Jingxuan opens his eyes—and in the same breath, his body dissolves into wind, reappearing at the far corner of the room without sound or ripple.

He has finished the last of the four demon-body paths he forged; the Wind Demon Body Refining Technique settles in his flesh like silent thunder.

Two years since returning from the capital, three new paths were born, and now all four stand complete.

He closes his eyes again and sinks inward.

Inside his spirit space, a vast ocean of refined weird energy churns, tides rising and falling with violent hunger.

At its heart floats the metal core—silent, heavy, trembling under the pressure of the ocean around it. Even without touching it, he can feel it: the sea wants to give birth to divinity.

One more push and a Divine-Grade Core will form.

One more push, and he will step into the Great Warlock realm.

And yet—he remains still.

He can almost see the process already.

The Divine Core forming, his spirit shaking, his physical body burning itself as fuel for the ascension.

If fortune chooses him, then at the critical breath, the divine transformation will return everything tenfold—vitality restored, flesh renewed.

If luck does not choose him, his body will collapse before his core is born.

His physique stands one step from Stage Three. One step from a body worthy of a Great Warlock.

To break through now would be gambling his foundation. And Jingxuan has never been one to bow his fate to luck.

He draws a long breath, gaze steady, aura calm as a sealed storm.

No breakthrough—

Not until flesh and spirit both reach the summit.

He will force the world to bend to his rhythm, not the other way around.

He already sees the path, glimmering like a blade in the dark.

The concept of immortality.

That is the key.

With it, he will bind the four elements as one.

With it, he will merge the four Demon Body refinements into a single eternal foundation.

He named it long ago.

Immortal Demon Body Refining Technique.

But before deduction begins, he leaves the quiet room and steps into life again.

He meets the housekeeper and learns Li Niyue has already gone.

A turmoil shakes the Puppet Hall, and she heads there without hesitation.

He does not raise an eyebrow.

After marriage, he spends most of his time cultivating in Ding Town.

She continues hunting the shadows of the Demon Hall.

He meets with his subordinates and hears the quiet heartbeat of progress.

Ding Town stands on the edge of becoming a Divine Town.

Their preparations are complete.

He returns to his room.

The door closes.

Silence falls like a veil.

He sits.

Breathe steady.

Mind sharp.

And begins deducing the Immortal Demon Body Refining Technique.

In that moment, he steps beyond the Warlock path.

He abandons the system and creates his own.

First Stage: Body Refining Stage.

Train the mortal flesh to the absolute peak of the mortal stage.

After that point, to advance further, the body must absorb high-energy resources from the world to break from mortal into extraordinary.

Second Stage: Seed Stage.

This stage does not push the physique into the extraordinary realm yet, but builds the bridge toward it.

Converge all bodily energy into the dantian, then nourish it with vitality.

Slowly, the energy seed synchronises with the body and awakens a biological field.

Through that field, one can sense and absorb weird energy.

When the seed absorbs weird energy, it transforms into a Weird Seed — and the feedback pushes the body into the extraordinary realm.

But to command a stronger body, the spirit must strengthen as well.

Third Stage: Inspiration Stage.

Open the spirit acupoint and release the inner spirit lock.

Refine the Weird Seed with the spirit.

From this point onward, every evolution of the seed feeds both body and spirit.

Fourth Stage: Array Stage.

Comprehend the laws of the world and condense them into runes, engraving them into the physique.

These runes form arrays within the body.

Fifth Stage: Spirit Seed Stage.

A spirit is born within the array and then merges with one's spirit.

The runes of the array imprint onto the seed.

The seed moves from the dantian into the spirit space, preparing to break through to the Spirit Sea Stage.

He stops deducing at this point — the Spirit Sea Stage equals the Great Warlock realm.

And so, he begins practising the Immortal Demon Body Refining Technique.

While Jingxuan cultivates, Lin Yu, inside the blood lake, begins cultivating it as well.

The first three stages pass swiftly beneath his will.

The fourth stage halts him—not because his understanding is lacking, but because he understands too much.

Shadow, Light, Darkness, Life, Death, Soul, Curse—his grasp of Law is vast.

