The Rocky Mountains stretch before Jingxuan—jagged and ancient, their slopes littered with boulders and patches of dry, thorned bushes.

The wind hisses through the cracks, carrying the faint scent of iron and dust.

But as he looks ahead, the golden light of the sun begins to fade, dimming as if swallowed by an unseen force.

The bright desert glare dulls into shadow.

The sky twists from gold to a deep, colourless hue, and the world before him bleeds into shades of black and white.

He turns back. Behind him, the golden barrier of the Divine Domain shimmers, radiating waves of sacred energy like a living wall between two worlds. Its light pulses gently—warm, alive, and distant—contrasting the lifeless silence ahead.

Jingxuan breathes out, eyes narrowing. Beyond this point, no divine protection exists.

Only the wild, the unknown, and the strange rhythm of the mountains that seem to breathe under the dark sun.

Jingxuan climbs over a ridge of cracked stone. The wind is dry, carrying the faint echo of whispers through the jagged peaks. He walks slowly, eyes scanning the rocky slopes, deciding to search one mountain fully before moving to the next.

A faint rustle comes from a nearby bush. He stops. The bush quivers, then suddenly bursts alive. Roots tear from the ground, thorned vines stretch toward him like snakes.

Jingxuan raises his hand, sand gathers around him and spins forward. The whirling sand blade cuts through the vines, slicing them to shreds. The bush twitches once before collapsing, lifeless.

He brushes off the sand from his sleeve and keeps walking. The light of the dark sun makes the rocks gleam silver, shadows stretching unnaturally long. He feels a faint movement behind him and turns sharply.

A skeletal hand crawls from the shadow of a boulder. Bones rise, clicking together as a skeleton Weird stands tall, red fire flickering in its hollow eyes.

Jingxuan’s expression remains calm. He draws weird energy through his arm, sand condensing into a spear.

The skeleton rushes forward, claws outstretched, but Jingxuan thrusts the spear through its skull. The red fire dims, the bones crumble to dust. The sand falls with them.

He exhales slowly and moves deeper into the mountain.

Each step grinds against the loose gravel. Minutes later, a low rumble sounds above. A bird-shaped shadow crosses his path.

He looks up—an enormous land bird Weird with rocky feathers, dives down, its wings scattering stone fragments like blades.

Jingxuan leaps aside as the ground cracks where he stood.

He gestures, and the sand beneath the bird surges upward, wrapping around its body. The creature screeches, flapping wildly. The sand hardens into stone, and the bird slams into the cliff, shattering into pieces.

Dust falls. Silence returns. He waits, but no core drops to the ground—only fading wisps of energy. He frowns slightly, realising the truth.

Inside the Divine Domain, the domain’s power traps the Weird energy, forming stable cores. But here, outside, nothing binds the energy. It disperses freely, lost to the air.

Jingxuan continues his search, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots the only sound in the vast emptiness.

Minutes turn into hours. The dark sun sinks lower, its light twisting the mountains in strange shapes, until the first of the three moons pierces the horizon.

Then the second, then the third. Their pale light blends together, brightening the black and white world into a silvery glow.

He walks along a narrow ridge, eyes scanning the scattered boulders for movement. Then, a deep rumble rolls beneath his feet.

The ground trembles. Jingxuan freezes, instincts flaring. A jagged crack tears through the ground, and from it, a massive rocky hand bursts upward, stretching toward him.

He instantly channels his weird energy—sand surges from the ground and solidifies into a thick stone wall before him. He leaps back just as the rocky hand slams down. The wall shatters, spraying shards in every direction, the ground shaking from the force.

Jingxuan steadies his breath and raises his gaze. The boulder behind the hand begins to move. Chunks of rock grind and shift, shaping into limbs, torso, and head.

The giant rock man straightens, its molten eyes glaring down at him. With a sound like grinding stone, it screams, and its aura floods the air—dense, heavy, oppressive.

A mid-level Weird.

Jingxuan’s expression hardens. The creature’s strength is two stages above his own. The logical choice would be to retreat. But the thought passes, and he doesn’t move.

If he can kill this thing, if he can get its core, he could recover ten per cent of his lost power. Not much, but enough to step firmly into the middle level within the Zhou Dynasty. Enough to make a difference.

