Chapter 140: Youth Preservation Fruit
With Quiver and Solon leading the way, Leo and the others hurried along. Quincy's legs had mostly healed—she could walk normally now, and fight if she had to. As Solon had said, once they found Lowell and gave him time to recover, their small team would be genuinely formidable.
"Up ahead. Senior Brother Lowell fled this way." Frost pointed.
Leo's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
A few miles further, on the dry, cracked bed of a long-dead river, three factions were locked in combat.
One side wore plain robes embroidered with a black sun—the Demonic Sun Sect. Fighting alongside them were disciples of the Supreme Clarity Sect. Together, they numbered sixteen or seventeen, each led by a core disciple with a magic artifact.
Their opponents were unmistakable. Simple sword emblems on their chests. The Ancient Sword Sect, the top sect in the Moonwatch cultivation world. Eleven of them, led by a bald, dark-faced youth wielding a broadsword. Six of the remaining ten had formed a sword formation, holding off both the Demonic Sun and Supreme Clarity core disciples and seven ordinary disciples—without losing ground. The rest fought in a chaotic melee, neither side gaining the upper hand.
Scattered along the riverbanks were stragglers from other sects—Evil Valley, Falling Dawn Hall, Ten Thousand Beasts Pavilion, Void Heaven. Small groups of twos and threes, watching but not joining. They weren't there for the fight. Their eyes were fixed on a single tree growing by the riverbank—barely over a meter tall, but with an unusually wide canopy. On its branches hung seven or eight small, round, yellow fruits.
"Youth Preservation Fruit."
The words were barely in Leo's mind before Quincy said them aloud. Vera, Quiver, and the other women's eyes lit up. The fruit did nothing for cultivation. But refined into Youth Preservation Pills, it stopped aging. You could die of old age, and your face would look the same as the day you took the pill. For cultivators who cared about their appearance—especially women—it was irresistible.
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Youth Preservation Pills were even rarer than Foundation Establishment Pills. Every time one appeared, it sold for a fortune. Foundation and Golden Core cultivators lived longer than mortals, but they still aged—just slower. Most people preferred to keep their youth. No one wanted to look like a wrinkled old ghost if they didn't have to.
Leo scanned the crowd. There was Lowell, pale and exhausted, standing with two other Palace disciples. He looked weak. Whatever had kept him alive after the cave collapse hadn't done him any favors. Under normal circumstances, three cultivators—one of them a wounded core disciple—would have been easy prey. But things weren't normal. The collapse had dumped cultivators from every sect into this place. Most were scattered, broken. And the Bloodshadow Lizards had been picking them off.
Lowell was in bad shape, but no worse than most of the others. That was the only reason he was still alive. When he spotted Quincy, Vera, and the rest, his face lit up with desperate relief.
Monty's ambush had nearly killed him. If the cave hadn't collapsed, he would have died at the hands of the Ice Profound disciples. But the collapse had buried everyone—and given him a second chance. He had taken healing pills, tried to recover, but a Bloodshadow Lizard had found him before he could. Even wounded, he was still a lightning cultivator. He fought it off. Barely. Then came more cultivators, from other sects, hunting him.
Even a top-ten Palace disciple couldn't take that kind of punishment. Old wounds opened. New ones piled on. He had no time to rest. He had spirit stones—enough to keep going—but his healing pills were almost gone. The two disciples with him were ordinary. Not much help. He was a tiger in a trap, a dragon in shallow water. Surrounded by enemies, waiting for the next fight to break out, wondering if he would survive it.
But leaving the crowd meant facing the lizards alone. That was death. So he stayed, knowing full well that a fight could break out at any moment—and that he'd be right in the middle of it. He had no choice. Most of the other scattered cultivators felt the same.
Then he saw them. Quincy. Vera. Other Palace disciples. His heart soared.
Then Quincy, without even looking at him, stepped toward the Youth Preservation Fruit.
Lowell's joy curdled.
Leo noticed. The disappointment on Lowell's face. But there was something else, too—a new steadiness. Suffering had tempered him. The fight at Heavenly Summit Peak, when Leo had beaten him with cheap tricks and raw spells, wouldn't work again.
"Senior Brother Lowell!" Vera, Quiver, and the others greeted him.
Quincy was already walking toward the fruit tree.
Leo's gaze shifted past Lowell to the tree itself. Then he noticed something. Beneath the main tree, there were seedlings. A few rotten fruits on the ground. The seedlings must have come from fallen fruit. This place was rich. Even Youth Preservation Fruit could grow here.
The fruit was valuable, but not as valuable as Foundation Establishment. Leo wasn't about to risk his life for it. But the other cultivators were focused on the fruit, not the seedlings. That meant he had a chance. A slim one.
There were hardly any intact teams nearby—most were just scattered groups of twos and threes. His own team of eight, once joined by Lowell, would have four core disciples. That was real strength. When Quincy spotted the Youth Preservation Fruit and walked straight toward it, reckless as it was, she had the power to back it up.