I Hate Cultivators: Becoming a Mage in the Cultivation World

With the world blurring around him, Constantine dashed straight forward, the dagger in his hand casting reflected rays of sunlight. The hooded men all moved, bending their knees as they threw themselves at him like dark shadows.

'They want me alive, they won't use their daggers.' That was the split-second observation. He dived downward, pain burning within his back thighs as he slid across the harsh stone road. The two nearest gangsters swept down, their hands reaching to intercept him.

He was faster, sliding between them, his body too low for them to reach in time. Gritting his teeth, he leaped onto his feet from the slide, adrenaline suppressing the pain he felt.

He turned, sprinting into a dark alley. Shouts and multiple sets of fast-paced footsteps echoed behind him. The air was thick with the smell of rain-soaked stone and the faint stench of decay.

His legs hurt and burned with each step; the pain worsened quickly, and his muscles overstrained. Redirecting the warmth into his arms, he leapt onto the rough stone facade, his empowered hands gripping it. He pulled himself up, using his inhuman strength and light body to climb.

"I will kill you, boy! You bastard!" The curses got closer, making him put even more force into his grip. He pulled higher, the ground quickly turning distant below him. With a clang, a dagger bounced off the wall right beside him, sparks flying. The sound echoed through the narrow alley, a stark reminder of the threat. Constantine's eyes widened in terror as he pulled himself up one last time, leaping over the roof's edge and landing stomach-first on its top.

Sprawled on top of the sunlight-heated roof tiles, waves of pain throbbed through his legs and arms, his teeth firmly clenched to suppress it. He had no time to lose; the gangsters were closing in, their shouts echoing from the streets below. He knew he wasn't entirely safe yet.

Balancing along the edge of the pointed roof, he moved slowly, careful not to fall to his death. Suddenly, his foot slipped. The world tilted violently as a few tiles broke loose, thundering down and shattering on the road below. His heart leaped into his throat as he waved his arms frantically, barely managing to regain his balance just inches from the edge.

Seeing the stone road below, he swallowed deeply. He was two floors high, enough to shatter his bones upon impact. The distant sounds of city life—a dog barking, a cart rumbling—seemed eerily far away.

"Moron, why are you wasting time here? Use the fucking stairs!" A shout came from below. His heartbeat spiked, panic setting in. The gangsters were right beneath him, closing in. He had to hurry, quickening his pace as he balanced around the roof's edge despite the searing pain.

He reached the roof's edge and stared at the gap between the two buildings, gulping nervously. It was wide, too wide for his liking—and easily able to fit an entire carriage and half in between.

'Where to go?' He scanned his surroundings—the neighboring roofs, the streets snaking below, and the distant silhouettes of multi-story towers. The massive palace loomed over the city from a tall hill, as if it was an enormous throne.

As he hesitated, standing there for a few moments, he heard a sudden, loud crack.

The roof tiles shattered behind him as a gangster burst through, the force of his entrance sending debris flying. The hooded, bulky man climbed out of the hole he had made, his eyes locking onto Constantine with a predatory gleam. "Here you are, brat! Come down with this uncle and let us speak like civilized people!"

Constantine's heart pounded even harder. He realized how much time he had wasted with his indecisiveness. He had to jump now, or it would be too late.

'Implant, using all the data, is the jump possible if I channel energy into my legs?'

The fraction of a second it took for the chip to respond felt like an eternity.

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That was all he needed to know. Channeling the burning energy into the muscles of his legs and bending his knees despite the dull pain, he leaped upward and forward. The dirty alley blurred below him. With a thud, he landed on the opposing roof's edge, waving his arms to regain his balance. He heard the gangster's frustrated shout behind him, followed by a string of curses.

The pain in his legs was excruciating, but he pushed forward with tears in his eyes, darting around the roof's edge and ignoring the shouting gangster behind him. Reaching another edge, he leapt again, the fresh wind making his hair dance. The adrenaline surged through his veins, momentarily overpowering the pain.

