Eight years passed.
In a world where the stars themselves could live and die in silence, eight years were nothing more than a passing breath. But for Yang Yin Long, those years had been carved into him one scar, one lightning mark at a time.
He had lived like a hermit, half-mad and wholly devoted.
Day and night, the roar of thunder and the ringing of metal echoed from his courtyard. He rarely stepped out; when he did, his eyes seemed to hold flickers of lightning that vanished before one could be sure they had seen them.
The man who once struggled at the lower steps of Qi Condensation was now a furnace contained in flesh.
His mana, his bones, his marrow — everything had changed.
That morning, Yin Long sat in the center of his courtyard beneath a sky thick with storm clouds that refused to break. His breathing was deep, the pulse of his heart matching the thunder above.
The Thunder Origin Sword Technique had finally replaced every vestige of his old cultivation. What had once been gentle spiritual energy was now a raging confluence of Five Elemental Thunder — golden, crimson, blue, green, and earthen yellow — circling his dantian like coiled serpents. Each spark carried a different temper of destruction and rebirth.
Eight years of refining, breaking, and rebuilding had brought him to this point. The conversion was complete.
His spiritual qi was three times denser than before; his body, honed through the Divine Axe Opening Heaven Method, was as solid as refined spirit-metal.
When he flexed his hand, his bones rang softly like forged bells. When he inhaled, threads of thunder gathered at the tips of his fingers as though eager to obey.
Still, he knew his foundation wasn't yet perfect. His cultivation was at the ninth layer of Qi Condensation, but not at its absolute peak. A little more time — a few more cycles of tempering — and he would be ready to build his Foundation.
He smiled faintly. "By the time I reach the peak… even if I face someone of early Foundation Realm, I might not lose."
As he spoke, lightning flickered faintly across his skin and vanished like a thought.
---
Elsewhere, in a pavilion overlooking the sect's inner valley, two figures sat over a board of black and white stones. The scent of tea mixed with the hum of formation energy; even the air seemed to avoid disturbing the match.
One of them was Elder Qing, his beard now longer, his back still straight. Eight years ago he had shared wine and roasted spirit-beast with Yin Long. The next day he had departed on a long mission for the sect, wandering far across the border realms. Today, at last, he had returned.
Across from him sat another man — his robes were dark-blue, patterned with coiling dragons, his presence calm yet vast, like an ocean restrained by will. This was Elder Long, known throughout the Five Provinces as the Dragon Sword Sovereign, a being who had already crossed into the Sovereign Realm, standing one step above the Emperor Realm.
Elder Qing placed a white stone gently.
"You still play too conservatively, Junior Brother."
Elder Long smiled faintly. "And you still pretend not to see ten moves ahead, Senior Brother."
The game continued, the rhythm slow, thoughtful.
But after a few exchanges, Elder Long's voice shifted from playful to serious. "Senior Brother, I must ask — why do you still hold back? When I entered the sect, you were already an nacent Soul expert on the verge of the low grade Monarch Realm, Spiritual king realm . It has been four thousand years. You reached the peak of the Spiritual Emperor Realm centuries ago. Why haven't you stepped into Sovereignty?"
Elder Qing's fingers paused over a chess piece. For a long moment he said nothing.
"You know me," Elder Long pressed softly. "I don't ask out of vanity. I ask because you taught me to walk the Dao uprightly. Yet you've stood still at the edge of heaven for millennia. Why?"
The older man's eyes, once as bright as jade, dimmed slightly with memory. "There are promises… and then there are destinies one must not disturb."
Elder Long frowned. "Promises?"
Finally, Elder Qing sighed. "A certain senior once told me: if I refrain from breaking through early, there will come a day when I can directly step into the Immortal Realm—and through that act, elevate our entire sect to the level of Saint, perhaps even Immortal Sect."
Elder Long stared. "Which senior?"
"The heavens' secrets can't be revealed," Elder Qing said quietly.
At that name, the color drained from the Sovereign's face. His hand trembled, scattering a few chess stones onto the floor.
"The Heaven Secrets Sage?" His voice was a whisper. "You… you met him?"
Elder Qing smiled faintly but did not answer directly. "The secrets of heaven should not be spoken aloud."
The words hung heavy in the air. Elder Long's expression twisted through disbelief, reverence, and fear. He knew the stories — every Sovereign did. The sage who could see through destinies, who existed before recorded time, who arranged entire dynasties like chess pieces. The one even the Dao Ancestors treated with courtesy.
He had heard rumors: that those who refused the Sage's designs vanished overnight, their clans erased not by heaven's wrath but by the hands of those who owed the Sage their fate.
He said nothing more.
---
The next move on the board was forgotten. A pulse of thunder rolled through the peak, rattling tea cups, vibrating the very foundation stones of the pavilion.
Elder Qing's gaze snapped toward the distant Eastern Courtyard — the one where Yin Long resided.
He rose abruptly, his face paling. "That energy…"
Elder Long followed his sight and frowned. Above the courtyard, a storm had gathered without clouds. Lightning of five colors interwove into a sphere, then formed into an enormous spectral axe suspended above the courtyard.
The air itself trembled. Thunder sang. The sound of axes splitting mountains echoed through the sect.
Elder Qing's lips parted. "Thunder Origin Sword Technique… and the Divine Axe Opening Heaven Method! That brat is cultivating both at once?!"
Even the seasoned Sovereign's eyes widened. "Impossible. The Thunder Origin Technique is one thing—its backlash can be survived with good roots—but the Divine Axe? That art can crush the unprepared! Even in our sects history only few have successfully cultivated it to a 1 st order and even fewer who went further.
Elder Qing nodded grimly. "Of those, only ten reached the nacent soul body stage. Even they admitted that without a Monarch-tier scripture to harmonize with, it would be suicide to proceed further."
Elder Long's said. "I've walked that path before. That art is for immortals, not mortals. If that boy continues, his body will melt from the inside out."
But just as he said it, the sky erupted.
A column of lightning fell from above, blinding white, then divided into five elemental arcs that wrapped around Yin Long's body. He hovered in midair, unmoving, his eyes closed, his skin glowing with molten thunder. Above him, the axe began to descend — not to destroy, but to temper.
The two elders stood frozen as the sound of the strike shook every formation across the sect.
BOOM.
When the light cleared, Yin Long was kneeling in the center of a crater, his breath calm, his body radiating both qi and physical force. Around him, the five thunders merged into a single current that pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
Elder Long's voice was a whisper. "…He did it."
Elder Qing smiled faintly, half in awe, half in disbelief. "Eight years… and he's already forged his body into a half spirit body vessel. He hasn't even built his Foundation yet."
The Dragon Sword Sovereign exhaled, the corners of his lips curling into something between a grin and a sigh. "This sect has a good seed."
Elder Qing nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the young man surrounded by silent thunder.
---