God-Tier Fishing System Chapter 3

The law enforcement disciples gripped Ethan with a hold as firm as iron shackles, forcefully dragging him through the serpentine tunnels of the Azure Origin Sect.

Every step he took resonated with the finality of impending ruin, the sound bouncing sharply off ancient stone walls that had stood witness to countless tragic processions over the passing centuries.

Within the depths of his veins, Ethan felt the familiar, pulsing warmth of his physical cultivation—the solitary strength he wielded in this land dominated by spiritual energy and esoteric arts.

His physique was his weapon and his sanctuary, the culmination of long years of grueling labor and intense conditioning. Yet, for all his physical vigor, he might as well have been a mere infant struggling against titans.

He strained to tear himself free, his muscles tensing and corded as he channeled every ounce of his martial stamina.

But his efforts were in vain.

The duo of law enforcement disciples holding him operated on an entirely superior plane of power. Their casual grip proved unbreakable, their stride remaining perfectly steady regardless of his frantic resistance.

Ethan reflected with a surge of bitterness.

The path leading to Serene Mirror Lake wove through terrain that became increasingly desolate. What began as well-tended grounds of the sect gradually surrendered to untamed, wild wilderness.

The atmosphere chilled with every stride, as if they were venturing toward the literal boundary of the world.

Midway through their grim pilgrimage, one of the enforcers broke the stifling silence with a sudden comment.

"You were undeniably fortunate in that specific instant," he remarked with a casual tone, as if they were discussing the weather instead of escorting a condemned man toward doom.

"Yet heaven only knows how your luck transformed into such a catastrophic disaster."

Ethan glanced up at him, his face etched with confusion despite the direness of his plight. What could this individual possibly imply by calling him 'unlucky'?

Observing Ethan’s perplexed demeanor, the other enforcer offered a soft, amused snort before deciding to clarify.

"You are solely the only disciple in history ever caught spying on the female hot spring area," he stated with blunt matter-of-factness.

"The unique case in the entire timeline of this Sect."

The first disciple nodded with a grim expression as he continued the explanation.

"I can state with absolute assurance that more than forty percent of the male disciples within the Azure Origin Dao Sect have visited the female hot spring area at some stage. You were simply the unlucky soul who got caught."

Ethan’s eyes widened in sudden disbelief.

The revelation jarred him with the impact of a physical strike.

All those seemingly righteous Elders and Peak Masters in the hall, those who had condemned him with sneers of disapproval—how many among them had committed the very acts for which they were now punishing him?

"The Empress was indeed excessively draconian, imposing such a harsh sentence for a relatively trivial transgression," the first disciple continued, his tone carrying a note of genuine empathy.

"I mean, fifty years at Serene Mirror Lake? Just for accidentally glimpsing something as a ten-year-old child? That is—"

The second disciple’s palm connected firmly with the back of his associate’s head, the sharp slap echoing through the forest.

"Watch your tongue, you fool!" he hissed urgently, casting a wary glance around as though he expected the Empress herself to materialize from the gloom.

"The Empress might be eavesdropping on you right this second! Do you desire to be the next one facing judgment after Ethan?"

The first disciple turned pale instantly, his hand snapping over his mouth as if he could retrieve his spoken words.

In a realm where mighty cultivators could project their awareness across immense distances, criticizing the head of the sect amounted to signing one's own death warrant.

As he listened to their hushed exchange, the full magnitude of his misfortune collapsed upon Ethan like an avalanche.

Here he stood, having recently transmigrated into what should have been the realization of every cultivation novel reader’s fantasy—a world of martial supremacy, mystical prowess, and vast horizons.

Having devoured countless web novels about ordinary individuals ascending to legendary status, he had assumed his own arrival in such a realm was the peak of good fortune.

Instead, it was all hollow deception. Cruel, mocking, and devastatingly false.

An irony so acidic it left a metallic tang in his mouth. Countless male disciples had committed this identical 'crime,' yet fate had maliciously singled him out as the sole scapegoat.

Furthermore, his sentence was so disproportionately severe that even the law enforcement disciples—who were scarcely known for their benevolence—deemed it excessive.

The profound injustice, the cosmic absurdity of his fate, and the crushing realization that his dreams would never materialize—everything accumulated within him like pressure inside a sealed vessel until, finally, he snapped.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Ethan’s laughter erupted from the depths of his lungs, wild and devoid of restraint. It began as a bitter chuckle but rapidly escalated into something far more unsettling—the laughter of a man who had been stripped of everything and had discovered dark humor in his own obliteration.

"HAHAHAHA! OH, THE IRONY! THE GLORIOUS, ABSURD IRONY!" His voice fractured as the laughter continued, ringing through the woods like the screech of a deranged phantom.

"Forty percent! FORTY PERCENT! And I am the one destined to be fed to the frozen tomb! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

The two law enforcement disciples exchanged uneasy glances as Ethan’s hysteria deepened.

This was not the laughter of someone truly amused; it was the frantic sound of a shattered soul grappling with an incomprehensible injustice.

"Has he completely lost his faculties?" the first disciple whispered, his voice trembling.

"Even prior to his arrival at Serene Mirror Lake?"

The second disciple’s features softened with a hint of pity. "I can sympathize with him," he replied in a lowered voice.

"After such a crushing blow to everything he fostered within this Sect, after seeing his entire future annihilated for something so minor... honestly, any man would lose his sanity."

However, Ethan was far from finished. His manic laughter slowly devolved into bitter, broken sobs that sounded somehow more distressing than his wild outburst.

"Seven years," he rasped.

"Seven years of grueling training, of unyielding commitment, of believing that hard work would eventually bear fruit. Seven years of telling myself that even without spiritual roots, even without a Dantian, I could still forge a path in this world."

His voice surged with a mixture of seething rage and hollow despair.

"And it all collapses because I was unlucky enough to be the lone person caught doing what nearly half this Sect has done! The single person whose innocent childhood error is magnified into a grand moral failure!"

The officials remained silent, their grip on his arms staying firm yet somehow less rigid than before.

Even they acknowledged the profound wrongness of the situation, even if they lacked the power to rectify it.

As they continued their trek toward the frozen wasteland that would become his grave, Ethan’s laughter bubbled up periodically—sometimes bitter, sometimes hysterical, always saturated with the madness of a man who had realized just how cruel and arbitrary the universe could be.

Serene Mirror Lake drew nearer with every step, and with it, the termination of all his ambitions and the commencement of a nightmare destined to consume both his mind and his remaining days.

Yet, he continued to laugh, because at times, laughter remains the only possible response when the heavens showcase exactly how twisted their sense of morality truly is.