A difficult situation?
The middle-aged Daoist had been just about to voice a polite refusal—he had even worked out exactly how to phrase it.
First, he would sigh and say, "It is not that this poor Daoist is unwilling, but that my cultivation is still shallow," using that as an excuse to decline.
But now!
Not to mention that we cultivators had, from the day we entered the path, taken it as our duty to slay demons and vanquish evil. Cutting down the wicked things of this world and protecting the peace of a region was a responsibility carved into our bones and blood.
Even less so could he ignore that behind this undertaking stood that mysterious old man, whose strength was unfathomable—so terrifying he was nearly invincible—and that the target was the Ghostly Things in the reservoir that had caused no small amount of harm.
Such a righteous deed, with both heaven's timing and human harmony in place.
If he dared utter even half a word of "no," what face would he have to see his long-departed master after descending to the Yellow Springs?
Even the Peachwood Sword his master had personally passed down to him would probably be ashamed of him underground.
"Fine!"
The candles before the altar suddenly crackled, scattering a string of sparks.
The middle-aged Daoist, who had still been lost in his memories, was jolted awake.
"It's Yin Energy! Such powerful Yin Energy!!!"
There was a barely perceptible tremor in the middle-aged Daoist's voice. Not from fear, but because the sudden icy chill had wound his nerves tight.
It was as though fine shards of ice floated through the air; even breathing them into his lungs brought a chill. The yellow talismans on the altar swayed gently as well.
Gritting his teeth, he stretched