All Chapters of Cultivation with a System in the Modern World: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Nina’s breath hitched as the green rot crept further up her arm, black veins snaking outward like invasive roots. Her skin grew clammy, and each shallow breath rattled in her chest. She clenched her jaw, her teeth chattering despite the humid air. A wave of cold sweat ran down her face, mingling with her tears.“Maria… It’s no use,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her hand twitched, weakly grasping at Maria’s arm. “I’ve survived impossible odds before, but this…”Maria gritted her teeth, blinking away tears that threatened to spill. “You don’t get to give up, Nina. Not like this.” She tightened her grip on Nina’s shoulders, her eyes blazing with determination. “You’re tougher than this. I’ve seen you take down assassins with a broken leg, remember?”Nina’s lips curled into a faint, pained smile. “Yeah… but those assassins didn’t have… whatever this is.” Her gaze fell on her arm, the rot creeping ever upward. “If I don’t make it… promise me—”“Sto

Deep within a labyrinthine network of caves, hidden far from prying eyes, lay a vast underground hall. The cavernous expanse was dimly illuminated by a crimson glow that pulsed from veins of glowing stone etched into the walls, resembling the flow of blood through ancient arteries. At the far end of the hall stood a black throne carved from obsidian, its surface lined with grooves resembling veins that glowed faintly red. The air was heavy, suffused with an oppressive aura that seemed to sap the strength of anyone who entered.Seated upon the throne was a man whose mere presence was suffocating. His demeanor was calm, his posture almost languid, with one hand resting against his chin. Yet, the weight of his gaze was enough to bring grown warriors to their knees. He was the Overseer, a figure whose name was spoken in hushed whispers, feared even among the higher echelons of the Demonic Cult. His dark eyes glimmered with a predatory sharpness, and his lips curled ever so slightly as if

As the first rays of sunlight graced the sprawling Capital, a vibrant energy filled the air. The second day of the Tournament of Sovereign Might had arrived, and the anticipation was palpable. Crowds thronged the streets, surging toward the massive stadium like waves, eager to secure their seats. Yesterday's attendance had been monumental, but today, it seemed to have doubled. Vendors called out, selling snacks and memorabilia, while children tugged at their parents, buzzing with excitement. The tournament fever had gripped the Capital, and all eyes were on the arena.Inside the stadium, the atmosphere was electric. Spectators filled the stands, the din of their chatter building into a crescendo. The VIP sections gleamed with luxury, reserved for the most influential figures in society: the Greatest Families. Clad in their signature styles, representatives from these families arrived in a display of opulence and prestige, each taking their place in the exclusive area.In the Kirk fami

The emissaries from Emsgate couldn’t hide their broad smiles as Tanya descended the arena steps. Their demeanor was almost triumphant, as though Tanya’s victory over Viktor was a personal affront to Somerland. Tanya, however, walked with a quiet pride, ignoring the subtle gloating. Behind her, the terrain of the arena shifted and morphed back to its original flat state, the transformation accompanied by a low rumble.Viktor, meanwhile, trudged down the steps on the opposite side, his head hung low. The sting of defeat gnawed at him, and the weight of representing Somerland felt heavier with each step. In his heart, he felt as though he had disgraced his homeland.Waiting for him near the entrance was his master, a tall man with graying hair. The master’s sharp eyes softened as Viktor approached, clearly burdened. Placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, he spoke firmly yet kindly:“Viktor, just because you lost does not mean you failed to prove your worth. Your worth is measured by how ha

Santigo paced around Kuro, his leather boots thudding against the cold, damp concrete floor. The dim overhead light flickered sporadically, casting ominous shadows across the room. The sharp edges of Santigo's features seemed exaggerated in the erratic glow, giving him an almost predatory appearance."Ah, cousin," Santigo drawled, his tone mockingly sweet as he circled Kuro. You look so pitifully tied up like this. I must say, it suits you—a star brought down to earth, groveling in the dirt."Kuro's wrists were bound tightly behind his back, and his legs were shackled to the chair he was forced to sit on. His clothes were torn, and his breath was ragged, but his eyes burned with a fiery defiance that refused to be extinguished.Santigo crouched down to meet Kuro’s glare, his grotesque grin widening. "Tell me, cousin," he whispered, his voice laced with venom, "how does it feel to have the tables turned for once? To be... insignificant?"Kuro’s chest heaved, his breath shallow but stead