"System," he commanded in his mind. "Extract 15% of the essence."
[Affirmative.]
He felt the familiar energy flow from the herb into his body. It was a pure essence that calmed the fiery energy swirling in his Dantian. The Frost Dew Petal in his hand looked unchanged. Its weight was the same. Its spiritual aura would feel equally potent to any normal Spiritual Sense. But he knew the truth. He had taken its heart, leaving behind a beautiful but slightly hollow shell.
He moved to the next ingredient, a piece of Ironbone Root. "System. 12%." Then the Crimson Sun Grass. "System. 18%." He became a careful calculator of vengeance, measuring how much he could take from each ingredient without raising suspicion. He took more from the stronger herbs, and less from the balancing ones. It was a careful dance of greed and caution.
The energy building within him was a rich mix of different traits like fiery, cool, solid, and vibrant. It was a chaotic blend that would have overwhelmed a typical cultivator. But for him, it was just raw material. The system acted as a perfect filter, holding the plundered essence in the Apothecary Space, waiting for the moment of refinement.
With his secret tax collected, he began the actual alchemy. The Alchemical Perfection function was a gift from above. Previously, his refinement process was a tightrope walk over a sea of fire. The slightest lapse in concentration or tiny miscalculation in spiritual energy output could ruin a batch or cause a cauldron explosion. His forty-percent success rate showed his natural talent, but it was a talent built from fear and punishment.
Now, there was no fear.
His spiritual sense guided the different medicinal essences with the skill of a master puppeteer. They merged, purified, and condensed smoothly, a feeling that was entirely new to him. The process felt less like a struggle and more like a gentle flow. He watched as five perfect pills formed in the center of the cauldron's flame. There were no impurities, no flaws. Each one was a shining work of art, their surfaces marked with natural patterns that signified their top quality.
He had succeeded, creating a perfect batch on his first attempt. The process took less than half the usual time. He felt a surge of triumph so powerful it was almost dizzying.
But the work wasn't finished. He carefully removed the five Soul-Nourishing Pills from the cauldron, their warmth radiating into his palm. They were meant for the sect's elders, to nourish their souls and secure their loyalty to the man who had killed his parents.
"System," he commanded. "Extract 25% of the essence from each of these finished pills."
[Affirmative.]
One by one, he held the pills, feeling a large part of their refined power being drawn directly into him. The energy was warm, nourishing, and carried the distinct spiritual signature of a finished alchemical product. It was a hundred times more potent than the raw essence he had taken from the ingredients.
He placed the five slightly imperfect pills into a jade bottle. They still appeared and felt like top-quality pills. Only a true Grandmaster Alchemist might detect the subtle loss in their core essence. But there was no one like that in the Spirit Cauldron Sect. They were a sect focused on quantity, not ultimate quality. His deception was flawless.
He had completed one batch, meeting his quota for the day. It wasn't even midnight.
He began the next batch.
He extracted, refined, and extracted again. Batch after perfect batch, he worked with relentless intensity. The stone-walled refinement chamber was his kingdom. The bronze cauldron was his weapon. Every successful refinement was a silent act of rebellion. Every stolen wisp of essence was a small act of justice.
The energy he gathered grew from a stream to a flood. He used the system to continuously refine and compress it, packing it into his newly formed Golden Core. He could feel the core growing brighter and more powerful with each infusion.
He worked through the entire night, driven by a fierce purpose. He met Yao Guang's quota for the next three days in a single night of alchemy, all while secretly siphoning off a king's ransom of power for himself.
As the first light of dawn began to pierce the darkness outside, he finished his final batch. He had a small mountain of jade bottles, each filled with perfect-looking but spiritually-taxed pills. And within his Dantian filled to the brim with stolen power, straining against the limits of the Initial Stage.
He sat on the cold stone floor and closed his eyes. He focused his will, gathering the vast ocean of energy he had collected.
"System," he thought, "Conceal my breakthrough."
[Cultivation Concealment active. All spiritual fluctuations will be suppressed.]
He took a deep breath and unleashed the flood. The energy crashed against the barrier to the Middle Stage of the Golden Core realm. The barrier simply vanished, swept away by a torrent of power so strong it was like a tidal wave hitting a sandcastle.
His Golden Core expanded and settled into a higher state of balance. The spiritual energy it contained was now twice as powerful. His spiritual sense reached outwards, its range doubling in an instant. The feeling of strength was so immense, it was almost frightening.
He had reached the Middle Stage of the Golden Core. In a single night. A journey that would take any other genius in the domain decades of hard work, he had accomplished in mere hours.
But he had only used a fraction of the energy he had taken. The rest still swirled within him, a testament to the scale of his plunder. He continued to absorb and refine, pushing his cultivation forward.
By the time the sun rose completely, painting the world outside his chamber in the colors of a new day, he had stabilized his cultivation at the Middle Stage of the Golden Core realm and was already making strong progress toward the Late Stage.
He stood up, his body thrumming with a power that was a terrifying secret. To the world, to the man who thought he was a god, he was still Shi Ran, the Peak Foundation Establishment slave. But underneath that fragile shell, a monster of vengeance was emerging. He looked at the rows of finished pills, ready for delivery to his "Master." They were perfect, flawless, and slightly hollow. They were a lie. A beautiful lie.
He thought of Yao Guang, asleep in his grand chambers completely unaware that the tool he had shaped for seventeen years had just been sharpened into a blade that would be aimed at his throat.
Shi Ran smiled. The dreams of revenge were no longer just dreams. They were now a plan.