A Farmer's Journey To Immortality

Chapter 533: New Squad of the Iron Mountain Sect Arrives: Crime Scene Revealation

After a few days.

Outside Rai City.

Four figures soared above the treetops, each wrapped in thick layers of Spirit essence.

Their robes, dark grey with the Iron Mountain Sect’s sharp crest on their backs, rippled in the wind.

All four were Foundation Building cultivators—battle-hardened experts with years of experience between them. But even they weren’t prepared for what they would find.

They had been sent a few days ago to investigate the sudden silence of four sect elders who had been tasked with killing a seemingly miniscule threat named Aksai. The mission had seemed simple—track him down, deal with him, and return.

But at this point, as they landed in a quiet, eerie clearing just beyond the old forest path, their steps faltered.

The first to touch the ground was Elder Jian. He was the oldest among them, with a long scar across his cheek and a steady gaze. As his boots pressed into the soft dirt, his eyes lifted—and froze.

The other three landed beside him moments later, expecting to receive a quick summary. But when they saw what Jian was looking at, their faces changed too.

All four stood frozen.

Hung in midair like twisted scarecrows, the four missing sect elders floated lifelessly. Vines, glowing faint green from Spirit energy, held them aloft—arms and legs splayed at awkward angles, heads tilted unnaturally, expressions of agony still fresh on their faces.

Their flesh had barely decayed. Their robes, though torn and bloodied, still clung to their bodies. Their wounds—deep, sharp, and deliberate—showed clear signs of someone skilled and methodical.

“W-what…?” Elder Hao, the youngest of the new group, took a step back, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who… who did this?”

He felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. The lifeless eyes of one of the dead elders seemed to look right at him.

“Their expressions…” Elder Lian murmured, trembling slightly. “They weren’t just killed. Their organs have been harvested. And they were killed after a long struggle.”

Elder Jian stepped closer, scanning the area using a unique compass-like artifact. The Spirit essence still lingered—strong, wild, and strange. The forest was quiet. Too quiet. No demon beasts. Not even birds. The power that had been unleashed here had scared everything away.

“Their flesh…” Jian muttered, crouching near one of the floating corpses. “It hasn’t rotted like it should have by now. Foundation Building cultivators… even in death, their bodies resist decay. Sigh. It worked against them at this point. It would have been better if they had been eaten by the demon beasts. At least they wouldn’t be able to see what their mortal remains are still subjected to.”

“Look at how they were posed,” Lian added, swallowing hard. “This wasn’t just battle between the Experts. This was a warning.”

Then, the fourth elder, Elder Wen, clenched his fists. His eyes turned bloodshot as he stepped forward, Spirit energy flaring around him.

“Who dares to mess with the Iron Mountain Sect?” he shouted, his voice echoing through the dead clearing. “Who has the gall to not only kill our sect elders—but also make mockery of their deaths like this?”

His rage burned hot, and the surrounding trees shook slightly from the force of his voice.

“No beast did this,” Jian said calmly, though his voice held a dark edge. “This was a cultivator. One with precision. One with no fear of the Iron Mountain Sect.”

“Do you think it was that drifter… Aksai?” Hao asked, still shaken.

Lian didn’t answer. He just looked up at the bodies again.

“No one else knew they were sent here,” Jian replied, standing straight. “If anyone else had done this, they would’ve left something. This… this feels deliberate. Quiet. Meant to provoke us.”

“Some kind of message. Like “stay away”,” Lian added.

“Aksai,” Wen growled. “We’ll find him. And when we do, we’ll rip him apart.”

But even as he said the words, all four of them felt it. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Whoever had done this had not only killed the elders, but turned their deaths into a scene—something meant to shake the sect to its core.

And it was working.

Without a word, Elder Jian pulled out another variant of a small compass-like artifact from his robe. The artifact was silver, shaped like a flattened disc, with a needle that spun wildly before settling down.

Essence Equation runes etched into its surface glowed faint blue as soon as it came in contact with the ambient Spirit energy.

“Begin extraction,” Jian said calmly.

The other three followed his lead, each pulling out a similar artifact.

They moved around the scene, stepping with care. The compass-like tools began to hum, absorbing the faint traces of Spirit essence that still lingered in the air. Threads of silver light were drawn into the artifacts like strands of silk being pulled into a cocoon.

