The World's First Cultivator Convention unfolded just as planned.
However, the registration site was not set inland.
Instead, it was placed—without precedent—on remote islands in the Pacific Ocean.
And the very first trial was already cruel.
Participants had to rely on their own abilities to reach the designated islands within one month and complete registration.
Only those who succeeded would qualify to take part in this so-called grand convention.
Faced with this test, although many Cyber Cultivators were surprised, very few backed down.
By now, the number of Cyber Cultivators had exploded.
Naturally, entire industries had sprung up around them.
For cultivators, absorbing spiritual energy was only one path to strength.
Equipment mattered just as much.
It was common knowledge—
Cyber Cultivators could integrate machinery into their bodies.
Even those at the Qi Refining Stage could unleash terrifying power by equipping themselves with advanced gear.
As a result, all kinds of "artifacts" had appeared.
Mechanical wings for flight.
Artificial gills, fins, and tails for underwater movement.
Compact tunneling devices capable of burrowing through the earth.
As long as one had money, even a low-level cultivator could soar through the skies, dive into the seas, or travel beneath the ground.
Nothing was out of reach.
This was precisely why so many ordinary people were obsessed with Cyber Cultivation.
For those armed to the teeth with such equipment—
Crossing the Pacific Ocean was trivial.
A journey that might take others a month could be completed in just a few days.
Of course, the authorities understood this very well.
The one-month window was never meant for the powerful.
It was reserved for the weak.
After all—
The real purpose of this convention was clear.
To harvest the masses.
High-level cultivators were strategic assets.
Each one was built upon enormous resources.
Letting them die so easily would be a complete waste.
But low-level cultivators?
They were countless.
Expendable.
Like ants.
And yet—
These "ants" were the very foundation of the system.
Because in this era, a single high-level cultivator held power comparable to a nuclear deterrent.
Even worse—
Their spiritual sense could bypass modern defenses entirely.
No firewall could stop them.
No secret could be hidden.
Unless a nation abandoned all electronic technology and regressed centuries backward, it would remain completely exposed.
Under such circumstances, how could any country afford to lose its top-tier cultivators?
It couldn't.
So instead—
They would sacrifice the weak.
…
…
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
Even after accounting for those who died along the journey—or those who withdrew out of fear—
More than ten million cultivators still arrived to register.
As for how many perished along the way…
No one could say.
But judging from the slight recovery of spiritual energy in the environment during that month—
The number was undoubtedly staggering.
And yet, even after such losses, the remaining population was still enormous.
Where there were people, there was demand.
And where there was demand, there were merchants.
In just a single month, those who arrived early had already built a bustling city on the central island.
Every day, countless cultivators moved through its streets.
Trading.
Exchanging techniques.
Sharing knowledge.
Over time, major factions had developed their own unique spells and systems.
Now, they gathered here to compare notes.
To learn from one another.
To grow stronger.
But just as anticipation reached its peak—
The second round began.
Silently.
Without ceremony.
Without warning.
Above the islands, nine massive Blood Spirit Arrays rose into existence.
At the same time, every Cyber Cultivator received a message directly to their personal ID.
Each array enveloped an entire island.
From the outside, nothing could be seen.
Each island became an isolated battlefield.
The nine arrays corresponded to the nine levels of the Qi Refining Stage.
Only cultivators of the matching level could enter.
Anyone too strong would be repelled.
If they wished to participate, they would have to move to a higher-level arena.
The rules were simple.
And ruthless.
The arrays would remain open at all times.
Anyone could enter.
Anyone could leave.
But once they exited, they had to wait seven days before re-entering the same level.
Each entry lasted a maximum of three days.
Beyond that, the array itself would begin to corrode the cultivator's body.
This prevented anyone from hiding indefinitely.
Or monopolizing a battlefield.
Meanwhile, the central island remained a neutral zone.
There, one could purchase weapons, techniques, and supplies from various factions.
…
…
Once the rules were understood—
The reactions were immediate.
And divided.
Those backed by wealth and power were delighted.
A group battle meant safety.
Strength in numbers.
Their survival rate skyrocketed.
But for lone cultivators—
This was a nightmare.
They had expected fair duels.
One-on-one.
Instead, they were thrown into a battlefield dominated by factions.
Even among those of the same level, the gap was already enormous.
Some possessed advanced techniques, powerful spells, and fully integrated equipment.
Others had nothing but raw spiritual energy.
And now—
It wasn't even a duel.
It was a melee.
Which young master from a major family didn't travel with dozens—if not hundreds—of followers?
On such a battlefield—
A lone wolf stood no chance.
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