In contemplative silence, our op mc lingered on the cusp of choosing between worlds, poised at the threshold between realms that bore the essence of familiarity and those veiled in the allure of the unknown.
Despite the multitude of realms akin to Earth scattered across the near-infinite expanse of the universe, a compelling intrigue tugged at his essence, beckoning him toward the enigmatic realms of xianxia.
Thus, he embarked on this odyssey, a departure from the realms he knew, stepping into a domain shrouded in mystique and change.
The memories he'd inherited from the deceased Nero were but a prelude to the immersive experience that awaited him within these unknown horizons.
Deciding against descending into a bustling metropolis, our op mc's footsteps found their mark within the quiet embrace of a modest village, nestled obscurely on the outskirts of the grand tapestry of existence.
Determined to glean every hue and facet of life's offerings, he resolved to embark on this journey starting from the very bottom, embracing the spectrum of experiences that life had woven.
Initially, his journey was solitary, yet serendipity soon orchestrated another set of footsteps, a synchrony mirroring his own, mere moments after his arrival in this realm.
"You came," our op mc acknowledged, momentarily halting his gait, his gaze settling upon the aged beggar who'd seemingly traversed the distance between their destinies.
"I did. If it's my death you wish, grant it with honesty. Spare me the entrapment within your demonic mastery," Lucas responded wearily, his exhausted voice tinged with the fatigue of a life relegated to the mundane struggles of an undistinguished immortal.
He harbored a profound yearning for liberation, even if it came veiled in the guise of death's embrace, an escape from the chains of an unremarkable existence.
Mockery danced in our op mc's retort, "Your addition to my collection would hardly merit a ripple." With that, they walked, one behind the other, silence serving as the symphony of their journey.
Ten minutes passed, and on the horizon, the modest yet fortified gates of Misty Terrace Village emerged, a bastion of quietude amidst the chaos of existence.
"STOP! Advance no further! State your purpose or face your deaths!" Approaching the entrance, a thunderous voice halted their advance, the sentries atop the towering wooden bastions brandishing a dozen arrows, ready to defend the sanctity of their haven.
"We come in peace! We're rogue cultivators from a faraway land. We heard that the people of Misty Terrace Village are peaceful ones and we wish to enjoy your hospitality for a few days," our op mc declared, the conviction in his voice cloaked in a guise of serenity.
Yet, the disparity in attire—especially his opulent all-white cultivator robes, a stark contrast to the locals' humble garb—was evident.
The sentinels eyed each other warily, none daring to provoke the ire of a true cultivator clan. Sensing the tension, the majority signaled for an audience with higher authority.
"Hold, esteemed masters! I shall summon our village chief," the voice from the sentry tower proclaimed, swiftly descending via a rope and hurrying away, burdening another with the task of handling these enigmatic arrivals.
A few minutes elapsed before the aged wooden gates parted, revealing a procession led by a middle-aged figure swathed in rugged animal hides.
His stature, towering and robust, hinted at latent strength beneath sinewy muscles, while the confident stride bespoke a life seasoned with sagacity.
The entourage halted a mere ten paces from our op mc, who stood composed amidst this unfolding tableau. The middle-aged man, cognizant and astute, discerned an anomaly.
These visitors didn't bear the familiar mark of neighboring rival villages nor did they exude the expected aura of rogue cultivators.
Instead, one exuded an imperious sovereignty, while the other, despite donning garb that seemed to reek of destitution, regarded the scene with an unsettling air of indifference, akin to disdainfully observing insignificant insects rather than fellow beings.
An unsettling revelation dawned upon the middle-aged man as he fathomed the true nature of these mysterious arrivals.
"Greetings, honored masters! Your visit graces our humble sanctuary. Please, accept my invitation within," the middle-aged man extended a cordial welcome, an undertone of deference lacing his words.
"Your hospitality is most appreciated. It seems the tales we've heard hold truth. We thank you for your kindness," our op mc acknowledged with a gracious smile, ushering himself and the aged beggar followed his steps behind into the village.
Even within this fleeting interaction, the unspoken power dynamic between the duo was palpable, casting one as master and the other as a subservient follower.
The astute middle-aged man, attuned to nuances, keenly perceived this hierarchical relationship, marking a stark contrast amidst this fateful encounter.
A grand feast unfolded that very night, an opulent celebration enveloping the village in an air of festivity.
Our op mc and his companion, graciously received, chose to linger within the embrace of Misty Terrace Village.
The villagers bestowed upon them the finest huts, treating them as esteemed guests under the hospitable care of the village chief and his community.
This middle-aged figure, commanding the allegiance of approximately 2,000 souls, conscientiously reminded his people of the utmost importance to treat these guests with reverence, urging them to avoid any semblance of offense.
Beyond this plea lay a hope, a silent yearning for the best possible outcome.
"Your aptitude at assimilating is abysmal. Only a fool would mistake us for rogue cultivators in this domain. Mark my words, your lackluster performance would unveil your true nature wherever you tread," Lucas Front chortled.
No longer garbed in beggarly attire, he had indulged in a refreshing bath and now adorned himself in rustic animal hides akin to the locals.
To an unsuspecting eye, he blended seamlessly among the villagers, an unassuming figure indistinguishable from the rest. In their week-long sojourn, both he and our op mc relished the village's generosity, partaking in the culinary delights and imbibing the local offerings.
"Deception was never my aim. I seek something beyond," our op mc responded cryptically, his smile directed toward a specific direction that elicited a blush from a demure maiden nearby.