A month passes, and news of rebellion keeps arriving from across the kingdom, most from the east. The eastern lands, bordered by the blue se
A month passes, and news of rebellion keeps arriving from across the kingdom, most from the east.
The eastern lands, bordered by the blue sea, had always been free of enemies. No armies were stationed there, and security was minimal. Yet it was the most developed part of the kingdom, the beating heart of logistics, supplying the west and south with resources.
But for Merin and the high command, those regions hold no weight. No orders are given to suppress the uprisings. They are waiting. Waiting for Tillie and the others to break through into the Blood Realm.
Only thirty days have gone by. Seventy remain before they can advance.
And Merin still has not created the path beyond Rank 11.
At Rank 10 Peak, Blood Energy condenses into Blood Crystals—each one as hard as iron. He has already reached this limit. Blood Energy itself can no longer be refined. But Blood Energy is born from blood, and blood is born from the body.
To improve Blood Energy, he must improve the source—his body.
Not in brute strength, but in Life Essence.
A higher life level would elevate his blood, and through it, his energy.
Merin knows countless methods to increase Life Essence, but he chooses the path of the Divine Body.
He wants his Divine Body back.
With it, the seal over the Dream Kingdom may finally break.
And with the Dream Kingdom, his power will return swiftly.
The new cultivation he created requires no Divine Essence. That makes it accessible, but also dangerous. Too many will have ideas. Too many will think of challenging him.
He does not care if they dare.
What he despises is being challenged by those without sufficient strength.
And with the Dream Kingdom unsealed, his priests and Knights would return and stop those unqualified.
So now, the question becomes—how to transform his body into a Divine Body, or even something beyond?
He cannot walk this path alone. He needs a cultivation system. A method others can also follow to elevate their bodies.
The path begins with runes, just as cultivation always has. But the next step is runic formation—an evolution of runes, a system vast enough to reshape the body itself.
Merin sits cross-legged, blood energy flowing out of him. Hundreds of blood crystals rise into the air, orbiting him like crimson stars. One by one, they shift, align, and weave themselves into a great formation. Its purpose—transform his mortal body into a Divine Body.
But at the final moment, he pauses.
A thought pierces through.
"If I am to ascend into a Divine Body… why settle for a mere basic one?"
His eyes close, and his will descends upon the formation.
"Let it not be just a Divine Body. Let it be the Dream Divine Body."
Runes unravel, reform, and change under his command. He erases some, forges new ones, and bends the entire structure toward Dream Law. All his blood energy is consumed, poured into the foundation.
The runes begin to pull in free magic energy from the surroundings, glowing brilliantly. They embed themselves into his flesh, shining as lines spread like veins across his body.
The lines dig deep, dragging out his Life Essence. The extracted essence is wrapped in a cage of runes, humming as the formation devours more magic.
The process begins—Life Essence is refined, releasing threads of pure power that seep back into him, reshaping bone, blood, and spirit. His body trembles, and blood energy surges higher.
But this first formation is only the foundation. It cannot complete the transformation alone. As his blood energy grows, more runes must be added, layer after layer, advancing the formation and strengthening the body.
Each advancement becomes a new rank.
Breaking through Rank 11… climbing to Rank 12… then 13… 14… 15.
And when the runic formation reaches its perfected state—when his body fully becomes the Dream Divine Body—he will ascend to Rank 16.
With that step, he will return to his true cultivation realm.
Two months pass, and those who broke through to the Blood Realm now stand before him.
Merin personally teaches them the path forward—the method of cultivation in the Blood Realm and the process of advancing into the Blood Mist Realm. He also shares with them the cultivation way up to the peak of the Blood Crystal Realm, ensuring they have a clear direction.
But when it comes to the next stage—the Blood Formation Realm—he withholds the knowledge. Revealing it now would only burden their minds, making them restless with thoughts of higher realms while neglecting their present cultivation.
In these same two months, Merin himself advances. His runic formation evolves, and his body steps into the Blood Formation Realm, Rank 11.
Meanwhile, the kingdom stabilises. The three sides are once again under control, thanks to the return of magic crystals. Yet the eastern region remains untouched.
Merin deliberately leaves it so. Reports of the rebels' advances in war technology reach him—power armour, drones, missiles, weapons born not of cultivation but of innovation. Instead of being alarmed, he allows it to continue.
He wants to drain every last fragment of value from their struggle. Let them fight, let them improve, let them sharpen their edge—only so he can break it later.
With his cultivation restored step by step, his confidence grows absolute. No weapon they create can threaten him.
