The pool's surface shimmered like liquid crystal, the faint ripples reflecting the twin suns through the skylight high above the pagoda dome.
For a moment, Karma hesitated at the edge, gazing into its depths. The energy below wasn't just radiant—it was alive, whispering, tempting.
He stripped away his torn outer robe, leaving only the inner layer clinging to his skin, and knelt beside the pool.
"Mira," he murmured, "monitor my vitals. If I pass out, make sure I don't dissolve." Notify me immediately if you detect any presence nearby.
I'll try, but no promises if you decide to boil yourself alive, genius. Mira's voice held a genuine edge of worry beneath the sarcasm.
He smirked faintly, then inhaled and slid into the glowing water.
Baptism by Fire and Frost
The moment his body touched the surface, agony bloomed.
It wasn't heat—it was every sensation at once, amplified and twisted. The liquid's essence burrowed into his skin, cutting through every pore, every meridian, every bone. His vision turned white, his blood surged, his muscles screamed. It felt like being crushed and melted simultaneously, as if the spirit liquid was trying to tear his old body apart to make way for a new one.
Warning! Mira's report was clipped and urgent. Temperature differential off charts! Essence density—unstable! Pain threshold exceeded by 480%!
He bit down hard on his tongue, tasting blood, forcing his breath into rhythm. The Unknown Scripture flowed automatically, his qi racing through his channels, colliding fiercely against the torrent of energy entering his body.
He didn't fight the pain—he guided the essence.
Every pulse of agony became a forge hammer. Every breath, a strike on the anvil of his flesh. He channeled the refining power of the lotus liquid through his bones and organs, allowing it to burn away the impurities left by his hurried breakthrough.
Minutes turned to what felt like hours.
The glow from the pool rose higher, brightening the chamber until the walls themselves seemed to pulse in time with his racing heart.
When his consciousness began to fray at the edges, he stumbled out, collapsing beside the pool. His skin steamed violently, his breathing ragged, body trembling. Black, oily residue oozed from his pores—the filth of old impurities and accumulated toxins forced out by the spirit liquid. The sight confirmed the process was working, though the price was steep.
He lay there for a long while, watching the vapors rise, his heartbeat steadying one painful thud at a time.
You lasted twelve minutes in full immersion. Body damage—moderate. Recovery—manageable. Congratulations on not dying.
Karma chuckled hoarsely. "Twelve minutes, huh? Guess we'll aim for thirteen next time."
Please don't, she pleaded.
But he did.
Days turned into weeks. With no beasts attacking, Karma fully focused on tempering.
Every morning, he entered the pool, bearing the pain a little longer. Every evening, he sat outside on the polished floor of the pagoda, cultivating as the twin suns dipped below the horizon. The spiritual density here was immense, aiding his recovery immensely.
At first, his body would break each day—meridians tearing, skin splitting, bones fracturing under the force of refinement. But by the seventh day, the liquid no longer burned as fiercely. It welcomed him, feeling less like acid and more like molten gold.
He began to move while submerged—executing fist forms, channeling Iron Serpent Fists underwater. The resistance was immense, each strike leaving trails of blue light across the pool. When he rose, steam curled from his body like mist from molten steel.
By the second week, he could feel subtle shifts inside: His breathing grew longer and steadier. His qi circulated faster, smoother. Each muscle strand carried the density of tempered iron.
By the third week, the Devour technique began to blend naturally with the lotus essence. Instead of pulling energy forcibly, he let it breathe with him—inhaling and exhaling the spirit essence in unison with the pool's rhythm, turning volatility into stability.
He would meditate through storms of pain and clarity, his thoughts floating like driftwood in the current. He remembered his journey, his friends, and the power that had almost killed them all—and each memory became fuel, hardening his will.
He was no longer just a survivor. He was a blade being sharpened by the heavens themselves.
By the end of the month, the pool's glow had almost vanished. The liquid was thin, its life essence nearly depleted, having sunk entirely into him.
Karma stepped out of the water one final time. His reflection in the empty surface stunned even him.
Gone was the lean, tired youth who had once trembled before beasts.
His frame had lengthened, his shoulders broadening, his muscle lines flowing seamlessly beneath unblemished skin. His complexion now gleamed faintly with a bronze luster, as if light itself refused to leave him. The harsh edges of his face had softened into a stunning elegance—the kind of refined beauty that would make any sect's young masters jealous.
His eyes—once dark and quiet, now shone with a faint green-gold radiance, threads of pure qi swirling within their depths. They carried focus, calm, and an unyielding sharpness, like a blade that had tasted both battle and fire.
Even his aura had changed. It wasn't heavy or fierce, but deep—controlled. Anyone sensing him now would feel the weight of something ancient and powerful, as if his body resonated with the foundational rhythm of the world itself.
Updated assessment: Host physique has advanced to Astral-grade compatibility. External appearance matches high noble genetic archetypes. Probability of being mistaken for a young master of a major clan—ninety-three percent. Mira reported, her voice perfectly deadpan.
Karma blinked. "That's… oddly specific."
I ran simulations. The results are statistically devastating to nearby female cultivators.
He groaned. "I'm surrounded by ruins and you're worried about my attractiveness?"
Data is data, Host.
He shook his head, laughing quietly. Then, as always, he focused on what truly mattered. He felt the immense, fortified power humming in his dantian, a foundation strong enough to support mountains.
"Status window."