Merin sits cross-legged inside his practice room, still as stone.
From his body, dark green energy pulses outward in wisps, twisting and coiling like serpents of wind.
The dim room brightens under the eerie light, walls trembling faintly with each breath he takes.
His aura surges, layer upon layer—crushing, ancient, unstoppable.
A heavy pressure spreads outward from the mansion like a wave.
Outside, Valerie and Allison stumble from the front door, gasping for air.
The pressure clings to their lungs, dragging their breaths slow and shallow.
They look back at the mansion, eyes wide, then flee.
But the aura continues to expand, creeping down the hill like a living tide.
Behind them, other residents—families, guards, servants—burst from neighbouring mansions, some in nightgowns, others still fixing their belts or clutching startled children.
One by one, they begin rushing downhill in panic.
On the slope below, Evelyn stands outside a different mansion, flanked by her mother, father, Cassie, Anne, and Vance.
They hear the tremors, feel the crackling in the air.
Then Anne lifts her hand, pointing up the hill. "Sister Allison."
All eyes follow.
Valerie and Allison appear, running breathlessly downhill, dozens of people streaming behind them.
When they reach Evelyn's group, they stop, panting.
Evelyn catches Valerie by the shoulder. "What happened?"
Before Valerie can speak, Allison answers, her tone sharp and urgent. "Second Mother… Father is likely breaking through to the next realm."
Her words ring out clearly.
And everyone hears.
Whispers spark like wildfire.
"Did she say Martial Ancestor Adam?"
"He's breaking through?"
"Could he be reaching the Beast Apostle Realm?"
Up above, the sky darkens.
The clouds—deep black—gather fast above Merin's mansion, swirling with faint purple arcs of lightning inside.
And soon, the words begin to pass through the streets like thunder itself:
"Martial Ancestor Adam is breaking through."
"Another calamity is coming."
"Can he surpass a Beast Apostle?"
And above them, thunder cracks.
Martial artists from nearby districts, sects, and clans gather at the foot of the hill.
They line the streets, rooftops, and slopes—staring up with awe and dread as black thunderclouds churn above Merin's mansion.
Lightning snakes inside the clouds in unnatural silence, building pressure.
Inside his practice room, Merin's eyes remain closed—but every sense sharpens.
A primal warning rings inside him—danger.
Not from a beast, not from a human.
But from the world itself.
The pressure is not rejection—but judgment.
Merin understands.
The danger comes because he's doing what should not be possible.
He's merging the laws of two worlds—the energy of this world, and the magical law of the other.
The Karst energy source within him twists, adapting, releasing trace magic into the air.
The process is brutal, risky—but it offers unimaginable power.
He isn't just stepping into Rank 11, equivalent to a Beast Apostle.
He is becoming something more—something incompatible with the world's natural order.
If the merge succeeds completely, no one below Rank 16 could defeat him.
Not because of raw power—but because he would gain perfect control over the energies of this world.
Control that bends reality.
Control that breaks rules.
Merin whispers, "Finished."
Dark green wisps spiral upward from his body—then intertwine with faint violet streaks of magic energy.
A deep rumble echoes above, shaking the clouds.
And then—
The door bursts open.
In a blink, Merin vanishes.
He appears high above the hill, floating in midair—robed in shimmering light, eyes shining.
Down the slope, cameras lock onto him.
News vans parked along the streets begin live feeds.
On a van's side monitor, Anne sees him and gasps, pointing. "Father!"
Merin hears her.
He glances down and smiles.
His voice carries across the wind like a commandment.
"Everyone… spread further away."
Some in the crowd ignore the warning, eyes wide with fascination.
But police and martial enforcement units surge forward, binding those who hesitate, dragging them away for safety.
Because above them, the sky is no longer just a storm.
It becomes judgment wrapped in lightning.
Merin hovers silently, eyes fixed on the churning dark cloud.
His gaze sharpens, unwavering.
"Come on," he says.
He does not fear death.
If he fails, he loses only this life.
But if he survives—if he endures the tribulation—the reward will be unparalleled.
From the heart of the black storm, a bolt of thunder forms, thick as a building, violet-blue, chaotic.
It slams toward him with divine fury.
Merin doesn't move.
He doesn't raise a hand.
He takes the thunder as it is.
Downhill, Anne screams as the bolt strikes.
Her voice cracks the silence, panic rising in her chest.
"Father!"
She pushes forward, trying to get closer, but Evelyn catches her, pulling her into an embrace.
Evelyn whispers, soothing her tears.
Anne sobs harder. "Why is the thunder attacking my father?"
Behind them, Vance watches the sky, bitterness tainting his voice.
"He must have angered the gods."
He speaks without thinking—but the envy behind his words runs deep.
For two years, Adam's return has gnawed at him.