The wind roars louder as the rock man moves, each step a thunderous quake that shakes loose gravel from the cliffs.

Jingxuan raises his palm—sand spirals upward, condensing into blades that harden into stone.

He thrusts his hand forward, and the blades streak through the air, whistling toward the creature.

They strike the rock man’s chest and shoulders, but instead of cutting, they shatter on impact, scattering into dull fragments.

The giant barely slows, its molten eyes flaring brighter as it raises an arm and slams it down. The shockwave sends Jingxuan flying back, his ribs rattling, dust clouding the air.

He steadies himself, channels more weird energy.

Fire bursts from his right hand, twisting into a crimson claw that burns through the dust and tears across the air toward the creature’s head.

The flame strikes, explodes—but when the smoke clears, the rock man stands untouched. Not even a mark.

Jingxuan grits his teeth and draws deeper from the Iron Eater’s core.

A metallic vibration ripples through the air as he unleashes Metal Screech.

The sound waves twist, cutting through stone and sand, yet when they hit the monster, they only cause faint cracks that seal moments later.

Worse, the recoil chips his own stones, fragments flying from his constructs.

The creature lunges, its massive fist crashing down. Jingxuan dives aside, the blow carving a pit where he stood.

The ground fractures, debris slicing his arm as he rolls.

Another attack comes—a sweeping arm of rock that clips his shoulder, sending him spinning across the gravel. He feels warmth down his arm—blood, and deep bruises already swelling beneath his robe.

He knows he cannot win. His spirit, sharp and unwavering, senses every shift in the creature’s movement—each tremor, each surge of energy.

Using that instinct, he dodges again and again, each time barely escaping death, but at the cost of new wounds.

Then, as the creature rears back to crush him entirely, Jingxuan slams both palms to the ground.

The sand shudders, rises, and howls into a storm.

In seconds, a swirling wall of grit and dust engulfs the mountainside, blinding everything within. The rock man bellows in rage, swinging blindly, pulverising stone and cliff alike.

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Hidden within the chaos, Jingxuan turns and runs—leaping from ridge to ridge, sliding down loose gravel, the storm shielding his escape.

The monster senses movement and roars, its arm breaking apart and reforming into jagged spears of stone.

The spears whistle through the storm, slamming into the ground around him.

One grazes his leg, another tears past his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop. His robes are torn, dust clings to his face, blood drips from his forearm—but his eyes remain fixed ahead.

The golden barrier of the Divine Domain gleams faintly in the distance, its light pulsing like a heartbeat against the darkening desert. Jingxuan sprints toward it, lungs burning, the thunder of pursuit echoing behind him. A massive rock spear whistles past his shoulder, gouging a trench through the sand.

He leaps forward, crossing into the domain. The spear follows, ripping through the air and smashing into the ground beside him. The barrier does not stop it—it isn’t meant to. Its power only burns away what is ghostly and foreign. At once, the chill inside Jingxuan’s body ignites into heat. The ghostly energy he absorbed beyond the border writhes and sizzles out of him like smoke, leaving behind only exhaustion and pain.

Another spear crashes down near him, spraying shards of rock. Jingxuan dives aside, cuts the rope binding his horned beast, and climbs onto its back in one swift motion. “Go!” he commands, voice hoarse. The beast bellows and charges across the sand, hooves drumming against the desert floor.

Behind him, the mountain itself seems to roar, the rock man’s fury shaking the dunes. Jingxuan glances back once—the towering figure glares from beyond the barrier, its molten eyes like two dying stars. It doesn’t cross. It cannot. The domain’s divine energy repels it, holding it at bay. Slowly, its voice fades, swallowed by the distance and the wind.

By the time Jingxuan reaches Ding Town, the sun has nearly vanished, replaced by the soft glow of the three moons. The town’s gates open at the sight of him. Guards rush to bow, startled by his torn robes, the blood on his arm, and the grimness in his eyes.

He rides through the streets in silence, his beast breathing hard. People stop what they’re doing, watching as their commander passes.

A woman gasps. A blacksmith steps out of his shop, wiping soot from his hands. A child whispers, “Lord Ji is hurt.”

