The Saiyan In The Cultivation World.

{Bonus Chapter for the 100 powerstones}

"I'm curious," I said, tapping the edge of my fan against my palm as I took a step closer. "How on earth did they manage to keep your Dao intact after turning you into their little bitch?"

"I'm guessing the brainwashing had to be slow," I mused, tilting my head slightly. "I'd love to read up on their understanding of the Dao. To turn a Sword Deity—someone who should embody independence, mastery, and freedom—into such a loyal little pawn they can replace whenever they like… Now that takes skill."

I flicked my fan open and slowly fanned myself "I see what they were thinking, though. They didn't want to reveal their real hands, so they picked someone like you to shield them—a 'hero' they could parade around. And look at you." I gestured at her with the fan. "So easily replaceable. What value do you hold, really?"

Her grip on her sword tightened further, veins popping in her hand as she tried to remain calm. I took another step closer, lowering my voice.

"You're all about justice, aren't you? Yet I'd bet everything I own that you've done some truly evil things in their name." I leaned slightly closer, my tone laced with mockery. "But I'm sure the brainwashing helps, doesn't it? Gives you the power to ignore those pesky little inconsistencies. Helps you justify it all in the name of the greater good."

I snapped the fan shut and covered my mouth with it, my eyes glinting with cold amusement. Though my mocking smile was hidden, it was clear in my gaze.

Her aura flickered, her composure threatening to crack as my words dug deeper. She clenched her jaw, her breathing shallow, but still, she said nothing. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the tension thick enough to cut with a sword.

*Crack*

The sound echoed through the hall like a thunderclap, silencing even the faintest whispers. All eyes turned to the Sword Deity, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Blood trickled from her eyes, like crimson tears, slowly tracing paths down her pale cheeks. It didn't stop there. Blood began to seep from her nose and ears, pooling at her trembling fingertips as she weakly raised her hand to touch her face.

Her movements were unsteady, hesitant, as though she didn't want to believe what she already knew. When her fingers came away wet with blood, her eyes widened in horror. She stared at her palm as if the sight would somehow change if she looked long enough.

"The signs..." someone in the crowd whispered, barely audible, yet it was a sentiment shared by all present.

The signs of a Dao Heart shattering.

"So, the brainwashing comes with such a delightful flaw," I said, my tone almost clinical, as though I were studying a fascinating specimen. "Your Dao Heart is far more fragile than most. It seems the strain of maintaining their leash on you has made even the smallest crack catastrophic. At this rate, you won't live to see tomorrow."

The crowd shivered at my words, the calmness in my voice more terrifying than any battle cry.

The Sword Deity gasped, her breathing labored as she struggled to steady herself. Blood continued to seep from her orifices, staining the pristine floor beneath her.

"Thank you for showing me my flaws," she said weakly, her voice steady despite the blood trailing from her mouth. She ignored my words, her gaze locked on her trembling palms as though seeing them for the first time. Her body aged rapidly, the once-youthful sheen of her skin fading into a pale, weathered texture. Yet, there was no fear in her eyes—only clarity.

To my surprise, she reached for her sword, the blade sliding out with a sharp, resonant ring that silenced the entire hall. With one fluid motion, faster than most could perceive, her sword cut through the air. The surrounding Radiant Sun members, her supposed allies, didn't even have time to react. Blood sprayed through the air as their bodies crumpled to the floor in an instant.

The room froze.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice low and filled with intrigue.

"They were my chains," she said, her voice gaining strength despite her deteriorating body. "You were right. I was a puppet, a pawn... but no more." She turned to face me, her once-fierce aura now tempered by a sense of freedom.

"I'm Sword Deity Zhu Yue," she declared, her voice carrying an unshakable resolve that resonated throughout the hall. "I fight for those who can't fight for themselves. I may have lost my way... but I have found it again!"

The words were not just a declaration—they were a promise, one that reignited the flickering embers of her spirit. Her aura, though unstable, burned brighter than before, like a phoenix rising from its ashes.

Everyone in the hall could feel it: her determination, her will to overcome the shattered pieces of her Dao Heart, and her unwavering resolve to forge a new path.

Blood still dripped from her face, but she ignored it, her focus entirely inward. Her eyes closed, and she dug deep into the recesses of her memories, recalling the lessons, experiences, and insights she had gained over hundreds of years.

The air grew heavy, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

"Now I want to fight you... but will you overcome this, and like a phoenix rise from the ashes?" I asked with a faint smile. I passed my fan to Cherry who was confused, and before many confused eyes, I removed the suit coat, revealing the white dress shirt. You know, the shirt under the suit coat.

