Atlas didn't have the energy to respond. His body was on the verge of shutting down, his absorption was ramping up and crashing his system. His limbs felt like lead, and his head was heavy with exhaustion. But he still had enough sense to focus on the remaining thugs albeit through sheer will. He had to keep fighting.
He force his body to reached for more Qi using Yan's warning as guideline trying to absorb it faster.
"Two: Proximity. Your body already draws in Qi passively. If you were to stand in a place where Qi naturally gathers—like an ancestral ground or battlefield where cultivators fought—you'd take in more than usual. Problem is, you have no way to regulate it. You'd be gambling with your life."
His body screamed in protest, but he pressed on. Another swing of the leader's sword came at him, this time faster. Atlas twisted, his hands moving to intercept.
Redirect.
But the force was too much. His body wasn't ready. The Qi was too unstable. The moment he tried to redirect it, his body jerked, and the world spun.
The leader's sword struck him in the side, a sharp pain exploding along his ribs. Atlas cried out in pain, but his hands shot forward instinctively.
Absorb. Release.
This time, it worked differently.
The Qi he had gathered surged through him, blasting outward in a jagged, unrefined wave. The impact knocked the leader off his feet, sending him sprawling backward into a thick tree. He didn't get up. His head bleeding and his body was spasming. Signifying he was dying.
The other thugs backed away slowly, their faces pale. They could see it now—the change in Atlas. He wasn't some weak, injured man. He was something else. Something dangerous.
Atlas gasped for breath, clutching his side where the sword had struck. His vision blurred, and his legs threatened to give way beneath him.
What the hell have I become?
The world around him spun as he struggled to maintain control. He was breaking—both physically and mentally. But he couldn't let them see that. Not yet.
As the remaining thugs hesitated, unsure whether to press on or flee, Atlas forced himself to stand taller, despite the agony in his body.
"You don't even know what you're messing with" Atlas muttered, eyes flickering over the remaining thugs, who stood frozen in terror.
"You think this is your victory, huh? Come on, let's run it"
One of the smaller thugs, his face white with fear, took a hesitant step back. "I'm not dying for this."
Atlas' lips curled into a twisted smirk, though it was strained by the pain. "Smart choice. Run. Maybe you'll get to live to see another day."
As they turned to flee, Atlas chuckled darkly, the sound weak but edged with something else.
"Yeah, you better run! Can't fight something you don't understand."
He tried to push himself up, but his hands trembled, and his body barely responded. His legs were uncooperative, like they had turned to stone beneath him.
"You'll regret this!" Atlas called after them, his voice strained and hoarse.
"Not because you fought me, but because you didn't finish the job!"
The remaining thugs, hearing the unshakable confidence in his voice, hesitated, looking over their shoulders with fear evident on their faces. But they ran. All of them.
Atlas stood alone in the middle of the street, his breath ragged. He didn't know what to think. His body was barely functioning, the Qi in his body was out of control, and the pain was unbearable. But for a moment, he had felt it—the power. And it had scared him more than anything else.
The last of the thugs disappeared into the shadows, and Atlas slowly sank to his knees. His breathing was shallow, labored, and every fiber of his body screamed for him to stop. He hadn't won—he had barely survived.
His side throbbed, and he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. His vision was blurred, but the thought remained sharp.
He had killed one of them. That much was certain. But he didn't know if he could keep this up. Every moment that passed, he was more aware of the fragile line he was walking. The power in him wasn't a blessing; it was a curse, a force he had no hope of controlling.
I can't keep walking like this.
But he had no choice, did he? This was the path he was on now, and there was no turning back.
Blood seeped through his bandages, the warmth of it sticky against his skin. His side burned, a white-hot flare of agony that shot through him with every shallow breath he took. His vision spun, black spots flickering at the edge of his consciousness.
This... this is too much. I just got better from a coma and now I got ambused!? What sick fucking joke is this God? I'm hurt beyond belief.
His hands shook violently as he tried to push the absorbed Qi back out. It was a desperate, uncontrolled surge that he couldn't contain. He felt it rip through him—coursing through his veins like electricity, tearing through his body, and leaving a trail of damage in its wake.
His muscles seized, cramping painfully in protest as his system tried to cope with the overwhelming influx of energy. His heart raced faster, each beat like a hammer driving against his chest. The pressure in his skull was unbearable.
I'm losing it. The thought flashed through his mind.
I'm losing myself. This power... it's too much.
Atlas pushed himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. His body screamed in protest, but he didn't listen. The city walls were in sight, and there was no way in hell he was going to let this night end with him crawling back to the sect like a beaten dog.
Atlas pushed himself up, his hands shaking violently. His body screamed for him to stop, to give in to the darkness pressing at the edges of his consciousness. The pain in his side flared up with each step, blood staining the bandages wrapped around his torso, but he couldn't stop. Not yet.
I can't... I can't stop now. I'm so close…
His legs were like lead, uncooperative and trembling beneath him. Every step felt like a thousand knives cutting through his muscles, and yet, he forced his feet to move. He had to make it to the city. He had to get back to Ryl Trading. To Meyu.
They need me. I promised I would be there. And if I stop now...
