Clan Building System: I'm not the Protagonist?!-Chapter 82: Saint Grade Manual.

Lin Zhaoyue’s arms tightened around him in a sudden embrace, her lips pressing briefly to his cheek in a soft, startling kiss before she pulled back, flushed and triumphant.

"I’ll return to the Lin family estate for now," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "But remember... I’m your first wife."

With a final, mischievous smile, she folded her legs beneath her and drifted upward on a wave of qi, vanishing into the treetops before Fang Yuan could even catch his breath.

He stood rooted for a heartbeat, then glanced down at the hairpin and spatial ring still clutched in his hand.

"Wait a minute..."

He opened his mouth to give chase then shook his head with a wry curl of his lips.

Slipping back into the forest’s edge, he concealed his aura and wove through the innocent bustle of passersby until he arrived at a humble inn lit by paper lanterns.

Inside, the warm glow of oil lamps and the chatter of diners welcomed him like a spring breeze.

He paused by a worn wooden table, then sank onto the bench and beckoned the innkeeper. "Pork stew, four bowls, if you please."

As the first bowl arrived, guests stole curious glances, muttering behind cupped hands.

"Who is that man, ordering four bowls at once?"

"Must be flush with cash."

"A cultivator, no doubt, see that sword at his back?"

Fang Yuan only smiled, tapping his chopsticks against the side of the steaming bowl.

He finished each mouthful in a single bite, savoring the rich broth and tender meat, until the innkeeper quietly set a pile of empty bowls beside him.

Then, with a discreet gesture, Fang Yuan summoned the translucent system screen before his eyes:

System Points: 120,000 SP

A slow grin tugged at his lips as the numbers pulsed across the screen. 120,000 SP, like sunlight pouring into his bones.

Next, he tapped on the glowing [ Saint-Grade Cultivation Manual ]icon within the system interface, hovering gently in the air like a floating glyph.

Its outline shimmered with golden light, the emblem of celestial runes pulsating faintly along the edges like breathing sigils.

The moment he opened it, a ripple of light spread across the screen.

Then—

Acquiring Manual: [ Saint-Grade Manual: Heavenly Mandate Scripture ]

Beneath it, a series of blinking message appeared:

[Notice: Host, this manual was originally classified as Divine-Grade.

Due to external interference during the Coldwind City Championship, the reward has been downgraded.]

[ Host, to found and lead a clan, you must cultivate the unshakable faith of your followers.

- Inspire their loyalty through impartial justice.

- Earn their respect with unwavering integrity.

- Guide them with clear vision and compassionate strength.]

And a third notification appeared beneath it:

[ Host, your younger brother’s championship victory was aided by outside influence.

His unfair advantage has triggered a penalty:

The Divine-Grade Cultivation Manual has been downgraded to Saint-Grade. ]

Fang Yuan’s smile faltered, his excitement curdling into a bitter twist of irony. He closed the manual with a soft snap and stared at the empty bowls before him.

"Why," he whispered to the hush of the inn, "does it always have to be my brother pulling me down?"

Fang Yuan’s brows drew into a thin, sharp line, for even in victory, his brother managed to make him lose.

He let out a slow, controlled breath, fingers tightening a little.

He then rose from his seat, dusted the folds of his robes, and placed a few coins on the table.

The innkeeper, half-dazed by the man’s sudden departure and half-spooked by the unsettling aura he gave off, said nothing as he left.

Now that he had obtained something as profound as the Heavenly Mandate Scripture, he’d have to be a fool if he fooled around again.

He stepped into the bustling streets once more, the crowd thick as usual, merchants haggling, cultivators moving about, gossip drifting like smoke on the wind.

And then, he noticed a crowd gathered ahead.

Low whispers rippled through them, rumors, hushed murmurs, fragments of something unsettling.

Fang Yuan’s curiosity stirred.

There was something familiar about that alley.

He followed the noise casually, pulling a simple mask from his sleeve and slipping it over the lower half of his face.

He melded into the crowd like a shadow slipping through mist.

Up ahead, the street was packed with people forming a semicircle around an alleyway.

A crowd had gathered, surrounding something on the ground.

Fang Yuan made his way closer, not pushing, merely observing.

There, at the center of the commotion, lay four corpses, Gu family patrol guards.

Dead.

Their heads crushed, misshapen like eggs beneath a hammer.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Who could’ve done this...?"

"Dead in one strike... all of them... their heads... gods..."

Each corpse had its skull crushed inward, as if a mountain rock had smashed down directly upon them.

Fang Yuan gave the scene one glance, just one and then Fang Yuan muttered inwardly, brow twitching as he glanced at the corpses once more.

The heck...? His breath caught.

Weren’t those... the ones I only knocked unconscious?

His gaze lingered on the caved-in skulls, a dull chill creeping down his spine.

Who the hell crushed their heads in like that...? With a rock, no less...

A long pause. He said nothing aloud.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he shook his head and turned away.

"...Well, whatever."

And just like that, he slipped past the murmuring crowd, his figure vanishing into the winding streets without another glance back.

His eyes narrowed as he turned toward the Gu family estate beyond the rooftops, its silhouette looming like a stubborn parasite on the city’s veins.

A whisper escaped his lips, cold and quiet:

"Enjoy my gift for today. If you survive, I’ll come bearing more."

He unsheathed his sword with a soft shing of steel, stepped onto it with effortless grace, and soared into the sky.

Not because he had to.

But because he could.

Truth was, most cultivators didn’t travel by sword. Not unless they wanted to waste spiritual energy.

Lin Zhaoyue had it right, walking or gliding with refined Qi techniques was faster, safer, and far more efficient.