Even the acid breath of one minute old me is tens of thousands of times better.
Still, since I had it, I might as well see it through.
"Spell: Ice Prism."
Thick four prisms of enchanted ice materialized from thin air and hurtled toward the four warriors.
Panic flashed across their faces. Afraid that I had more power hidden up my sleeve, they roared and invoked secret techniques, forcing their blood energy to boil at great personal cost.
The four crystalline ice prisms pierced through the bodies of the silver-armored warriors, cutting through the air like frozen bolts of judgment. As they made contact, a portion of the magic was melted away by the violent fluctuations of boiling blood energy and the turbulent force of the samurais' internal reserves. Another fraction of the spell was intercepted by the enchanted equipment — runic armguards, silver-etched cloaks, and layered energy plates — that shimmered briefly in defiance.
But in the end, the remnants of the attack seeped through the defenses, and what little remained brushed against the samurais' exposed flesh. There, it left behind shallow, glowing marks of pale blue ice that shimmered with an eerie brilliance.
At first glance, the blue stains seemed harmless — no deeper than light bruises caused by a child's slap. But beneath that deceptive surface, a numbing cold seeped into their veins, sending chilling waves through their limbs like frost slowly creeping up a winter-killed tree.
The four silver-armored warriors instinctively took a step back, exchanging solemn glances. Their eyes met mine, not with anger, but with wariness — the gaze of veterans who recognized danger when they saw it.
"As expected of a conjurer... Even one of mediocre standing can still command such terrifying force," muttered the one among them who bore the faintest mark — a seasoned commander whose tone was now laced with humility and a trace of fear.
I remained silent, my expression unreadable. With a slight movement of my lips and a mere flicker of intent, two new spells surged into existence.
"Spell Art: Phantom Mist."
A veil of curse mist spread outward from me, invisible to the mundane eye yet potent in its purpose. It bent perception, twisted orientation, and disrupted the innate sense of direction possessed even by the most seasoned samurais. The surroundings blurred, distances warped, and left-right became as uncertain as up-down.
"Spell Art: Pale Tentacle."
Four grotesque, pale-white tentacles burst forth from thin air. Each was as thick as an ogre's arm, writhing with unnatural fluidity as they launched toward the four warriors with hungry speed. The tentacles radiated a foul pressure, something alien — an aura that seemed neither dead nor alive.
A brutal skirmish erupted within the fog. Blades clashed, metal rang, and the fog trembled with each violent collision. After a time, the silver-armored samurais broke through. Their bodies were drenched in sweat, their breath ragged and heavy, their limbs shaking not from fear — but from the sheer exertion of surviving a confrontation against unknown magics.
They emerged into the open, staring up at the rooftop where I stood.
"Indeed—"
The commander never finished his thought.
His head exploded.
With a wet, grotesque burst, flesh and bone scattered into the air, painting the mist behind him in crimson. The other three were frozen, stupefied. Their commander — the most powerful among them — was alive a second ago, and now… where was his head? What just happened?
Their necks turned mechanically toward the rooftop.
There I stood — robed in black, a silhouette of grim purpose — and slowly lowered my outstretched right hand. That palm had grown to twice its usual size, its muscles expanded and knotted with unnatural mass. Crimson veins throbbed across its surface, and clinging to the flesh were remnants of gray matter and shattered skull. Brains. Bits of bone. The grisly aftermath of a single strike.
"I had no desire to dirty my hands. Don't you know how revolting brain matter is? Wouldn't it have been more poetic to die to a beautiful spell?" I said, my voice low and mocking, accompanied by a sadistic grin that did not reach my eyes.
The remaining three samurais recoiled, panic surging in their eyes. One of them whispered a curse beneath his breath. None hesitated. Without a word, they scattered and fled in different directions.
That instant, they realized the truth — I was no ordinary spellbinder. I was someone who had delved deep into the forbidden cultivation of Chi and Blood, an ancient and brutal path that strengthened the body far beyond what the arcane alone could offer.
It was the Path of the Beastened Body.
The technique they feared — Chi-Blood Transformation Art — allowed its practitioner to mutate their own flesh. To them, I was not a man. I was something else entirely.
The crimson palm, swollen with mutated muscle, was the result of that very cultivation — a violent synchronization of curse and blood chi, fused to awaken dormant potential in one's flesh. I had long crossed the mortal threshold, unlocking the second realm of transformation. My muscles no longer served merely as tools of movement — they were weapons, reservoirs of destructive force infused with void-born resilience.
They had guessed correctly.
\\
Status Panel – Barbatos Caesar Volaric (Alias: Sid)
Strength: 5.52
Agility: 4.49
Endurance: 5.96
Mind/Spirit (Consciousness): 3606
Skill: Violent Bear Swordsmanship – LV 6 (Limit Broken)
Traits: Strong Muscles (Level 2)
Release the muscles of both arms to explode with powerful force
\\
While enslaving cursed spirits and devouring their malformed souls across the land, the Void Source within me never stopped its silent work. This inner core — my Void Seed — absorbed every iota of power with endless hunger, refining essence, adapting tissues, and reshaping my vessel.
