“Hmm…”

Han Lie stroked his chin, his gaze sweeping over his new body with narcissistic satisfaction. The muscles were sculpted like marble, the skin bronzed and flawless, and the face possessed a mature, rugged handsomeness that demanded authority.

But more than the aesthetics, Han Lie was pleased with the… functionality.

“This vessel is not just for combat,” he mused, a wicked grin stretching his lips. “It is a perfect instrument for the Yin Yang Demonic Art. Between the Sect Leader and the others… Bai Ling and Zhuo Hongyi might faint from overstimulation.”

Eager to test the limits, he merged his Divine Sense into the flesh.

Buzz!

The integration was seamless. Though reconstructed, the biological material was his own—his original blood, bone, and organs, tempered to perfection. There was no rejection, only immediate, absolute control.

“Sovereign power.”

Han Lie clenched his fist. The air popped audibly under the pressure of his grip.

With a thought, the glowing Nascent Soul hovering in the void shot toward him. He opened his mouth and swallowed the miniature energy-infant whole.

Unlike the Golden Core which resided in the Dantian, the Nascent Soul ascended to a higher throne. It settled into the Purple Mansion, the seat of the mind.

The moment it locked into place, a sensation of oceanic vastness flooded him. Boundless, terrifying spiritual energy surged through his meridians, roaring like a trapped dragon waiting to be unleashed.

“So this is the Nascent Soul realm?” Han Lie laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. “To call this merely ‘good’ would be an insult!”

“Hahahaha!”

As his laughter shook the void, a ragged book fell from the sky, landing near his feet.

“Oh?”

Han Lie flicked his finger, and the tome flew into his hand. The cover bore several ancient, obscure characters:

Star-Sucking Demonic Art.

“Star-Sucking?” Han Lie raised an eyebrow. The name brought to mind cheesy wuxia tropes, but as he flipped through the preface, his expression grew serious.

It was a Mid-Grade Divine Ability.

Like the fictional arts of his memories, it allowed the user to devour the power of others. But this was far more vicious. It didn’t just drain ambient Qi; it consumed the Source.

It devoured Golden Cores. It swallowed Nascent Souls.

“This is practically the Heaven Devouring Demonic Art,” Han Lie muttered. “Though… it is crude.”

The conversion rate was poor—only fifty percent efficiency. If he devoured a cultivator, he would only gain half their power. Furthermore, unlike the Grandmaster Heaven Devouring art, it could not scavenge power from the dead; the victim had to be fresh.

“That explains why Daoist Star-Sucker only reached the Nascent Soul stage,” Han Lie chuckled, shaking his head. “To possess such a concept and only achieve mediocrity… what a waste of heaven’s gifts.”

Still, a fifty percent conversion rate for a demonic art was enough to make the entire cultivation world tremble.

“Interesting.” Han Lie smiled, stowing the manual into his storage ring. He bowed deeply to the empty void. “Senior Star-Sucker, rest in peace. This Junior will ensure your art achieves the notoriety it deserves.”

Crack! Crack!

As the legacy was accepted, the structural integrity of the ruins failed. The pocket dimension began to collapse.

The Buried Immortal Mountain Range

Rumble!

The sky, which had been clear for miles, suddenly darkened.

Inky black clouds materialized out of nowhere, swirling into a heavy, oppressive ceiling that smothered the sunlight. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and impending violence.

From a small teahouse in the valley, two women and a black cat rushed out.

Xiao Yuruo, Bai Ling, and Xiao Zi stared up at the sky. They had waited in this desolate range for five long years.

“Look!” Bai Ling pointed.

The pitch-black vortex in the sky convulsed. It shrank rapidly, compressing from a hundred meters down to a mere speck, before detonating.

BOOM!

A figure clad in white Daoist robes shot out of the explosion, suspended in the eye of the gathering storm.

Xiao Yuruo’s heart skipped a beat.

The man floating above them was unrecognizable, yet undeniably him. The frailty of age was gone. In its place was a man in his prime—broad-shouldered, powerful, with a face carved from granite and eyes that held the depth of the starry sky.

He radiated a calm, terrifying confidence.

“Daoist Han!”

“Brother Lie!”

The two women screamed in unison, their voices cracking with relief and joy.

Han Lie looked down, spotting them instantly. He offered a smile as refreshing as a spring breeze.

Crackle! BOOM!

The reunion was cut short by the heavens.

A deafening peel of thunder shook the mountains. The black clouds began to rotate, generating a silver vortex that spanned tens of thousands of miles. The energy gathering within was not natural lightning; it was the Tribulation—the price exacting by the Heavenly Dao for defying mortality.

Xiao Yuruo and Bai Ling paled. They had never seen a Nascent Soul Tribulation, but their instincts screamed at them to run. This was apocalyptic power.

“A Lightning Tribulation?”

Han Lie did not run. He did not cower.

He looked up at the swirling eye of the storm, the corners of his mouth curling into an arrogant smirk.

His hand closed around empty air, and the blood-red blade, Crimson Oath, materialized in his grip. The Yin Yang Demonic Art roared to life, coating the blade in a sea of dense, terrifying spiritual pressure.

“Hahaha! A mere lightning trial? What is there to fear?”

He pointed the blood-red blade at the heavens, his laughter drowning out the thunder.

“Come then! Strike me if you can!”

CRACKLE!

The heavens answered. A bolt of silver lightning, a thousand zhang thick, crashed down from the vortex like the hammer of a god.

Han Lie’s eyes blazed. He swung the blade upward.

“Soul Severing!”

Hum!

A massive arc of fiery-red blade energy tore free from Crimson Oath. It rose to meet the lightning, a crimson crescent screaming against the wind.

BOOM!

The two forces collided in mid-air.

For a moment, the world ceased to exist. The sky was cleaved in two—one half blinding silver, the other apocalyptic red. The energies ground against each other, distinct and unyielding, turning the heavens into a battlefield of light and ruin.