The hall was silent at last.
Corpses lay scattered between the low tables, their shadows stretching thin across the orange flicker of dying flames. The furnaces beneath still burned—steady, patient—casting a dull glow over the rough stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of blood and burned metal.
Among it all, Han Chen stood unmoving, his sword lowered to his side. His expression never changed. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest broke the stillness.
The crimson light from the nearby furnace reflected faintly in his black eyes before fading. Then, with a faint breath, his consciousness sank inward.
The world blurred and folded away. A vast dark sea spread before him—his Sea of Consciousness. The horizon stretched endlessly into black, and the waters beneath were still, tinted with deep shades of red that rippled like diluted blood. Above, a red moon hung unmoving, a cold watcher in a sky of shadow. From where he stood, Han Chen could see two things upon the endless sea.
The first was a massive wooden structure, a seven-story building rising from the water. It was silent, its gates sealed, its surface marked by faint, glowing runes that pulsed faintly beneath the red moonlight.
The second floated not far from it—a single black eye, large as a human head, its pupil violet and alive with hidden turbulence. It drifted on the surface like an omen, unblinking.
Han Chen's avatar appeared before the floating eye, spectral and faint, its outline wavering like smoke in that colorless air. He stood before it, silent for a long time, then whispered, "Show me." The surface of the eye rippled. A faint line of text shimmered into existence above it, formed by streaks of silver light.
DEATH QI: 0.019302%
The numbers glowed, shifting once before holding still. Han Chen's avatar regarded them with calm detachment. "Not bad," he said quietly, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly—not quite a smile, not quite nothing.
Then the scene unraveled. The sea folded back into mist, and his consciousness returned to flesh. When Han Chen opened his eyes, the red hue of the furnaces greeted him once more. His right leg burned with dull heat; the wound reopened at some point during the fight. A dark stain spread along the fabric, but he paid it no mind. He tested the leg once—lightly—and nodded. It would hold. "Now that it's done," he muttered, glancing at the ruined tables, "time to refine."
He walked through the hall, his boots leaving faint crimson prints along the scattered ashes, until he found a single table that had survived—untouched by flame, unscarred by battle. The furnace upon it stood intact, bronze and weary but whole. Two portions of ingredients rested neatly beside it—the recipe for a grade-one Spirit Condensing Pill. Han Chen's gaze lingered on them before he exhaled softly.
He needed that pill. The first trial—refining the Shadow Bead—had strengthened his soul foundation, but it was unstable, as if threads of power within him failed to settle completely. Worse still, the remnants of the Heart Demon Gu that the old man had implanted gnawed at the seams of his spirit. Each pulse of its hidden poison threatened to unravel the foundation he had built.
He could feel it now, faintly, beneath the surface of his calm—a slow, rhythmic sting, like a rotten heartbeat echoing deep in his soul.
Han Chen rested his hand atop the furnace lid, eyes closed. The metal thrummed faintly under his touch, as if recognizing the intent behind it."The second trial," he whispered. "Let's begin."
...
Han Chen separated the ingredients carefully. Two equal portions sat before him, each prepared for a single refinement attempt. He focused on the first—one branch of the Guts Tree, one eye of a Level One Red-Eye Rabbit, one horn of a Level Two Three-Horned Deer, and a single Grade One Mind Essence Apple.
He studied them once, quietly committing every shape and detail to memory. Then his eyes closed, and his spiritual energy sealed itself away. Only his soul power remained active, faint but pure.
The branch of the Guts Tree rose slowly from the table, guided by his soul force. With delicate precision, he lifted the lid of the furnace and lowered the branch inside. The flames beneath the cauldron wavered, then flared higher, bending under his control.
The heat intensified. The metal around the furnace turned a soft orange glow, but inside, the branch refused to burn. It only darkened, curls of smoke rising from its surface without releasing the desired essence.
Han Chen's jaw tightened. "Resisting, huh." He poured more soul power into the flames, narrowing his focus until the heat condensed into a concentrated core. The air shimmered from it. Finally—crack—the tough bark split. A trickle of translucent blue liquid dripped from its center and pooled at the bottom of the furnace. The branch flared once more and turned to ash.
Han Chen exhaled and reached for the next ingredient. The Red-Eye Rabbit's eye.
It floated before him and dropped into the furnace. The faint blue liquid from the branch curled up like mist, swirling around the pale orb. Then the liquid shifted—its hue fading from blue to a thin red, growing deeper as the eye dissolved. Soon only shimmering light-red fluid remained.
The two substances were merging of their own accord, their essence stable. The remnants of the eye turned to fine ash, leaving the furnace with a soft, warm shimmer.
Next, Han Chen moved both the Three-Horned Deer's horn and the Mind Essence Apple together, lowering them carefully through the open furnace lid. The apple responded first. Its fragrance filled the air, faintly sweet with a sharp metallic undertone. As the heat tightened around it, a greenish essence began to seep out—a fluid carrying subtle waves of soul energy. The apple shriveled, dried, and vanished in a brief flare.
But the horn showed no sign of reacting. It sat unmoved within the swirling red and green fluid, refusing release.
Han Chen frowned and willed the two liquids closer. The red and green hues drifted together, only to repel each other like opposing poles. He pushed harder with his soul power, dragging them inward until the air quivered with strain—still they resisted. "Stubborn." Again, he pressed his will forward. The liquids began to tremble, the surface rippling. Then, finally, they twisted into a whirlpool, spinning faster until the colors merged into a disorderly mixture—a liquid of dull, confused hues.
Sweat ran down Han Chen's neck.
He clenched both hands above the cauldron. The messy-colored liquid lifted slightly, taking spherical shape as his soul force condensed around it. The sphere floated, spinning steadily, the metallic furnace humming in response.