Under constant feeding, the limitations of the human body no longer applied. My growth had become unnatural — a continuous, exponential expansion without bottlenecks.
Each day, I woke up stronger. Every hour, my foundation deepened.
The sword style I practiced, Violent Bear Swordsmanship, was originally capped at Level 5 — a peak most could never dream of. But in moments of solitude and repetition, I meditated through the core mechanics and felt the style resonate with my void-hardened body. In time, I broke through the theoretical boundary and entered the forbidden Limit-Broken Sixth level, where even a single strike could split boulders or annihilate spirits.
It was a serendipitous epiphany.
A while later, three decapitated bodies in silver armor crashed onto the street, causing ripples of panic among the townsfolk. Screams echoed. Civilians ran in every direction.
Their horror was not just from death — it was from recognition.
These weren't strangers. These men in silver were well known in Fengyu Town — not for heroism, but for their notoriety. They were parasites, corrupt sentries who extorted money, preyed on the weak, and forced themselves on the helpless women and girls alike.
Everyone remembered them — not out of love, but from fear and hatred.
Yet, they had lived untouched for years, because they were shielded by the Lex Family — the ruling house of Wind Whisper Town. If a wandering samurais committed such crimes, the Lex Family would hunt them mercilessly. But when their own enforcers did it?
They turned away.
So long as the crimes did not incite open rebellion, oppression was quietly tolerated. This hypocrisy formed the backbone of everyday life.
With curse spirits roaming and true spellbinders too rare or indifferent to intervene, the townspeople had long learned to endure and survive.
Within a certain limit, civilians are still very tolerant of oppressing civilians.
Especially if there are no samurais to eradicate those inferior curse spirits, and the spellcasters are too lazy to take care of those inferior curse spirits, their fate will be even worse.
From the rooftop, I calmly watched the waves of civilians scatter in all directions. Some ran with panic, others looked back at me with seething anger.
Their fury was not at the slain brutes, but at me — the one who had slain their 'protectors.'
Now, in the power vacuum, the curse spirits would feast.
"For now... it's time to disappear," I muttered and vanished into the shadows.
Not far away, a silver-armored warrior crouched behind a cracked stone wall, drenched in sweat. He had watched everything unfold — the spells, the slaughter, the transformation.
His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
"What kind of monster is this...?"
He clutched his blade but dared not move.
If he had joined the others, he, too, would have become meat pulp on the pavement.
---
The Next Morning — Cageno Manor
Claire had still not returned.
Before departing Wind Whisper Town, I gathered every servant and guard from the manor and led them into the training ground, forming a single long line.
By the gleaming meteorite iron stone where I stood, each one came before me.
One by one, I extended a hand and implanted a trace of Void Essence within them — subtle and precise. I did not turn them immediately, but began altering the very nature of their life force.
This was the foundation of a new army in this world.
Although this world is extremely unfriendly to supernatural powers other than magic, blood energy and a powerful body can still play some role.
I — I would pioneer a third path, merging blood cultivation and void alteration to create a hybrid force:
Void Familiars — artificial lifeforms born from mortals, infused with alien essence.
They would master secret techniques — such as the Spirit Snake Sword Style, which combined illusion, flexibility, and precision — and the Violent Bear Art, which focused on brute force and physical dominance.
In just a few months, this batch would become elite warriors. Their lives and deaths would be mine to command.
Even if they perished in battle, I could retrieve their Void Essence and birth new warriors from their remains. Nothing would go to waste.
And with further refinement, I could even harvest the essence of dozens of fallen followers to consolidate and elevate a single Void Familiar to greater heights — fusing their strengths into a singular, superior vessel.
These warriors can search for curse spirits everywhere for me. If they die, their power can be recovered by me as a clone.
With the in-depth study and mastery of the power of the void, I can now not only return the power of the void followers to myself, but also concentrate the power of the void followers into a void followers.
In Tal, I had already tested it on my followers, consuming millions of low-level followers and raising a troll from master level to the first level of legend.
This was no longer just an army.
It was a self-evolving war machine — fed by the void, refined through combat, and loyal unto death.
Soon, the world would tremble beneath their footsteps.
As a Void creature, like me, there is no need to understand the true meaning of any legend. I only need to constantly comprehend the power of the Void to make continuous breakthroughs.
"Okay, step back."
With calm precision, I planted a void seed into the final guard servant standing before me. As the seed disappeared into his body, I flicked my wrist gently, dismissing the others with a single wave of my hand. No further instructions were needed—they understood the weight of silence and retreated in quiet reverence.
