My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 454: Peak Spirit Sovereign

Black Reed Town sat three thousand miles distant from the imperial capital, nestled amid modest hills and a curving gray river that mirrored the heavens like faded iron. Most official maps overlooked it entirely. Caravans ventured there only when chasing something particular. Everyday wanderers found no cause to detour through.

Still, within circles of cultivators and traders in exotic goods, the place held a hushed fame.

Its brews knew no rivals.

Ethan reached it as twilight descended.

He journeyed without flags or guards. His garments stayed plain. His presence was held back to mimic a mere mortal's. The lanes were tight and laid with rough cobblestones. Lamps started shining under timber roofs, spilling soft glow into the swirling dusk haze.

He strolled at an easy pace.

The details from the system came brief and to the point.

[Spirit Sovereign, peak realm.

Age unknown.

No sect affiliation.

No public disciples.

Resides in Black Reed Town under civilian identity.]

The false persona matched in simplicity.

Wine seller.

Ethan rounded a bend and spotted the store.

It stood modest in size. A hand-carved wooden plaque displayed just two symbols. Nothing fancy in gold. No formations evident from the street. The entrance stood ajar, letting out chuckles mixed with aromas of brewed grains and a richer undertone suggesting spirit plants.

The interior buzzed with occupied benches.

Traders in road-weary mantles shared space with roving cultivators. Two guards in armor sipped quietly by the rear partition. Pottery vessels stacked the racks from base to top. The elder at the bar shifted with deliberate slowness, like each motion demanded careful thought.

His locks shone fully silver. His frame curved a bit forward. Wrinkles etched deep into his features, and his complexion held the ashen tone of one whose life force had long faded.

He appeared fragile enough for a brisk breeze to dissolve him to powder.

Ethan stepped in and picked a spot in the shadows.

Nobody gave him extra notice.

A youthful attendant delivered a goblet of deep golden liquor. Ethan raised it and breathed in. The aroma started mild, then bloomed in stages. Fruit's gentle sugar mingled with old timber's tang, and underneath lingered a soft spiritual hum that grazed his mind like a murmur.

He sipped.

Heat flowed along his gullet and through his form. The brew held a pure strand of spirit power, smooth and measured. It never overpowered. It sustained.

Intriguing.

He took another pull.

Moments slipped by unnoticed.

The establishment rang with more volume as darkness thickened. Tales unfolded. Silver pieces rang out. Goblets tapped surfaces in accord. Ethan stayed quiet, imbibing consistently. One vessel ran dry. Then a second. The attendant eyed him repeatedly, unsure if to step in, yet the elder at the bar lifted a subtle palm to wave off any action.

The patrons started to dwindle.

They departed one after another, drawing wraps close against the highland cold. In time, just Ethan lingered.

The lamps danced.

The elder drew near his bench with steady strides.

"Young man," he spoke in a frail yet distinct tone, "it's time for me to close up."

Ethan hoisted his goblet and finished the final swallow. He kept his gaze down.

The elder paused.

Ethan placed the goblet down with care. "Bring more."

The elder examined him. "The shop is closed."

Ethan reclined against his seat. His look stayed serene, nearly indifferent. "Old man, shut the fuck up. Do you know who I am? Serve me more wine, you old fossil."

The phrasing came rough and intentional. His aim was to rile the elder.

The atmosphere inside shifted a touch.

The elder's features showed no twist of rage. No flush of ire. Rather, they chilled. The creases near his eyes tightened, and a profound edge honed in his stare.

Nearby, the lamp fires fluttered as if brushed by an invisible draft.

"Young people," the elder murmured, "often confuse rashness with bravery."

Ethan chuckled lightly. "And old folks often confuse their years with command."

He propped an arm on the bench. "I paid. I drink. That's how trade goes."

The elder's mouth formed a narrow seam. He extended a hand, aiming to gather the vacant vessels from the surface.

Ethan covered them with his palm.