And his two clones in the Extraordinary Heart world are undoubtedly comprehending even more.

When he reclaims those clones at the Demigod breakthrough, all those laws will converge, and chaos will rise.

He considers the problem in silence, blood mist rolling around him like a sea of breathing night.

Then he settles on a path. He will build his array upon the foundation of immortality.

Laws that align with immortality will merge smoothly; laws that do not will become fuel for it.

He begins inscribing runes into his flesh and connecting them, each line humming with eternal intent.

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A faint new consciousness forms.

He fuses it into his spirit and breaks through the Spirit Seed Stage.

The seed shifts from his dantian into his spirit space, and he feeds it energy.

The seed releases refined essence into that inner world; one drop becomes a puddle, then a pond, then a lake.

A deep hum echoes through his spirit space as water swells into a vast sea.

He has broken through the Spirit Sea stage.

He breathes out, calm and cold, and turns his mind toward the next stage—deducing the path forward.

As deduction flows, cultivation follows. His spirit sea churns, then roars, a whirlpool forming at its heart.

The Spirit Seed sinks into the vortex's eye. Refined energy spills out, pouring into the seed.

The sea shrinks—pond, pool, lake, shell of mist—and the seed evolves, growing sharper, heavier, more divine.

When the sea vanishes, the seed floats alone in the silent vastness of his spirit space, trembling on the brink of the next realm.

For the final metamorphosis, he bathes it in his understanding of immortality.

If Laws were steps, his immortal concept stands at the second—too young, too soft, one breath away from dispersal. It must reach the third stage to push the seed onward.

While Lin Yu tempers his immortal concept with the weight of every Law he knows, far away, Jingxuan cuts through a screaming snowstorm.

He descends before a valley carved into a colossal frozen mountain. Ruins stretch beneath the storm—shattered halls, silent courtyards, a graveyard of puppets and stone. Puppet Hall, erased.

After breaking through Spirit Sea Stage, he had paused cultivation, compelled by a message hidden in the retreat room’s formation—a final request from the housekeeper:

The Divine Puppet Sect has fallen. Li Niyue is missing.

He does not care for the sect’s fate. But Li Niyue—she is his wife.

And what is his, none may touch.

So he came north, into the Frozen Wasteland, leaving breakthrough and immortality behind.

Snow curls around him like white flames.

His spirit surges outward, vast and merciless, searching every flake and shadow for traces of Li Niyue.

And far away—Li Niyue’s own world shifts.

Her spirit draws inward, power folding into her core, and for a breath, everything becomes impossibly sharp—her body, her senses, her will. She has broken through the Kongjin Realm.

Before her eyes open, before breath fully returns, a tide crashes through her mind.

Memories not of this life—

But when she was *Meng Yi*.

They strike like lightning.

Her chest tightens. She rises abruptly from the bed, steps to the door, and pushes into the cold morning air.

"Princess?"

Li Na’s voice chases her, but she doesn’t stop.

She walks to Wenrui’s room.

Xia He stands guard inside, eyes widening.

"Princess."

Li Niyue ignores the greeting at first. She reaches the bedside, gazing down at Wenrui—still, pale, breathing shallow.

Something in her chest trembles.

Her Hong.

Yet she does not dare speak the name.

Memory haze recedes enough for her voice to return.

"How is he?"

Xia He bows slightly, tone grave.

"According to the Great Elder, he is unconscious because he is battling the consciousness of the Ancient Demon inside him."

Li Niyue’s brows draw tight.

Of course—Wenrui absorbed nearly every part of the Ancient Demon’s corpse.

Only the head and torso had remained.

Six months ago, she came here to settle the Puppet Hall’s crisis… and a few weeks ago, everything fell apart in blood and cold steel.

Wenrui has lain like this since the demon’s heart fused into him.

She looks at him, nostalgia and fear warring in her gaze.

Her Hong is there.

Yet she cannot confirm it—

not when she already belongs, in this life, to another.

"Take care of him," she says softly, turning away.

"Inform me immediately of any change."

Outside, frost bites the wind.

A Warlock under Jingxuan approaches quickly, bowing.