He didn't slow down; instead, his speed increased with growing confidence. Reaching another edge, he leapt again, another dark alley passing below. He had never been into sports in his past life but now regretted it, realizing he had a natural talent for body coordination.

Judging he was far enough from the street where he was ambushed, he leaned over the roof's edge, gulping as he saw the street below.

'I must go down, I can't go like this.' He breathed nervously; feeling like the way down would be more terrifying than the way up

Reaching and grabbing the edge with his energy-empowered grip, he slowly lowered himself down, his arms trembling from overuse. He reached for the edge of a window frame with his feet but misjudged the distance and slipped, barely managing to catch himself in time with his arms. His fingers ached, his palms sweaty as he clung to the narrow ledge.

He took a deep breath and released his grip, dropping another floor. He reached out desperately, catching hold of a wooden frame holding a sign. His arms pulsed with pain from the sudden shock, his grip faltering. He took another breath, then released once more, falling the last half of a floor and landing heavily on the road below.

His legs buckled, the impact shaking his entire body, but he didn't waste a moment. Ignoring the pain, he darted off, running back toward his master's villa. It was in a good part of the city, a part that was actually patrolled, and gangs wouldn't dare to be so brazen.

As he ran, Constantine's mind raced through the possibilities, trying to figure out what the gang wanted from him. His lungs burned with every breath, his legs felt like lead, and his body screamed for rest. He briefly thought of the stand where he sold thunder-horned rabbit meat but dismissed it immediately. It was a common low-grade product; it wouldn't attract this much attention.

'Those two!' Then he realized his mistake—the moment he was too careless, forgetting that on the streets, everything had ears and eyes. He had beaten up the two boys with seemingly superhuman strength and speed—he, a poor nobody.

'They must think I have some kind of cultivation item.' His expression became grim, his face paling, knowing he had screwed up beyond repair. He thought that hiding in the better part of the city might save him, but when it came to cultivating items, he knew that the gang after him might take the risk.

He stopped, feeling the weight of his mistake crash down on him. He couldn't fight, run, or hide. He could only escape the city, but now that his life had finally improved, he was unwilling. Shaking his head, he thought, 'There must be some better solution.'

Then his eyes lit up. It might be a risky move, but to him, it was the only viable option. 'They want something that I have, so why not give it to them?' He had copied, scanned, and digitalized the entire manual a long time ago using his implant; there was no need to keep it.

Constantine kept walking, moving with a small crowd, blending amidst the people, trying not to draw any attention to himself. His muscles screamed for rest, yet he couldn't afford it. As he contemplated, his mood dropped once more, knowing it wasn't a good solution—he was dealing with a gang, people not exactly known for their fairness and honor.

He had no guarantee they wouldn't just get rid of him the moment he gave them the only thing they wanted. 'They might as well kill me to silence me and tie up all the loose ends.' His chest tightened at the thought, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

'What if I destroyed the manual? The only one to teach them would be me, meaning they would have to keep me alive.' He immediately crossed the idea out, as once again the result would depend too much on the gang's whims.

He couldn't hide, he couldn't defeat them, and he couldn't negotiate with them. His legs wobbled with each step, his body on the brink of collapse. 'I can only escape the city.'

Speeding up his pace, he glanced at the sun; it was still high in the sky. He had enough time to get his things, as he doubted they would be brazen enough to attack the villa in the daylight.

Reaching the villa, Constantine swiftly entered his tiny room, his legs trembling with fatigue. He began packing all his belongings into a cloth pouch. Fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't own much besides the clothes on his back, the monster core and horn, the manual, and his pouch of coins.

He paused, holding the manual, and a grin formed on his tired face. Lighting up the candle on his small table, Constantine grinned even further, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. Flipping the manual open, his eyes flashed with manic intensity. 'I will be the one laughing at the end!'

He flipped through the pages, landing on the diagram showing the paths and patterns for circulating mana in the QI adaptation substage. Dipping a quill into the small porcelain flask of ink, he began to draw new lines and paths, deforming the diagram with reckless abandon.

