While Emperor Chan did agree to seek out an Artifact Spirit, he didn’t take away my sheet of Rank 8 metal. Chan would help me find a refiner who was willing to forge a pill furnace, but I would need to work out the final agreement with said refiner on my own.

This would take time, though. There were only a few dozen Spirits in the entire domain, and only a fraction of them had a talent for refining. So, while I waited for Emperor Chan to complete his task, I turned my focus toward improving my and my team’s abilities as much as possible.

For me, this mainly meant continuing to cultivate at a steady pace and experimenting with new herbs whenever they became available. The herbalists that I had contracted with had begun to produce herbs in larger quantities, giving me more freedom to experiment with herbal teas.

Of particular note were herbs for several unusual elements, including shadow, acid, and rot. While growing these herbs was straightforward, they hadn’t been available for direct purchase due to the extremely low demand for such elements. Few alchemists could work with them, and the Palace didn’t have any recipes that made use of them. This made them perfect for my experiments.

What was the difference between shadow and dark? I didn’t know, and neither did anyone I asked. All I knew was that shadow herbs possessed a unique form of medicinal energy that imbued pills with slightly different properties than their dark counterparts.

As for my team’s skills, my initial goal was to help them strengthen their souls as quickly as possible.

This goal was… not good. Growing one’s soul too rapidly could result in any number of side effects, almost all of which were disastrous. However, this was the only way to transform these children into skilled Pill Emperors in a mere 10 years. All I could do was show them the path, inform them of the dangers it held, and let them make the final decision on whether or not to walk it for themselves.

One of the reasons for this heightened risk level was that, in order to grow everyone’s soul quickly enough, we would need to rely on the help of dangerous formations.

The Palace’s Soul Cultivation Library had a low-power, large-scale Soul Suppression Formation to help its members grow their souls slightly faster than normal, but this wasn’t sufficient for what I was trying to accomplish. So, I used palm-sized stones from my inner world to create adjustable, small-scale Soul Suppression Formations that each person could wear on their waist.

If my team members wanted to grow their souls faster, they could turn their formations up to a higher setting, increasing their suppressive effect. If they wanted their souls to grow slower—or if they just wanted to relax—they could turn them down, reducing this effect.

This let each person decide how much they were willing to risk in the pursuit of growing stronger. Since I had told everyone that the two people with the weakest souls would be cut from the roster, this choice wasn’t entirely free, but it was the best that I could do for them.

Somewhat surprisingly, the person who pushed himself the hardest and followed all of my instructions the closest was Mandakh. Every time I looked at the man, I could feel the resentment that he had toward me, but he didn’t allow this to hold him back. He wanted to become stronger and join the Temple. He was willing to do whatever it took to make this happen.

I reciprocated this dedication by spending a significant amount of time devising a personalized training regimen for him.

He wanted to be a leader? Fine. He wanted to focus on trees and wood qi? Also, fine.

My problem with Mandakh wasn’t his obsessions. It was that these obsessions controlled him. Wanting to focus on wood qi was great and all, but the fact that he couldn’t set this desire aside for long enough to build up a new affinity and earn an enlightenment was a problem.

So, I assigned Mandakh a course of study that centered around a mix of Daoist and Traditionalist philosophies. He needed to learn that “The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm.”

After receiving this detailed plan, Mandakh visited the library every day, turned his suppression formation up to the highest setting he could endure, and carefully studied the books I told him to read. And, with each day that passed, he was able to turn up the dial on the formation slightly higher.

This didn’t make his resentment for me dissipate, not in the slightest, but it helped him master it. A month into his training, Mandakh started coming to me to ask questions. Six months into his training, he was meeting with me almost every day. He still saw me as little more than a rival that needed to be suppressed, but he no longer hesitated to use me as a resource to fuel his own advancement.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

After two years of this relentless training, I called everyone to one of the Palace’s martial arts training fields, where I had placed ten cultivation mats atop a single, large Soul Suppression Formation. As each of the ten alchemists who were vying for a spot on our team entered, an attendant guided them to one of these mats.

At the front of this formation, I had constructed a wide platform that held a single, gilded throne. Once all of the competitors had taken their places on one of the mats, I entered and claimed this throne as my own.

Mandakh wasn’t the only person in the group who was incensed by this, but I ignored their whispers of discontent. I just stared down at them with my best granite expression.