He thought Evelyn would never forgive the man who vanished from her life.
But she did.
They didn't get back together, yet she now smiles when Adam is near.
She speaks to him with ease, the kind reserved for someone who once held her heart.
And Vance knows that if she still holds that feeling, she could return to Adam at any moment.
The thought poisons his mind.
But next to him, Allison turns her head, her voice cold and sharp.
"Uncle Vance, be careful what you say."
In the sky, Merin endures the bolt.
The thunder strikes his body—but he doesn't fall.
Instead, his field expands.
He draws the energy inward, absorbing the electric force into his bones, into the very core of his Karst source.
The power floods through his circuits—merging, reshaping.
The violet magic energy and the dark green Karst energy twist together, tempered by divine lightning.
And Merin realises something incredible—
This thunder isn't punishment.
It's a gift.
The first thunder ends, and instead of fading, Merin's aura swells—denser, deeper, uncontainable.
The violet and green wisps behind him twist and coil, but now, something new joins them.
A white wisp.
Pure.
Sharp.
Silent.
Its presence reshapes the balance, and the storm above takes it as provocation.
The sky groans.
Clouds churn faster, and the second thunder crashes down.
Merin's field pulses.
He does not retreat—he opens himself further, draws the lightning in like breath, lets it hammer his bones, his blood, his soul.
And again, it refines him.
His body strengthens.
The three energies churn around him like a trinity—Karst, Magic, and now the new one—melding into one singular power.
At the edge of the crowd, a black portal shimmers into existence.
From within step Salem and the High Priestess.
They stand on a hill distant from the storm, watching the spectacle above.
The High Priestess narrows her golden eyes. "If he succeeds, it will be difficult to conquer this world."
Salem folds his arms, voice steady. "The world will not fight back. The human race has invested too much into our demon world."
But the High Priestess shakes her head, her gaze never leaving the sky. "I'm not talking about the human race."
She glances at him. "If Adam and the Apostles join hands, they can uproot our entire influence."
Salem's lips curl slightly. "He wouldn't do it."
"He's proud. After this, his cultivation will stagnate for decades. And if he wants to avoid dying of old age... the demon world is the only future for him."
But as he speaks, his expression shifts.
He sees it.
Adam—Merin—still floating, unburned, untouched.
No scorch marks. No broken skin.
Only power.
And it's still growing.
Salem frowns.
The clouds deepen, the colour thickening to pitch black.
Wind howls, lightning coils like serpents within the sky, and the very air compresses.
The third thunder forms—larger than before—crashing down like divine judgment.
It slams into Merin with enough force to flatten cities.
The impact throws him down from the sky—his body smashes through the mansion roof, cracks the walls, shatters furniture and pillars alike.
He crashes onto the floor, sending a shockwave that bursts outward.
Then—
The mansion explodes.
Wood splinters, glass rains, stone crumbles.
Dust clouds the air.
But as the debris settles, a figure rises from the ruin.
Merin stands—bruised, blood on his lip, chest heaving.
But nothing broken.
No shattered bones.
Only bruises—and to him, they are nothing.
He breathes in.
Thunder energy seeps into his pores.
Under his skin, his cells begin to glow—transforming into crystal diamond, layer by layer.
His energies harden—Karst and magic forge into something denser, heavier, refined.
The dark green and violet light fade.
What remains is white.
Pale and quiet—but terrifying in its density.
At a distance, Salem's eyes narrow.
Adam isn't injured.
His aura is climbing.
But then Salem's gaze sharpens.
He notices another, half-concealed in a cloak, scale patterns across his cheeks.
The commander of the Green Snake Clan.
Salem's jaw tightens.
Why is he here?
Weren't they still battling the beasts in the east?
But as if answering his thoughts, the snake commander turns—and stares directly at Salem.
His slit eyes gleam with quiet threat.
The third thunder fades.
And Merin's aura breaks through.
The next realm.
He steps into it fully.
But even before the crowd can breathe, the sky itself groans.
The world trembles.
Wind shifts, pressure deepens.
All who stand—beast, human, demon—feel it.
The world is changing.
The High Priestess flinches, lifting her hand as if to shield herself from something intangible.
She feels the new energy.
Elemental.
Alive.
Not like Karst—rigid, heavy, radioactive.
This energy breathes.
It flows.
Moves.
And it answers only to him.
Merin stares at the sky, eyes still cold, expression unreadable.
He knows it isn't over.
And the world answers his expectation.
Clouds spiral inward, forming a single point.
Golden light gathers.
It rips through the darkness like the sun piercing night.
And then—
The thunder forms.
Frightening.
Pure.
A beam of condensed golden energy—thin, precise, deadly.
It fires from the cloud—
Straight toward Merin—
Like a divine spear.