I returned to the dimly lit study room nestled within the heart of the manor castle. Its stone walls were lined with ancient tomes and artifacts, remnants of knowledge long buried by time. With a breath, I picked up a well-worn quill and let my fingers glide across the parchment.
[I'm going out to make a living. ——Hideliu]
A simple message. Direct, almost careless in its tone. But it was meant for Claire.
At the very least, she deserved a word.
After all, Claire had cared for me during some of my most vulnerable days. Her shelter had allowed me to regain my footing in this body, to begin anew with accelerated progress. That quiet debt still echoed faintly in the chambers of my memory.
After a pause, I turned toward the shelf, unlocking a small enchanted box with a faint whisper. From it, I retrieved a single translucent crystal—its surface pulsing faintly with the rhythm of the void.
Infusing the crystal with a torrent of pure void source energy.
Channeling a dense stream of void source energy into it until the gem shimmered with a dark luster.
I placed it gently back into the box. The lid closed with a soft click.
[Eat it to gain strength.]
I penned those words with precision on a parchment folded into the lid, a parting gift for Claire, should she choose to use it.
Tossing the quill aside without ceremony, I turned and vanished in a flash of warped space—already headed toward the next stage of my long-laid plans.
---
Tal.
The southern deep sea. The mysterious Dusk Island. At the heart of it all, Castle Black in the Dragon Nest slumbered in silence above the endless Dragon Pond.
The waters stirred.
My colossal draconic body shifted, slowly rising from the black lakebed. The scales, resembling volcanic obsidian, shimmered beneath the radiant crystals embedded in the cavern ceiling and the golden threads intricately woven into the scales. My massive crimson pupils, shaped like vertical slits, cracked open with predatory focus.
"Status," I commanded silently, and the panel materialized in front of me like an ancient tapestry unraveling divine truths.
//
//
Status:
Name : Barbatos Caesar Volaric
Race : True Dragon
Biological Order : 24th (Peak)
Occupation Level : Mage LVL 24 (Beginning), Mountain Believer LVL 16 (Peak)
Body Length : 130.9M
Vitality (VIT) : 1700
Current Feast Tier : 543
Feast Cool down Time : 29 Days
Spell-like Abilities:
Transfiguration/Polymorph…
Void Spell Rune:
Zero Tier :
First Tier :
Second Tier :
Third Tier :
Fourth Tier :
Fifth Tier :
Sixth Tier :
Seventh Tier :
Eighth Tier :
Ninth Tier :
Tenth Tier : Astral Projection (Proficient 2%).
Eleventh Tier : 'Disaster of the Undead' (Proficient 3%)
[Psychic Martial Arts: Rolling Stone Strike (Mastery 70%,), Shunpo (Mastery 40%), Hundred Fissure Fist (Mastery 28%) Spiral Power Core (Mastery 15%), Immovable Mountain (Mastery 60%)]
Abilities:
Dragon Scales (LV 21), Dragon Breath (LV 21), Draconic Vitality (LV 36), Draconic Might (LV 10), Draconic Magic (LV 13), Fly (LV 19), Dragon Eyes (LV 13), Bite (LV 21 + 0.4), Claw (LV 21 + 0.4), Wild Scream (LV 8), Atomic Furnace (LV 7), Vibration Perception (LV 12), Telepathy (LV 8), Soul Chain (LV 8), Seed of Distortion (LV 6), Armor Shredder (LV 13), Meat Eater (LV 7), Master of Blood (LV 7), Super Speed Recovery (Level 4), Black Water (Level 1), The Eye of the Dark Demon (LV 3), Black Water (LV 1), Plant Growth (LV 3), Poisonous Aura (LV 2), Purple Thunder (LV 2), Soul Swallowing (LV 3), Magic Flame (LV 4), Sovereign of the Four Elements (LV 1), Multi-Headed Dominion (LV 2), Blessing of Sacred Might (LV 1), Friend of the Forest (LV 1), Space-Time Teleportation (LV 1), Radiant Force Field (LV 1) Frost (LV 3), Sharp Minions (LV 3)
//
"It's almost time," I muttered, my voice resonating like an avalanche within the walls of the cavern.
More than eight long years had passed since I last sent my consciousness into the world of the cursed spirits. Eight years of meticulous construction. Eight years of subtle infiltration. Eight years of blood, fire, and silence.
I had nurtured three key realms: Tal, the Ghost Plane, and the Abyss Lava Wasteland.
From the low threshold of order 24, I had clawed my way to the peak—one step away from the high-legendaries. One more push, and I would become a High Legendary Lifeform, the base true powerhouse in the Starry Sky.
But before I dared to take that step, I would first complete a conquest I had once deemed impossible:
The unification of Tal.
Unfolding my titanic wings, I burst from the depths of the dragon pond, soaring through layers of enchanted sky barriers. I soared high into the sky, casting a massive shadow over the land below as dragons were training in their arena.
Before I begin the conquest, I should have all my generals here.