Chapter Eleven – The Task
December 24, 2014 — by Wei Yi Yong Heng
“Crimson… it actually succeeded… it really succeeded in fusing into a crimson bloodline!“ Li Hai stared blankly at the radiance of the Heaven-Earth Stone, his voice full of disbelief.
“The color’s density… that’s upper-grade crimson!” the Great Elder exclaimed in shock.
The clansmen around were equally stunned. Even Qin Lin found it hard to believe. A white bloodline fusing with any other bloodline was almost impossible. Otherwise, the white bloodline would never have been branded as waste blood.
The lower the bloodline grade, the lower the chance of fusion. A two-star Wild Bear obviously didn’t have the potential to produce a crimson bloodline.
Even a mutated Wild Bear couldn’t do it.
Qin Yu’s expression darkened immediately.
“Wait, something’s wrong—the light’s dimming!” someone suddenly shouted.
The radiance on the Heaven-Earth Stone began to fade from a brilliant crimson, growing paler and paler. As moments passed, the red vanished entirely, and the white light reappeared.
“As expected… as expected…” Qin Mo withdrew his hand helplessly.
“What happened?” someone asked in confusion. Why had it turned from crimson back to white? Had the Heaven-Earth Stone malfunctioned?
But everyone knew—the Heaven-Earth Stone never malfunctioned.
“Failure!” Great Elder Qin Tianli declared with certainty.
“Waste blood is waste blood. How could it possibly fuse with another bloodline so easily?” Beside him, Qin Yu finally sighed in relief, gazing at Qin Mo with eyes filled with pity.
The rest of the tribe looked at Qin Mo the same way—sympathetically, almost mournfully.
Qin Mo suddenly lifted his head. He looked toward Qin Lin and found the man staring back at him. Qin Lin’s expression was still stoic, but in his eyes, Qin Mo saw exhaustion—and disappointment.
A deep sense of guilt welled up in Qin Mo’s heart. He wasn’t someone easily moved by emotion, but the day his father had carried that Wild Bear’s corpse out of the deep mountains, Qin Mo had already acknowledged him. This was his father—just as real, just as important as the ones he’d had in the other world.
To have disappointed him now filled Qin Mo with a heavy sorrow. He wanted to roar at the heavens—Why is fate so unfair? Why me?
But he didn’t shout. Instead, he looked steadily at Qin Lin and said calmly,
“Father, I have opened my meridian.”
Everyone froze, staring at him in disbelief.
But as Qin Mo raised his hand and the surrounding heaven and earth energy began flowing into his body, their shock deepened further.
After failing to refine his white bloodline—he had still succeeded in opening his first meridian!
At that moment, Qin Lin suddenly smiled. It was a smile of deep relief, warm and genuine. He could feel the emotion behind his son’s words.
“From this day forth, you are a warrior of our tribe,” Qin Lin announced. Though his son had only opened a single meridian, his heart swelled with pride.
“A warrior of the human race!”
The tribespeople quickly recovered from their astonishment. Their eyes toward Qin Mo no longer carried pity. From today onward, Qin Mo was one of their warriors. Even if he had only opened a single meridian, he was far stronger than most ordinary humans. He would bear the duty of protecting the tribe’s elders, women, and children.
“Yes, Father.” Qin Mo bowed respectfully.
“Bring out the wine!” Qin Lin commanded.
The tribe erupted into cheers. Warriors dug up the old jars of wine buried deep underground. Today was a day of great celebration for the Hammerstone Tribe.
“The first cup—to our Sacred Emperor!” Qin Lin stood atop the altar, raising a stone bowl high before pouring its contents toward the sky.
“To our Sacred Emperor!”
Every warrior, every clansman followed suit, splashing their bowls of wine toward the heavens with reverence.
“Drink!”
Qin Lin lifted his stone bowl once more, his voice echoing across the entire tribe.
“Drink!”
The clanspeople raised their bowls and downed the fiery liquor. Men, women, and children alike—none abstained.
After opening his first meridian, Qin Mo discovered his strength had surged—from seven hundred pounds of force to a full thousand, rivaling warriors who had opened five meridians.
He thought back to the Blood Condensing Pill he had taken and the night he spent bathing in the two-star Wild Bear’s blood within that massive cauldron. With that, it wasn’t too surprising he possessed such strength.
The next morning, Qin Mo went to the tribal barracks. Although Qin Lin had already approved him as a warrior, official recognition required the military’s authorization—and a warrior’s command token.
“From today onward, you are officially a warrior of the tribe—and of our human race!” declared the officer in charge, a Centurion of the tribe.
“Yes, sir.” Qin Mo knelt on one knee.
“Remember the three laws of our warriors,” the Centurion said coldly.
“Disrespect toward the Sacred Emperor—death.
Cowardice in battle—death.
Betrayal of the human race—death!”
“Yes, sir!” Qin Mo nodded solemnly.
He accepted the command token. It was nothing precious—just a carved piece of stone, inscribed with a single character: “Soldier (士).”
Yet from that simple token, Qin Mo could feel a profound weight. From now on, he was no longer just the Qin Mo from another world. He was a warrior of the human race—a member of the Hammerstone Tribe.
“Though our Hammerstone Tribe is but a lower one-star tribe, rarely engaging in wars against other races, as a warrior, you will no longer receive free food.” The Centurion continued, his tone stern. “Within one year, you must hunt and deliver ten thousand jin of food. If you fail to do so, I will personally reclaim your command token and expel you from the tribe. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Qin Mo nodded. Normally, warriors were required to provide only five thousand jin. He didn’t know why his quota was doubled, but he didn’t protest.
Seeing his calm acceptance, the Centurion nodded in approval.
“Until you complete this task, you will not be assigned to any hunting squad. Do you object?”
“No.” Qin Mo shook his head.
“Good. Go to the armory and collect your weapons. Your hunt begins today. One year from now, I expect you to have completed your task.”
Qin Mo nodded, turned, and left the barracks.
“The chieftain is being too harsh,” the Centurion murmured as he watched Qin Mo’s departing figure. The doubled quota and solitary hunting order—those were the chieftain’s commands.
It looked like a test, but the Centurion knew well how hard it would be for a one-meridian warrior to hunt ten thousand jin of food alone—especially without the protection of a hunting squad.
Leaving the barracks, Qin Mo carried his command token to the armory, where he received his hunting gear:
A hardwood bow.
A plain saber.
Thirty feathered arrows.
That was all the Hammerstone Tribe provided its warriors.
As for cultivation techniques—without more opened meridians or military merit, not even the young chieftain’s son could obtain them.
Armed with those three simple tools, Qin Mo set off toward the perilous Blackstone Mountains—
to hunt enough prey to fulfill his ten-thousand-jin task…
