For a cultivator of the Spirit King realm, time was a fluid concept. A month could feel like a day, and a day could stretch into an eternity. For Elder Wei, sealed within the absolute silence of his pagoda on Silent Bloom Peak, the next ten years passed in what felt like a single, long, agonizing, and ultimately transcendent breath.
The outside world ceased to exist. The sect's golden age, the rise of a new generation of disciples, the political machinations of the new council managing the Blackwood tribute—all of it was meaningless noise beyond his sealed door. His entire world was the universe within himself, a universe he was systematically and brutally remaking.
The first year was dedicated to the 'Nine Transformations of the Venomous Soul'. It was a process of self-inflicted torture that would have driven any other cultivator to madness or death. He sat before the Cauldron of Myriad Venoms, feeding it a steady diet of the most horrific toxins from his collection—the soul-corroding pollen of the Corpse Blossom, the nerve-liquefying venom of the Ghost-Faced Centipede, the flesh-melting sap of the Corpse-Weeper Vine. The cauldron, a masterpiece of legendary craftsmanship, refined these disparate concepts of death into a pure, singular 'venom essence', a liquid so potent it seemed to warp the very air around it.
Then, he would absorb it.
He guided the venom essence not to his dantian, but directly to his spiritual sea, forcing it into his Nascent Soul. The pain was indescribable. It was the feeling of his very being, the culmination of centuries of cultivation, being dissolved and reforged in an acid bath of pure poison. His Nascent Soul, once a pristine, miniature version of himself, began to change. It grew darker, its form shifting and unstable, veins of black and violet light spreading across its surface. With each of the nine transformations, he felt a part of his old self die, replaced by something colder, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous. By the end of the first year, his Nascent Soul no longer looked like him. It was a seated figure of pure, solidified shadow, its features indistinct, radiating an aura of profound, silent death. His soul had become the ultimate poison.
The remaining nine years were dedicated to his true passion: his art. While his soul was being reforged, the Seed of the World Tree within his spiritual sea was flourishing. Nurtured by the immense spiritual energy he had gained, the tiny sapling had grown into a respectable tree, its branches spreading to create a stable inner world the size of his entire courtyard. The island of reality within his spiritual sea was now a lush, vibrant, and terrifying garden.
He began the laborious process of transplanting his collection. He didn't move the mundane flora. He carefully uprooted his most prized, most demonic specimens—the Midnight Belladonna, the single stalk of Seven-Step Damnation Grass, the hive of his Golden-Striped Venom Fliers—and replanted them in the rich, fertile soil of his inner world.
The results were beyond his wildest expectations. The Lesser World Tree created the perfect environment, and its ability to manipulate time was a gift from the heavens for a poison master. An herb that would take a century to mature in the outside world would reach its peak in a single year within his personal dimension. He planted the spores of the Swamp Jester's Cap he had collected, and within what felt like a few months of his time, he had a field of them. He could now mass-produce ingredients that were once so rare he would only ever find one or two in a lifetime.
His power was a means to an end, and this was that end. For Wei, this was paradise. He was no longer limited by scarcity. His only limit was his own imagination.
He spent years in his inner world, a god in his own small creation, dedicating himself to a single, ambitious project. He was not merely trying to create a deadlier poison; he sought to create a poison that could touch upon the Laws of the world themselves. He wanted to craft a poison that could kill a concept.
His target was comprehension. He theorized that a cultivator's understanding of a specific Dao, be it the Dao of the Sword or the Dao of Fire, was a tangible, spiritual structure within their soul. And if it was a structure, it could be dismantled. He began to work on a new poison, one he named 'Dao Severance'.
The process was the most complex undertaking of his long life. It required 108 different ingredients, each harvested at the precise moment of its peak potency from his accelerated inner world. He used the Cauldron of Myriad Venoms, not to create venom essence, but to perform a refinement so delicate that it required his full, undivided attention for three continuous years. He would blend the essences of two herbs, find their perfect resonant frequency, and then introduce a third, weaving them together into a stable, tripartite compound. He did this over and over, a master weaver creating a tapestry of death.
When it was finally complete, the 'Dao Severance' was not a liquid or a gas. It was a single, flawless, grey crystal, no bigger than a grain of sand. It held no aura, no spiritual energy, no hint of its terrifying purpose. If consumed by a cultivator, it would do nothing to their body or their cultivation base. It would travel to their spiritual sea and identify the most dominant Law they practiced. Then, it would shatter it, erasing their lifetime of comprehension in an instant. A master swordsman would forget how to hold a sword. A fire mage would become unable to summon even the smallest flame. It was a poison that did not kill the body, but the very identity of a cultivator. It was his greatest masterpiece.
On the tenth anniversary of his seclusion, the massive stone door of his pagoda ground open. Wei stepped out into the sunlight. He had not aged a day, but he was fundamentally different. His silver-streaked hair was now the color of polished obsidian, and his eyes, once calm as a well, now seemed to contain a silent, swirling abyss. His very presence seemed to subtly drink the life from the vibrant flora of his peak, the perpetually sweet air now carrying a faint, chilling undertone.
His friends were there, as if they had been waiting. Jin, Mei, and Guan had all made significant progress in the last decade, their auras stronger and more consolidated. But as they looked at Wei, they all felt an involuntary shudder. He stood before them, yet it felt as if a primordial, predatory beast was wearing their friend's skin.
"You're out," Jin said, his voice a low rumble, unable to hide the caution in his tone. "Your seclusion was... fruitful."
"It was," Wei replied, his voice the same, yet carrying a new resonance that seemed to vibrate in their very bones.
Before they could say more, a communication jade on Elder Mei's belt began to glow with a frantic, pulsing red light—a signal of utmost urgency from the First Elder.
Mei infused it with her spiritual sense, and her face went pale. "There's a plague," she said, her voice tight with shock. "In the Azure Province, to the east. It's spreading fast. It's called the 'Grey Rot'. It affects mortals and cultivators alike. It doesn't kill... it petrifies. It turns living flesh to a grey, stone-like substance. Our sect's physicians, and even those from the Imperial Alchemist Guild, have found no cure. The First Elder is requesting your presence, Wei. He says... he says if anyone can understand this plague, it is you."
Wei listened, his abyssal eyes showing no emotion. A plague. An incurable, flesh-petrifying disease. His mind, a library of toxins and esoteric lore, was already cross-referencing the symptoms. It was not a natural disease. The description matched a specific, ancient curse, one that required a catalyst of immense necrotic energy.
For the first time in ten years, a flicker of genuine, academic interest appeared in his eyes. This was not a simple poison. This was a work of art. It was a puzzle.
"Tell the First Elder I will be there shortly," he said.
His seclusion was over. The world had presented him with a new, fascinating toxin to study. And wherever such a powerful curse was found, there would undoubtedly be a creator, a powerful being who had dared to unleash it. A new target. A new source of points. A new ingredient for his collection.