Haotian did not leave the city immediately. Though his face remained calm, his mind turned sharply.
Why bar him from the Forge Trials? Why so abruptly?
He lingered in the streets for half a day, listening. A few well-placed questions to merchants and cultivators brought answers whispered behind hands.
"The Pavilion's Trials are… not as open as they claim."
"Foreigners are turned away. Unless you have backing from one of the Eastern sects, they won't even let you stand near the forges."
"And this year, the trials are political. Resources have been promised to certain sects already. A northerner winning would upset the balance."
So it was not his skill that was doubted. It was politics.
Haotian's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. If they will not share… then I will take what I need myself.
He walked into a modest merchant's shop, where shelves sagged with scrolls, ore samples, and half-finished talismans. The shopkeeper, eager for coin, quickly sold him a simple map of the region. Haotian unrolled it, golden eyes scanning the inked lines.
There — a jagged cluster of markings to the southeast. The Ashen Veins. A volcanic zone where molten rivers cut through mountains, said to be too hostile for most cultivators to endure.
Haotian's smile widened slightly. "Perfect."
He left the city.
Moments later, space bent. In a single stride he crossed miles, in another he crossed leagues. The world blurred, mountains flashing past like sparks in the wind.
In less than an hour, he stood at the base of a towering volcano. Its slopes glowed red, rivers of lava pouring down like fiery veins. The air shimmered with heat so intense that stone cracked and burst along the ground. Even high-level cultivators would struggle to last minutes here without burning their meridians.
Haotian inhaled deeply.
The fire surged into his lungs, wild and furious — but instead of burning him, it merged with him. His body resonated as the Primordial Sun Scripture ignited. Golden flames flickered across his skin, a corona of light forming around him.
"The ultimate yang fire…" he whispered.
Where others saw death, he saw nourishment. Where others fled, he felt only comfort.
The heat and pressure of the volcano were nothing more than a warm pool around his body.
He stepped forward, deeper into the inferno, his qi weaving into resonance with the volcanic veins. The flames welcomed him, the molten rivers parting slightly as though recognizing their kin.
Here, in the heart of destruction, Haotian would gather what the world denied him.
The Ashen Veins boiled with heat and silence. Where once wyverns screeched and disciples shouted, now only the crackle of magma remained.
Haotian walked slowly across blackened stone, his robes fluttering in the furnace wind. His eyes of the universe shimmered faintly as he bent down and brushed away ash, plucking a tiny flame-red herb that had sprouted in the cracks. He turned it in his hand, studying the glow of yang essence before slipping it into his ring.
Every movement was calm, deliberate — as if the corpses he had left burning behind him were nothing more than fallen leaves in autumn.
It was then the air split.
A thunderous roar shook the skies. The heat thickened, oppressive, as a wyvern larger than any Haotian had seen descended, its scales gleaming crimson, eyes like molten gold. Upon its back stood a man draped in scarlet robes embroidered with wyvern scales, his aura raging outward in waves.
The surrounding magma pools quaked as if bowing to his presence.
The disciples whispered his name in fear whenever he appeared — the Sect Master of the Flaming Wyvern Sect.
His voice cracked like fire against steel."Are you the intruder?! The one who dares slaughter my disciples and elders on our land?!"
Haotian straightened slowly, dusting ash from his fingers. His golden eyes rose to meet the Sect Master's fury, steady and unflinching.
"I collected resources," he said evenly. "I offered apology and compensation. It was your elder who chose greed and insult. His life, and the lives of those who followed him, ended as consequence."
The Sect Master's face darkened, veins bulging as his aura flared hotter. The wyvern beneath him snarled, molten breath spilling between its fangs.
"You speak of consequence? You trespass in my sect's sacred ground, murder my kin, and still dare claim righteousness?! Give me your name, boy, so I know what to carve on your tombstone!"
Haotian tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable.
"You will not need a name," he said softly. "Only the knowledge that you chose this end yourself."
The Sect Master's qi erupted, flames surging skyward. "Arrogant brat! Even if you are Dao Comprehension, this is the Eastern Continent. You are nothing before me!"
He leapt from the wyvern's back, descending like a meteor, his palm strike fueled by the fury of a Peak Soul Transformation Realm cultivator. The ground beneath him cracked and blistered under the pressure of his qi alone.
Haotian did not move until the strike was an inch from his chest.
Then he raised his hand.
The palm landed square against Haotian's body. A blast wave ripped through the volcano, scattering rocks and ash, making nearby wyverns shriek and scatter.