'Is the pattern even important? Does it matter?' He had no idea what changing them would do, but he would soon find out. 'Dumb leeches of society, scumbags, and good-for-nothings—you will be my lab rats.' Knowing the gang wouldn't let go easily of something so valuable, he planned to leave the manual behind to delay them. However, the last thing he wanted was a gang filled with superhumans.

'Purify impurities from organs? There's no mention of the brain. Let's add it to see what it will do.' He chuckled darkly as he scribbled a few words onto the page, trying to keep the handwriting identical to the original. 'What about purifying one's bone marrow? What will it do? Oh, and what about blood? There are no mentions of them in the manual.'

With a tearing sound, he ripped a page from the back of the manual and submerged its corner into the flickering candle flame, watching it burst into flames. He tore more pages, igniting one after another, each burning page reflecting his smoldering rage.

Eventually, the manual thinned out, leaving behind only the altered first two substages. Standing up from his bed, Constantine stormed out of his room, each step heavy with exhaustion but fueled by thoughts of vengeance.

In the corridor, he passed by two arrogant apprentices. His steps didn't slow, his eyes fixed ahead.

"Heh? You forgot to bow, servant? Or did your recent accomplishments get to your head and now you think you are better than us?"

Clenching his fists, Constantine forced himself to ignore them. He wanted to punch the two idiots, but he had no time to get into more trouble. Reaching his teacher's study, he knocked on the polished oak door, the sound resonating through the empty hallway.

He waited, each second feeling like an eternity and his heart pounding with anxiety.

"Come in." The familiar voice, dulled by the doors, came from inside. Almost breaking the door off its hinges, he entered and slightly bowed his head toward the elderly man sitting behind the table.

"Oh, Constantine, why are you here now? Shouldn't you be at the parade?"

"Teacher, I thought about the words the senior said. I am young, and I wish to see the world outside the city.

"I've spent my entire life behind the walls of this city. I know nothing of the world outside. I wish to travel and enrich my worldview. After seeing the parade, I want to see what the world is really like. I want to study biology, yet I haven't even seen an animal beyond rats, dogs, horses, and cats with my own eyes."

"It's a bit sudden. Don't be rash, the roads are dangerous, bandits, monsters..."

Constantine interrupted his master, his voice trembling with urgency. "I will follow the main roads and caravans."

"Well," the elderly man ran his fingers through his white beard, "I can understand. The world is large and there is a lot to see. I can't stop you. When do you plan to leave?"

"Today."

The elderly man straightened his back, his eyes and tone turning serious. "Boy, don't take me for a fool. To leave so suddenly? Something must have happened. Tell me what."

Silence dragged on, though Constantine contemplated his answer for just a couple of seconds. "My parents, they have offended someone, and it cost them their lives. It caught up to me. I must leave, at least until the dust settles. A year, or maybe two, should be enough."

"I should have known! Trouble, just trouble! I knew I shouldn't have taken in trash from the street. You, leave now, and do not return!" The old man yelled, his voice shaking with wrath.

Constantine nodded calmly, though his heart ached. He understood his former master's anger. He had taken him in, yet Constantine had brought trouble to his doorstep. He deserved this for his own carelessness. Just as he reached for the door's handle, he heard the old scholar speak again. "Wait! You have true talent and you improved my standing with those methods of yours."

Constantine turned, seeing the old man grab a piece of parchment, his quill scribbling furiously. "At least, take this," he finished the one last line. "This is my recommendation. You can use this invitation from a state scholar to participate in official scholar tests. Consider it my repayment."

Constantine took the parchment, his eyes welling up with unexpected gratitude. "Thank you, teacher. I will not disappoint you."

As he left the villa, his heart was heavy with a mix of despair and burning fury. His life has finally improved, with him finally retaking his post among members of academia. Yet, they took it from him. His body ached, and his mind was weary, but he clenched his fists, 'I will become stronger to ensure this never again repeats.'