The Chamber of Silent Fangs, buried beneath Ironbloom Valley's jagged cliffs, reeked of blood and sulfur, its volcanic stone walls glistening with crimson runes that pulsed like festering sores. A single obsidian altar dominated the center, etched with sigils of sacrifice, its surface blackened by centuries of spilled vitality. Xun Wei, now an Inner Disciple at Foundation Middle, stood before the altar, his black robes pristine despite the chamber's choking air. His serene face masked a god-level soul, his Void Dantian a churning abyss of crimson and golden qi, the Dual Path of Eternity fueling his hunger for power. Three hundred years ago, in his past life, he forged this heretical method to defy his talentless fate, blending the righteous Light of Serenity with the demonic Crimson Fang Technique. Now, reborn in his 15-year-old body, he wielded it to deceive the Celestial Mandate's watchful gaze, his immense power straining his fragile mortal frame. To survive, he was building a second foundation—a false qi reservoir cloaked in righteousness—to mask his demonic essence from the sect and the Mandate alike.
Elder Yan, Ironbloom's enforcer of punishment and politics, loomed behind him, his crimson robes billowing like a pool of blood. His qi, at Core Formation Peak, coiled around the chamber like a noose, his yellowed teeth glinting in the torchlight. "You're punctual, weed," Yan rasped, his voice a venomous hiss. "Few survive my summons."
"Survival is my talent," Xun Wei replied, his tone flat, his eyes unyielding as obsidian blades, hiding the predator within.
Yan's grin widened, a predator sizing up prey. "The sect values strength, not sentiment. Your mirror trick shook the elders, but it's nothing without loyalty. Prove yourself, and I'll teach you the Blood Thorn Technique—a demonic art that binds blood to qi, draining your foes' vitality through their wounds. It's forbidden, but power bows to no law."
Xun Wei's face remained stone, his mind calculating. "What proof do you require?"
Yan chuckled, a sound like snapping bones. "Patience, weed. First, you learn. Then, you act. Zhao Fen's pride chokes her—use it. Break her, and the sect will notice." He gestured to the altar, where a blood-red scroll unfurled, its runes writhing like worms. "Begin."
Xun Wei stepped forward, his Void Dantian pulsing as he absorbed the scroll's demonic qi. The Blood Thorn Technique was a ravenous art, its crimson thorns designed to pierce meridians, siphoning blood and qi until victims withered. Without his god-level soul, the technique's taint would have driven him to madness, but the Light of Serenity stabilized the demonic surge, weaving it into his Dual Path. His body trembled, meridians straining under the influx, his fragile frame unready for such power. He suppressed the pain, his mind ice, focusing on crafting his second foundation—a righteous qi reservoir to cloak his demonic core. The process was slow, his body adapting to prevent collapse, but each step brought him closer to unassailable power.
The following dawn, Xun Wei stood in the Hall of Eternal Roots, where Elder Cang delivered a lecture to Inner Disciples. His Starflow Technique at Core Formation Late cast constellations across his robes, his qi a storm of authority. "Righteous cultivation demands discipline," Cang intoned, his sunken eyes scanning the room. "But discipline alone is not enough. To surpass your peers, you must master the unorthodox." He revealed a jade scroll, its runes glowing gold. "The Void Pulse Technique—a righteous art, forbidden by the sect for its volatility. It channels qi in bursts, shattering enemy defenses, but risks qi deviation if mishandled. I teach it only to those I deem worthy."
Zhao Fen, her Frostwind Technique at Foundation Middle, sat rigid, her eyes burning with ambition, still smarting from her defeat by Xun Wei. Hua Ling, gentle with her Jade Blossom Technique at Foundation Early, fidgeted nervously. Kai Ren, brash with his Thundercoil Technique at Foundation Middle, leaned forward, eager. Xun Wei, at the rear, maintained his serene facade, his mind dissecting Cang's words. The Void Pulse Technique was a perfect addition to his Light of Serenity, enhancing his righteous mask while amplifying his Dual Path's versatility. He would master it, not for loyalty, but to deceive the sect and the Mandate.
