His Qi sea surged. Energy compressed inward before expanding outward in a controlled ripple.
Qi Condensation Realm 2nd Stage. The transition was smooth, almost inevitable. But what truly mattered was not the realm itself. It was the foundation.
His meridians were denser than ordinary cultivators at this level. His flesh, tempered by both the Battle Saint Body and the Firmament Tyrant Body, felt like forged steel beneath silk.
If measured purely by combat strength—
He could already contend with a 1st stage Foundation Establishment cultivator.
When the cultivation session ended, Xuanyuan Zhen rose calmly. He dressed once more in clean white robes. The fabric fell naturally around him, simple yet elegant. His purple-golden Qi was fully restrained, concealed deep within.
Yet even suppressed—
His aura was unfathomable for someone his age. When he stepped out into the clan pathways, servants lowered their heads instinctively. Some bowed in fear. Others stepped aside quickly.
A few disciples stared openly—eyes filled with a mixture of reverence and unease.
Whispers followed him.
"The genius has returned…"
"They say he hunts alone in the Red Mist Forest…"
Fear and admiration mingled together.
Xuanyuan Zhen paid them no attention.
He walked past the gates of the Xuanyuan estate and into the city beyond.
Over the past week, he had sold beast cores and materials discreetly through smaller channels. The spirit stones he accumulated were modest by clan standards—
But sufficient.
Today, he intended to purchase a weapon.
The city was lively. Vendors called out from stalls. Cultivators examined talismans, pills, and weapons displayed on wooden racks. Spiritual fluctuations pulsed faintly from various shops.
Xuanyuan Zhen walked slowly, observing.
He passed well-maintained weapon stores—polished blades, refined spears, elegant swords glowing faintly with inscriptions.
None of them stirred him.
Then—
He noticed a small outpost at the corner of a crowded intersection.
The display was chaotic.
Broken swords.
Cracked sabers.
Bent spears.
A middle-aged man stood behind the stall, loudly proclaiming, "Ancient relics! Rare materials! Damaged but restorable! A bargain for those with vision!"
Xuanyuan Zhen watched quietly as a young cultivator hesitated over a chipped blade.
"Only five spirit stones!" the man insisted. "Once repaired, it will rival a high-grade weapon!"
It was clearly worthless.
A scam.
Xuanyuan Zhen's gaze drifted lazily across the pile of damaged weapons.
Then it stopped.
Half-buried beneath broken steel and rusted fragments lay something different. A black halberd.
Its shaft was dark as night, unadorned yet strangely intact. The blade at its end was chipped along the edges, its surface dull as if lifeless. It looked no more impressive than scrap metal.
Yet—
The moment his eyes settled upon it, his purple-golden Qi sea stirred faintly.
Not violently.
Just recognition.
A heaviness lingered around the halberd. Not obvious spiritual fluctuation. Not dazzling brilliance.
Something deeper.
Suppressed.
Forgotten.
The vendor followed his gaze and immediately smiled.
"Ah! Young master has good taste! That one is ancient! Very rare! Only slightly damaged—"
Xuanyuan Zhen stepped closer.
The red noise of the market seemed to fade.
He reached toward the black halberd—
And paused.
Something about it felt…
Silent.
But waiting.
The man continued speaking rapidly about its "glorious history," but Xuanyuan Zhen heard none of it.
His fingers finally brushed against the shaft.
Cold.
Heavy.
The halberd was not ordinary, and neither, perhaps, was its story. Xuanyuan Zhen's eyes narrowed slightly. This might be more than a simple purchase.
Xuanyuan Zhen's fingers remained on the black halberd for a moment longer before he withdrew his hand.
His expression turned indifferent.
"This broken thing?" he said flatly. "The blade is chipped. No inscriptions. No spirit fluctuation. It's scrap metal."
The vendor's smile stiffened slightly. "Young master has sharp eyes, but appearances deceive! It is ancient—"
"It is damaged," Xuanyuan Zhen interrupted calmly. "Even reforging it would cost more than its worth."
