Leng Zhi himself had grown quickly. At thirty‑four, he reached Spirit King, and by thirty‑six, his Everfrost Core had pulsed open to sixth ring. Each ability was colder, sharper:
Sixth Skill: Eternal Winter Field — a wide domain freezing spirit energy itself, crippling foes.
When he unleashed it in test, even Rank 60 elders gasped, blood flow halted. "This is no ordinary martial soul," they whispered.
With this power, Leng Clan's prestige soared higher. Envoys from Heaven Dou royal court arrived, bowing respectfully, offering alliances. They begged his help against rising cults.
Leng Zhi agreed—but carefully. "We shall not become empire's dogs. But frost does not ignore flames consuming innocent." His tone remained calm, but his meaning clear.
Soon, Leng Clan banners escorted royal supply convoys, their Everfrost sigil creating routes safe from dark raids. Generals admired. "Our armies could not push shadows back, but this clan… defends better than regiments."
At home, his time went to disciples. He emphasized not chasing power fast, but building firm. "Your walls must not crack before tested. Remember patience. Frost blooms eternal, only when slow."
And thus, as he himself neared Spirit Emperor, he formed foundation for hundreds of disciples faithful not only in blood, but in spirit.
One night under aurora, Tome stirred faint, whispering: Cycle Three: Spirit Emperor Path Engaged. Heritage climbing once ancestor never reached.
Leng Zhi closed eyes with soft smile. Each life, higher than before.