The army cannot be recalled to crush the rebellion yet. The borders on three sides remain tense, and stability is fragile. More importantly, the Blood Cultivation system has not yet been spread.
The higher-ups of the kingdom wish to first secure their strength, at least reaching the Blood Mist Realm, before spreading the system further. Only then will it flow into the army, the guards, the priests, and the officials.
A year later, the eastern rebellion finally unites under one banner.
The Tuskan Rebellion, led by the fox-orc Tush, emerges as the victor. Yet inside their headquarters, there is no celebration—only dread as the high council reads a piece of paper.
The leaders of the rebellion are not the most talented in cultivation. Before the change, they devoted themselves to learning civilian technology from Tanarid Tech and rune craft from the kingdom. They were some of the brightest minds of the realm, but their status was low. No matter how advanced their inventions were, all of them crumbled before the strength of a single powerful cultivator. In a world where individual power ruled, technology meant little.
But when the great shift came and the mighty fell, these men and women found themselves equal. The priests and knights who once stood above them lost their strength, while they still held their knowledge. For the first time, they saw a chance to seize what they had always admired—the throne itself.
And they succeeded. The kingdom did not intervene, leaving them free to crush rival factions until only the Tuskan Rebellion remained.
Today should have been the day they discussed marching on the capital. Instead, a book brought in by their spies silences the hall.
The cover bears three words—Blood Cultivation System.
The leaders read it with heavy hearts. The kingdom has begun to recover its strength.
One of them breaks the silence, voice trembling. "What should we do?"
The question drags up memories of the priests and knights of old—men who could cross a thousand miles in a day, shatter mountains with a strike, drain lakes dry, or slay a man in his sleep. Fear flashes across every face. No matter how far they had come, they were still ordinary men.
Tush leans forward, his foxlike eyes glinting. "Their cultivation has only just begun. They will not have fully recovered yet."
At this, a flicker of relief spreads through the chamber.
Another voice rises. "What about the Totem?"
A gleam passes through Tush's gaze. In truth, he longs to replace the Totem, to stand as supreme ruler of the kingdom. But he knows it is impossible. His men still revere it. He gathered them by declaring that the parliament had trapped the Totem, and their mission was to set it free.
He speaks with conviction, "The Totem allowed priests and knights to rule. Why can't it allow us?"
The room stirs.
"When do we march on the capital?" someone demands.
Tush rises. "Now."
Within minutes, the rebel camp bursts into motion, drums echoing, banners rising—the march to the capital begins.
A week later, the capital is surrounded.
Inside the throne hall, Merin sits upon his throne, studying a paper with an amused expression. The rebels had thrown it into the city, urging civilians to rise against parliament. The words claim that the Totem is held captive within the capital, and the Tuskan Rebellion has come to free it.
Had the civilians not seen Merin repairing the magic crystal array with their own eyes, they might have believed it.
Merin taps the paper thoughtfully. If parliament and the rebels clash, the casualties will be immense. He wonders if he should end this farce himself.
Faith… he still needs it.
A year has passed, and Merin has already returned to Rank 16.
When he advanced to Rank 12, his spirit reconnected with the Dream Kingdom.
From there, he could draw dream essence, swiftly climbing realms and completing his body's transformation.
Yet even with the Dream Kingdom fully unsealed, only his spirit can enter it—his body remains barred. The two are separate now.
Merin rises from the throne.
At that moment, Tillie steps into the chamber.
Merin looks at her, a faint smile touching his lips. "You have chosen the Divine Way again."
Her reply is calm, firm. "For me, there is only the Divine Way."
When the Dream Kingdom was unsealed, priests and knights across the capital sensed it and began regaining strength by drawing upon its power.
But memory is a dangerous thing.
They remembered how they lost that same power, and doubt corroded their faith.
Since their path is one of belief in him, only a handful chose to return. Tillie is among the few whose faith never wavered.
Merin studies her. "Why are you here?"
Tillie bows slightly. "Lord, let me end the rebellion."
He nods. With her return to Rank 13, she can crush them with ease. "Do not kill the rebel leaders."
"I understand." She turns and departs.
Moments later, in the rebel camp, the leaders are gathered around their maps, arguing over how to breach the capital. Then, without warning, the tent vanishes.
They find themselves standing in a dark forest, shrouded in mist, beastly roars echoing all around.
Terror grips them.
They know instantly—the extraordinaries of the capital have recovered.
Hands trembling, the rebel leaders raise their arms in surrender.