Outside, Mu Qianyu heard the words.
They weren't loud.
But in the storm still half-tamed around Thundercrash Mountain's peak, the syllables seemed to sink straight into her bones.
Heaven-Piercing…
Her lips moved unconsciously, repeating them. Her hand on her sword tightened; a spark of Phoenix fire rose in her blood.
…
Deep within Ren's inner world, the Magic Cube floated in the darkness like a quiet star.
Within it, Mo Eversnow's soul form trembled.
"Heaven-Piercing…" she echoed softly.
In the Divine Realm, even comprehending a single fourth-level Law at his current realm would have been enough to call a talent heaven-defying. To fuse three fourth-level Laws, overlay them with Saint Beast-level thunder and flame that brushed the threshold of a Phenomenon… and then refine that into Martial Intent?
Her gaze followed that multi-hue line as it carved across Thundercrash's skies.
It wasn't just power.
It was structure.
In the Divine Realm, fourth-level Laws at his current apparent realm were already heaven-defying. Martial Intent that fused three fourth-level Laws with Saint Beast-level thunder and world-level flame to produce such terrifying suppression…
And then he calmly analyzed its application for average talents, geniuses, Empyrean descendants, as if he were planning a new training manual for some small sect.
Her heart, tempered across countless years and trials, finally made a decision.
"When there's an opportunity," Mo Eversnow whispered, voice steadying. "I must meet him."
Not as a sealed soul clutching to the last remnants of her heritage.
As Mo Eversnow.
Curiosity, caution, the faintest stir of hope—and something warmer, something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a very long time—mixed in her eyes.
If this man survived.
If he continued to walk like this.
In some distant future, the ripples he made would not stop at this lower realm.
They would cross worlds.
…
The pressure on the mountain eased.
On the ledge, Mu Qianyu's knees nearly gave out. Sweat soaked through her red robes, clinging to the line of her back. Her hand clenched so tightly around her sword hilt that her knuckles turned white before she forced her fingers to relax.
Little Flame shook out its wings beside her.
Thunder-Phoenix flame streamed off its feathers, violet arcs of thunder dancing along each plume. The Saint Beast's bloodline, which moments ago had felt torn and flayed by Purple Flood Dragon Divine Thunder, now burned steady and bright—no longer carrying a wound, but a new inheritance.
High above, Ren slowly opened his eyes.
He stood above the clouds, hands loose at his sides, expression relaxed—like a man who had just finished a set of breathing exercises, not someone who had birthed a Martial Intent that made a Phoenix Saintess taste death from hundreds of feet away.
He lifted his hand.
The multi-hue line suspended in front of him bent, then flowed back into his body like water returning to the sea. Heaven and earth's pressure returned to normal. Thundercrash's lightning resumed its endless fall—though, if one watched closely, some bolts did hesitate a fraction of a breath before descending, as if unwilling to disturb something that had just taken root here.
Ren stepped forward.
Fire, thunder, and wind gathered quietly beneath his foot—Heaven-Piercing's embryonic field smoothing the air, folding distance. His figure blurred and dropped like a falling star.
He descended.
His boots touched the ledge with a soft tap.
Mu Qianyu stared at him.
Her throat moved once before she found her voice.
"…Just now… that… was…"
Ren smiled, as if she had asked whether the tea was still warm.
"Yeah," he said easily. "New Martial Intent."
He spoke like this was nothing more than a new spear thrust he'd thought up during practice.
Mu Qianyu's lips parted. The dozens of questions swirling in her chest—What realm is your Martial Intent? How did you fuse such contradictory forces? How many years did you walk toward that line?—all jammed together, tangled, stuck.
When she finally managed to force one out, it was none of those.
"I thought," she said hoarsely, "I was going to die."
Ren blinked.
Then he laughed.
The sound was low and pleasant, without a trace of mockery. Somehow, that loosened a knot in her chest more effectively than any comforting words.
"Good," he said.
Mu Qianyu stared.