Cang's gaze fell on Xun Wei. "You, Inner Disciple. Your resonance was unnatural. Prove your worth." He tossed the scroll, and Xun Wei caught it, bowing. "Learn it by the next moon, or face expulsion."
"As you command," Xun Wei replied, his voice flat, his eyes glinting with cold intent.
Zhao Fen snarled under her breath, "He'll fail, just like before." Xun Wei ignored her, his thoughts on how her pride would be her undoing.
Over the next week, Xun Wei trained in secret, balancing Elder Yan's demonic Blood Thorn Technique with Elder Cang's righteous Void Pulse Technique. In a hidden grotto beneath the Withering Cliff, he practiced alone, his Void Dantian a furnace of crimson and golden qi. The Blood Thorn Technique summoned crimson vines that lashed the air, their thorns dripping with qi-hungry malice. He tested it on a captured spirit beast, its roars fading as thorns pierced its flesh, draining its vitality until it collapsed, a withered husk. The Void Pulse Technique was its opposite, sending golden qi bursts that shattered stone, their precision masking their forbidden nature. Together, they enhanced his Dual Path, the Light of Serenity stabilizing the Blood Thorn's hunger, while the Crimson Fang amplified the Void Pulse's destructive force.
His body groaned under the strain, meridians cracking like dry earth, his mortal frame unready for such power. He channeled the Dual Path to adjust, weaving a second foundation—a righteous qi reservoir that radiated purity, cloaking his demonic core. The process was agonizing, his bones aching, blood seeping from his pores, but his god-level soul negated the risks of qi deviation or soul dissonance. By the week's end, his cultivation surged from Foundation Middle to Foundation Peak, the Blood Thorn's vitality drain fueling his ascent. He pushed further, integrating the Void Pulse's bursts, and broke through to Core Formation Early, his Void Dantian now a vortex of power. The second foundation solidified, a flawless deception that would fool even the Mandate's hosts.
In the training grounds, Xun Wei orchestrated his first move against Zhao Fen. During a sparring session overseen by Elder Cang, he faced Kai Ren, whose Thundercoil Technique crackled with electric fury. Xun Wei used only the Void Pulse Technique, sending golden bursts to deflect Kai Ren's strikes, earning nods from Cang. Zhao Fen watched, her qi unstable, her pride gnawing at her. Xun Wei caught her eye, his serene smile a silent taunt. After the spar, he approached her, voice low. "Your Frostwind is impressive, cousin. Join me in the Abyssal Hollow tomorrow—I've found a qi vein that could elevate us both."
Zhao Fen's eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with ambition. "Why share it with me?"
"Strength benefits the sect," Xun Wei lied, his face serene. "Refuse, and Kai Ren might claim it."
Her pride flared, and she nodded. "Fine. Dawn."
Xun Wei turned away, his smile cold. The Abyssal Hollow was no qi vein—it was a trap, laced with demonic qi from his Blood Thorn experiments. Zhao Fen's downfall would begin there, her pride leading her to ruin.
That night, in his dorm, Xun Wei meditated, his Void Dantian pulsing with newfound power. He reflected on his past life, when he lured Zhao Lin to Abyssal Hollow, her trust shattered as his Crimson Fang drained her life, her husk fueling his rise to Mid Sky Immortal. Zhao Fen would face a similar fate, her qi feeding his ascent. He felt no remorse, only necessity. Sacrifice was power, and he would carve his throne over their bones.
Elder Yan's voice echoed in his mind, a warning from their last meeting: "The sect watches, weed. Cross me, and you'll join the altar's stains." Xun Wei dismissed it, his mind on Yan's own vulnerabilities—his greed, his secrets. One day, Yan would fall, too.
In the Void Realm's heart, the Celestial Mandate's temple of silence trembled. Divine waters rippled, reflecting a crimson ouroboros. A golden-robed being stirred, its voice a hiss. "The heretic's power grows… unnatural."
An ancient, mechanical voice replied, cold as iron. "He is no mere host. He is… other."
"Intervene?"
"Not yet. Let him weave his web. The Mandate will crush him when he falters."