His vision blurred again, and he staggered. The world seemed to tilt, spinning out of control. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the grime and blood, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every fiber of his being was on fire from the effort of just moving. The Qi inside him, still wild and uncontrolled, surged again, sending jolts of energy through his body—painful, brutal, but somehow... necessary.
I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't understand this power. It's breaking me, piece by piece.
The city gates loomed ahead, a dark silhouette in the distance. He could see it, feel it, but it was so far away. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse from exhaustion before he even reached the city walls.
Just a little further. Just... a little more..
His hand brushed against the rough stone of a building as he used it for support. The city was so close, yet so far away. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. He couldn't do it. His mind was too fogged, his body was too weak, and the pain was too much to bear. The overwhelming pressure in his skull made it feel like it would implode. His side was bleeding freely, staining his clothes and pooling beneath him.
Is this it? Am I really going to die here... like this?
The thought stung like an open wound. Atlas, the man who had survived countless battles, lied to kings and nobles, who built an empire, was now broken. He had nothing left. Nothing but his will—and even that was fading fast.
No. I won't die here. Not like this. Not after everything I've done.
He forced himself up again, only to collapse onto the cobblestone streets, his vision darkening at the edges. His body was failing him. His mind was shattering. But he could still feel it—the faintest pulse of power, of Qi. It was almost like it was calling to him, urging him to take more, to embrace it fully.
But he was terrified. Terrified of what would happen if he absorbed more. What if he exploded? What if the Qi tore him apart?
No. I can't. I can't risk it...
But the more he resisted, the more the body absorbed Qi. It surged within him. His skin crawled with the overwhelming sensation of power rushing through his veins, and it felt like it might tear him apart at any moment.
This is it... I'm so sorry Meyu..
His thoughts became muddled, his breaths shallow, and his body went limp. He had no strength left to fight it. He could barely lift his hand to stop himself from falling forward. His face hit the ground with a thud, his body trembling and blood seeping from the open wound in his side.
As the world around him faded, the last thing he saw was a shadow approaching, and a voice that seemed too far away to reach him.
Seeing Atlas in such a state was unsettling. But the worker didn't hesitate, pulling Atlas up into a stable position. 'Don't worry, Boss. I'm not letting you rot in a gutter.
"Boss? You out here?" A voice broke through the fog in Atlas' mind.
He barely registered it. His vision was clouded, his head swimming, but the voice had a strange familiarity to it. It was rough, but it wasn't threatening. Just concerned.
"Master Atlas?"
The figure knelt beside him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently while trying to heal him.
"Master, wake up, damn it!"
Through the haze, Atlas' blurry eyes finally focused on the figure standing over him. A woman, her features sharp but with a look of concern that was hard to miss. She had short, dark hair tied back into a practical ponytail, and her clothes were simple but well-worn. The scent of dust and travel clung to her.
"Don't die on me, you idiot" she muttered, her tone harsh but with an undercurrent of... affection?
"Eh?" Atlas rasped, barely able to form words. His body felt like it was falling apart, and his mind was struggling to catch up with the present.
"Goddamn it" she muttered, her eyes scanning him quickly.
"I thought we were going to lose you for sure."
Atlas tried to lift his head but failed, his body refusing to cooperate.
"Who—" He tried to speak but couldn't find his voice, the words caught in his throat.
"Don't worry about it."
The woman pressed something cool against his head. "I'm here. You're gonna be fine. Just hang in there."
Atlas' vision wavered, and he groaned in pain as the world tilted again.
But despite everything, he managed to crack a tired grin. "Take me to the sect where Meyu is."
She sighed, desperate in keeping him alive with what little healing she knew. "You're not in any condition to be giving orders, Master. I'm just trying to keep you alive. Ryl Trading won't let their biggest asset die in the street."
"Asset... huh?" Atlas chuckled weakly. "I'm not your... asset."
"Shut up" she shot back with a grin of her own. "You're bleeding profusely and I'm barely holding your body from becoming some fountain blood. You're definitely an asset. Now, stay still. Let me patch you up."
The worker, whose name Atlas couldn't even remember in his exhausted state, stood up and quickly got to work. She wasn't gentle, but there was a focused precision to her movements, like she had done this a hundred times before. As she moved, Atlas tried to focus on her, on her words, on anything to keep himself awake.
Why... why is she helping me?
Because even in his weakened state, Atlas could feel it. The loyalty in her actions, in the way she tended to him with an efficiency that suggested she had been following him for a long time. Ryl Trading might have seen him as an asset, but Atlas knew better than to believe that was the only reason this woman was looking after him.
She cares, in her own way.
He hated the thought. He hated the vulnerability that came with it, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"You don't have to do this" he whispered, voice barely audible.
The woman paused in her ministrations and shot him a look. "You think you're the only one with a purpose in this world?" she asked, voice low but steady.
"You saved my family once. You think I'd let you die on some random street? That's not how this works."
He didn't have an answer for that. The truth was too complicated to put into words. Instead, he just nodded slowly, feeling his body relax as she wrapped his wounds and steadied him.
"Don't think this means you owe us" she muttered, brushing her hands off.
"But you're our saviour. So let's get you back on your feet."