The horn, still untouched, rose above it. Its blackened tip pointed down toward the sphere. Han Chen focused, feeding the last strands of soul power into the process. Nothing changed.
He tried again, steadying his breathing. Still nothing. The strain on his consciousness deepened. The aftereffects of his damaged soul foundation—left by the old man's Heart Demon Gu—grew heavier. Pain throbbed faintly behind his forehead, dull but deep.
Time trickled by. His hold wavered once, then steadied. Minutes became hours.
After three hours, a tremor passed through him. His limbs were numb, the air around his body rippling faintly from soul pressure bleeding outward. "I can't last more than half an hour," he thought, teeth gritted.
Still, he refused to stop. The sphere spun faster, liquid flickering between dull silver and gray. The horn above it remained inert.
Then—drip. A single drop of transparent fluid condensed at the horn's tip. It fell, small but weighty, striking the sphere below. The entire mass shuddered once.
Light flared silently. The mixed, chaotic color vanished, replaced by flawless crystal clarity. The liquid shone, pure and steady, like a captured fragment of still water. Han Chen exhaled for the first time in hours, his shoulders easing. The glow of the furnace reflected across his face, dim and calm.
He opened his black eyes, breathing quietly before the next, most crucial step of refinement.
"Critical phase begins."
...
Han Chen exhaled softly and closed his eyes for the final phase. The world narrowed to the sound of the steady flame and the quiet pulse of his consciousness.
He drew back his soul power from the furnaces below, and the flames immediately dulled. Their color fell from gold to a gentler orange, heat lowering but not extinguishing. Even without his energy, the fires persisted, a faint echo of the power he had imbued earlier.
The transparent sphere within the furnace began to quiver. Han Chen directed his remaining strength into it, compressing it layer by layer. The liquid trembled, spinning faster and faster around its own axis until the edges blurred into streaks of light.
The strain was immense. Each turn of the sphere drew more from his soul, reducing its flow like a candle burning too bright.
...
Four hours went by without pause.
Sweat lined his temple, and his breathing grew shallow. The flames beneath the cauldron flickered uneasily, reacting to the pressure in the hall.
Inside his consciousness, threads of fatigue spread like cracks through glass. His soul power was nearly gone—ninety-four percent drained, the remainder dim and shifting unevenly.
The sphere refused to yield. Its surface rippled violently but would not condense, the liquid resisting full crystallization. A faint tremor passed through his hands. The instability built like thunder in his mind. He knew what failure meant—hours ruined, essence wasted, his already brittle soul foundation taking further harm under the strain.
But Han Chen did not stop. His eyes stayed closed. His brow tightened slightly."I won't lose it here," he whispered under his breath.
From deep within, a rippling pulse answered. The skin between his brows split open once more, forming the vertical line of the Heavenly Eye. A flicker of violet light escaped through the crack as the eerie eye opened—its black sclera reflecting faint arcs of lightning across the hall.
Han Chen called upon the reserve sleeping within it. Death Qi surged out—a cold, silent current, neither flame nor aura. It poured through the invisible channel between his soul and the pill furnace. The faint scent of iron tinged the air as the colorless mist wound through the fog of his inner vision.
The sphere trembled once more. Then, as the Death Qi threaded through its center, its chaotic spinning slowed and gathered inward. In the still air of the hall, a soft ringing sound echoed—clear, like distant glass being struck.
The sphere folded into itself and solidified, its glow dimming to a pure silver tone. A gentle wave of soul energy spread outward from it, enveloping the hall in calm.
The furnace lid trembled slightly and then opened by itself. A silver-colored pill hovered above the crucible, glimmering faintly as strands of spiritual light drifted from it. Each wisp carried fragments of soul power, curling like smoke before fading.
Han Chen's forehead sealed shut again, the Heavenly Eye disappearing beneath smooth skin. The faint violet hue in his pupils retreated.
He glanced inward for a moment.
DEATH QI : 0.013253%
Less than before. The Heavenly Eye's reserves had thinned noticeably—but the result was worth the cost. Han Chen extended his palm. The pill drifted gently toward him, landing on his hand with a soft metallic hum. Its surface shone with a dim radiance, a calm presence unlike any other.
He gazed at it in silence.
The refinement had succeeded.
...
Han Chen's hand tightened slightly around the silver pill. Its glow pulsed like a heartbeat, soft and rhythmic, yet the aura it released was faintly twisted. Beneath the sheen of soul energy, a subtle darkness coiled—cold and lifeless.
He realized it at once.
The refinement had not drawn solely from his soul power. When his strength had run dry, he had unconsciously leaned deeper into the reserves hidden within the Heavenly Eye.
The deathly current that had flowed out carried a trace of death, subtle but unmistakable.
The pill in his grasp now pulsed with that same chill. Gentle ripples of Death Qi lingered around it, distorting the light in the air, turning the golden reflection of the furnaces a muted gray.
Han Chen tried to examine it again, but his vision blurred. His head felt light, the edges of his consciousness flickering.
His soul power… it was empty. Completely.
Even breathing became effort. He sat slowly, resting his back against the cold leg of the furnace. His body felt distant, detached—as though it no longer belonged to him. The aftershocks of the refinement rippled through his meridians, cold and heavy.
A faint whisper echoed within his mind, fading with each syllable. "Too much… consumption."
The world dulled. The stabilizing hum of the furnaces faded one by one, replaced by a heavy silence. His eyes tried to stay open, but the darkness drowned the flickering light in front of him.
He could no longer feel. He could no longer think. The faint pulse of the Death Qi in the pill was the last thing he sensed before his consciousness sank completely into stillness.
And in the dim hall, surrounded by the steady fires of forgotten furnaces, Han Chen's figure sat unmoving—his hand still faintly closed around the pill that reeked of death.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----