A week later, Merin sits on his throne, eyes half-closed as he ponders the shifting weave of the world's laws. His body feels different. The
A week later, Merin sits on his throne, eyes half-closed as he ponders the shifting weave of the world's laws.
His body feels different.
The extraordinary power that vanished now returns—thin, fragile, yet unmistakable.
He can summon fire, water, wind, and earth, their essence flowing into his palm.
But it is no longer the vast torrent he once commanded.
It is a trickle, akin to the strength of a Rank-5 cultivator at the very beginning of the path.
He exhales slowly.
This recovery is his alone.
Others cannot follow.
Their spiritual foundations are too shallow, their souls too weak to peer into the hidden fabric of the world.
If he wants his people to walk this path, he must find another way.
Only one path remains—magic beasts and plants.
They are the children of the laws, the closest to their pulse.
Through them, a new practice system might be built, a foundation for all who live in this changed world.
The heavy doors of the throne room creak open.
A guard steps inside, kneeling low.
"My Lord, Bishop Tillie has brought a magic beast."
Merin rises from the throne, his gaze sharpening.
"Where is it?"
"In the number three training ground," the guard answers.
Merin nods once and moves forward, his robes brushing against the marble floor.
The guard falls in behind him.
Outside, three more soldiers fall into step.
Merin doesn't send them away.
Even with a fragment of his strength recovered, he is not untouchable.
In this new world, numbers can still kill.
And as the week drags on, the kingdom trembles.
Rebellions ignite like scattered fires—some crushed swiftly, others left to burn.
From distant regions, no news arrives.
The rune vehicles that once carried messages and goods now lie useless, their cores silent.
Before, they thrived on magic crystals—gems born from vast shamanic arrays, siphoning the world's spiritual energy and condensing it into power.
However, now that the laws are twisted, those same arrays fail.
The more intricate the runework, the quicker it collapses.
Without crystals, the kingdom bleeds.
Factories grow cold, trains rest on rusting tracks, homes sink into darkness.
Cultivators, too, suffer—those precious crystals were lifeblood, pure energy that slipped easily into the body.
Merin knows his first task is clear.
If he succeeds in forging a new practice system, the array will be next to be repaired, so that the crystals will flow once more.
He steps into the training ground.
The murmurs die instantly.
Hundreds of eyes fix on him, a mix of reverence and hunger.
The orcs stand at the front, their massive frames heavy with frustration.
They had been giants once—second-stage extraordinaries, rulers of war.
Now they are stripped bare, centuries of cultivation erased in a moment, casualties of a whim from powers beyond their reach.
The truth lies naked before them.
Extraordinary has no justice.
Power overrides all.
For some beings, even planes of life are toys to twist and discard.
For others, existence begins and ends inside a single plane, never knowing the vast void beyond.
Tillie steps forward, reverence and expectation shining in her eyes.
Once, she stood as the kingdom's second strongest—at the moment of the change, her cultivation had reached Rank 13.
"Lord, I brought what you wanted."
Merin nods with a faint smile, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
"Except Tillie and the Palace guards, all of you leave."
The gathering stirs uneasily.
Eyes dart, hands tighten, and no one moves.
Tillie's voice sharpens with anger.
"Are you all disobeying the lord?"
Merin doesn't wait.
His spiritual pressure floods outward, and in an instant, the entire training ground melts into a blazing field of fire.
Fear grips every face.
Within breaths, the extraordinary scatter, fleeing the searing weight of law.
When silence settles, Merin withdraws his pressure.
The flames vanish as if they never were.
But his brow furrows, and he rubs his temple.
He can still shape a law field.
It is like an advanced machine running on the strength of a dying battery, the brilliance intact yet starved of energy.
He turns his gaze to the beast Tillie brought.
A magic wolf—its aura steady, Rank 4.
Not strong, but enough for his purpose.
Merin's spiritual sense spreads across every inch of the wolf's body.
He threads Dream Law into its veins, guiding it to draw in the world's free energy.
The result deepens his frown.
The beast absorbs only because extraordinary blood flows through it.
That is the key.
If the new path depends on magic beast blood, then cultivation in this world will be shackled from the start.
A system can be built easily, yes, but it is too narrow.
One misstep in early practice could cripple a genius forever.
Worse, such a system would breed a ruling power class.
Those who control the beasts would control the blood.
They could block others from ever touching the extraordinary.
No rebellion would rise against such a rule—fear and control would choke it before it grew.
Yet Merin feels disgust.
Such a kingdom would rot into a stagnant pool, still water without flow.
He seeks another way.
A system not locked to blood, one wide enough for the common to step upon, yet with room for the talented to climb high—high enough to reach his level.
He is not afraid of a challenge.
If someone can rise strong enough to face him, then from them he can learn.
