Luo Fan woke to the same aching body, the same filthy hovel, the same oppressive silence. But something was different. The constant, gnawing sensation of his body crumbling from within had eased—not vanished, but retreated.
He sat up, and this time it only took two tries.
The system interface was still there. He pulled it open and checked the timer.
[Estimated time to total collapse: 70:12:07]
A little over seventy hours. The two units of essence he'd absorbed yesterday had bought him a net gain of about sixteen minutes after accounting for the thirty minutes he'd spent forging. A thin margin, but it meant he wasn't fading by the hour. For now.
He expanded the status panel.
---
Demonic Forge System – Status
Host: Luo Fan
Forge Mastery: 1 / 100 (Rusty Mortal)
Forge Points: 5
Refined Spiritual Essence: 2 units
Corruption: 0%
Lifespan Remaining: ~72 years (estimated, subject to change)
Unlocked Schematics:
· Minor Qi‑Gathering Talisman
---
Seventy‑two years of mortal life—if he survived the next seventy hours. The timer was still a threat, but it was no longer an immediate death sentence. He had time. Not much, but enough to plan.
His eyes fell on the leftover materials from yesterday. A few scraps of beast hide, a pinch of spirit ore dust. The broken awl sat beside them, still stained with his blood.
One more talisman, he thought. If I can make one more, I'll double my essence. That might push the timer out even further.
He dragged himself to the flat stone and set up the materials. His hands were steadier than yesterday, his movements more deliberate. The system's guidance was still there—a faint hum of knowledge in the back of his mind.
He sprinkled the dust, pricked his finger, and began to trace.
The formation started well. His hand followed the spiral of seven nodes with more confidence. But halfway through, a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred. The awl slipped, cutting a jagged line across the pattern.
The spirit dust scattered. The blood droplets lost their cohesion. The formation collapsed.
[Forging Failed]
Cause: Insufficient blood essence and spiritual stability.
Materials lost.
Luo Fan stared at the ruined hide. His finger was still bleeding—three drops had fallen, not two. The system's requirements were strict. Two drops, no more, no less. And his body, still weak, couldn't handle even that small extraction twice in a row.
He checked the timer: 70:09:44. The failed attempt had cost him less than three minutes, but it had cost him blood he couldn't afford to lose. He pressed a scrap of cloth to his finger and waited for the dizziness to pass.
There's a cost, he realized. I can't just churn these out. My blood is a resource, and I have limits.
The failed attempt had taught him something valuable. The system was not a shortcut; it was a tool with its own constraints. He would have to treat his body like a machine—manage its resources carefully.
A knock—no, a slam—shook the door.
Lu Chen entered without waiting for an answer. His robes were slightly disheveled, his hair windswept. He looked like he'd been in a hurry. Or a fight.
He tossed a folded piece of paper onto the floor. It landed near Luo Fan's feet.
"Orders," Lu Chen said. "Three talismans a week. Same as yesterday. I'll provide materials every five days. You'll have them ready when I return."
Luo Fan picked up the paper. It was blank except for three crude tally marks. A list of demands, written in the language of a man who expected obedience.
"Three talismans," Luo Fan repeated. His voice was calm, but his mind was racing. Each talisman cost him two drops of blood. Three talismans a week meant six drops. His body, already weakened, couldn't sustain that indefinitely. Not unless he found a way to recover faster.
"You heard me." Lu Chen crossed his arms. "And they'd better be as good as the first one. I have… uses for them."
Uses. Luo Fan filed that away. Lu Chen was a Qi Condensation third‑level bully. If he was using talismans, he was picking fights or trying to impress someone. Either way, he was dependent on Luo Fan's work now.
That dependency was leverage.
"I can make three a week," Luo Fan said slowly. "But not with what you've given me."
Lu Chen's eyes narrowed. "You have materials."
"Scraps." Luo Fan gestured to the leftover hide and the near‑empty pouch of spirit dust. "The hide is low‑grade. The dust is residue. I can make talismans, but they'll be weak. If you want quality—something that will actually make a difference in a fight—I need better materials. And a proper workspace."
He pointed to the cracked ceiling, the broken door, the rat in the corner. "This place is falling apart. I can't concentrate. I can't store materials safely. If I'm going to be your personal artisan, you need to invest."
Lu Chen's expression shifted from anger to calculation. He was a bully, but bullies understood the value of a good tool. A sharp blade was worth more than a dull one.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Better hide. Fresh spirit ore dust—not residue. And a place to work that isn't a hovel. There's an abandoned storage shed behind the outer disciple quarters. It's small, but it has a stone floor and a lock."
