The qi trail thickened as Ling Feng descended deeper into the abyss core, its flow no longer a mere current but a roaring understream tugging at his senses. The obsidian passages narrowed into a maze of petrified veins, walls pulsing faintly as if alive. Each step reverberated through the stone, answered by a distant, colossal rhythm—thump… thump…—like the heartbeat of something long dead yet unwilling to rest.
The air pressed down upon him, viscous and suffocating, heavy with the metallic stench of ancient blood and the crackle of lightning trapped for millennia. His recent breakthrough to Late Core Formation anchored his foundation; sword intent hummed steadily at his side, obedient, sharp. Yet the Whispers of Defiance curled tighter around his mind, no longer warning but urging.
Deeper.
Peril sharpens.
Madness ripens.
Ling Feng advanced with measured steps, posture relaxed yet coiled. His ponytail swayed with quiet rhythm, strands catching the dim azure glow bleeding from crystalline veins embedded in the cavern walls. Beneath his robes, scales glimmered faintly—an undercurrent of draconic resilience fused seamlessly with cloth and armor alike.
He calculated as he moved.
Trail convergence imminent. High-density essence chamber probable.
Resentment concentration: extreme.
Soul strain threshold: acceptable—provided yield exceeds fifty percent.
The passage opened.
Before him lay a cavern vast enough to swallow cities.
At its center loomed the petrified dragon heart—a monolithic organ frozen in translucent azure stone, vast as a mountain. Crystalline veins spiderwebbed across its surface, pulsing in slow, deliberate beats that shook the cavern floor. With every pulse, waves of pressure rippled outward, bending light, distorting air.
An azure fog coiled around the heart like living serpents—resentment so dense it manifested physically. Gaping sockets marked where arteries had once connected, each exhaling wisps of spectral energy like dying breaths.
Ling Feng's gaze sharpened.
Venerable remnant core.
Pride crystallized.
Undissipated will guarding essence.
"Pierce," he murmured softly. "Harvest."
He extended a thread of sword intent.
The moment it touched the fog, resistance slammed into him.
Spiritual pressure crashed down like an avalanche. His sea of consciousness convulsed as the fog surged, condensing into vast draconic silhouettes. A voice thundered directly into his mind—ancient, arrogant, unyielding.
"Insolent whelp! Kneel before bloodline supremacy! This heart is not for ants to claim!"
The pride in the words was absolute—unyielding even in death.
Ling Feng did not flinch.
"Arrogance confirmed," he replied calmly. "Adaptation absent. Flaw terminal."
The Whispers rose, sharp and eager.
Defy.
Sever.
Soul strain—embrace.
He drove the probe deeper.
Backlash erupted instantly.
Veins burst within his eyes, blood spilling down his cheeks in thin crimson lines. His meridians screamed as if flooded with acid; his dantian contracted violently, threatening collapse. His vision blurred at the edges as hallucinations clawed at perception.
Strain: thirty percent.
"Acceptable."
He shifted tactics.
Layer by layer, he severed the outer resentment threads—each glowing azure filament sliced cleanly by needle-fine sword intent. Mist dissolved, essence trickling into him in controlled streams, reinforcing his defenses. The fog thinned… but the heart pulsed harder, its resistance doubling.
Threshold imminent.
Ling Feng inhaled once.
Then stepped forward.
Azure sword intent manifested fully—crackling, lightning veins racing along its length. He thrust.
The moment his intent pierced the heart's central vein—
Catastrophe.
Soul pressure multiplied fivefold, crushing his consciousness like a celestial vice. Pain transcended flesh and bone; it tore through memory, identity, self. His sea of consciousness erupted as hallucinations bloomed—not whispers, not flickers, but total immersion.
Stage Two Insanity — Initiated.
Minor Hallucinations evolve.
The first vision consumed him.
He saw a version of himself—righteous, loyal, kneeling within the Heavenly Sword Sect. He spared Zhao Yun during betrayal, preached forgiveness, upheld harmony. He rose through alliances and "virtue," his name praised across sects.
Then the vision twisted.
Allies betrayed him. Tribulations shackled his growth. Heaven itself enforced balance, pruning his potential until mediocrity became eternity. He stood frozen, bound by moral chains, watching others ascend beyond reach.
Ling Feng analyzed even as his soul screamed.
Righteousness: Heaven's snare.
Promises balance. Delivers stagnation.
Mercy breeds knives.
"Reject."
Internal sword intent flashed.
Slash.
The vision shattered. Pain spiked—clarity followed. Essence surged into him, draconic resilience thickening his blood.
The second hallucination struck.
A merciful hero. Beasts tamed, not devoured. A just sect founded on compassion. Glory followed—songs, legacies, worship.
Then heaven corrected the imbalance.
Calamities erased gains. Disciples fell. Justice turned brittle, shattered beneath reality's weight. Heroes died forgotten, buried beneath ideals.
Ling Feng's gaze hardened.
Illusion of chains.
Mercy invites exploitation.
Defiers endure.
"Sever."
Another internal slash.
Essence flooded in. Scales spread across his torso, fusing tighter with his robes into ornate, flexible armor etched with faint dragon motifs. His meridians toughened, wounds sealing almost instantly.
The third vision was quieter.
Earth.
A life untransmigrated. Family. Kindness. Moral codes. Peaceful… fleeting. Aging. Death. No eternity. The same illusion echoed here—seeking harmony with the abyss, sparing beasts, bowing to fate—
—and being consumed.
Ling Feng did not hesitate.
Sentiment: soft chains.
Peace: blindness.
Madness clarifies.
Final slash.
The hallucinations collapsed.
Stage Two stabilized.
Pain receded—not gone, but harnessed. Hallucinations no longer invaded; they aligned, reframed—lenses, not shackles.
The heart's resistance shattered.
Its core vein burst open.
Venerable-grade essence flooded him unrestrained.
Ling Feng roared silently as power surged through every channel. Draconic resilience peaked—scales forming a complete underlayer, armor coiling seamlessly around him. His aura expanded, pressure rolling outward as his ponytail whipped violently in the rising winds. His eyes flared azure, deep and bottomless.
Foundation reinforced.
Defense equivalent: mid-spirit treasure.
Realm pressure detected—Peak Late Core Formation imminent.
As the torrent stabilized, he placed a hand against the heart.
Thump.
Thump.
The pulses resonated through his body, encoded, deliberate. He deciphered them instantly.
Abyssal map.
Dying imprints.
Controlled hallucinations unfolded—a lattice of paths and chambers blooming in his mind. Exit routes northeast through storm strata. Guardian clusters marked. Hidden essence pockets glimmered like stars.
Deeper chambers flickered—inheritance fragments beyond—but danger scaled sharply.
Map completeness: sixty percent.
Escape optimal.
Further harvest viable—risk elevated.
The Whispers shifted, sharper, clearer than ever.
Stage Two complete.
Hallucinations—allies.
Deeper truths await.
Ling Feng withdrew his hand. He wiped the blood from his eyes as the fog thinned, the heart's glow illuminating the path ahead.
Madness no longer whispered.
It guided.
He stepped forward.
Unbound.