"Princess, our unit can separate from the survivors. We are confident we can escort you safely to Polarid City."

Snow drifts between them, pale flakes glimmering in the cold wind.

Li Niyue’s voice is firm, steady.

"We are not leaving anyone behind."

The warlock hesitates.

"But Princess—"

"No further discussion," she cuts him off, eyes like frost-steel.

"We all leave together."

His jaw tightens.

"Princess, the Demon Hall could find this place at any moment and—"

His gaze shifts toward Wenrui’s room, shadowed, uneasy.

"He may lose control. If he wakes, it could be as the Ancient Demon."

Li Niyue’s eyes turn razor-cold.

"He will not. Do as I say."

She turns away, steps crisp on snow-packed earth.

Behind her, the warlock speaks again, quieter, strained.

"Princess… the Lord will not like it."

She pauses only a heartbeat, glancing back with unshaken resolve.

"I will explain it to him."

Then she walks on, returns to her room, closing the door behind her like sealing a vow—

carrying memory, duty, and danger in the silence that follows.

Inside, she sits on the edge of the bed, hands still, breath thin.

Snow taps faintly at the window.

Li Na slips in, hesitant.

"Princess… Ming is right. We should leave. The Demon Hall is after Wenrui—if we abandon him, they will not bother with us."

Past and present collide inside Li Niyue; her gaze trembles, voice soft but unyielding.

"I cannot leave him behind."

Memory bleeds through her like an old wound reopening.

Wenrui’s unconscious face—Hong’s face—

and certainty settles in her chest like cold iron.

Li Na whispers, worried.

"Princess… why?"

Li Niyue meets her eyes.

"I have my reasons."

Li Na bites her lip.

"This is not my place, but… You are married."

Li Niyue turns toward the window, watching snow drift like souls returning.

"I know."

Her thoughts fall back to a life buried in another world—

Hong’s rise to the Kongjin realm, his fierce youth, his quiet moments, his trust.

Her past self, Meng Yi, a spy trained by Heaven Organization

sent to seduce, observe, and report on the prodigy from Hell Organisation.

She was meant to guide blades to his throat.

And she did.

Not out of loyalty, but fear—

fear when the organisation threatened the life growing inside her,

the life she made with Hong.

So she betrayed him.

Sent information that led to his death.

He died believing in her.

She lived quietly afterwards, bore their daughter, raised her alone,

and died old, with peace on her face, and guilt rotting in her heart.

Now, she feels no love for Hong anymore.

Only nostalgia.

And guilt sharp enough to carve bone.

Then she will not abandon him again, not in this life, not even if it means standing against fate itself.

Evening falls, and the group gathers inside a large room for dinner.

She looks at the Great Elder of the Puppet Hall.

He is a Great Warlock realm cultivator, more than five hundred years old, defeated only because age dulled his reaction, and the ancient demon heart inside his puppet rioted and entered Wenrui’s body.

His loss does not strip his knowledge.

She asks, “Great Elder, how is Wenrui’s situation?”

Silence ripples through the room as everyone waits.

The Great Elder nods slowly. “His situation is stable for now, but if he doesn’t awaken in the coming days, he will never awaken.”

Someone asks, “What will happen if he never awakens?”

The Great Elder answers, “The ancient demon will take over his body and awaken in his place.”

Ming asks, “Is there any way to stop the ancient demon from awakening? Like killing him?”

Li Niyue turns her eyes toward Ming and glares. “Ming.”

Ming shrugs. “Princess, many here agree with me. Sacrificing Wenrui is worth it if we can stop the ancient demon from coming back.”

She looks around.

Many turn their heads, guilt in their eyes.

The Great Elder shakes his head. “If killing Wenrui could stop the ancient demon, the imperial court would have already killed him. Killing him will only hasten the demon’s awakening.”

The Princess speaks, voice steady. “Then, is there a way to awaken Wenrui?”

A beat of silence.

The Great Elder replies, “There is a ritual that allows another’s spirit to enter Wenrui’s spirit space to awaken him.”

Xia He rises instantly. “Great Elder, then why are you not using the ritual? I will enter Wenrui’s spirit space.”