Lu Chen laughed. "You think I'm going to give you a workshop? You're trash."
"I'm your trash," Luo Fan said evenly. "And you just said you have uses for my talismans. A good craftsman needs good tools. You want better talismans? Give me a better forge."
The silence stretched. Lu Chen's jaw tightened. For a moment, Luo Fan thought he'd pushed too far.
Then Lu Chen smiled. It was the smile of a man who had just found a new way to tighten his grip.
"Fine. You get the shed. And better materials." He stepped forward, close enough that Luo Fan could smell the Qi on his breath—a sharp, metallic scent. "But now you owe me. Four talismans a week. And if you miss a single one…"
He drew a finger across his throat.
Luo Fan nodded slowly. "Four. Understood."
Lu Chen turned and left, the door slamming behind him. The hovel fell silent again.
Luo Fan exhaled, his hands trembling. Four talismans a week. Eight drops of blood. He would need to find a way to replenish his strength, or he'd bleed himself dry in a month.
He checked the timer: 70:05:21. The negotiation had cost him a few minutes, but it had bought him a workshop and better materials. A necessary trade.
His eyes fell on the pile of junk in the corner—the shattered formation plate, the empty pill bottles, the broken dagger fragments. Yesterday, he had dismissed them as worthless. But now…
He picked up a cracked piece of a formation plate. It was old, the patterns faded, but it had once held spiritual energy. The system pinged.
---
[Material Analysis]
Item: Shattered Formation Plate (Mortal‑rank, Destroyed)
Recoverable Essence: Trace amounts (estimated 0.1 RSE upon extraction)
---
Trace essence. Not enough to forge with, but maybe enough to sustain him. If he could extract the residual spiritual energy from discarded scraps, he could supplement his own recovery without relying solely on Lu Chen's materials.
He closed his eyes and focused on the fragment in his hands. He remembered the warmth he'd felt when forging, the way his body had pulled ambient Qi into the talisman. Now he tried to reverse the flow—drawing the remaining essence out of the fragment and into his own meridians.
A faint tingle spread through his fingertips. The fragment grew cold. A wisp of something—not quite light, not quite heat—seeped into his palms and traveled up his arms.
---
[Essence Extraction]
Source: Shattered Formation Plate (Mortal‑rank, Destroyed)
Refined Spiritual Essence Gained: +0.1 units
---
The fragment crumbled to dust in his hands.
He checked the timer: 70:03:50. The extraction had taken a minute and a half, but the 0.1 units of essence would add roughly two minutes to his clock once absorbed. A tiny net gain, but a gain nonetheless.
He looked at the pile of scraps. A dozen broken items, each with trace essence. If he could extract from all of them, he might gain another unit or two. Enough to push the timer back by half an hour—maybe more.
His hands moved quickly, sorting through the pile. A cracked pill bottle—+0.1 RSE. A rusted dagger fragment—+0.05 RSE. A torn piece of formation cloth—+0.2 RSE. Each extraction left the item in dust, and each added a small warmth to his chest. The timer fluctuated with each gain, the minutes ticking down during the work but then jumping back up as the essence integrated.
By the time he was done, he had accumulated 1.8 units of essence from the scraps, bringing his total to 3.8. He checked the timer one last time.
[Estimated time to total collapse: 70:41:15]
Over seventy hours. Not a vast extension, but a solid buffer. His body felt stronger, the ache in his joints fading. The countdown no longer loomed like an axe over his neck. It was still there, but it no longer defined every moment.
He leaned back against the wall, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.
Lu Chen thought he was making a deal with a desperate man. And he was—but not the kind he expected. The scraps were free. The extraction cost nothing but time. And every bit of essence he pulled from discarded junk was essence Lu Chen couldn't control.
He gives me materials for four talismans, Luo Fan calculated. I make four, give them to him, and get 8 units of essence. But I also keep scavenging scraps. If I can find enough… I can double my intake. Maybe more.
He looked at the pile of dust around him. The scraps were gone now, but the outer sect was full of discarded trash—broken artifacts, spent pills, shattered formations. A whole world of forgotten spiritual residue, waiting to be claimed.
The system pulsed softly, as if in approval.
Luo Fan's smile widened. He was still weak. Still a prisoner. Still a piece of trash in the eyes of the sect.
But he had just found his first real secret: a way to grow without his captor knowing.
Let's see how long you can keep me in this cage, Lu Chen.