Villain Seduces to Rise in Status

Cale shook his head and walked through the crowd like it was nothing.

People stared at him with various looks—confusion, curiosity, wariness. If he interrupted now, he’d definitely face problems. Better to just leave.

He took a full turn in one smooth motion and started heading back to his room.

This was pointless. Taking fights like this had no meaning anyway. He needed to focus on getting strong. How could he even hope to woo that demoness in the future if he couldn’t win against her?

He sighed and started shaking his head.

’So what if he stole some underwear? It’s just that. If he wants, he can even take mine... no wait. What the fuck am I thinking about?!’

Lark and the others could only stare at him like he’d gone paranoid.

Taking a full turn, Cale started going back to his room.

But then the system chimed.

[QUEST: Win the Fight]

[REWARD: Soul Armor (customizable) + 100 Year Lifespan Gu]

He froze in his tracks.

Yeahh... Why did he not guess this.

’This fuckin....heh.’

A soul armor was a treasure, sure. Cale knew he’d get one again later—maybe even forge his own in the future, though not as strong as this one. But a lifespan gu? That changed everything.

Most people thought cultivators became immortal through cultivation. That was bullshit. By cultivating, you were just increasing your body’s durability, extending your lifespan bit by bit.

Real immortality only came when your qi or mana absorption, usage, and adaptation rate matched a Great Sage stage cultivator’s level. Most people would never reach that.

Other reasons someone needed a lifespan gu? Either your talent was weak and slowed progression to a crawl. Or you’d burned through your life force in fights or cultivation, cutting years off your existence. Or you were just a superrich mortal, which is quite rare.

Having a lifespan gu was like a literal battery for life-or-death situations. And Cale knew he’d have plenty of those in the future.

Of course he said yes.

He turned around again.

As if to get everyone’s attention, he clapped.

CLAP.

Lark, who was getting increasingly annoyed, barked out:

"What even are you trying to do here man? Just get lost! Or what, do you want to punch him too?"

Cale looked at him with a completely deadpan expression.

’Haah, am I getting too accustomed to fighting people above my ranks? And yet I know I can easily fight him here...’

"Sorry," Cale said, his tone suggesting he wasn’t sorry at all.

"It’s nothing personal. I couldn’t care less if you beat him to a pulp. But well..."

Lark tilted his head. "Well?"

Then Cale remembered—Emma wasn’t even here. What was the point of flaunting then? Just finish the fight and take in the rewards.

"Guess I’m just a lot greedy," he said dramatically. "It’s not you, it’s me."

Lark’s face went completely red. He and his goons came running toward Cale.

Don’t blame our timid protagonist. What else could Cale do? He was the kind of guy who would kiss someone’s feet if they offered the right money. A free 100-year lifespan gu? He’d do whatever it took.

"And...The battle begins..."

He said, rotating his shoulders and a wide greedy grin plastered on his face.

Cale swept his gaze across Lark’s group as they charged. Five goons. He mentally labeled them No1 through No5—might as well, since they’d be NPCs soon enough.

No1 and No2 came at him from both sides with practiced speed. Cale sidestepped the first without breaking stride, then hooked his leg around No2’s ankle and sent him sprawling. The goon hit the ground hard, momentum carrying him into a painful skid.

Lark came from behind, hand already flexing into a punch. Cale shifted his head—felt the air whistle past his ear—and smirked at the miss.

It was the smirk that did it. Lark’s face went red with rage.

Before the delinquent could recover, Cale drove his knee straight into that exposed abdomen.

’They can’t maintain teamwork for shit, well, what did I even expect’, Cale thought, already tracking No3’s approach.

No3 jumped at him from the left, trying to use his momentum. Cale went with it, let gravity pull him down, but rolled through the fall and popped back up in one fluid motion. Before No3 could capitalize, Cale Dash-stepped right into his space.

Punch to the face. The goon’s head snapped back.

Punch to the gut. Wind exploded from his lungs.

Then, because why be subtle, Cale drove his knee between No3’s legs. The scream of eggs cracking was almost musical.

No3 dropped like a puppet with cut strings.

The crowd’s reaction was mixed—horror, approval, uncomfortable laughter.

Four left. Including the clown leader.

Lark was already coming with another punch. Cale bent backward—let the fist pass inches from his nose—then straightened as Lark overextended. But No1 intervened, trying to grab from the side.

Cale twisted his body just enough,

He rolled into No1’s feet, grabbed the man’s ankle mid-stride, and executed a perfect 180-spin throw. No1 went flying like a sack of grain, crashing into the courtyard wall hard enough to crack stone.

"Fuuu",

Cale dropped into a basic fighting stance, breathing steady. No3 rushed him without thinking—desperation making him sloppy.

Cale punched through his guard, caught his chest square. Then shifted up and drove his palm into No3’s face, making the goon’s head whip back.

Without hesitation, Cale jumped and drove his knee into the man’s gut. Blood sprayed across the ground as No3 coughed, retching.

Throughout all this, Cale hadn’t used a single whisper of qi to reinforce his body. These people were doing it obviously, he could sense the faint aura reinforcement in their movements. Meanwhile, his physical prowess alone had jumped so far ahead that raw strength was enough.