The gesture seemed offhand, yet it stopped the elder's reach dead.

"I said bring more."

For a fleeting second, a vast force roused under the elder's weak shell.

Then it vanished.

He drew himself up a fraction. "Young man, leave while you can. I will not repeat myself."

Yet Ethan stayed rooted.

Instead, he lifted his arm and pointed one digit in a deliberate, clear sign.

"How dare you try to intimidate me, you old dog?"

The slight lingered in the space like drawn steel.

The elder's gaze turned icy at last.

A wave of force emanated from him, faint initially. The pottery on the racks quivered. The benches shook. Bits of grit sifted from the beams.

It amounted to just a sliver of his presence. A wisp. Sufficient to choke a typical spirit emperor in moments.

The settlement beyond fell into eerie hush.

But Ethan held his seat.

The force rolled across him and faded like fog on a peak.

He offered no barrier. He showed no open defiance. He simply withstood it unchanged.

Then he bent ahead.

"Is that it?" he questioned mildly. "You call that intimidation?"

The elder's forehead creased.

He amplified the force a notch.

The atmosphere thickened. The planks underfoot creaked. The lamp fires snuffed out sequentially until just lunar light seeped from the entry.

Beyond, the waterway churned wildly for one pulse before settling.

Ethan lifted his central digit again.

"Try harder."

He aimed to goad him.

Land the initial blow.

That sufficed for his goal.

The system's active routine would capture the foe's full battle setup once open aggression locked in. Come morning's cycle, Ethan would gain a mirrored outline of that might.

A whole stage in mere hours.

That drove his path now.

The elder's look drifted far.

"You are not ordinary," he stated evenly.

Ethan grinned subtly. "And you are not a wine seller."

The elder's spine unbent gradually.

The mask of weakness started to fracture.

The hunched stance righted. The shake in his grip ceased. His breaths grew fuller, and the spirit force around stirred as if called by a wordless order.

The timber barriers of the place melted into a vast starry field.

They no longer occupied a tavern.

They occupied a still meadow under a vault brimming with wandering star clusters. The settlement had faded. The hills disappeared.

It formed a domain.

The Spirit Sovereign’s domain.

"You seek death," the elder declared, his tone no longer reedy. It thrummed with overlapping rings, like layered worlds hummed in every word.

Ethan stood unhurried from his vanished seat.

He brushed his cuffs clean.

"You released your aura first," he answered steadily. "I am merely defending my dignity."

The elder eyed him at length.

The stars overhead intensified.

A massive spectral form materialized behind the elder, immense and see-through, its gaze shut in endless contemplation. It exuded the might of a peak Spirit Sovereign, a breath from rising higher.

The earth under Ethan's soles cracked.

Force crashed down like a crumbling firmament.

This went beyond a caution.

It served as a trial.

Ethan sensed his frame tense. His innards quaked. The domain pressed to grind him to yield.

Perfect.

He required true enmity.

He let a slim streak of crimson trail from his lip's edge, as if the force began to wear him down.

The elder observed closely.

"Leave," he urged. "I will forget your insolence."

Ethan chuckled quietly, smearing the crimson with his thumb.

"Old man," he remarked, "if this is your full strength, then your wine truly is more impressive than you are."

The specter behind the elder unclosed its gaze.

The vault broke apart.

A lance of focused spirit intent shaped over Ethan's crown and dove earthward.

In that flash, the system display ignited in his mind.

[Hostility confirmed.

Target power structure locked.]

Ethan's mouth hooked up.

At the final beat, he shifted aside and lifted his palm.

He launched no crushing retort. He unveiled no Third Protocol.

He simply turned it away.

The lance burst on the meadow, gouging a rift that reached the far edge.

Grime and celestial gleam clouded the space.

The elder's face altered at last.

No haughtiness remained.

Just wariness.

"You wanted me to strike first?" he uttered deliberately.

Ethan offered no denial.