The rumour spreads faster than the wind. Within minutes, every corner of the town hums with fear.

“The chief of the military guard was injured.”

“Did a powerful weird enter the domain?”

“Was it during patrol?”

No one knows the truth—that he had stepped beyond the safety of the divine domain itself. In their minds, the explanation is simpler and far more frightening.

Under the last ray of the sun, Pei Shan moves across the training ground, his sword flashing in graceful arcs. Each swing flows into the next, a dance of steel and rhythm. His three concubines sit nearby beneath the peach tree, their laughter light and melodic.

“Great!” one says, clapping her hands.

“What a powerful move!” the second exclaims.

“So handsome,” the third sighs, eyes filled with admiration.

Pei Shan finishes his final move with a flourish, the blade stopping inches from the ground. Sweat glistens on his brow, and a satisfied smile curves his lips. But before the laughter can rise again, a guard bursts through the entrance, panting.

“My lord—”

The nearest concubine frowns sharply. “Have you no manners? Can’t you see Lord Pei is training?”

Pei Shan lowers his sword, waving a hand for silence. “What is it?”

The guard bows deeply. “Lord Ji Jingxuan has returned… injured.”

Pei Shan’s smile fades instantly. The echo of the sword’s clash still hangs in the air, but his mood turns heavy. “Injured?” he asks quietly. “How?”

The guard shakes his head. “I don’t know, my lord.”

Pei Shan wipes his blade with a cloth, his movements steady but cold. “Prepare the carriage.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He turns, walking toward his chambers without another word. Inside, he washes the sweat from his face, changes into his formal robe, and ties his hair neatly. His concubines watch from the doorway, whispering as he leaves the house.

Moments later, the carriage rolls through the quiet streets toward Ji Jingxuan’s residence. The night air carries the murmurs of townsfolk, still buzzing with rumours.

At the gate, the housekeeper greets him with a bow and leads him to the guest hall. Inside, five warlocks sit around the low table, cups of untouched tea before them. Their robes are clean, their faces calm—none show a trace of battle.

Pei Shan’s brows knit together. “How was Ji Jingxuan injured?”

The warlocks exchange glances, shaking their heads one by one.

“We don’t know,” one answers. “We didn’t even know Lord Ji left the town.”

Before Pei Shan can reply, footsteps echo from the corridor.

Ji Jingxuan steps into the room, his body wrapped in bandages, his right arm resting in a sling.

The lamplight glints against the pale cloth, catching the faint sheen of sweat across his forehead.

His steps are steady, his face calm, his eyes nonchalant—like someone untouched by pain or concern.

He sits without a word.

Pei Shan, still standing, leans forward slightly, his tone tense. “How are you?”

Jingxuan meets his gaze for a moment before looking at the teacup on the table. He already knows why they’re all here.

The town lies at the edge of the Divine Domain—too close to the wilderness, too vulnerable.

If he, the strongest man in the town, can be injured, the others fear the entire town could fall next.

“I’m fine,” Jingxuan says finally, his voice quiet but firm. “Just minor injuries from fighting a mid-level weird.”

The air in the room changes instantly. Shock and fear spread across every face.

“What?”

“Where did you fight it, Commander?”

“What kind of weird?”

“We should call for help from headquarters!”

“Should we begin the evacuation?”

“No—evacuating will take time! We should leave first!”

“Yes, if we move with the townspeople, the weird might follow us!”

Their voices rise and overlap, panic feeding on itself.

Jingxuan sighs and raises his hand. “Enough.”

Silence falls.

“There’s no need to escape,” he says evenly. “I was injured outside the domain—at the Rocky Mountain.”

Their eyes widen as one. For a moment, no one breathes. The meaning sinks in slowly—the Divine Domain remains safe. The weird never breached the barrier.

Relief spreads through the room, but Pei Shan’s gaze lingers on Jingxuan, sharp and thoughtful, sensing there is more behind that calm, composed face than the commander is willing to reveal.

Ji Jingxuan explains that he ventured outside out of curiosity, carefully omitting the full truth—he doesn’t trust them.

They leave soon after, and he has a quiet dinner before returning to his room.