"Good…?" she repeated, caught between outrage and disbelief.
"Means the intent is sharp enough." Ren tilted his head, eyes curving. "If it didn't make anyone at least think they might die, I'd be disappointed."
He watched her expression twist, then softened his tone just a little.
"Don't look so scared," he added. "I'm not going to point it at you."
The casual assurance made heat climb into her cheeks before she could control herself.
Her fingers brushed the inside of her wrist—the place his hand had held, not long ago, when he guided thunder through her meridians. Thunder-Phoenix flame murmured quietly in her dantian, recognizing his presence and stirring like a beast pacing its cage.
Ren's gaze flicked once to that small gesture.
Then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
Between them, in midair, a faint multi-hued line appeared again—much smaller this time, no longer a sword that cut the sky, just a finger-length thread of compressed Law.
Even so, Mu Qianyu's heart skipped. It was like staring at the unsheathed edge of a divine weapon. Her instincts screamed that if he flicked that thread even carelessly, her flame would not be able to block it head-on.
Ren flicked it lightly with his finger.
"It looks scary," he said, "but the structure isn't that complicated."
That line of light trembled, then steadied—Fire, Thunder, and Wind runes folding and unfolding like a living thing.
"Once your Thunder-Phoenix flame stabilizes," he went on, "I'll show you the outline. With your foundation, getting to a small-success version won't be that hard."
Mu Qianyu almost choked.
"This… 'not that complicated' intent… made me feel death just by standing near it," she said faintly.
"Mm." Ren nodded. "That just means your instincts are good."
His tone was mild, but his eyes were sincere. He wasn't praising himself.
He was praising her.
Mu Qianyu's fingers curled slightly, nails brushing callused palm.
"You say such things too lightly," she muttered, ears still hot.
Ren's smile widened.
To her, this moment was a heaven-shaking breakthrough, something that would echo through the Divine Phoenix Island's records for generations if she took it back with her. To him… this really was only the beginning.
That knowledge was frightening.
It was also, she found, inexplicably reassuring.
…
Thundercrash's storm slowly returned to its usual madness.
Days passed.
Ren did not rush to leave.
By day, he sat under the open sky, quietly testing Heaven-Piercing's edge—drawing lines through the storm, trimming lightning, cutting wind currents to see how the world bent.
Mu Qianyu watched him without meaning to.
Sometimes from the ledge, sometimes from a higher perch carved into the cliff by a careless slash of his flame. Little Flame circled them both, wings tracing arcs of violet fire through the rain, seizing every opportunity to temper its reborn thunder.
By night, Ren sat cross-legged in the cave, back against stone, firelight throwing long shadows on the walls.
Mo Eversnow watched too.
From her place in the Magic Cube's depths, she traced each adjustment he made, each new line he carved into the framework of his Dao.
Heaven-Piercing, she realized, was not only an attack.
It was a concept.
Compress everything unnecessary; walk the shortest path.
Whether that was a strike, a cultivation art… or a life.
…
On the second evening after he forged Heaven-Piercing Thunderflame Martial Intent, as dusk painted the clouds blood-red and gold, Ren stood once more at the edge of the ledge, looking out over the endless wilderness.
The storm below rumbled like some giant beast turning in its sleep.
Mu Qianyu stood a few steps behind him.
She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
She could feel it—the difference in his aura. Not the taut, coiled pressure from someone at the edge of a breakthrough, but the quiet, settled stillness of a man who had finished what he came to do.
He was leaving.
Little Flame lay on its belly, head resting on its claws, eyes half-closed. Its feathers were sleek again, violet-tipped wings folded tight. The Thunder-Phoenix flame in its blood burned steadily now, each breath circulating thunder and fire in a smooth, complete loop.
Ren smiled without turning around.
"Thundercrash's hospitality has been good," he said. "If I stay any longer, it might start charging rent."
Mu Qianyu's lips pressed together.
"You're leaving," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I came here for thunder," Ren replied. "And for you."
His tone didn't change at all.