But Haotian did not stagger. His robes fluttered faintly. His expression remained calm.
The Sect Master's eyes widened in horror."What—?!"
Haotian's gaze sharpened, golden light flaring. His voice was like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"I accept your challenge, Sect Master of the Flaming Wyvern Sect."
His hand moved once.
A streak of qi, faster than thought, carved through the air. The Sect Master's wyvern shrieked as its neck split open, molten blood cascading into the magma.
The Sect Master himself froze, his chest searing with pain, a gash carved straight through his robes and flesh. He staggered backward, clutching the wound, disbelief etched across his face.
"You—what are you—?!"
Haotian's eyes glimmered faintly, his voice cold.
"Your sect chose greed over honor. You will reap what you sow."
He stepped forward, the magma parting around his feet as though bowing to him. His qi surged, the Primordial Sun Scripture igniting like a second sun within the volcano.
The Sect Master roared, summoning everything he had left. The sky itself seemed to burn.
But in that moment, the disciples hidden at the ridges realized the truth.
This wasn't a battle.
It was an execution.
The Sect Master staggered back, blood seeping from his chest wound. His wyvern's corpse smoldered in the magma below, its molten blood sizzling into steam. Panic rippled through the volcanic grounds as horns blared across the ridges.
"Protect the Sect Master!""Kill the intruder!"
From every direction, disciples and elders surged forward, riding wyverns and hurling waves of fire qi. The sky turned into a storm of flame and claws, the ground erupted with molten blasts.
But Haotian did not move.
He stood in the heart of their fury, untouched. Fireballs the size of houses burst against him and fizzled like sparks. Wyverns dove with teeth and talons, only for their strikes to skid harmlessly against his body. Swords of flame and spears of molten qi shattered before reaching him.
Nothing moved him.
And then—he stepped forward.
The world split.
A single sweep of his hand carved through the ranks like thunder tearing apart clouds. Hundreds fell in an instant, wyverns screaming as their riders were severed midair. His second movement struck the earth itself, sending a wave of space-bending qi outward. Dozens more were crushed into pulp, their blood evaporating into the volcanic ash.
The Sect Master's heart froze. His disciples were dying like flies, their screams filling the skies. Terror overtook fury. With trembling hands, he turned, trying to flee back toward the sect.
But when he reached the main gates, his breath caught.
Haotian was already there.
Sitting casually at the dais of the main hall, as though he had been waiting for hours.
Golden eyes gleamed faintly as Haotian spoke. "You ran while your sect fought and died. Do you call that leadership?"
The Sect Master's lips parted, no words forming.
Then his head flew from his shoulders. His body crumpled, blood steaming on the obsidian tiles.
Haotian stood, plucking the fallen man's storage ring from the air without even glancing at the corpse.
He walked through the sect grounds like it was his own home.
The library fell first — shelves of jade slips and scrolls swept into his ring, every history, technique, and secret hoarded for centuries now his.The alchemy halls followed — cauldrons, rare herbs, refining tools, all stripped bare.Then the treasure vault — layered in protective formations. Haotian raised a hand, space quivering. The formations unraveled like spiderwebs in fire.
Inside, his eyes glimmered faintly.
"This… is everything I hoped for."
Mountains of firesteel ore. Crystals of molten jade. Herbs imbued with pure yang essence. Artifacts humming with flame qi. Enough resources not only to arm a sect, but to build an empire.
He swept it all into his ring without hesitation.
Finally, he reached the forging facilities. The heat of dozens of forges burned like miniature suns. Tools gleamed, arrays shimmered, smelting channels ran deeper than the ground itself.
Haotian chuckled softly. "Better than Azure Dragon Sky Sect. Good. I'll put this to use."
With a sweep of his qi, the entire forging complex — from anvils to arrays to smelting channels — was dismantled, stored, and stripped clean. The sect that once prided itself on fire and steel now stood hollow, its bones bare.
He turned to leave.
That was when a roar split the heavens.
A wyvern larger than the sect hall itself descended, scales glowing molten red, flames spilling from its maw. Upon its back stood an elder radiating immense pressure — an Initial Saint Realm, his eyes blazing with fury.
"YOU DARE?!" the elder bellowed, his voice shaking the sky. "A mere boy destroys my sect, slaughters my kin, and dares plunder our vaults?! WHO ARE YOU?!"
Haotian didn't even look impressed. His gaze slid once over the man, then past him, as though regarding a tree blocking his path.
"Initial Saint Realm," he murmured. "Hardly worth mentioning."
