The black-furred, red-striped tiger stands before him, its eyes burning with malice as it growls low, circling Merin’s half-wolf, half-scaled spiritual body.

Muscles ripple under its hide, killing intent sharp as a blade, and then it opens its maw wide.

A torrent of black fire gushes forth, not flame alone but a corrosive sea that steals life itself.

Trees wither into husks, grasses shrivel to dust, and weaker creatures caught in its tide collapse as their vitality drains away.

Merin feels it too—a cold, invisible hand tugging at his life force—but his strength anchors it deep, unmoving.

His claws flex as he lifts a hand, weaving his defensive art. Space trembles, and a vast black mirror manifests before him, smooth and ominous.

The sea of black fire slams against it, and the mirror swallows the flames whole.

A ripple surges across its dark surface, and behind the tiger a second mirror blossoms into existence.

From it, the stolen fire erupts, a wave of destruction crashing onto the beast’s back.

The tiger roars in agony, black smoke rising as its fur chars and skin splits, raw flesh sizzling.

Blood sprays, its stripes burned into broken patches. Confusion clouds its savage eyes—how could its own power turn upon it?

Snarling, the beast charges again, its claws carving trenches through the soil, black fire surging like waves.

Merin does not counterattack. He stands calm, mirrors forming and shattering, black flames consumed and returned again and again.

The tiger rages, its power shaking the forest, but Merin only sharpens his control, honing the flow of defence until every motion, every reflection, is precise.

At last, he feels the boundary of what can be refined.

His body shifts, aura deepening. With a slow breath, he lifts his hands and a vast black hole blossoms behind him, devouring air and light, its pull undeniable.

The tiger halts, instincts shrieking, and claws the ground, dragging itself away from the growing suction.

Its body strains, muscles trembling, eyes wide with primal terror.

Then, from the black hole, tentacles of condensed space unravel, whipping out and lashing around its limbs and torso.

The beast thrashes violently, black fire surging, but the pull deepens, inescapable.

Inch by inch, it is dragged forward, roaring until its cries are swallowed whole. Its body vanishes into the abyss, leaving only silence.

Inside, flesh, crystal, and essence are stripped and sent into Merin’s cultivation, feeding the storm within.

The soul, bound and helpless, is dragged into the array hidden within his illusion space.

Its memories flicker before him like a rushing tide, then break apart as his will destroys them, leaving only fragments.

What remains of the tiger’s soul is forced into Ai, leaving her the only one among his companions carrying the weight of a bound spirit.

Yet one memory snags in his mind before it is erased—a vision by the largest waterfall of the jungle, where a towering stone monument stands, its surface carved with ancient paintings.

The image lodges in him, sharp and insistent.

Merin closes his eyes, the decision already made.

He must see this monument. But before that, the bottleneck in his body cannot be ignored.

The endless devouring of beasts these past days has pushed his cultivation to the very peak of the Great Tao Lord Realm.

Merin wanders deep into the jungle until he finds a cleft in a sheer stone wall, narrow and overgrown with vines.

Hidden within is a cave, its air cool and silent, shielded from sight. Perfect for a retreat.

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He steps inside, clears a space, and lowers himself cross-legged upon the stone floor, steadying his breath.

The bottleneck of the Great Tao Lord Realm hums in his core, ready to break.

Just as he gathers his focus, a voice, vast and resonant, echoes directly into his soul. The final trial begins. Every participant has a token. After three months, the one with the highest number of tokens will receive the inheritance of the Taixu Dragon Supreme.

A sharp light ignites in Merin’s eyes.

His chest rises with a slow breath, and he murmurs to himself.

If he gains the inheritance, it will transform his path, lifting his cultivation to heights he cannot yet imagine.

The Law of Space merging with his Illusion Space Tao—if space itself can be made real within the illusion, then every other law, every element, every concept would also take on reality.

His expression brightens at the thought, but he shakes his head. First, the breakthrough.

Then the competition.

He closes his eyes, gathering his strength, and strikes the barrier in his core.

At once, the devil energy in his body stirs violently, surging up with shadows and whispers, a tide eager to consume.

His Tao rises in response, burning, refining, and suppressing until the dark tide bends to his will.

Again and again, he hammers the barrier, devil energy reforged into purer strength.