Lark came charging like an idiot with both arms spread wide. He actually looked like he was trying to hug Cale.

Cale sighed and grabbed both of the man’s arms, jerking him forward violently before driving his own knee up toward Lark’s face. The delinquent’s head snapped back, eyes going glassy.

While Lark was dazed, Cale pivoted smoothly toward No4 and No5.

A sweeping leg strike. No4 lost his footing. No5 backed away instinctively.

Cale transitioned flawlessly into a roundhouse kick that caught No4’s neck. The goon went down hard, face-planting into the dirt with a wet thud.

Cale rushed No5 before the man could process what was happening. Punch to the left gut. No5 tried to counter—Cale backed away just enough to dodge, then grabbed the man’s shirt and pulled him forward.

He positioned No5 between himself and No4, using the goon as a shield while No4 struggled to get up.

Seeing the panic flicker across their faces, Cale hit the back of No5’s knee. The man buckled. Cale followed with a sharp strike to the back of his skull, then kicked his body away.

Only No4 and Lark remained standing.

Of course, like true third-rate villains, they both started flinging spells at him. Fire blooms erupted across the courtyard, energy beams cutting through the air. The crowd scrambled backward, giving more space.

Cale avoided them without even trying since the firepower itself was quite pathetic.

Then he got an idea.

Flicking his wrist, he shot something so small and thin it was barely visible—a needle of violet-black qi, sharp as a razor. It cut No4’s cheek before the man even realized he’d been hit.

This, Cale thought with amusement, is something new.

Unlike normal qi—which felt like burning heat, unmistakable and flaring—this chaos qi felt like nothing. It just was, invisible unless you’d cultivated enough to sense it or had eyesight sharp enough to track it. And the wounds it made? They didn’t heal easily. The chaos essence lingered in the tissue, preventing natural recovery.

He flicked his wrist again, and again, creating a pattern of semi-circles with his wrists. Each needle was barely enough to draw blood, but they added up. Cuts appeared across No4’s arms, his shoulder, his neck. The goon was panicking now, trying to dodge invisible attacks, swatting at air.

Lark threw another spell. Cale sidestepped without looking.

’Hehe’, Cale thought, settling into a rhythm. ’This is going to be fun.’

When both Lark and No4 realized spells wouldn’t work, they shifted tactics instantly—switching to qi-reinforced physical attacks.

Cale turned fast enough to catch No4 from behind, his grip locking around the man’s midsection. Without hesitation, he executed a perfect German suplex, slamming No4’s back into the stone courtyard brutally.

The impact knocked the wind from his lungs entirely.

Not satisfied, Cale followed up with four kicks to the man’s face from one side. Then one more to the back for good measure, sending No4’s body skidding across the dirt like discarded garbage.

Only Lark remained.

Cale pivoted smoothly and threw his left elbow upward, catching Lark’s chin with a sharp crack. The delinquent’s teeth clacked together hard enough that blood filled his mouth.

A smack to Lark’s right shoulder followed immediately after. The man lost his footing, stumbled—but caught himself before falling.

Then he ran.

’Sigh...I’m sighing a lot these days,’

Cale thought, barely registering the movement before he was already in front of Lark, pulling the man’s head down and driving his knee up in one fluid motion.

Lark’s face met bone. His knees buckled, body crumpling.

Cale finished with a side kick to his face that sent the delinquent sprawling across the courtyard like a broken doll.

He rolled his right shoulder, testing the joint’s mobility. "Well, it’s over, right?"

The crowd exchanged confused glances. Lark was already defeated—right?. Why would this madman want to continue?

But Lark jerked violently, his body convulsing as he tried to push himself upright.

Another kick to his chest. Cale watched the man collapse back down, breathing in ragged, painful gasps.

Bending down, Cale grabbed a fistful of Lark’s hair and yanked his head up, the man’s body still sprawled uselessly across the ground.

"Ewww..." He made a disgusting face, revulsion crossing his features. "I know you were ugly before, but now? Argh, you might kill people with just a look."

Lark mumbled through broken teeth and swollen lips. "You... bas... tard..."

Cale shook his head slowly, realization dawning.

’The dog hasn’t been tamed yet.’

He smashed Lark’s head into the ground.

Again. Again.

And well... again.

The crowd flinched with each impact, some turning away, others unable to look but unable to stop watching either.

The system remained silent till it maybe took pity on the mess its master had made.

He kept going and stopped when the screen appeared.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: QUEST COMPLETED]

[REWARDS OBTAINED: Soul Armor (Customizable) + 100 Year Lifespan Gu]

[Soul Armor has been added to inventory - Can be materialized at will]

[100 Year Lifespan Gu - Effect: Adds 100 years to host’s natural lifespan. Can be consumed or saved for emergencies]

Cale released Lark’s hair and threw the man’s head aside like discarded refuse.

He stood, rolling his shoulders again, a relaxed smile spreading across his face as he looked down at the broken figure beneath him.

’Haha, this feels even better than training alone. Maybe I should stop hiding my powers... nah, lets not do that.’

He walked past the crowd without acknowledgment, brushing past bodies and spectators alike. He didn’t even glance in Elon’s direction—his top lackey he was supposed to save, watching from the edge of the courtyard, mouth hanging open in shock.