The world smelled of ruin.
Smoke hung over the mountains like a second sky. Every tree within sight had been reduced to charcoal. The earth itself still glowed in places, veins of molten rock threading through cracked soil.
Lin Feng stood in the wasteland, his hair singed, his robe torn into rags. The only sound was the faint hiss of cooling stone.
He stared at the horizon where the two experts had vanished. Nothing remained of their battle except devastation and silence.
So this is the power of those who defy heaven, he thought.
His knees trembled—not from fear but from the realization of how small he truly was. The qi around him had been twisted and scorched; breathing it felt like inhaling blades.
Yet inside, his core stirred. Something had changed.
The explosion forced your meridians wider, Jin Jue said in a low voice. Your body absorbed fragments of celestial qi. If you learn to refine them, you may survive the next encounter.
Lin Feng knelt and pressed his palm against the blackened ground. The faint warmth that seeped into his skin felt alive, wild, and hungry.
"Refine it, huh? And if I fail?"
Then you'll die screaming, the sword spirit replied without pity.
He almost smiled. "At least that's honest."
He sat cross-legged among the ruins, closing his eyes.
The gourd at his side pulsed faintly, responding to his breath. Threads of golden light drifted out, wrapping around him like smoke.
He guided the energy inward—slow, deliberate, careful. The raw heavenly residue tore at his veins, each pulse sending fire through his body. Sweat beaded across his skin, then turned to steam.
Steady, Mo Xuan rumbled. You must bend the flame, not fight it.
His mind filled with images of the duel above—the crimson blaze, the silver storm, the defiance of heaven itself.
That memory became his anchor. He drew from it, forcing the chaotic qi into rhythm.
Minutes blurred into hours. The pain dulled. The wild energy softened, condensing into a single point within his dantian.
A faint vibration echoed through him.
[Brew Breath Stage Two — Spirit Fermentation Achieved]
The invisible voice rang like a bell. His entire body exhaled a mist of gold.
When he opened his eyes, the ashes around him had shifted slightly toward him, drawn by his breath.
He looked down at his hands. The veins beneath his skin now shimmered faintly—no longer unstable light, but a steady golden flow.
"Not bad," he whispered. "Still alive."
Barely, Jin Jue said. But progress.
The ground rumbled.
Lin Feng's head snapped up. From the far ridge, several figures approached through the smoke—men and women in gray armor, their robes emblazoned with the sigil of a coiling serpent.
Scavengers, Mo Xuan growled. Cultivators who hunt battlefields for remains.
They moved with practiced precision, eyes sharp, weapons drawn. One of them spotted him and raised a hand. "There! Someone survived!"
Lin Feng rose slowly, gripping his gourd. He could sense their qi—stronger than his, but fractured, unsteady. Peak Qi Gathering at best.
The lead scavenger, a tall man with scarred cheeks, smirked. "Well now. Didn't expect a survivor. Hand over any spirit cores or treasures you found, and maybe we'll let you keep your life."
Lin Feng met his gaze. "The only thing I found was ash."
"Then you'll pay with blood."
They moved in unison. Four cultivators fanned out, blades shimmering with spirit light.
Lin Feng's heart steadied. His breath slowed. The gourd in his hand glowed faintly.
Do not hesitate, Jin Jue commanded. Strike first, or die.
The first attacker lunged. Lin Feng twisted aside, pouring qi into the gourd. A burst of golden vapor exploded outward, slamming the man backward and searing his armor. The smell of burned metal filled the air.
Another came from the side, blade sweeping low. Lin Feng pivoted, kicking up a cloud of ash, and smashed the gourd against the man's wrist. The impact rang like iron; the sword shattered.
The man screamed as golden liquid splashed across his arm, eating through his skin like acid.
The leader roared, unleashing a whip of qi that cracked the ground. Lin Feng blocked with his gourd—energy rippled, deflecting the strike but sending shockwaves up his arm.
Pain shot through his shoulder. He staggered but didn't fall.
Unleash the second breath, Mo Xuan urged. Let the beast guide your movements.
Lin Feng inhaled sharply, summoning the feral pulse deep inside him.
His pupils narrowed; his heartbeat slowed to a predator's rhythm.
When the next strike came, he moved like instinct incarnate—low, fast, fluid. His fist connected with the leader's chest, qi detonating on impact.
The man flew backward, crashing into a boulder that exploded into dust.
The remaining scavengers froze, disbelief etched on their faces. Lin Feng's eyes glowed faintly gold as steam rose from his skin.
"Leave," he said quietly.
They ran.
Silence returned, broken only by his ragged breathing. He glanced at his hands, shaking, burned, but alive.
Your strength is growing, Jin Jue observed.
Too fast, Mo Xuan added. Your body won't hold much longer.
Lin Feng corked the gourd and looked toward the east, where faint thunder still rolled beyond the horizon. "Then I'll make it stronger."
He searched the battlefield for survivors, but found only ruins. Shattered weapons jutted from the ground like bones.
Among them lay a single fragment of crystal—pulsing faintly with silver lightning.
He crouched and picked it up. The air around it hummed.
Residual essence of the Lightning Venerable, Jin Jue said. Be cautious.
The moment the fragment touched his palm, pain ripped through him. Lightning shot up his arm, searing his veins. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let go.
The gourd at his waist flared to life, absorbing part of the current. The golden glow within deepened to amber, swirling like molten sunlight.
When the surge faded, the crystal had dissolved.
Lin Feng gasped for breath, smoke curling from his fingertips. "Worth it?"
If you live through the night, yes, Jin Jue said dryly.
By dusk, the wind had shifted. The fires had died, leaving the world gray and quiet. Lin Feng climbed to a nearby ridge to watch the horizon.
From this height he could see the scars carved into the land by the battle—valleys split open, rivers turned to vapor, mountain peaks sheared clean in half.
That was the scale of cultivation he'd witnessed. And beyond those two titans, countless others existed.
He clenched his fists. "If they can carve the heavens, I can carve my path."
Ambition is a blade, the sword spirit murmured. It cuts both ways.
"Then I'll bleed until it's mine."
He sat again, facing the burning horizon, and began refining the fragments of lightning still crackling inside his veins.
Night returned.
This time there was no fear in it.
Each breath he took drew in the residual heat and storm energy of the ruined valley, blending it with the golden pulse of his Brew Breath. The three forces inside him—blade, beast, and brew—wove tighter with every cycle.
Pain became rhythm.
Rhythm became clarity.
By midnight, a faint ring of light floated around his body—neither aura nor illusion, but the first mark of true cultivation.
[Realm Progress — 3rd Breath Condensation Initiated]
He exhaled slowly. The ash around him scattered, revealing clean earth beneath.
When dawn broke, Lin Feng rose. His silhouette stood alone against the pale fire of morning, the Wandering Spirit Gourd glinting at his waist.
Behind him, the ruins of a divine battle lay silent.
Ahead, the endless world waited.