Washed Up in the Immortal Army
Chapter 6: Outcasts and the Wheel of Fate
"Hand over the monk staff and you may live."
The Black Madonna curled her lips. What nonsense. If I give it to you, isn’t my life in your hands? But weapons are just weapons; it depends on the user’s power.
In the end, the Black Madonna was trapped in a canyon, surrounded by Soul Manifestation cultivators.
"Come, kill me, take my monk staff."
The Black Madonna was cornered, hoarsely shouting:
"This monk staff was brought to me by my husband from the upper realm in my previous life. Come, kill me. When my husband returns, whichever sect has this staff will be wiped out."
The Soul Manifestation cultivators around fell silent.
This was the only possible explanation. The Black Madonna was still charming. Otherwise, how to explain the monk staff’s origin? It shouldn’t be from the lower world. Even if the giver wasn’t her previous life’s husband, it must have been someone close.
At this moment, no one stepped forward.
"Hahaha, scared? What five great sects, what great Soul Manifestation cultivators—just a bunch of bullies."
The Black Madonna became more reckless. After all, if you’re not afraid of death, who cares what you say.
"How long can you live? Foundation? Two hundred years? We’ll just wait for you to die. From today, you won’t get a single pill or spirit stone in Maple Heights Realm. How will you cultivate?"
The Black Madonna fell silent, her anger at its peak. Why are you born above others? Why do big sect disciples have an easier path to the top? When will this injustice end?
Her eyes flickered, her voice hoarse: "If I hand over the monk staff willingly, and leave a memory sphere before dying to prove you didn’t seize it by force or kill me, can I exchange it for resources from Violet Peak to Soul Manifestation?"
Every small town has its own way of shutting people out. No more credit at the general store, whispers on the sidewalk, doors locked a little earlier each night. For the Black Madonna, exile was a slow death, but she stood her ground, voice cracking with the determination of someone who’s already lost everything.
