Soulbound: Dual Cultivation-Chapter 71: You’re still a boy

Lucas knew the truth that many wouldn’t admit aloud, even in times like these. There were more powerful cultivators within the city, beings who could change the tide of battle within minutes, whose strength was several magnitudes above what the current defenders possessed. He had no doubt that they were watching from afar, weighing the situation with cold logic and centuries of experience. But they would not act unless the situation crossed a threshold, unless the danger to the city became undeniable, unless the wall truly began to fall. It was the cruel calculus of cultivation society, those who stood at the peak did not move unless absolutely necessary. To them, this was not yet critical. Not yet desperate enough.

But to Lucas, it was already too much.

He didn’t need the wall to collapse before deciding to act. He didn’t need to see the city gates trampled or hear the dying screams of the people to feel the urgency choking his lungs. He had always hated death that could be prevented. Perhaps it was a trait carried over from his past life, or maybe it was something buried in who he had always been.

Casualties were not acceptable, not if they could be avoided.

His priority was clear, the horde must not make it through the wall. That was the one line he had drawn for himself, the one purpose burning in his veins even as his body fought to hold the vast Qi he had drawn in moments earlier. The soldiers and cultivators already on the wall were fighting with everything they had. He could see it in their eyes, in the way their forms strained, in the way they no longer hesitated to strike.

There was no lack of courage among them. No lack of resolve. But effort alone was not enough. The numbers of the beasts had not diminished in any meaningful way. For every creature they struck down, three more seemed to emerge from the treeline beyond the hills.

Lucas scanned the line of defenders near him. Most of the cultivators here were between the Adept and Expert ranks. They were skilled, yes, but that strength had its limits, especially when outnumbered by creatures bred for slaughter. Their techniques were refined but lacked the overwhelming might required to thin the horde significantly. Only a few on the wall stood out...three figures whose movements bore the sharp precision and heavy weight of cultivators in the Master Rank.

The Master Rank. A threshold few reached and even fewer surpassed.

On average, a cultivator in the Master Rank was two to three times stronger than an Expert. Their Qi flowed cleaner, their bodies had adapted to the harsh pressures of high-level combat, and their spiritual energy allowed them to unleash techniques on a scale far beyond those below them.

The Master Rank was often where the road ended, many would rise to that level after decades of struggle, only to find themselves stagnating for the rest of their lives. Advancing beyond that required more than discipline. It demanded extraordinary talent, the right lineage, enlightenment, or a stroke of fateful opportunity.

That was why cultivators in the Grandmaster Realm and above were spoken of with near-mythical reverence. They were rare, elusive, and often remained secluded from the world. Their presence in mortal affairs was reserved for only the gravest of threats. In a kingdom, perhaps only one or two existed. Some cities had never seen one at all.

Lucas moved through the chaos with a slow but determined stagger, the pressure of the Qi storm within him was starting to bleed into his body, his veins bulged, pressing hard against his skin in jagged blue lines that pulsed with each heartbeat.

His breathing was uneven, ragged, yet filled with a power that refused to be contained. His irises had begun to bleed into crimson from the sheer concentration of energy trying to escape. Each blink burned. His vision danced at the edges, but his focus never wavered.

As he reached the raised ledge near the battlement, he looked down at the scene below. The beasts were nearly up the wall now, their claws anchoring into the cracks of the stone. Arrows rained on them like a storm, spells lit the air with flares of violent color, and yet it barely seemed to matter. The defenders were doing all they could, but the momentum of the horde was overwhelming.

He turned toward Nyx and Commander Alexander. His voice came out deeper than before, soaked in the weight of the power he carried and the urgency he could no longer suppress. "Step back," he said slowly, his words steady but laced with strain. "All of you. Let me do something... now."

The commander straightened at once, eyes narrowing as he raised a hand. "Absolutely not. You’re still an Expert rank, and you’re unstable. You answer to my command in this war."

Even before Lucas could reply, the three cultivators in the Master Rank had already moved in closer, clearly listening. The one at the center, a stern-faced woman with greying hair tied into a tight knot, gave a sharp glance in his direction.

"You will stand down," she said. "There’s a chain of command here. We are holding this wall. You are not to act without orders. Your recklessness will only create more chaos."

Lucas clenched his fists. The pressure inside him was beginning to swell past the point of comfort now. The Qi he had absorbed was not meant to be stored for long in a body that hadn’t fully adapted to it. If he didn’t release it soon, it would tear him apart from within.

He took a step forward. "If I don’t act now... we’ll be overrun," he said through gritted teeth. "You think you’re holding this line, but we’re already losing. Every second counts." fгeewebnovёl.com

"You’re still just a boy," the second Master Cultivator said coldly. "And you’ll listen to your betters. Keep your mouth shut and stay with the others."

Lucas’s body shook slightly from rage rising like a tide inside him. The arrogance, the blindness, the refusal to see what was clearly unfolding right in front of them...it boiled his blood. His lips parted slightly, and his jaw tightened as he bit back the furious words threatening to spill. But the energy inside him, the storm begging for release, surged again. He could feel it scraping against his bones now, a violent tide demanding to be unshackled.

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