The moment Ling Tian stepped onto the Sword God's Peak, he could feel it—the pressure. It wasn’t just the altitude or the wind. It was a suffocating heaviness, like the mountain itself was watching, judging, suppressing.
Every breath he took felt a little more difficult. Even the flow of his internal energy was being affected.
“Don’t resist it,” Elder Huo said without turning his head. “Get used to this feeling. Once you do, you’ll find your energy circulation smoother when you’re outside. Many would kill for this kind of training ground. Sword God’s Peak is truly a place gifted by the heavens.”
“I understand.” Ling Tian forced himself to stay composed, pushing down the discomfort as he followed Elder Huo deeper into the mountain.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a cave dwelling carved directly into the stone wall. It was simple, stark, and cold.
“This will be your cultivation chamber,” Elder Huo said flatly. “From now on, you’ll rest and train here.”
Without another word, he spun around and moved in a flash.
His hand struck Ling Tian’s abdomen like lightning.
A jolt of searing power surged into Ling Tian’s dantian, and in the blink of an eye, the internal energy he had painstakingly built up over the past ten years was obliterated.
All of it. Gone.
Ling Tian gasped, too stunned to speak.
But Elder Huo wasn’t done.
Without giving him a moment to react, he placed his palm on Ling Tian’s head. A burning, almost divine force poured into him, rushing through his consciousness like molten steel. He felt as though something was being carved into the very depths of his soul.
Whispers—ancient, cryptic, powerful—echoed in his mind, not in a language but in intent. They weren’t just instructions. They were revelations.
When Elder Huo finally withdrew his hand, Ling Tian felt it clearly. A new technique was now etched into his sea of consciousness, as familiar as if he’d practiced it for years.
It was the foundational technique of the Dark Sect.
And alongside it, Elder Huo’s personal insights, observations, and interpretations had been forcefully implanted in Ling Tian’s mind—layered onto the technique like a living commentary.
“I told you, the techniques of the Bright Sect don’t suit you,” Elder Huo said, hands behind his back. “So I destroyed them. What I just implanted into you is our Dark Sect’s foundational technique. It suits you far better. With your meridians tempered by ten years of cultivation, your body is ready. You’ll progress twice as fast.”
Ling Tian was still reeling, mentally and emotionally.
Ten years of effort—erased in a second.
Even if Elder Huo had done it for his benefit, the psychological blow was heavy. But Ling Tian wasn’t the kind of person to dwell in regret. After taking a deep breath, he turned and entered the stone chamber without a word.
He sat cross-legged on the stone bed.
And began cultivating.
Elder Huo watched him quietly. A flicker of surprise flashed through his eyes.
“This kid... he’s more resilient than I thought. That kind of mental toughness isn’t common. Old Ghost Xiaoyao really did bring me a gem.”
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A rare smile touched his lips. With a sweep of his sleeve, Elder Huo vanished into the sky like a streak of red lightning.
Within the silence of the stone chamber, Ling Tian closed his eyes.
The Dark Sect’s foundational technique emerged in his mind with perfect clarity. Line after line, each word etched into his consciousness.
He began.
The moment he initiated the technique, he noticed the difference.
The spiritual energy around him didn’t simply flow into him—it was seized. Dragged into his body by an invisible force, like a whirlpool tearing through the air.
Compared to the Bright Sect’s gentle, harmonious method of cultivating energy, the Dark Sect’s method was violent.
Where the Bright Sect taught to guide energy slowly, refine it carefully, and nourish the meridians in a process akin to farming…
The Dark Sect’s technique was more like war.
It didn’t guide energy—it stole it.
It didn’t temper the body—it tested it to the edge of destruction.
Violent energy surged into Ling Tian’s body. But even so, his meridians held strong.
After ten years of cultivating the Bright Sect’s techniques, his body had been continuously strengthened—even if he hadn’t yet broken through to the Body Tempering Realm. His meridians had become unnaturally durable.
Now, even faced with this brutal influx of raw energy, he was able to endure.
The spiritual energy pouring into him was no longer a stream.
It became a river.
His entire body began to adapt to the aggressive technique. And slowly… he found himself enjoying it.
“This is ruthless. No wonder Elder Huo radiates such a terrifying aura. Without ten years of meridian refinement, I’d have been torn apart in seconds.”
Ling Tian didn’t dare relax.
He focused entirely on controlling the storm of energy inside him.
As the energy was refined into internal force, it carried a sharp, violent undertone. Unlike the calm, balanced energy he used to produce, this energy had a murderous edge.
It was like the difference between spring rain and a thunderstorm.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Disciples of the Dark Sect began to notice him.
A newcomer.
No one knew his name. But they all knew his face—the one who cultivated like a madman.
If he wasn’t meditating, he was drawing in spiritual energy at an alarming rate. Sometimes, he’d sit there for three days straight without moving an inch. At first, some thought he’d died.
Until they noticed the vacuum he created—how the energy in the air was being ripped into him constantly.
“Who the hell is that guy?” one disciple finally asked. “I don’t remember seeing him before.”
“I heard the Sect Master brought him in personally about half a month ago,” another replied, lowering his voice.
“He’s gonna blow himself up one day,” someone muttered. “No one can sustain that level of intake forever.”
But even as they whispered, none dared approach him.
There was something about the way he sat—utterly focused, completely unshakable—that made even the boldest disciples uneasy.
Three months passed.
In that time, Ling Tian never stopped cultivating.
His power soared.
From a beginner to a ninth-level warrior in just ninety days—a level it had taken him ten years to reach before.
And now… he was at the edge of something greater.
“The Body Tempering Realm…”
He could feel it.
The spiritual energy inside him had gathered into a dense core. It churned with a power that begged for release.
Closing the wooden door of his chamber, Ling Tian sat down again and focused.
His internal energy was growing restless.
Like a storm bottled up for too long, it began to push outward, testing his control. He tightened his mental grip, refusing to let it escape unchecked.
Bit by bit, he began guiding the core of energy into rotation. Slowly at first—like stirring water in a still pond.
But then, the rotation gained momentum.
Soon, the energy moved on its own, forming a spinning vortex at his core. A red cyclone.
Every pore on his body opened, madly devouring the surrounding spiritual energy to feed the vortex.
Then came the pain.
It was like being torn apart from the inside.
Ling Tian’s eyes turned bloodshot. Veins bulged beneath his skin like writhing snakes. He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream.
This wasn’t just pain.
This was transformation.
And he welcomed it.
Bit by bit, as the cyclone grew stronger, something black and sticky began oozing from his pores. It dripped down his skin like tar.
Impurities.
Toxins.
Filth accumulated over years of training.
More and more flowed out, coating him in a thick, foul-smelling layer. From a distance, he no longer looked human—more like a statue made of black sludge.
Outside the chamber, a streak of crimson light descended.
Elder Huo appeared silently, peering through a gap in the wooden door.
His eyes widened.
“He’s attempting Body Tempering already? After only three months?”
His gaze darkened with astonishment.
“And this… what is this? How can he be expelling so many impurities? That’s not natural. What the hell is going on with this kid’s body?”
He frowned, watching in silence.
But inside, Ling Tian was unaware.
Wrapped in darkness, bathed in agony, he was entirely focused.
Drawing in energy.
Refining it.
Forging himself anew.