The simple addition made her ears burn.
"In the end," he continued, counting off on his fingers with mock seriousness, "I got a Saint Beast's thunder soul, a new Martial Intent, and a Thunder-Phoenix Saintess whose flames leveled up. That's not a bad harvest."
"You…" Mu Qianyu drew a slow breath. "You say such things too directly."
"If I wrap them in flowery words, you'll just think I'm a playboy," Ren said cheerfully. "Better to be honest from the start."
Her heartbeat jumped.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to decide whether to scold him or… not.
Silence settled between them.
Wind from the storm below climbed the cliff face and tugged at her red robes. The scent of ozone and faint charcoal lingered—memories of thunder-roasted beast meat, of Purple Flood Dragon lightning searing the sky, of Ren's hand steady on her wrist as he guided thunder through veins and meridians she'd thought she already understood.
Finally, she spoke the thing that had been circling in her chest for days.
"Ren Ming."
"Hm?"
She straightened, shoulders squaring, Divine Phoenix Island's Saintess once more.
"Would you come to Divine Phoenix Island with me?"
Her voice was steady.
"You've helped me and Little Flame greatly. Your comprehension of Fire Laws… even our elders would respect it. If you came as a guest, the Island would not treat you poorly."
Not poorly.
In truth, with what he had shown, the Island would likely fight over him.
Ren turned to look at her.
Red hair like flame. Clear, steady eyes. A proud chin that did not like to bow, yet had dipped more than once in his direction these past days.
He took in the faint flush on her cheeks, the tightness in her shoulders. He knew this wasn't a simple courtesy.
Divine Phoenix Island was not just her sect.
It was her home. Her responsibility. Her heart.
Inviting an outsider—especially a man whose strength was overwhelming and whose tongue was this shameless—was not something she did lightly.
Ren's smile gentled.
"I won't refuse," he said. "But I can't go yet."
Mu Qianyu's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Why?" she asked quietly.
Ren leaned back against the cliff, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. The setting sun painted half his face gold, the other half in shadow.
"Recently, some annoying Acadia rat can't accept being stepped on," he said. "So he's probably stirring up something stupid."
His eyes cooled.
"I don't like leaving my people alone when storms are brewing," he went on. "I've got to settle that first. After that…"
His gaze found hers again, unhurried and direct.
"You'll probably be hearing my name everywhere on your way back to the Island."
Mu Qianyu let out a slow breath.
She believed him.
That was the frightening part.
She had seen him punch a Saint Beast to death with one move. Watched him sit under a storm that would flay ordinary Houtian cultivators alive and come away with a new, heaven-piercing intent. Felt his True Essence slide through her meridians with more control than the elders who had watched her grow up.
A small Martial House in a small kingdom…
The people moving against it probably thought they were stepping on ants.
They had no idea someone like this had chosen to call that place "home" for a while.
"…All right," she said.
Her lips curved a fraction.
"I will listen for your name."
Ren chuckled.
"A Saintess waiting to hear rumors about a man from a small Martial House," he teased. "If your elders find out, they'll probably cough blood."
Mu Qianyu glared automatically.
"That's not what I—"
Her protest died as he lifted his hand.
A thin thread of true essence flashed between his fingers, branded with ash-gray Dao lines and faint starlight.
Mu Qianyu recognized the structure at a glance.
A communication talisman.
It resembled Divine Phoenix Island's messaging feathers in function, but the pattern was different. Wider, in a sense—less restricted to one world's rules. The Dao lines traced tiny, intricate loops that gave off a strange feeling of freedom, like a doorway could open across any distance as long as one knew the coordinates.
Ren flicked it toward her.
The talisman streaked through the air in a gentle arc, slowing just before it reached her. She extended her hand. It settled into her palm, warm.
"If you miss me too much," Ren said lightly, "you can talk to me anytime."
Her fingers tightened around the talisman before she could stop herself.
"…Who would miss you 'too much,'" she muttered.
Her ears were completely red.