He raised his hand.
Space bent.
The elder's body twisted violently, his scream cutting off as his chest imploded, a gaping hole punched through by the crushing weight of folded dimensions. The wyvern shrieked, but met the same fate — its ribcage collapsing inward as though the heavens themselves pressed down. Both corpse and rider tumbled into magma below.
Haotian caught their rings with a flick of his fingers.
He stood on the ridge, gazing down at the burning ruins of the Flaming Wyvern Sect. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
"May the next sect born here learn humility. Greed without strength leads only to this."
His hands rose, golden qi flaring. A colossal spear of flame and frostfire manifested above him, humming with destructive power.
With a casual throw, he cast it downward.
The weapon struck the sect grounds with the fury of heaven's judgment.
The explosion that followed shattered mountains, boiling rivers of magma, leveling every building, hall, and wall. The Flaming Wyvern Sect — its name, its legacy, its arrogance — was erased in a single flash of golden light.
When the ash cleared, only silence remained.
Haotian turned, waved his hand, and vanished into space.
The Eastern Continent had gained a new shadow.
The Flaming Wyvern Sect was no more.
Haotian did not return immediately.
The Flaming Wyvern Sect's destruction left the volcanic zone eerily silent, but he knew the East's treasures would not be so easily exhausted. With his Eyes of the Universe, he swept the horizons, piercing through mountains and magma veins. What he saw made his lips curve faintly.
Beyond the Ashen Veins lay greater wonders:
Scarlet Dragonfire Ore, pulsing with molten qi said to rival true dragon breath.
Ninefold Blaze Lotus, a herb that bloomed once in a thousand years, each petal holding a different yang attribute.
Molten Core Crystals, fragments born in the depths of collapsed volcanoes, prized for forging weapons that could withstand saintly tribulation fire.
Even rarer still, deeper into the land's heart, he sensed something ancient — the faint signature of a beast that had lived for centuries, sleeping in magma pools. Its chi pressed faintly against his perception like a slumbering titan.
"Good," Haotian murmured. "These will be enough. The sect will need them."
For weeks, he hunted across the volcanic chains. Wyverns, salamanders, and beasts of flame fell beneath him, their corpses stored in his ring. Every ore vein, every herb bed, every hidden core he found was gathered with relentless efficiency. Where other cultivators would fight for scraps, he harvested entire zones as though reaping fields of grain.
The East's cultivators whispered in terror.
But while Haotian moved like a shadow, news moved faster.
In the markets of the Eastern Continent, whispers grew like wildfire.
"Have you heard? The Flaming Wyvern Sect… gone.""Impossible. They were one of the strongest sects here, with Saint Realm elders!""I saw it. The mountains burned, the halls shattered. Nothing left.""They say one man did it. Alone.""One man?""Yes. A foreigner. His cultivation was only… Dao Comprehension Realm."
Shock turned to laughter. Then laughter died as merchants, travelers, and even cultivators from distant valleys swore they had seen it. The wyverns crushed like ants. The Sect Master slain at his own dais. The Saint Realm elder imploded by a single gesture.
But the most terrifying detail spread fastest:
"He didn't even draw a weapon.""He walked through their vaults as though shopping in a market.""He said nothing as he destroyed them — only that greed without strength leads to ruin."
The rumor raced to taverns, pavilions, and sect halls. Some laughed, saying it was exaggerated. Others shuddered, wondering what kind of monster could kill a Saint Realm while still at Dao Comprehension.
But no one doubted the truth that remained.
The Flaming Wyvern Sect was ashes.
And the Eastern Continent had a ghost walking its veins.
In a secluded forge chamber deep within the mountains, Haotian sat cross-legged before piles of glowing ores and herbs. His ring brimmed with resources enough to arm thousands.
He gazed at the molten lotus blooming before him, its nine petals unfolding in slow, graceful arcs of flame. His golden eyes narrowed, the heat swirling around him like the embrace of an old friend.
Yes… with these, I can forge not just armor, but destiny itself.
He closed his eyes, his qi resonating, his mind already sketching arrays and formations that would turn ore into divine steel, herbs into tempering pills, treasures into weapons that could defy heaven.
Outside, the Eastern Continent boiled with rumors.
But within, Haotian only thought of one thing:
The Moon Lotus Sect must rise higher still.
The forge chamber glowed faintly with the light of stored crystals. Haotian sat alone at a stone table, jade slips and tomes spread around him. The sigil of the Flaming Wyvern Sect glared from their covers, etched in dragon flame patterns — a bitter reminder of their arrogance.
