This fear was not unfounded—especially after uncovering the truth of souls.
Why use dragon blood?
I'll use my own soul blood.
The thought surfaced with a sharp, unwavering clarity.
If anyone else heard it, they would have branded him insane on the spot. Soul blood was not like ordinary essence or qi. It was the core of one's existence. To expend it was to wound the soul itself, and every cultivator knew one unshakable truth: injuries to the soul were the most fatal of all.
Wang Chen knew this better than anyone.
And yet, he also knew something others did not.
This soul was not truly his.
What made him Wang Chen were his memories, his accumulated experiences, his will. As long as those remained intact, damage to the vessel—however severe—was a price he was willing to pay.
More importantly, this method left no hidden strings behind.
No ancient bloodline.
No dormant will.
No forgotten creator waiting to awaken.
Only him.