There, he begins to comprehend the mysteries behind the Iron Eater’s abilities.

Being a special-grade core, refining it starts him at the Fifth Ring, with potential up to the Ninth Ring.

To reach the Tenth Ring, no external core is needed; awakening the sleeping spirit within the core and merging with it is enough.

Thus, he could have shifted his cultivation focus from Earth to Metal yesterday.

Yet his perfectionism and insatiable curiosity drove him to experiment—he wanted to know if it is possible to surpass the Fifth Ring with a common-grade core, and he continues his search for resources.

And so even if he advances to the Sixth Ring using the Iron Eater’s core, he will not abandon the hunt for Earth-attribute cores.

He cannot stop until his curiosity is satisfied.

Even as a clone, this trait remains—an inheritance Lin Yu acquired from Merin.

He begins to think of Merin, but shakes his head, pushing the thought away, knowing it will get him nowhere.

If one day he can leave the inner area of Dream Space, perhaps he will encounter Merin again.

To leave the inner area, he must first recover his previous strength.

So he begins comprehending the mysteries, stopping only to eat and tend to his basic needs.

--------

Wenrui opens his eyes, pain surging through every fibre of his body.

He enters a state of introspection and sees the strain in his muscles.

It is the result of his body’s weakness—the last punch he threw against the Weird Believer pushed it beyond its limits.

He has stepped into the Seeing God Realm of martial arts, the breakthrough born from the accumulation of his previous life.

In that life, he was called Hong, raised in an orphanage that trained assassins.

From a young age, he practised the National Martial Arts, advancing through Mingjin, Anjin, Huajin, Danjin, Shenjin—Seeing God—and finally Kongjin.

He reached Kongjin at thirty and spent the following years seeking to surpass it, fighting endlessly in pursuit of strength.

Strength was the only thing he trusted, the only thing that had saved his life countless times.

But that same path drew envy and fear—he was ambushed and killed by a bomb, for even bullets could no longer harm him.

When he awoke again, he found himself reborn in this extraordinary world as Zhang Wenrui.

He had high expectations for this world, but they shattered when he realised he could not cultivate its extraordinary paths.

The Divine Way required fame in the mortal world, death, and the awakening of one’s soul by a divine cultivator before reincarnation.

The Warlock Way demanded innate talent—a body born with circuits that could channel weird energy.

He possessed neither.

So he returned to the only path he knew—the National Martial Arts of his past life.

But this new body was not gifted for martial arts.

At twenty-one, he barely forged his physique to the Huajin Realm.

Breaking into the Shenjin Realm was possible only because it relied on spirit, and his spirit remembered what his body had forgotten.

Now, within this realm, he gains complete control of his body once again.

He can finally strengthen himself at full speed.

And with quiet confidence, he believes that within six months, he will reach the Kongjin Realm once more.

His confidence lingers as dusk fades outside his window, and quiet fills the room.

His thoughts drift to his sister—the only person in the Zhang family who still visits him.

The Zhang family is vast, powerful, and divided by endless competition.

His mother, once the main wife, had secured them a place of respect, but her death stripped that protection away.

Without her, both he and his sister lost their father’s favor.

And though this is not even the main Zhang estate, the rivalry among the branches is ruthless.

Everyone fights for status, for resources, for a sliver of attention from the patriarch.

For him, strength is the only shield left.

Later that day, his teammates visit, bringing noise and laughter into the quiet room.

One of them places something in his hand—a small mirror, slightly cracked along its edge.

“It fell from that Weird Believer,” the man says. “Maybe it’s valuable.”

Wenrui nods, thanks them, and watches as they leave.

Hunger gnaws at him, and he orders a full meal, eating until his body feels alive again.

When he finally leans back, full and calm, his gaze falls on the mirror.

It catches the lamplight in a strange way, like something alive beneath the surface.

Curious, he channels his spirit into it.

The world around him fades.

Light swallows everything, and when it clears, he finds himself in a vast white space.

Twelve chairs stand in a circle, each facing the other.

He realizes he’s sitting in one—his feet near a number carved into the floor: *7*.

Across from him, on the fourth chair, a faint white phantom flickers into view.

It tilts its head, studying him, and then speaks softly.

“Hello.”