Ren's smile went soft around the edges.
"I'm serious," he said. "Spending time with you here has been… fun."
He didn't reach for grander words.
Fun.
The way he said it, it sounded less like a casual compliment and more like a quiet confession.
"Next time," he added, "will be even better."
He stepped closer.
Mu Qianyu's breath hitched.
He wasn't using aura. No charm techniques, no Phoenix seduction, none of the tricks elders had warned her about since she was young. He simply stood there, the way he had when he held her wrist under thunder—steady, warm, unhurried.
His hand rose.
Fingertips brushed a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear.
Heat shot down her spine.
"Ren—"
He moved with the same calm decisiveness he showed in battle, giving her enough time to pull back if she wanted.
She didn't.
He pulled her into a hug, as if they were already lovers.
Warm. Grounded.
Not possessive, not greedy. Just… there. A solid warmth that wrapped around her and pulled her against his chest, one hand resting between her shoulder blades.
The embrace didn't last long.
But it lingered.
Long enough for her heart to slam against her ribs. Long enough for Phoenix flame to flare involuntarily in her dantian. Long enough that when he finally drew back, the world felt just a little dimmer.
Her cheeks burned.
"You…" she whispered, unable to find the rest.
Ren's eyes were curved.
"Now," he said softly, "if you miss me too much and don't use the talisman, I'll be the one offended."
Mu Qianyu wanted to dig a hole in the cliff and crawl into it.
Even so, she nodded—just once, small and stubborn.
Behind her, Little Flame chirped, annoyed and amused in equal measure. Ren reached out and rubbed the Vermillion Bird's head, fingers sliding through violet-tipped feathers.
"Take care of her for me," he said.
Little Flame huffed, then tilted its head in what was very obviously reluctant acknowledgment.
Ren stepped back.
He glanced up at the storm.
"Thundercrash," he said, tone almost conversational. "Thanks for the loan."
Lightning answered with a low, distant rumble.
Ren's Fire Martial Intent unfolded beneath his feet—not the old red-gold rune-wheel, but a new pattern.
Heaven-Piercing Thunderflame Martial Intent manifested as a pale arc curling under him, traced with runes of Fire, Thunder, and Wind. Space along its edge thinned, compressed.
He rose.
Mu Qianyu watched him fly.
He didn't leave like a blazing comet or a phoenix trailing fire. He simply drew a clean, perfect line through the sky. His body aligned with his own intent, every movement so efficient there was not a shred of wasted force.
In a few breaths, he was a dot.
In a few more, he vanished into the clouds.
Only then did she lower her eyes.
The talisman in her hand pulsed softly, responding to her True Essence with a warmth that matched the heat lingering on her skin.
Mu Qianyu exhaled slowly.
"…Divine Phoenix Island…" she murmured.
Would he walk those halls someday? Would her master look at him with the same complicated mix of appreciation, wariness, and something else curling in her chest now?
She didn't know.
She only knew one thing.
She could not get him out of her head.
His shameless teasing.
His ruthless decisiveness.
The way his Fire Laws opened paths that made her inheritance feel shallow.
The way he sat under a storm that could grind mountains to dust and calmly taught her flames how to grow.
She pressed the talisman lightly to her heart.
"Ren Ming…"
Her whisper vanished into Thundercrash's endless thunder.
Little Flame shifted closer, wrapping a wing around her shoulders like a cloak. Together, Saintess and Vermillion Bird sat on the ledge, Phoenix flame and Thunder-Phoenix flame quietly circulating as they branded his patterns deeper into their Dao hearts.
…
Ren did not fly straight back to Seven Profound Martial House.
He flew until Thundercrash Mountain was nothing but a jagged shadow on the horizon.
He flew further still, until the Southern Wilderness' broken forests gave way to low hills, and then to a stretch of rocky, unremarkable land where worldly energy was thin, the sky clear, and no sect had ever bothered to raise a gate.
There, in a shallow valley with no name, he stopped.
