The cave was silent except for Sol Jin's unsteady breathing. His body ached from the defeat, but his mind burned with clarity. The hooded genius's forbidden corpse formula replayed in his memory—those gaps in space, the distortions, the unnatural flow of attacks. Every movement was a puzzle begging to be solved.
The Infinite Schemer's Core pulsed steadily. Not frantic like during battle, but sharp and analytical, almost as if trying to assist in decoding the technique.
> "You didn't just defeat me…" Sol Jin muttered. "You educated me."
He placed a series of stones on the ground, each representing a moment in the fight. Then, he recreated the distortions using the slightest fluctuations of his internal energy—small, imperfect mimics of the gaps he witnessed. The stones vibrated, skidded, and sometimes shattered.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even close.
But it was progress.
---
By noon, Sol Jin had forced himself back into the forest. Pain lingered in every limb, but pain was familiar—an old companion. What mattered now was identifying the patterns hidden in the corpse formula. Nothing in the world was without flaw, not even forbidden arts.
He moved through the forest in shifting patterns, testing footwork, timing, reaction speeds. Each time he tried to mimic the distortions, the Core pulsed more violently, feeding him data even through error.
Finally, he whispered:
> "There… the split-second delay before each gap widens."
He marked a tree with a clean strike. Then another. Then twenty more. The Core corrected his timing each time, aligning his movements with the memory of the genius's spatial distortions.
He exhaled, sweat dripping.
> "You might have mastered the corpse formula…"
"But mastery leaves traces."
---
As the sun dipped, Sol Jin sensed movement in the distance—multiple signatures, disciplined but lacking killing intent. Minor sect disciples. He narrowed his eyes. News had been spreading quietly: someone in the forest was humiliating their juniors, manipulating their battles without leaving visible traces.
Now they wanted answers.
Three figures emerged through the brush, clothed in the colors of the Ironshade Minor Sect.
Their leader, a stern-eyed girl named Rin Xue, stepped forward.
"Boy," she said coldly, "you've caused trouble for several sect juniors. Show yourself."
Sol Jin stepped into the open, expression unreadable.
Rin Xue examined him—young, thin, eyes too calm for his age.
"You're the one," she concluded. "Our sect wants to know how you've been manipulating these encounters."
Sol Jin smiled politely.
> "Observation. Timing. Calculation."
"Basic things your geniuses struggle to master."
Rin Xue stiffened. Her companions bristled. But Sol Jin's tone wasn't arrogant—it was matter-of-fact. As if he were stating a law of nature.
One disciple lunged, testing him. Sol Jin sidestepped with ease. Another followed; Sol Jin trapped his wrist and redirected him into a tree trunk.
Rin Xue's eyes widened.
"Your footwork… it's irregular but precise. Adaptive."
Sol Jin tilted his head, studying her expression.
> "They're not here to fight," he realized.
"They're here to evaluate."
A quiet opportunity.
He offered a shallow bow.
"I am Sol Jin. Orphan. Self-trained. And I don't seek conflict… unless conflict seeks me first."
Rin Xue exchanged glances with her disciples. His performance, his calm, and the faint hum of his Core made her reassess him.
"You're dangerous," she said softly.
"And our sect master likes dangerous seeds."
Sol Jin's eyes sharpened. Another calculation began forming.
> "Good," he thought.
"Let the sects notice me. Let them approach."
"I need resources… to counter the corpse formula."
Rin Xue turned to leave.
"We'll report what we've seen. Expect another visit soon."
Sol Jin watched them disappear through the trees.
The chessboard was expanding.
---
Night fell. Sol Jin returned to the cave, but not to rest. He resumed recreating the spatial distortions he'd witnessed. The Core pulsed violently with every attempt, analyzing, critiquing, correcting.
At one point, his miscalculation accidentally generated a tiny ripple in the air—no larger than a fingernail—but undeniably real.
Sol Jin froze.
Then slowly smiled.
> "A gap…"
"A real one."
Tiny, unstable, dangerous—but proof that the corpse formula was not impossible to comprehend. His Core vibrated with pride.
The cosmic presence stirred.
> "Yes… learn, adapt, evolve. The boy bends fate with his mind alone. The hooded genius has awakened a monster."
Sol Jin's eyes gleamed as he whispered to the night:
> "Hooded genius…"
"Next time, I won't just defend."
"I'll dissect your art."
The Core pulsed once—dark, steady, promising power.
The path to domination had only widened.