"It's impressive they can sense everything happening here from so far away. I'm guessing they're over 5,000 miles away," I said casually, slipping off my suit coat and passing it to Cherry. "Sure, I'll help you out. I'm interested in seeing if you can overcome this or not."

Cherry held the coat awkwardly, looking between me and the hall as I walked forward. Sword Deity Yue remained silent, she sensed nothing as she was purely focused on her Dao.

I didn't stop until I stepped outside the hall, the crisp air meeting me as I reached the open courtyard. The skies were heavy with an oppressive tension, a clear sign of the danger drawing near.

I began stretching, rolling my neck, shoulders, and arms. The air around me shifted subtly, the faint hum of my Haki radiating outward in preparation.

A small crowd gathered at a safe distance, curiosity overcoming their caution. Typical cultivators, reckless and overly nosy. I paid them no mind.

"My power level should be around... 120 right now... right?" I said softly, more to myself than anyone else. Dealing with such low numbers felt strange after all, I never had to deal with powerlevels below a million.

Thinking about it, I had loosely mapped out the cultivation realms to rough power levels:

In the Body Tempering Realm, power levels typically ranged from 26 to 31, increasing by approximately 0.5 per level. At this stage, cultivators were still far from what I considered truly remarkable, though their strength was undeniable in this small world.

Moving to the Qi Refinement Realm, power levels jumped to 32 to 39, with an average increase of around 0.75 per level. This was where a cultivator's energy control began to develop, but again, in terms of raw power, it was still laughably low compared to the monsters I had fought in the past.

The Soul Refinement Realm saw more significant improvements, with power levels between 41 to 51, gaining 1 power level per stage. At this point, cultivators gained spiritual abilities and sharper control over their intent, which made them more dangerous in combat.

The Foundation Establishment Realm, with power levels spanning from 54 to 66, offered a noticeable jump, with cultivators gaining 1.25 per level. At this stage, they began to show glimpses of truly destructive power, yet still far from anything impressive in my eyes.

For those in the Core Formation Realm, power levels ranged between 60 to 75, with 1.5 per level. This was where cultivators truly started to wield power capable of reshaping landscapes and influencing the world around them.

The Nascent Soul Realm, where most of the strongest individuals of this small world stood, boasted power levels between 80 and 100, with an increase of 2 per level. This realm was where cultivators reached a level capable of performing feats that might seem godlike to mortals—moving mountains or decimating cities with relative ease.

But beyond the Nascent Soul Realm, the strength gap was staggering. Sword Deity Yue, for example, likely had a power level hovering somewhere around 110 or more. 

For perspective, in the Dragon Ball world, a power level of 120 was enough to destroy the moon with a single attack. Someone with a power level of 10,000 could casually wave their hand and destroy multiple planets. Here, even the most advanced cultivators barely brushed the surface of such power.

Of course, this wasn't the Dragon Ball world. Here, everything seemed to follow different rules—destruction wasn't as straightforward. Destroying moons or planets was significantly more challenging. In Dragon Ball, a planet's destruction could often be achieved by targeting its core. If you had enough power and focus, aiming for the core made it easy to trigger a chain reaction that would tear the planet apart. Miss the core, though, and the task became exponentially harder.

In this world, the mechanics were far more intricate. A cultivator wouldn't just have to target the planet's physical structure; they'd also have to contend with the heavens themselves. The heavens here acted as a protective force, preserving the balance of the world. Attempting to destroy a planet would draw its ire, introducing an additional layer of resistance. It was as if the very fabric of the world fought back against those who dared to break it apart.

That raised an interesting question: Did outer space have its own heaven? On this planet, the heavens were an ever-present force, but what about the vast expanse beyond? Could there be a celestial force that governs the stars, moons, and galaxies? If so, what kind of power did it hold, and what rules did it enforce?

Anyway, back to the reason I stepped outside. Far, far away, an arrow was rocketing toward me at an extreme speed. I didn't know much about these low power levels—anything below a million was hardly worth calculating—but I was confident this arrow's power level was somewhere around 120, slightly higher than my own...

Yes, I know I said my power level was 120, but let's be honest—I'm guessing. Trying to gauge these lower levels was a challenge. This is exactly why I didn't want to introduce the concept of power levels to this world just yet. It feels premature, like trying to measure an ocean with a teaspoon. I was hoping to wait until I reached the Immortal Realm, where power levels might begin to make more sense.

But I've just confirmed that my power level has passed 100, and I can't help myself. It's just too tempting to analyze and compare, even if the math feels shaky at best. For now, though, I pushed aside my calculations and focused on the arrow blazing a trail through the sky.