A single withered tree stood at its center, roots digging stubbornly into cracked stone. Wind had bleached its bark pale; its branches reached for a sky that rarely answered.
Ren looked around.
"Good enough," he said.
He lifted his hand.
Dao lines of fire and thunder flowed from his fingertips, sinking into the ground. They traced a simple, profound array—not flashy, but deep, each stroke anchoring into the hidden bones of the land. The lines connected, pulsed, and a dome of nearly invisible light swelled outward, covering the valley.
The outside world didn't notice.
Inside the dome, reality shifted.
Air thickened. Worldly origin energy, thin and scattered before, now flowed along newly carved channels, gathering and circulating according to his will. Laws clarified; their threads became easier to grasp. The dull rocky basin became a private cultivation chamber under the open sky.
Ren walked to the withered tree and sat down beneath it, back resting against its rough trunk.
He exhaled.
"Heretical God Force," he said calmly. "Round three."
In Martial World's history, the Heretical God Force was a taboo art. A secret left behind by a fallen True God's remnant soul—a method that opened gates in the dantian, moved world Laws, compressed True Essence, and used thunderfire to explode heaven and earth.
At its peak, the Heretical God Seed would bloom into a tree phenomena—a thunderfire Heavenly God Tree, lightning seas and flame lotus towering above the world as thunder burned laws themselves.
But all of that shared a single root.
Thunderfire.
Lin Ming's path had always been thunder and fire. For him, a thunderfire seed made perfect sense.
Ren's path… was broader.
He closed his eyes.
Inside his dantian, the Heretical God Seed floated—a dark core wrapped in golden lightning, still carrying traces of Earthcore Crimson Flame and Purple Flood Dragon Divine Thunder. It pulsed steadily, no longer the unstable thing it once had been. His first round of modifications had tamed its wildness—True Essence flowed in spirals now, amplifying while tempering, like a river forced through successive refining mills.
Now he wanted more.
"Why stop at thunder and fire?" he murmured.
"This lower realm's Heretical God only left behind one seed. But the principles it uses—opening a new structure in the dantian, gathering Law, using that to spike True Essence density… those aren't chained to one element."
His consciousness sank into the Heretical God Force's framework.
Gate-opening patterns unfolded. True Essence circulation loops appeared in his senses like glowing rivers. Nodes where Law runes gathered shone like tiny stars.
He touched each with his Immortal Soul Bone's insight.
Layers peeled back, complexity dissolving into clean function.
"The seed," he decided, "is just a container. What matters is what it can hold."
His Dao spread.
Within his inner world, he extended a hand toward the Heretical God Seed.
Law runes flowed.
Beneath the original thunderfire foundation, he began weaving a new lattice—a generalized framework that could accept any Law or Concept as input.
Fire. Thunder. Wind. Water. Earth. Metal…
Even things beyond elements—Space, Time, Life, Death, Annihilation, Samsara. In theory, as long as one's comprehension reached deep enough, any of these could be compressed into a seed.
"Seed," he defined silently, "is a condensed node of Law tied to the root of True Essence."
He changed the art.
Rather than having the Heretical God Force stop at one seed, he rewrote it so that when one's comprehension reached a certain threshold, Law essence would naturally condense into a new seed.
Each Seed would:
– Reshape the dantian's structure slightly to better carry that Law.
– Permanently increase True Essence quantity and quality.
– Imprint that Law's characteristics into every circulation.
– Serve as a future "bud" on the Heavenly God Tree.
His thoughts shifted to the next stage.
The tree.
Originally, the Heavenly God Tree that appeared after Life Destruction was a thunderfire phenomena, its branches etched with lightning and flame—Lin Ming's path given form.
Under Ren's hand, that image changed.
"When the Seeds sprout," he decided, "the Heavenly God Tree won't be just thunderfire. Its strength will depend on the number of Seeds."
One Seed: a small tree, rooted in a single Law.
Two Seeds: branches doubling, Laws intertwining, True Essence multiplying—not linearly, but as synergy.
