On my first night after transmigrating, the female emperor drained my cultivation.
She said, “You have to reach the Grandmaster realm within three years. If you don’t, you’ll die.”
I said, “You forced yourself on me and I didn’t die. Why should I be afraid of that?”
She tossed me an ancient divine ruin.
Among thousands of cultivation arts, I chose the Chaos Dao Canon, with a ninety percent failure rate.
I reached the True Essence realm in three days. I slew the Wolf King with one slash, shook a beast horde with one punch, and took down a bandit stronghold alone.
It took just one month to go from a laughingstock in the imperial capital to a northern frontier killing god.
The crown prince wanted me dead. The demon wanted me dead. The beast horde wanted me dead.
None of them succeeded.
When the three-year deadline was up, the female emperor came.
She stood before me, silver-haired and violet-eyed, just like that night.
I wiped my blade.
“This time, who’s draining whose cultivation?”