“This will help the Grand Investigator back at the sect,” said Elder Lian, watching the energy being stored. “Maybe we’ll learn what kind of cultivation or spells were used here.”

Hao nodded, though his eyes remained on the bodies. “It’s strange… There’s no sign of talismans, no burns, no frost, no thunder. At least not by a Spirit cultivator.

There are obvious traces of demon beasts using their Spirit spells and perhaps the Spirit spells used by… what can only be referred to as puppets. But even then… there has to be a beast tamer or a puppeteer with his own versions of the Spirit spells to control such a group.

But we have nothing to show for when it comes to the mastermind behind the puppets.

As if no Spirit spell was used to deal with them. Just clean cuts and raw physical power. Almost surgical.”

“They were overwhelmed,” Jian said. “That’s right. Whoever did this didn’t fight them one-on-one. They were killed by a group of very skilled and dangerous puppeteers and beast tamers. I just hope they are two separate entities and not a single Spirit cultivator. Otherwise it would be a headache for the entirety of the Iron Mountain Sect.”

Once the Spirit essence was collected, Elder Wen stepped forward again. His eyes still burned with fury.

“We can’t leave them like this,” he said.

The others agreed with a silent nod. Jian raised his hand and summoned a controlled stream of fire from his palm. Unlike ordinary flames, these were deep red and pulsed with spiritual warmth, specially meant for the rites of cremation.

The vines that held the bodies slowly receded into the earth as the flames flicked across the bodies one by one. The four corpses were lowered gently to the ground, then the fire began its work—consuming flesh, cloth, and bone in a slow but respectful manner.

The smell of burnt robes and ash filled the clearing. Smoke rose to the sky in thin columns.

“They were loyal to the sect until their last breath,” Jian said quietly. “They will not go unavenged.”

“Indeed,” Wen muttered, his fists clenched, “I will bring back the head of the one who did this.”

When the flames died down, all that remained was a small pile of ashes where each body had once been.

The elders gave a final bow toward the cremation spots.

“Let’s go,” Jian said.

They each summoned their flying artifacts—Elder Jian stood on a floating jade slab that shimmered with emerald light, Lian stepped onto a large paper talisman that folded into the wind like a glider, Hao summoned a metallic disc that spun silently under his feet, and Wen leapt onto a crimson flying blade that hovered, waiting for its master.

One by one, they lifted into the sky, their figures rising high above the trees.

Without looking back, they turned toward the north—the direction of the Iron Mountain Sect—and flew off in tight formation, the wind sweeping away the last traces of their presence.

Behind them, the clearing fell silent again. Only ash and fading Spirit energy remained.

***

After a few hours.

The four sect elders flew quietly through the sky, each lost in thought. The wind howled past them as the sun dipped lower behind the mountains. Their faces were grim, and none of them had spoken much since leaving the scene of the massacre.

Elder Jian pointed to a small town resting at the base of a forested hill. “We’ll stop here for the night,” he said. “Flying any longer without rest will only dull our senses.”

The others nodded.

They lowered their flying artifacts in a quiet, shaded area outside town and sealed them away with a flick of their sleeves. Then, with practiced ease, each elder suppressed their Spirit presence, hiding their Foundation Building auras and appearing no different from wandering merchants or minor officials.

The town was simple—stone streets, wooden buildings, a few vendors still closing their stalls for the night. Children ran around chasing each other while the smell of fried dumplings and roasted meat drifted from a nearby tavern.

It was a common practice among the Spirit cultivators to suppress their auras and act as mortals among other mortals. It avoided a lot of complications. This was a standard practice among the sect members of well-established sects, especially during sensitive missions.

They found an inn with a modest sign swinging in the breeze. “Mosswood Rest,” it read. The wooden building was two stories tall, with warm light spilling from its windows.

They entered quietly, paid in copper coins, and each booked a room. The innkeeper didn’t ask questions—just handed them their keys with a smile and pointed them toward the stairs.

“I’ll see you all at dawn,” Elder Jian said, voice low.

The others nodded again and climbed to their rooms.

One by one, the doors clicked shut. Bolts slid into place. Curtains were drawn.

This was the time when the sect elders’ silent pursuers– Aksai’s Sentient Fiends decided to act.