought danger to the people," he said.

"You sent men to poison the river—the very water everyone drinks. You dispatched your people to burn the properties of the Thousand Wealth Chamber."

"Today," he concluded, his voice now like a solemn bell tolling over a battlefield, "you shall be judged for your evil."

The crowd around them froze, silence falling like a veil.

His voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. Every syllable cuts through the air like a blade, leaving no room for doubt.

His words echoed with finality, like an imperial decree.

The spectators were stunned. Just moments ago, they had prepared themselves to witness a life-or-death duel between two powerful experts.

What they got instead was something far more chilling.

A single strike had decided the victor.

The moment he attacked, everything changed.

Now, they understood why the Thousand Wealth Chamber had sent only one man.

They hadn't dispatched a warrior, but a walking killing machine.

This man was a battalion by himself. An executioner.

And before him, the once-arrogant woman now looked like a frightened mortal—her former confidence shattered like glass.

"Hahaha!"

Suddenly, crazed laughter erupted, slicing through the heavy air.

Her body shook, but it wasn't with fear—it was fury.

"Who are you to judge me?" she roared, veins bulging on her forehead, her eyes wild and bloodshot. "Do you have any idea who I am?!"

Her voice cracked as she screamed, unable to contain the humiliation.

Never before had she been made to feel so helpless. She was the one who crushed others. She was the one who judged life and death.

Not this... no-name swordsman!

Even in the powerful Central Region, no one dared decide her fate.

She opened her mouth again, about to unleash the name of her terrifying backers, but—

Shiiinnng!

The man unsheathed his sword.

A flash of blinding light tore through the world, burning with raw sword qi. It wasn't just light—it was judgment incarnate.

Slaaash!

The very air split apart. Reality itself seemed to tear at the seams.

The spectators gasped, instinctively backing away.

Even from a distance, the sheer sharpness of the energy made their skin crawl.

The woman's expression turned to horror.

In that moment, she finally understood why the Thousand Wealth Chamber was so feared.

They didn't negotiate. They didn't care who you were.

They simply acted.

Panicked, she pulled a golden talisman from her spatial pouch and ripped it.

A radiant shield of light wrapped around her body, humming with defensive runes.

But her eyes held no confidence—only dread.

"I shouldn't have come... If I had known there was such a madman in this backwater place…"

Too late.

The sword strike crashed into her.

The shield cracked. Then shattered like glass.

CRAAACK!

She screamed—a soul-rending, primal sound—as she was blasted backward over a hundred meters, her body slamming into broken rubble.

Blood splattered everywhere.

A deep gash split her chest, ribs shattered like brittle twigs.

She gasped for air, but only blood bubbled from her lips. Her limbs twitched, powerless.

Her consciousness wavered, flickering like a dying flame.

'I… I still had a future…'

Creak…

Her ears barely registered the sound of approaching footsteps.

The man appeared in her fading vision, his expression impassive.

He looked down at her—cold, final.

"You have been judged," he said.

Then he turned… and walked away.