The Great Elder lifts his hand. “The failure rate is high. And the best person would be someone who shares a matching connection, such as bloodline.”

Silence presses again.

Li Niyue takes a breath. “Wenrui and I cultivate the same system. Will that work?”

The Great Elder studies her, then nods. “It will.”

Her fingers curl under the table.

Elsewhere, the Leader of the Demon Hall sits in meditation, drowning in silence and calculation.

He has reached the peak of Great Warlock, yet the path ahead remains veiled.

Great Warlock is the supposed end of the Warlock path, but he knows it is not so, because it corresponds only to the Divine Core realm in the divine system, and above Divine Core still lie Divine Fire, and at the summit, God.

He sacrificed his flesh to break into Great Warlock, leaving only soul and a strange energy body—his spirit space fused with that form, a warped shell of power.

The ancient demon’s severed head whispers guidance, helping him deduce what lies beyond.

The answer comes like thunder.

To ascend further, he must reclaim what he abandoned—he must build a physical body again.

His current form is pure energy; to reach divinity, it must be transformed into matter.

Structure is the first step.

To structure a body, he must first create bones.

He imagines bone essence, marrow of heavens, matter forming around divine will—but before he begins the trial, a voice interrupts him.

“Master.”

He opens his eyes.

In the camp stands Elder Jinrui, bowing deeply.

The Leader frowns. “What?”

Jinrui responds, “Master, the scouts have found Wenrui’s location.”

Capturing Wenrui holds little value in itself.

His true task is far greater—he must restore Kratos’s body, and once done, deliver Kratos’s head to Wenrui so Kratos may seize that vessel and return.

The sect was founded for this purpose alone—to gather every piece of the ancient demon’s remains and resurrect its power.

No one except him knows the true goal.

He rises, aura like jagged void rippling behind him.

“Prepare for combat.”

Inside Wenrui’s spirit space, silence reigns—cold, crushing, absolute.

No thoughts.

No voices.

Only collision.

Spirit against spirit.

Wenrui drives forward, feet carving ripples in the void as his fist crashes into Kratos’s chest, cracking soul-flesh and sending black sparks scattering like dying stars.

Kratos counters instantly—claws tear across Wenrui’s ribs, shredding spirit light, blood-essence flaring in the empty dark.

No roar, no taunt.

Just breathless war.

Their forms blur—Wenrui’s silhouette flickering between mortal outline and shadow crowned in demon runes, while Kratos twists like a nightmare, flesh half-formed and bone phasing through thick killing mist.

A strike.

A fracture.

A whirl of limbs like steel and storm.

The void shakes with each impact, space bending, fragments of Wenrui’s memories breaking loose like glass—snow falling, a blade striking, a woman turning away, a vow buried in silence.

Wenrui locks Kratos’s arm, slams his knee forward—Kratos absorbs the blow and hurls him across the void, Wenrui carving a trench of light as he skids and rises without pause.

Wenrui’s aura surges—silver and crimson spiralling, a storm of resolve and instinct—and he reenters the combat, no hesitation, no breath spared.

Kratos meets him head-on, body flickering with ancient fury, their blows merging into a rhythm older than words.

Strike.

Block.

Tear.

Shatter.

Reform.

Neither yields, neither speaks, neither looks away.

Kratos’s strike lands like a collapsing mountain, and Wenrui’s form ruptures, spirit-light scattering as he crashes into the void and falls still.

A pause, thin as a breath.

Kratos stands over him, shadowed and vast, voice like stone grinding against eternity.

“Get up.”

Fragments of Wenrui’s spirit drift, trembling, then pull back into shape as he rises slowly, chest heaving as though breath could exist in this place.

Pain hums in every thread of his being, energy spent like blood, consciousness flickering but refusing to dim.

He wipes nothing—there is no blood here, only will—and steadies his stance, burning eyes locked on his enemy.

A beat of silence.

“Why are you helping me?”

Kratos does not move, does not soften, expression carved from absolute cruelty and truth.

“I am not helping you,” he says, voice cold enough to freeze worlds.

“But myself.”