“Two years have passed since I first instructed you to begin training your souls. Today, we will find out what you have been able to accomplish.” I waved and activated the formation. “With each second that passes, the effects of the Soul Suppression Formation will become more powerful. The first two to either give up or fall unconscious will be eliminated from our team.”

When I first activated the formation, I barely put any qi into it, causing its power to be incredibly weak. This, in turn, caused several of my potential teammates to give each other smug grins. The smarter ones, however, already knew that this was only the beginning.

After ten minutes, everyone was still calmly meditating on their cultivation mats.

After twenty minutes, several people started to sweat.

After thirty minutes, several of the competitors were bent over at the waist, heads pressed firmly against the ground.

This was one of the interesting things about the Soul Suppression Formation. It didn’t increase gravity, and there was nothing pulling anyone down, but the weight it placed on people’s souls made it feel like one was being pressed down.

By this point, several of the alchemists who had started out as Grandmasters were barely holding on, but no one was willing to be the first to quit. Unfortunately, though, what they wanted didn’t matter.

34 minutes into the competition, the first person fell unconscious. A minute later, the second person joined them. Fresh chapters posted on novel[f]ire.net

“Congratulations,” I said, in a loud, booming voice. “The eight of you who are still awake have passed.”

I gave everyone a moment to let out a sigh of relief. Then, I said a word that absolutely no one wanted to hear: “However.”

A few of the young men and women who had begun to straighten fell back down to the ground.

“We will continue this exercise until every single one of you either gives up or falls unconscious. You may quit at any time, but the first person to give up will be ranked last, and the last person to give up will be ranked first. This ranking is only to let you know your standing in this group, but remember, there are only five slots for the final competition, and I already occupy one of them. Only the four of you will be allowed to join me.”

My casual declaration that I was guaranteed a spot in the final competition caused yet another wave of discontent to wash over the group.

I was hoping that everyone would channel this anger into forcing themselves to do the best they could. However, less than a minute later, one of the former Grandmasters chose to give up.

This started a chain reaction, and within only a few minutes, a mere three competitors remained: Mandakh, Lau CoiHung, and our guandao cultivator—the same three who had done the best in the previous competition.

By this point, the pressure of the Soul Suppressing Formation was barely equivalent to what one would face in the Nine Rivers Sects when journeying from Profound City to Earth City—pressure that people were expected to endure as first-level Kings. Considering that all three of these youths were barely able to hold on as Peak Kings, I was still far from satisfied with their results, but they had at least been making good progress. They just had to keep at it.

When the pressure reached the point where I felt that it would be challenging for a normal second-level King, the guandao cultivator fell unconscious. Then, when it was within the range of what I felt was suitable for a high-level King, Lau CoiHung joined him.

This left only Mandakh. Thanks to all of his hard work, Mandakh was able to hold on even when the soul pressure reached the limit of what I felt only a Peak King should normally be able to endure. At this point, I waved my hand, causing the pressure of the Soul Suppressing Formation to slowly dissipate.

“Well done, Mandakh. I am confident that, as long as you remain diligent, you will be able to do the Palace proud in the final competition.”

Mandakh seemed less than pleased by my praise. He lifted his chin and stared at me in challenge. “What about you? We had to endure this torture, but what about you? Shouldn’t you prove that you are worthy of your position as our leader? Why don’t you step down here so that everyone can see which of us can endure this formation the longest?”

I smiled politely, stood, walked to the side, and gestured to the gilded throne that I had just vacated. “If any of you wish to replace me as the leader of our little group, then please, do so. You need only sit down in my chair.”

Again, the smarter members of the group knew that this was a trap—it was obviously a trap—but by this point, Mandakh couldn’t back down without losing too much face. So, he stood and walked toward the platform that held my throne.

The moment Mandakh placed his first foot on this platform, he hunched over in agony. The moment his second foot came down, he collapsed, unconscious.

The entire group stared in shock as I walked over to Mandakh’s body, picked him up, and tossed him to the ground.

“Would anyone else like to try?” Not a single person was willing to meet my eyes. “Very well, then. We have three years before the elders make a decision on the final members of our team. During this time, I want all of you to continue cultivating your souls. To have any hope of concocting decent Rank 6 pills, you will need to be able to stand on this platform without buckling. Is that understood?”

Everyone except Mandakh—who was still unconscious—lowered their heads in agreement.

“Aside from that, we need to start working on your alchemy skills. Additionally, if any of you wish to take part in a Return, you may do so, but let me know first, and do your best to keep it short. We still have a lot of work to do, and we don’t have any time to waste.”