Days blur.

Weeks pass.

At last, on the fourteenth night, his body shudders violently.

The barrier splits, shatters, and a new realm surges into him like a roaring river.

Power floods every fibre of his being, bones and blood and soul reshaped. He has broken through. Tao King Realm.

His senses sharpen beyond what they were, his body feels as though it can split mountains, and he knows his lifespan has stretched to a thousand years.

Yet within, the devil also grows.

The whispers are stronger now, pressing at his thoughts, cold and insidious. He clenches his fists, steadying himself, but unease coils in his gut.

Then his spirit sense flares. Someone is approaching—fast.

His eyes narrow. My breakthrough was noticed.

He draws back every trace of devil energy, suppressing it until his presence fades to nothing, and in the next instant, his figure blurs.

He rises from the cave, appearing high above in the sky, where the foreign aura rushes toward him.

The two meet in midair, eyes locking.

Without a word, killing intent explodes between them, and their clash begins.

The woman’s sword gleams like a shard of heaven, her strike cutting through the very seams of space as it descends upon him.

Merin’s body shifts, black crystal scales spreading across his frame as his spiritual body emerges in full.

The sword light slams against him, but the scales drink in the blow without yielding, leaving him untouched.

Without hesitation, Merin charges forward, his claws gleaming like blades honed in the void. He slashes once, and the air tears open with his strike.

Blood arcs across the sky as the woman reels, her body thrown down like a broken arrow.

She crashes into the earth with a thunderous crack, carving a crater into the jungle floor.

Gasping, the woman rises, one hand pressed against her belly as blood soaks her robes.

Her face pales, but her eyes still blaze with defiance as Merin descends toward her, claws flexed for the next strike.

Her voice bursts out sharp, trembling with pain. “Surrender!”

Before Merin can reach her, her body glows with a blinding light.

The form of the woman shatters into motes that scatter in the air, leaving nothing behind but three hovering tokens.

Merin lands soundlessly in the crater, his scaled hand sweeping through the air to catch the tokens.

He closes his fist around them, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Then, without pause, his figure rises once more into the sky, black scales glimmering in the sun as his tail lashes behind him.

Far ahead, thunderous roars echo.

The largest waterfall in the jungle thunders down like a silver wall, and near its base lies what he seeks—a stone monument etched with ancient paintings.

He turns his gaze toward it, his eyes cold and sharp.

His wings of space ripple once, and his body blurs forward, streaking toward the waterfall.

Merin had been able to crush the enemy with ease—his scales, forged from the essence of his spiritual body, were innately resistant to space law.

Her sword light, though sharp, could not pierce his defence.

Her comprehension of space was far beneath his own, and unlike him, she had no spiritual body to shield her.

The woman was of the Sword Race, an upper race blessed with innate abilities flowing in their blood from birth.

Humans, by contrast, had to carve out power for themselves—constructing spiritual bodies to gain the strength that others inherited.

Merin descends, landing before the roaring waterfall. At its base, half veiled by mist, stands the stone monument.

His eyes narrow as he studies its surface.

Ancient carvings shimmer faintly, lines forming the shape of interlocking rings.

Recognition stirs within him—it is not mere decoration but a technique.

A dual-purpose art of defence and offence: *Space Ring*.

Without hesitation,

Merin folds his legs beneath him and sits before the monument.

His spirit detaches from his body, sinking into the carved patterns.

Threads of law ripple outward, pulling him into the depths of the stone.

There, within the monument’s silent world, Merin begins to unravel the secrets of the Space Ring.

The technique is profound, its layers endless, each pattern demanding years of refinement to reach true mastery.

But time is not his ally here.

He does not linger to polish every detail.

Instead, he memorises the structure, the flow of law, the intent behind the rings.

The foundation is enough—for now. Mastery can wait until he claims victory in this trial.

Withdrawing his spirit, Merin opens his eyes.

The roar of the waterfall greets him once more, mist cool against his face.

He rises, wings of space unfurling, and turns away from the monument.

This is not the place to bury years in cultivation.

The trial demands strength, speed, and conquest. His goal is clear—tokens, battles, and, at the end, the inheritance.

Merin leaves the waterfall behind, his gaze sharp with resolve, seeking his next opponent in the endless jungle of the trial space.