He turned as if to leave.
The vendor panicked slightly. "Wait! How much is young master willing to offer?"
Xuanyuan Zhen looked back lazily. "Two spirit stones."
"Two?!" the man almost choked. "That won't even cover the—"
Xuanyuan Zhen began walking away again.
"Fine! Fine! Three! Three spirit stones!"
He stopped. Without another word, he tossed the stones over.
Over the years of neglect and isolation, Xuanyuan Zhen had learned something invaluable—never reveal interest. The world respected strength, but it preyed upon eagerness.
The vendor hurriedly pushed the halberd forward, relieved to rid himself of what he believed was useless junk.
Xuanyuan Zhen grasped the shaft firmly—
And his arm sank. His brows knit together faintly.
Heavy.
Not ordinary heavy.
Not the weight of metal alone—but density. As if the weapon contained compressed matter within its dark surface.
He tightened his grip and engaged a portion of his physical strength. Muscles along his forearm subtly tensed beneath his sleeve.
The halberd lifted.
Barely.
Interesting.
Even without circulating Qi, his body far surpassed ordinary cultivators at his realm. Yet this halberd demanded genuine effort.
He did not show it on his face.
With controlled movements, he placed the weapon into his storage ring.
The surrounding crowd saw nothing unusual.
As he turned to leave—
He did not notice the pair of cold eyes observing him from beneath a black hood.
A figure stood within the shifting crowd, presence suppressed to near nothingness.
A professional.
Silent.
Patient.
Xuanyuan Han's fear had grown after the clan hall confrontation. Fear born from humiliation. And so he had done what cowards with resources often did. He hired someone else to solve his problem.
Xuanyuan Zhen walked beyond the city gates and toward the outskirts where the forest thickened.
He needed space and solitude.
Deep within a quiet clearing, he retrieved the halberd once more.
The moment it left the storage ring, the earth beneath his feet sank slightly.
So heavy.
He exhaled slowly.
"First… control."
He did not circulate golden holy Qi.
He did not draw heavenly purple Qi.
This was purely a test of physical mastery.
He adjusted his stance.
Lifted.
Swung.
The halberd cut through the air—
Slow.
Unrefined.
Crude.
He had no halberd technique. No inherited spear art. No combat manual.
So he began with basics.
Horizontal sweep.
Vertical cleave.
Forward thrust.
Reverse pull.
Each motion demanded full-body coordination. His shoulders strained. His wrists burned. His white sleeves tore further at the seams from sheer force.
The halberd's weight was merciless.
But so was he.
Time passed.
His breathing grew heavier, yet steady.
Gradually, the weapon's arc became smoother. Less resistance. More alignment.
The ground cracked where the blade struck.
Wind pressure howled with each swing.
Sweat rolled down his temple.
Then—
A chill.
Subtle.
Instinctive.
The hairs at the back of his neck rose.
Danger!
His spine tightened. His body moved.
A sharp whistle split the air—
A dagger flashed toward his neck from behind, silent and precise, aimed for a single lethal strike.
Clang!
The halberd shaft snapped backward at an impossible angle, intercepting the blade just inches from his throat.
Sparks burst.
Xuanyuan Zhen pivoted.
Before him stood a black-cloaked figure, face obscured, presence nearly erased from the surroundings.
An assassin.
The dagger recoiled and vanished into the sleeve like a serpent retreating.
Cold eyes met calm ones.
No words were exchanged.
The assassin moved again, faster than before.
A second dagger flickered toward Xuanyuan Zhen's ribs while the first returned in a mirrored arc toward his temple.
Two killing lines.
Xuanyuan Zhen's grip tightened around the halberd.
Something inside him stirred.
The will of the Battle Saint Body and Firmament Tyrant Body.
Golden holy Qi surged faintly beneath his skin. Heavenly purple Qi flickered deep within his meridians. His purple-golden Qi sea churned once.
The halberd roared through the air. Not slow and crude like before. But decisive.
Steel met steel.
The forest erupted with killing intent.