Chapter 50: Training Contract? -3

This was a truly inexplicable ability.
Yang Zicang watched as Mori pulled a banknote from his pocket.
This was something he had to carry with him at all times. The triangle-shaped light on his chest flickered, and white radiance rose from the Englishman’s hand. He then handed Yang Zicang the faintly glowing $1 bill.
[Life Bank: 1R]
[I can spend the extra 1R]
Truly an ability born of banking, wasn’t it.
“It seems I can also infuse chronology into it, but I can’t seem to pour in augmented ones.”
“Yes, but aside from me, the chronology you put in will suffer a ten percent loss. Be careful with the operation.”
Yang Zicang injected 10R of base chronology into it, and sure enough, only 9R showed on it.
“Aside from large-scale battlegrounds like tier-A intersections, my ability is pretty useless,” Morrie said with some disappointment.
While for places that produce very high chronology, this ability could prevent some people from getting into trouble due to accumulating too much chronology, such locations are actually very rare.
In every city, there are only a handful—perhaps two or three—teams capable of stabilizing a tier-A region.
“I think there’s more to your ability than that.”
“I’ve already given it much thought. Could probably use it as a currency exchange, but that kind of loss just isn’t something most people would be willing to accept.”
“Let’s run an experiment,” Yang Zicang said.
Morrie looked up at Yang Zicang, who had risen to his feet. He truly had no idea how this person could make his ability undergo such a strange change.
“What do you plan to do?”
“Just wait a moment and you’ll find out.”
As they say, you cannot speak of ice to a summer cicada, and the hatchetfly knows not the changing of seasons.
Short-lived beings cannot see the true face of the world, but what if they suddenly gain a long life.
Yang Zicang, catching two small cicadas, injected more of his own flow of time into the “1 USD” bill and placed it on the two grabbed cicadas.
Then, the two people whose shoulders were grabbed by Yang Zicang vanished on the spot, traveling to six months later.
The cold wind swept across the sky.
The two small cicadas saw the snowflakes.
They might be the only cicadas in the universe to have ever seen snowflakes, but unfortunately, the obedient ones resting in the palm didn’t understand what this meant.
On the windy hilltop, Mo Li felt a bit cold and hugged his arms as he looked up at Yang Zicang: “Extending the life of cicadas… are you going to use time flow on those primitive people?”
Other than that, he couldn’t figure out the point of Yang Zicang’s actions.
Is it because he’s afraid their lifespans are too short to master the secret techniques well?
“Yes, but I have a second experiment, though it’s no longer related to these books.”
Yang Zicang revealed a mysterious smile.
…….
On the ground, the Temple’s rule over this ancient land had penetrated deeply into the bone marrow, saturating every corner.
Due to the disaster that arrives every sixty years, their authority stands above all tribal chiefs and town lords.
The leader who guided this group of warriors also became the world’s undisputed uncrowned king.
……
On a stormy night, a young boy knelt at the threshold of his family’s thatched mud hut, watching helplessly as his mother and sister were taken away by the Temple Group.
They were taken away as gifts, delivered to the hands of those so-called “warriors.”
“Why… why can such evil people exist?”
The boy’s heart was filled with confusion and anger, and he collapsed to the ground in tears. From that day on, he never saw his two loved ones again.
A year later, it was a day of fair skies and gentle breezes: the weather was fine and the wind was gentle, with wisps of clouds drifting across the sky, and the air was thick with the scorching scent of green grass.
Yang Zicang gathered the flow of time around his chest into his necklace, adjusting his age accordingly. He appeared outside the city disguised as a middle-aged man in linen clothes. But even so, he could still be spotted as different at a glance among the crowd.
“Hairy-less, which tribe are you from?”
A brawny, bare-shouldered man saw that Yang Zicang had an odd appearance, especially the necklace on his chest, which emitted a phantom-like red glow immersed in gold—clearly a treasure. So he rose from the straw hut at the city gate and blocked his path to question him.
“And you are?”
“I am a captain of the Temple Group, Achina.”
Yang Zicang glanced at this group of people outside the city gates. The last time he was here, there were no such positions. It seemed a preliminary guarding force for the city had already developed.
“I know martial arts. I have come this time to take on disciples.”
“Hahaha.”
Before Aqina could speak, the young men beside him burst into laughter at Yang Zicang’s unathletic build.
Curious townspeople passing by stopped to watch.
Aqina raised his hand to signal his subordinates to be silent. “Do you know what this place is?”
