The Drill Instructor's face went pale at those words.
"S-second chief, that's not what I meant. I was only..."
"Enough. Don't explain."
"Let me remind you: the time to decide who gets the Martial Armory is drawing closer. If you don't want the Blood Tiger Stronghold to lose its leading position once we establish a sect, you'd better stop complaining."
"And the position you hold afterward will depend entirely on how much you contribute."
The second chief spoke sternly.
The Drill Instructor swallowed.
"Y-yes, second chief. Rest assured, I understand."
"I won't complain again. No matter how hard they are to teach, I'll find a way to make them learn the Wind-Splitting Saber Art as soon as possible!"
The second chief's expression turned cold. "What good is learning the Wind-Splitting Saber Art alone? Their cultivation has to keep up. Within three months, I want every person you teach to reach at least the Twelfth Level of the Houtian Realm."
"The Twelfth Level is the bare minimum."
"Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, yes..."
The Drill Instructor bowed and scraped under the second chief's scolding, but inwardly he cursed up a storm. That damned second chief was all talk. Why didn't he come teach them himself?
Did he really think reaching the Twelfth Level was that easy?
Was the Wind-Splitting Saber Art so easy to grasp at the Entry Realm?
Without the aptitude or talent, how was he supposed to teach these people in the stronghold?
Damn it!
But how could he dare say any of that aloud?
He was at the Fourteenth Layer of the Houtian Realm, and True Qi was gradually beginning to form within him.
But openly defying a genuine Innate Master would be asking for death.
Seeing how meekly the Drill Instructor submitted, the second chief said no more.