Bored Gamer in Other Worlds-Chapter 1076 Memory

"That was the son of an influential family in this city, Master Clark. The Song clan controls one of the largest pill industries, with operations in major cities across the region," Matthew explained quietly, his gaze darting around the music pavilion.

Clark barely seemed to register the information, leaning back in his seat with an easy smile. "The Song clan, you say? Doesn’t make a difference to me." He waved a dismissive hand, his voice carrying a nonchalant edge. Then, with a more inviting tone, he turned to Jade.

"Come on, Jade. Why don’t you enjoy some of the finer delicacies here? I’m sure the pavilion has more than just music to offer."

Jade hesitated, glancing around the pavilion. The soft notes of the musicians had faded into an uneasy silence. Those who had gathered to listen were now hastily gathering their belongings and moving toward the exits, glancing nervously over their shoulders.

The rumor of who Clark had just confronted had spread quickly, and patrons wanted no part in the trouble they feared would soon erupt.

Clark acted as if nothing had happened, his demeanor calm and collected, but Jade could feel the weight of the tension settling over the pavilion.

The once lively atmosphere was now charged with a silent anticipation, the gentle breeze through the open-air space the only sound breaking the silence.

With a steadying breath, she reached for one of the delicacies on the table, doing her best to mimic Clark’s relaxed demeanor.

They lingered for another five minutes, each moment stretching in a silence broken only by the occasional murmur of passing cultivators. Then, like the sudden crack of thunder, a gang of angry cultivators stormed over to confront our bored gamer, their leader’s face twisted in fury.

"Were you the one who killed my son?!" bellowed a middle-aged man, his robes billowing as he stopped in front of them. His eyes blazed with rage, his voice a mix of grief and wrath as he locked his gaze on Clark.

Clark looked up, unfazed, and merely raised an eyebrow. "I did. So what?" he replied, his tone almost dismissive, as if he was being asked about a trivial matter.

The man’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, his eyes nearly bulging from his skull. He threw his head back and laughed, though there was no humor in it—just a savage promise of violence.

"So what?! You dare dismiss it like that?! You killed my son, and you think you can just brush it off?" He sneered, his expression twisting. "I’ll kill you and your bitch right here and now!"

With a swift, furious motion, he drew his sword, a blade humming with a fierce energy. His aura surged, bearing down on Clark and his companions with a heavy, oppressive force. Maxwell, Clark’s loyal follower, instantly prepared himself to defend his master.

Though he knew the Song Clan patriarch was a realm stronger, Maxwell’s loyalty was unwavering. Yet, as he took a step forward, his instincts blared a warning, and he froze, his heart pounding as an unexplainable sensation washed over him.

Without warning, the man’s wrathful advance came to an abrupt end.

"PUCHI!" In a split second, the patriarch and every cultivator who had followed him crumbled into a grotesque fog of blood. The thick, dark red mist hovered for a heartbeat, then began to dissolve, carried away by the wind until not a single drop remained. The ground and surrounding area were left perfectly undisturbed, as though nothing had happened at all.

But to veterans like Maxwell and Matthew, the faint scent of carnage still lingered in the air, invisible to the untrained eye yet undeniable to those with experience. The two of them exchanged a look, their faces pale, their hands trembling slightly. It was as if they had witnessed a glimpse of hell itself.

They turned slowly to Clark, their expressions a mix of fear, awe, and a creeping realization that he was far more dangerous than they could have imagined.

Clark remained seated, his posture as relaxed as ever, his gaze unfocused as though his thoughts had wandered elsewhere. No chant, no invocation, no flicker of movement.

The two cultivators could only stare, their minds struggling to grasp the terrifying implication of his effortless attack. Clark hadn’t lifted a finger, hadn’t uttered a technique, and yet he had obliterated an entire group of cultivators in an instant.

Maxwell and Matthew’s minds raced with questions, but one fact rang out above all: Clark’s power was beyond their comprehension. They could only guess at his cultivation realm—if they dared even guess at all.

"Let’s go, Jade. A few people have caught my interest today," Clark said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that left no room for questions. He rose from his seat and held out a hand to Jade, who placed her hand in his with a subtle, reverent nod. Together, they left the establishment, with Matthew and Maxwell following close behind, their eyes scanning the surroundings in wary silence.

As they exited, a wave of curious onlookers began to flood into the room, their chatter growing louder as they took in the empty space where the Song patriarch and his men had been just moments ago. An air of confusion and unease settled over them.

"Where did they go?" someone whispered, glancing around.

"Didn’t they confront someone just now?"

"It’s like they vanished..." murmured another, an undercurrent of fear edging into their voice.

The truth remained shrouded until the next morning when rumors surged through the streets of Heavenly Immortal City like wildfire.

"The Song Clan is no more!"

"They’ve been massacred—everyone!"

"Only the children and their mothers remain!" The news swept across the city, each retelling heightening the tension, as the magnitude of what had happened finally settled in.

The devastation was absolute, and what made it even more chilling was the complete absence of any signs of battle—no damage to the clan’s compound, no corpses left behind. Only a cold, haunting silence remained where an entire clan had once stood.

The citizens were stunned. Conversations that had once been loud and cheerful were now held in hushed tones, fearfully exchanged glances conveying the same unsettling thought. Who could possibly have the power to destroy an entire clan without leaving a trace? And how had it happened so swiftly?

"Could it have been him?" a Patriarch muttered to his friend. "The stranger who the song clan had conflict just yesterday?"

"A great senior has arrived in our city," someone murmured, a mixture of reverence and terror in their voice. "No one should dare provoke him."

In the homes of the city’s elite, the patriarchs gathered to discuss the day’s shocking events, each clan head feeling the weight of the massacre. One by one, they issued warnings to their families and followers.

"Spread the word—no one is to offend him," ordered one of the eldest patriarchs, his face pale but determined. "If he could annihilate the Song Clan so effortlessly, then any one of us could be next."

"Draw up portraits," suggested another patriarch. "The young ones especially must recognize him. This... dark crow must be respected."

Messengers were sent to each corner of the city, carrying portraits hastily drawn of Clark, each one accompanied by strict instructions: Show deference. Do not provoke him. Anyone who dares to offend will face severe consequences.

The fear that spread through Heavenly Immortal City was unlike anything it had seen in years.

Children who overheard the whispered warnings clung to their mothers’ robes, while the elders looked toward the skies, wondering if they were now at the mercy of an immortal beyond their comprehension.

In homes and inns, rumors continued to spiral, weaving myths and tales around Clark’s mysterious arrival.

By evening, people spoke of him as if he were some ancient, vengeful spirit or a celestial being who had descended to deliver punishment.