Three Seeds: a qualitative leap. The roots dig deeper, trunk thickens, every additional Seed multiplying the interplay of existing ones.
Four, five, six Seeds…
Each new one wouldn't just add its own power. It would tremendously enhance the number of combinations.
"By the time that tree sprouts," Ren thought, a faint smile touching his lips, "if I walk properly, it'll be less a thunderfire tree and more a world's Dao Tree anchored in my dantian."
The Ancient Ming bloodline stirred in approval. Chaos energy rippled through his veins, as if the bloodline itself liked this idea—turning his body into a field where many Daos could grow from a single root.
Outside, the valley stayed silent.
Inside, the Heretical God Force's skeleton quietly shifted.
Gate patterns adjusted to distribute stress no matter how many Seeds were present. Circulation loops widened and rerouted, ensuring True Essence didn't skew too far toward a single element unless the user willed it. He carved in a new rule:
Every time a Seed formed, true essence would not just spike temporarily.
It would permanently deepen.
"Good," Ren said softly.
He opened his eyes.
Thunderclouds drifted lazily overhead, indifferent.
He exhaled once and let his True Essence move.
Modified Heretical God Force.
First gate.
Second.
Third.
He didn't chant names. The gates opened like old friends answering a knock. Each one added weight to his aura, sharpening his senses, pulling more of the valley's thin origin energy into his dantian.
Fourth. Fifth.
Sixth.
His dantian roared.
True Essence, already terrifyingly dense for a newly stepped Houtian, surged. The space within his dantian seemed to stretch, walls pulling outward, the "floor" dropping away to reveal hidden depth.
Ren's body didn't tremble.
Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians' every stage answered, meridians swelling, bones humming like strings plucked in sequence.
"Seed," he thought.
"Fire."
Fire Laws inside him responded immediately.
Flame origin energy rushed in—from his fourth-level Fire comprehension, from the Vermillion Bird runes still echoing in his bones, from lingering Earthcore Crimson Flame that hadn't fully merged with him.
In his dantian, a point of light formed.
It began as a single ember, small and dark red.
But it burned so hot that the surrounding True Essence recoiled instinctively.
He willed.
The ember compressed.
Runes formed within it—strokes of Fire's meaning in his Dao. Burning. Purification. Transformation. Creation.
When any further compression threatened to crack it, the ember steadied.
The Heretical God lattice folded around it, locking it in place at the exact center of his dantian.
The Fire Seed.
The effect was immediate.
True Essence passing near it ignited—not literally, but in attribute. Every thread of energy took on Fire's eagerness: more aggressive impact, more hunger to burn away resistance, more willingness to refine whatever it touched.
His body heat didn't flare outward. Instead, a quiet, terrifying warmth sank into his blood, like magma deep beneath the earth.
"Next," Ren murmured.
"Thunder."
Thunder essence spiraled out, tempered by his fourth-level comprehension and the Divine Thunder he'd devoured. Beastly will had been stripped; only pure Thunder Law remained.
It coiled into a second point of light opposite the Fire Seed.
This one didn't feel hot.
It felt sharp.
His nerves tingled. Senses brightened. Time seemed to stretch, his awareness carving more frames within each instant.
The Thunder Seed fixed in place with a soundless crack.
His dantian space reshaped itself again.
True Essence accelerated.
Passing the Thunder Seed, it picked up a tendency to leap, to explode. Combined with Fire, every circulation now held a rhythm—steady build, sudden spike. Perfect for stacking power, then releasing it in a single, decisive movement.
"Wind," he thought.
Outside, a breeze slipped through the valley.
Within, the Wind Laws he'd raised to the fourth level stirred. Not the wild gales that uprooted forests, but the core of movement itself—the way wind flowed, wrapped, slipped through gaps.
The third Seed formed above the first two.
It was nearly invisible.
Only when he stretched his senses further did he feel it—a distortion, as if space around it had been gently twisted. Paths compressed, others lengthened. Certain routes for True Essence became naturally shorter.
