After a thorough discussion where Calum voiced his questions about cultivation and Heris answered them, Heris took his leave. Night fell upon the Demonic Saint Sect's mountain, though it made little difference, as heavy, brooding clouds perpetually blanketed the skies in the vicinity of the peak.
Once he was alone, Calum summoned a servant and ordered a simple meal, naturally prepared from monstrous beast meat and spiritual herbs, washed down with a cup of spiritual tea to aid digestion.
Then, once again, he found himself before the wooden puppet. Wasting no time, he activated the inscription embedded within it. There was a low hum, and the puppet sprang to life, its eyes flashing a crimson red.
Without preamble, it slashed its saber toward Calum's neck. In Calum's perception, the trajectory of the blade was crystal clear. He simply leaned backward, evading it with the most minimal movement possible. A sharp light blossomed in his irises, and he struck forward with a straight punch. His fist cleaved the air so swiftly it became a mere blur.
Crash.
The wooden automaton was sent skidding back a couple of meters before regaining its balance. A fresh crack marred its chest. Stomping heavily onto the ground—shaking the entire martial field—it pounced at Calum with supernatural speed, turning the saber in its hand into a domineering whirlwind of blades.
Calum remained entirely unperturbed. He reacted by shaping his index finger like a treasured sword. A keen, piercing glow ignited at its tip, tearing through the void. His finger struck true, landing precisely on the weakest point of the barrage and puncturing a hole straight through the puppet's chest. The red glow in its eyes dimmed instantly as it went rigid and motionless. Calum had dispatched it in a matter of seconds.
All of this happened in the blink of an eye; a casual bystander would have heard only a single, condensed crash of metal and wood. Calum looked down at his palm, genuinely impressed by the sheer power he had just demonstrated.
It would take a few hours for the puppet to repair itself, but fortunately, there were tens of other wooden puppets lining the martial field, each wielding a different weapon.
Let's push further. Ten puppets at once!
With that thought, his battle intent exploded outward. He radiated the aura of an ancient fiendgod ready to challenge Heaven and Earth. The surrounding puppets instantly shifted into a coordinated formation around him.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening until his very eyes felt like drawn sword blades. His consciousness expanded, encompassing every movement of the puppets within his perception. Suddenly, the automatons erupted into motion, and the training field dissolved into absolute chaos. Their attack vectors seemed mapped directly into his mind, allowing him to weave through the onslaught like a phantom butterfly.
The air offered no resistance to his passage; his body sliced through it as though existing in a pure vacuum. The Treasure Assimilation Scripture could not truly be classified as a standard Qi cultivation method; it was closer to an art of artifact refinement. Except, in this unique case, the practitioner himself was the treasure.
By fusing with various treasures, the cultivator progressively evolved into an unparalleled artifact, retaining the innate physical and mystical properties of everything they assimilated. Truly a heaven-defying scripture! This Saint was a monster wrapped in human skin.
These thoughts flashed through his mind as he effortlessly kept pace with the attacking puppets. He dodged nearly all their blows, and for those he could not avoid, he simply parried them with his bare palms. Sparks flew whenever his skin met their weapons, a testament to his terrifying bodily resilience.
Because the scripture bypassed Qi refinement entirely, he possessed no Qi within his sea of consciousness. Nevertheless, his mental awareness was vastly superior to that of his peers, perfectly complementing his formidable physical vessel. While this meant certain orthodox Qi-based spells were out of his reach, his sheer combat prowess and survivability more than made up for it.
The melee lasted only a few minutes before he located a momentary gap in their formation. Piercing through it like a needle through silk, he systematically dismantled the entire squadron of puppets.
Stopping to survey the battered automatons scattered around him, a surge of pure exhilaration washed over him. Comprehending battle intent had turned him into a relentless combat fanatic, one who deeply relished the rush of fierce, unfiltered melees.
He reined in his battle intent, thoroughly satisfied with his growing prowess. He clenched his fist, and the familiar demonic glow flickered within his dark pupils.
Never again will my fate be left in the hands of others! Never again will I watch powerlessly as people close to me pass on!
The vow he had sworn before his father's grave solidified permanently in his mind. After joining the sect and mastering this scripture, he was now entirely convinced he could turn that vow into reality.
After taking a quick bath, he found himself back in the gazebo. Sitting cross-legged, he accessed his sect token to browse through its catalog of spells. He quickly located two spiritual techniques: the Piercing Divine Gaze and the Illusory Boundary, both high-level spiritual spells. Truly, the treatment afforded to a core disciple was exceptional.
The Piercing Divine Gaze was an offensive spell that directly assaulted an adversary's consciousness; at mastery, one could slay an enemy with a mere glance, hence its name. Meanwhile, the Illusory Boundary allowed the user to generate a localized illusory space to disorient an opponent's senses.
He was thoroughly pleased with his options. Once mastered, his capabilities would reach staggering new heights. However, he also needed to acquire a true treasure. The progression of the Treasure Assimilation Scripture demanded mountains of refined valuables. Ordinary mortal weapons like his father's sword were merely stepping stones to help him enter the path of immortality; true cultivators utilized genuine treasures. Fortunately, as a newly enrolled core disciple, he was entitled to redeem one item from the sect's Treasure Pavilion.
Having mapped out the immediate trajectory of his cultivation, Calum retreated to his chamber for a well-earned rest.
The next morning, just as the sun crested the horizon, Calum stepped out of his mansion. With light, graceful steps, he headed toward the Treasure Pavilion. Thanks to the detailed maps in his disciple guide, he navigated the complex web of paths, ponds, waterfalls, and majestic cliffs without losing his way, once again marveling at the colossal scale of the sect's mountain.
Stepping inside the pavilion, he was greeted by an elder with flowing white hair and a matching beard. Age lines crinkled the elder's face, but his eyes remained sharp, clear, and brimming with vitality.
"You must be the new core disciple?" The elder scrutinized Calum closely, as if trying to peer straight through him. It was evident to Calum that the general elders of the sect were entirely unaware of the final, secret trial of the Three Realms Steps; to their knowledge, a new disciple could only reach the inner sanctum, not the core.
"Yes, Elder. I am Calum of the Seren Clan," Calum replied respectfully.
"Seren? Well, no matter. I suppose you are here to redeem your starting treasure. Follow me." The elder did not recognize the clan name—which was entirely expected, as the Seren Clan was nothing more than an ant compared to the towering Demonic Saint Sect.
Calum followed the elder deep into the labyrinthine pavilion until they stopped before a heavily sealed vault. With a series of intricate hand seals cast by the elder, a flash of light illuminated the corridor, and the heavy doors groaned open. Inside, a dazzling array of treasures sat on display, each pulsing with terrifying, competitive energy.
Calum's eyes lit up as he stepped across the threshold.