And knowledge is a treasure even greater than power.
"The power to absorb the world's energy comes from their blood. Then… by analysing their blood, maybe I can know why?"
Merin's palm faces the wolf.
The beast shivers, whimpers, then snarls in futile defiance before its body bursts apart.
Bones and flesh scatter, yet the blood remains suspended, drawn together by his will.
The crimson mass gathers, compresses, whirling tighter until a blood ball forms.
He refines it further, layer after layer peeled away, impurities burning out in threads of fire.
The sphere shrinks smaller and smaller until only a single drop remains—shimmering like crystal yet fluid, both solid and liquid, neither and both.
He swallows it.
His consciousness dives inward, parsing its essence.
Inside, he finds marks—tiny etchings, runes hidden within the bloodline itself.
As his mind unravels them, understanding blooms.
The wolf's Iron Claw spell, its instinctive battle art, is laid bare to him.
Even deeper, he perceives the hidden pattern that allows the wolf's blood to draw in the free energy of the world.
So this is it.
This is how they breathe strength from the air itself.
He names it magic energy—close enough to the magic dimension he once walked, yet different.
The name feels right.
The thought of the magic dimension stirs his memory.
Faces surface—his family in the origin world, and his first family in the dragon world.
His heart grows heavier at the second thought.
The dragon world… his first bond beyond the void.
But there, time runs differently.
Already, more than a thousand years must have passed.
The seal he left should keep them alive, yes—but he knows seals are not absolutes.
Worlds shift, power rises, fate bends.
Nothing stays untouched.
He sighs, the weight of eternity pressing against his chest.
"When I return to the main world, I should visit the dragon world…"
His eyes sharpen again.
"Now, let's solve this problem."
He turns to Tillie.
"Tillie, I will show you the rune. Remember it."
Expectation glimmers in her eyes.
"Yes, Lord," she replies.
Merin lifts his hand.
A glowing mark takes shape in the void, lines weaving into a rune.
As soon as it forms, it drinks in the magic energy nearby, shining faintly before fading away.
He turns to her.
"Did you remember it?"
Tillie nods quickly.
"Good. Now prick your finger. Use your blood to draw the rune on your body."
She obeys, pressing a nail into her skin and sketching the lines carefully.
The moment the rune completes, she shivers.
A strange warmth seeps inward—her blood stirring, as if touched by something vast.
"The rune will change your blood into magic blood," Merin explains.
"Once that happens, you won't need the rune anymore. You'll be able to absorb energy naturally."
"How long will it take?" Tillie asks, eyes wide.
"One hundred days. A rune lasts only a day, so you must draw it every time the previous fades."
Her jaw tightens, but she nods with resolve.
Merin then turns to the guards standing nearby.
He projects the rune into the air again, slowly enough for each of them to memorise it.
The glow reflects in their eyes as they watch with silent reverence.
Afterwards, he leaves them to their practice and returns to his throne room.
He leans back, thoughtful.
This is not yet a cultivation system—merely a path to awaken their sense of magic energy.
The rune forces their blood to adapt, speeding up what would naturally take time.
But true cultivation still requires structure, stages, and methods to refine that energy.
For now, it is only the first step.
Merin closes his eyes, already planning the next.
The first realm—Blood Realm.
Through the rune process, they gain slight control over their blood.
This realm deepens that control, sharpening their connection to it.
And since nearly all in the kingdom had been reshaped into dream creatures by the old priests and knights, their blood itself is extraordinary, infused with traces of Dream Law.
The Blood Realm ends at Peak Rank 3.
The next realm—Blood Mist Realm.
Here, mist emerges from blood, able to form weapons for attack and defence.
Advancement is simple—refine the blood, continue absorbing magic energy, and allow the mist to condense until it becomes liquid.
This stage spans Rank 4 to Rank 5.
The next realm—Blood Liquid Realm.
The blood becomes fluid like crimson water, more powerful than the mist.
Cultivation remains the same—refining blood and replenishing it with magic energy.
This realm stops when the liquid finally hardens into solid form.
Rank 6 to Rank 8.
The next realm—Blood Crystal Realm.
Blood solidifies into radiant crystal, power sharper and sturdier than ever.
The cultivation remains unchanged, though the refinement takes far longer.
This stage spans Rank 9 to Rank 10.
The next—Rank 11.
Here, Merin pauses.
He knows something greater must come, yet the form of it is still unclear.
He must ponder further before naming this realm.
But as his mind moves along these lines, his own cultivation surges forward.
Blood Realm.
Blood Mist Realm.
Blood Liquid Realm—Initial.
Blood Liquid Realm—Late.
Blood Crystal Realm—Intermediate.
And then it halts at the Peak of Blood Crystal Realm.
His body hums with power, veins glowing faintly, blood no longer ordinary but alive with law and will.