He placed one slip against his temple. Threads of knowledge unraveled into his mind.
Pages upon pages of forging arrays, ore harmonization charts, heat cycling techniques. Their archives were vast, refined over centuries of volcanic experience. On the surface, profound.
But to Haotian's eyes, flaws stood out like cracks in glass.
Their temperature cycling is uneven. They burn ore essence too quickly. Their arrays channel qi in circles when spirals would stabilize flow.
With every correction, his understanding deepened.
He cross-referenced with what he had already mastered — the foundational skills from the Azure Dragon Sky Sect, the refinements he himself had devised through alchemy, and above all, the Primordial Harmony Refinement Technique that allowed him to merge essences seamlessly without a cauldron.
The longer he read, the clearer it became.
They seek to dominate ore with flame, he thought, his eyes glowing faintly. But true forging is not domination. It is harmony. To force yang into metal is to crack it. But to balance its fury with rhythm, to let fire and ore breathe together—
His fingers tapped the table as visions unfolded in his mind.
Molten ore rising like rivers of light. Arrays woven not in circles but spirals, feeding energy inward instead of scattering it outward. Hammer strikes not to subjugate but to awaken.
The core principle was the same as the Primordial Harmony Refinement Technique.
Alchemy and forging were not separate paths.
They were one.
A slow smile touched Haotian's lips. "So that's it. Alchemy tempers essence into form. Forging tempers form into essence. Two halves of the same dao."
The jade slips around him cracked under the surge of his qi, their knowledge consumed, their errors discarded.
From those ashes, a new theory took shape in his heart.
Primordial Harmony Forging.
Not merely refining ores, but fusing them as naturally as the heavens fused yin and yang. A system where armor, weapons, and artifacts would not be just tools, but extensions of the cultivator's dao.
He leaned back, golden eyes flickering with light as if stars spun within them.
"This… is what will arm them. Not robes. Not steel. Weapons of dao, living and breathing with their masters."
The volcanic winds howled as Haotian stepped out of the cavern. Behind him, the tomes and jade slips of the Flaming Wyvern Sect lay scattered, their knowledge now hollow compared to the clarity in his mind. He inhaled deeply, the taste of sulfur and molten qi thick in the air, when suddenly—
BOOM!
A thunderclap tore through the land.
The horizon blazed as a pillar of chi exploded skyward, piercing clouds in a torrent of crimson and gold. The shockwave cracked the earth, and even from leagues away, Haotian felt the scorching pressure press against his skin.
His golden eyes narrowed. "A heavenly treasure…"
The sky itself bent around the column of light, fire clouds spiraling into a vortex. Lightning laced with molten red streaked through the heavens. The aura that surged from the source was primal, ancient, overwhelming — a call to every cultivator in range.
Already, he could sense it. Dozens of auras flaring, sect disciples and wandering experts racing toward the blaze. Wyverns took flight, their roars echoing like war drums. From the mountains came the shrieks of beasts stirred by the treasure's birth.
A battlefield was forming.
Haotian stood in silence for a long moment, the pillar reflected in his eyes.
"Perfect timing," he murmured.
With a single step, space bent. The world blurred around him as he crossed leagues in an instant.
The closer he drew, the greater the chaos.
Cultivators clashed midair, hurling flame techniques and thunderous strikes at each other. Wyverns and salamanders crashed together, their blood steaming as it hissed on molten rock. Shattered weapons and corpses already littered the blackened ground.
And at the center, where the magma boiled and the chi pillar erupted, a flower was beginning to bloom.
Its petals shimmered with molten light, half flame, half crystal — a lotus of fire and stone. With every heartbeat it grew clearer, its aura pressing on the world like the pulse of a sun.
"The Lotus of Earthfire Rebirth," a cultivator shouted, greed and awe trembling in his voice. "A heavenly treasure that grants rebirth to the meridians, cleansing and reforging them! A divine gift!"
The cry was enough to send the frenzy higher. More cultivators dove into the storm, sects battling sects, blood spilling like rivers as the lotus slowly emerged from the magma.
Haotian watched quietly from the edge of the battlefield, his aura completely restrained.
His lips curved faintly. "Rebirth and reforging, is it? …That would pair nicely with the Undying Dragon Body Sutra."
The treasure's light burned brighter, and the fighting grew more savage. Every eye was fixed on the lotus, but none yet realized a golden-eyed figure had arrived — one who, when he finally chose to move, would end the chaos in a single stroke.