Chapter 137 (1/2)

“Venerable Vremya, recently, I’ve encountered a bottleneck in my cultivation,” a man said, bowing his head at Grandpa Vremya while looking at him with his eyes upturned. “Whenever I circulate my spiritual energy through the heel of my foot, it feels like I’m climbing a mountain. At night, I experience cold chills, and my nose swells to the size of a meat bun.”

Albert’s expression darkened. Was this really a gathering of the cultivators? He might not have been born in time to attend the previous gathering, but he had heard rumors about how great they were supposed to be. Cultivators would pool their knowledge together, and the whole of society would take a giant step forward. However, why did the gathering turn into a question and answering session hosted by one person?

Evidently, Albert wasn’t the only person who was frustrated with the situation. A man slammed his palm against the table and pointed at the cultivator who had explained his issues. “If you’re having trouble with your body, go to a doctor! These kinds of questions aren’t what the gathering was meant for.”

The cultivator with the faulty heel snorted. “Then what is it meant for?” he asked, shooting a glance at Albert. “Is it meant for people to challenge others under the guise of seeking guidance? I already know my knowledge isn’t enough to earn myself a phoegon egg. In that case, I should do what’s best for myself. Everyone has a chance to speak, and I’ll use my turn to resolve one of my longstanding problems.” He cupped his hands at Grandpa Vremya. “You’ll definitely have my vote for greatest contribution if you can help me with my issue.”

Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard. “Let me see you circulate your spiritual energy,” he said. He wasn’t a doctor, and his godly self hadn’t crammed any medical knowledge inside of his head. However, he did know everything about properly circulating spiritual energy. Although the cultivator’s technique wasn’t the one Grandpa Vremya cultivated, he had confidence in resolving the man’s problem.

The man with the faulty heel sat down and crossed his legs. “I’m starting.”

Grandpa Vremya watched the man, using his own spiritual energy to follow along. Normally, that wouldn’t have been easy to do, but the man allowed it to happen. At the heel, Grandpa Vremya observed as the man’s spiritual energy slowed to a crawl, barely squeezing through. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the man’s meridians, but for some inexplicable reason, the spiritual energy acted as if it was charging into a very narrow opening. The man stood up and gave Grandpa Vremya an inquisitive gaze. “Well?”

Grandpa Vremya frowned. “Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?”

The man with the faulty heel froze. “What?”

“Let me show you,” Grandpa Vremya said and waved his hand. A group of battlesuit golems appeared in front of him, and before anyone could react, the golems pinned the man down and ripped off his foot with one clean pull. Surprisingly, it separated as if it had been cut with a sword. The man screamed, and the surrounding cultivators shot to their feet.

“What are you doing!?”

“Seize him!”

“Stop!”

Grandpa Vremya glanced around. It made sense people were upset with him. He had answered question after question, resolved problem after problem. Everyone knew one of the top spots was reserved for him. However, there were still some rational ones who realized his golems were capable of defeating everyone in the room. If he really fell out with them, who knew who’d be on the losing side. After beating everyone, wouldn’t all five phoegon eggs belong to him? However, Grandpa Vremya wouldn’t do that; it would give him quite a bit of negative karma. As for obtaining negative karma for ripping off a man’s foot, Grandpa Vremya wasn’t worried about that. He took a bit of titan flesh out of his interspatial ring and used his spiritual energy to compress it into a bead. He rolled it around between his thumb and his index finger while applying pressure, breaking it into a clump of powder. He approached the missing-foot cultivator and applied the powder to the man’s leg stump, unconcerned about the flames of hatred burning within his eyes; after all, the golems were holding him back.