When the Wind Seed settled, his circulations changed immediately.
True Essence chose more efficient routes on its own. Techniques that had needed three breaths of preparation before could now be primed in one.
His aura didn't swell.
It tightened.
The difference between an inflated balloon and a spear of compressed air hiding in the same volume.
Ren smiled faintly.
"Water," he said quietly.
The second-level Water Laws he'd grasped responded like a still lake touched by rain.
Moisture in his body answered—the blood in his veins, marrow in his bones, the thin film of sweat on his skin.
Water didn't blaze or crackle.
It adapted.
The Water Seed condensed beneath Fire, forming a quiet, deep blue point.
When it fixed into place, something in his meridians changed.
Flexibility increased.
Where Fire and Thunder pushed his True Essence toward aggression, Water smoothed rough edges. Energy moved more fluidly around blockages, friction along meridians dropped. His channels widened—not literally, but in capacity. Rivers instead of streams.
"Earth," he whispered.
Thundercrash's distant mountain bones answered even here, echoing in his memory.
Earth Laws—weight, accumulation, support—clicked into place at his dantian's "floor", coalescing into a dense, brown-gold seed.
His aura, sharpened by Thunder and compressed by Wind, gained a new undertone.
Steadiness.
If Fire and Thunder made his strikes terrifying, Earth made his defense unreasonable. It anchored his cultivation, making deviations harder. And it gave the chaotic Ancient Ming bloodline a firmer platform, preventing his own reckless modifications from shaking his foundation loose.
"Metal."
The last of the six.
Metal essence gathered from every blade he'd wielded, every ore he'd tempered, and the edge hidden in his will itself. It drew together at his dantian's "ceiling."
The Metal Seed formed.
Cold. Precise.
It radiated sharpness.
Sword intent, spear intent, even the edge in his casual punches responded. When it settled into place, every thread of True Essence in his body gained a faint cutting aspect. Even a casual flick of his finger could, if he desired, leave a thin Law mark in the air.
Six Seeds.
Fire. Thunder. Wind. Water. Earth. Metal.
They hung around the original Heretical God Seed like stars around a black sun.
True Essence flowed between them, each Seed refining, amplifying, and imprinting its own traits. Fire heated. Thunder sharpened. Wind compressed. Water smoothed. Earth rooted. Metal cut.
His dantian sea… deepened.
Before, it had been vast for someone at Houtian—already surpassing most Divine Sea powerhouses in this lower realm.
Now, with each Seed permanently boosting quantity and quality, the volume felt like it had multiplied several times again. The "water" of his dantian grew not only larger but denser, more viscous, more obedient.
Every breath he drew now pulled in more origin energy than before. Every circulation refined more.
He tightened the last knot.
He modified the art so that:
– Every gate he opened from now on would temper as it boosted.
– Both true essence quality and quantity would climb with each Seed instead of spiking and falling.
– The true essence cost of using Heretical God Force, Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians, and Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent dropped drastically.
"Even an average martial artist," he calculated idly, "should be able to fight for seven minutes at rudimentary success with this, without blowing themselves up."
He opened his eyes.
The valley was the same.
The withered tree. The bare rock. The open sky.
He flexed his right hand.
True Essence moved.
The world's silence deepened, like a held breath.
Even without releasing aura, he felt it—the difference in control, in density, in power waiting at his fingertips.
"With this base," he mused, "any random Houtian technique I throw will land like a Divine Sea martial artist's full-strength strike in this lower world."
He laughed softly.
"And I haven't even grown the tree yet."
His awareness dipped inward one more time.
The Heretical God Seed and the six Law Seeds floated in a sea that no longer resembled a simple pool of true essence. It looked more like the beginning of a world—foundations laid, elements set, rules written, waiting for a tree to sprout and hang Dao Fruits from its branches.
"When the Heavenly God Tree finally comes out," Ren thought, "let's see how many fruits we can hang on you."