“It is the location of the Holy Temple.”
“And you dare to talk about taking disciples here? Haven’t you seen those demons? Can you defeat them? Coming to the Holy Temple to recruit disciples, hah—who are you trying to insult?”
Aqina reached out and picked up a strange long blade, pitted with scale-like marks, leaning against the wooden table.
“Do you know what this is?”
Seeing more people gather around, Yang Zicang thought, it seems the planned promotional phase could start early.
He ignored Aqina’s question. To himself, it took only one acceleration of time for these people to become a heap of bones rotting underground—no value in arguing with them.
Yang Zicang turned around to face the watching crowd and declared loudly:
“In one day, I will be here to teach martial arts to physically strong, energetic, literate young people. Those who meet the standards will receive gifts I grant.”
“You dare to defy the Holy Temple!”
The ignored Aqina, enraged, swung his blade without hesitation at Yang Zicang.
Thwack!
Amid a chorus of gasps, the long blade, carrying fierce blade qi, slashed from Yang Zicang’s right shoulder down to his lower left.
Feeling the resistance as his blade sliced through the person before him, cleaving half the man’s clothing apart, Aqina snorted with a laugh. He had even thought this fellow possessed some unique aura just moments ago; it turned out he was nothing but a pretentious fraud.
“A fool who can’t even parry dares to claim he’ll take disciples.”
The moment these words left his mouth, YangZicang turned his head and stared coldly at the man.
“It’s been years since I last came here, and now the malice has grown so thick.”
“What… you, you!”
Aqina’s eyes widened as he pointed a trembling finger at him.
The wound on this person’s body, which should have been split in two, was actually rapidly healing!
“Demon! You’re a demon!”
The surrounding onlookers scattered immediately, some reverting to a primal ape-like nature, yelping loudly as they fled quickly on all fours.
With a clatter, five men by the entrance raised ordinary spears and bows and attacked.
Aqina swung his strange longsword with immense force. Though the weapon wasn’t too heavy, the powerful swings of his arms produced a deep, humming thud as if it could smash rocks apart.
It was also due to the artifact—a spiritual weapon utterly indestructible—otherwise, normal swords in the hands of this brutish man would have snapped and broken within a few strikes.
The longsword relentlessly chopped at the middle-aged YangZicang, yet soon each strike slowed down with growing difficulty.
Acina finally broke down, staring at the man across from him who stood motionless, like a wooden statue.
“Demon! Devil!”
He shouted, dropping his weapon and fleeing.
Yang Zicang picked up the blade, casually twirling it in his hand in a simple flourish; the knife seemed reborn, emitting a fierce, whistling whistle.
[I’ve picked up another spiritual weapon.]
Hearing the model’s voice, he smiled, took the knife in hand, and walked back into the town.
Strangely enough, at least half of those who had fled returned, seemingly bringing even more people. Yang Zicang glanced back at them in confusion, prompting the crowd to recoil several steps in unison.
……
Though called a holy land, the town was actually not very large.
Before long, more holy temple warriors, armed with divine weapons, came running over. Some belonged to nearby tribes, their waists wrapped in animal hides; others wore beasts’ skulls as ornaments.
“Demon, put down the holy relic.”
“Who is your current chief?”
The assembled warriors exchanged glances. Acina rushed out from a side entrance and roared, “This demon defiles the holy temple! Everyone, attack together!”
“Oorah! Hoo-ha!”
The crowd roared and charged, wielding the sacred relics, as several strange long spears thrust toward Yang Zicang.
Boom!
A ferocious gust of wind burst outward, sending the three figures in front flying backward.
Yang Zicang clamped down with his arm, and the spears thrust at him were firmly lodged in the crook of his sturdy limb. He twisted his feet, spinning his body, and with a swoosh, the entire group fell to the ground.
The residents watching from behind let out a chorus of “whoas,” as excited as if they were witnessing a rare and thrilling spectacle.
Watching this, Aquina’s mind nearly short-circuited—these sacred artifacts had no effect on him!
An old man with orange-red animal skin bands around his head stepped forward, “How dare you strike the temple?! Lay down your hands and await capture!”
“You people aren’t even that old, yet you’ve mastered the art of labeling so skillfully. Surely this isn’t the only excuse you’ve got.”
“You! Fine, fine, fine. For living this long, your end has come! Just you wait!”
The old man turned and trotted off briskly, as if to call for more people.
“It’s Subana! We have Subana here! The chief warrior is coming soon—everyone, don’t be afraid of him!”