The moment the sword finished absorbing the beast core, the surrounding pressure gradually receded. The crimson glow along the sword's edge dimmed into a stable radiance, and the restrained black undertone settled completely within the steel. Without dispersing, the sword slowly faded from the air, returning to Wang Yan's body as if it had never left.
At the same time, the seventh soul ring continued its rotation.
Now, however, its movement had changed.
The violent fluctuations that once threatened to tear his body apart had been fully suppressed. The black soul ring revolved steadily, its immense energy flowing in an orderly manner through Wang Yan's meridians, strengthening his bones, tempering his blood, and compressing his soul power into a far denser state.
It was only after this stabilization that the final change occurred.
From the remains of the scorpion-tailed devil tiger, a sudden flash of dark-red light erupted. Unlike the previously absorbed energies, this presence was tangible and complete. A solid fragment of power condensed in midair before instantly transforming, its form reshaping itself into a long, segmented structure resembling a scorpion's spine.
A soul bone.
Before anyone could react, it shot forward and attached itself directly to Wang Yan's back.
The moment it made contact, Wang Yan's body trembled violently.
A deep, bone-piercing pain surged through his spine, as if something was forcibly merging itself into his skeletal structure. The sensation was sharp and absolute, far more intense than the pain from soul ring absorption, yet it carried no chaos. Instead, it was precise, deliberate, and unyielding.
His muscles tightened involuntarily, sweat forming across his brow, yet he remained seated, his breathing steady.
The soul bone fused.
Segment by segment, the scorpion-like structure integrated into his spine, disappearing beneath his skin as if it had never existed. A faint dark-red glow flashed briefly across his back before fading completely, leaving no visible trace behind.
As the fusion completed, the pressure within Wang Yan's body reached its peak.
Then—silence.
The black soul ring slowly descended and settled into place, becoming the seventh ring within his cultivation system. All violent reactions ceased at once, replaced by a deep, grounded stillness. Every trace of foreign energy was fully absorbed, refined, and harmonized.
Only then did Wang Yan open his eyes.
A calm, sharp clarity filled his gaze.
He slowly exhaled, allowing the remaining pressure within his body to disperse naturally. His soul power flowed smoothly, heavier and denser than before, yet perfectly controlled. As he adjusted his internal circulation, he clearly sensed the result of this absorption.
Level seventy-three.
Wang Yan remained seated for a long time, his breathing steady and deep, his posture unmoving like stone. The seventh soul ring had already sunk completely into his body, the soul bone had fused without resistance, and the unusual disturbance caused by the sword had long since calmed. Everything appeared stable on the surface, yet beneath that calm, something vast and profound was quietly settling.
Only after confirming that every strand of soul power had fully merged with his foundation did Wang Yan slowly open his eyes.
There was no sharp light in his gaze, no overflowing aura. Instead, his eyes were deep and restrained, as though something terrifying had been sealed within them. He did not immediately stand up. Instead, he closed his eyes once more and allowed his consciousness to sink inward, reaching for the familiar presence that had accompanied him since awakening.
With a thought, he summoned his martial soul.
The sword appeared soundlessly before him.
The steel body remained simple and solid, its iron-gray surface clean and unadorned. Along the edges, however, a faint crimson glow flowed like restrained bloodlight, thin and sharp, giving the blade an indescribable sense of danger. Near the base of the sword, where steel met the hilt, subtle metallic lines formed naturally within the metal itself, their structure resembling the curve and tension of a scorpion's tail. Above that, at the junction leading into the grip, the metal carried a faint, oppressive contour, like the silent roar of a crouching tiger, contained rather than released.
The sword did not radiate wildly.
Yet the moment it appeared, the surrounding air sank.
Without any deliberate action, a strange change occurred.
Centered on Wang Yan, an invisible field spread outward.
There was no violent pressure, no roaring energy, but the space within several dozen meters suddenly felt different. The air became heavy. The ground seemed firmer. Every trace of soul power within the area instinctively slowed, as though entering a territory that did not belong to it.
Liu Ming, Zhao Qing, and Chen Yu felt it almost instantly.
Their expressions changed at the same time.
The soul power within their bodies stirred uneasily, not surging outward as it normally would in the presence of a strong aura, but instead contracting inward. Their martial souls reacted instinctively, retreating, suppressing themselves, as if facing something they should not provoke.
Before any of them could speak, the pressure intensified.
The space around Wang Yan sharpened.
A formless sword intent filled the area, not aggressive, yet absolute. It did not cut, did not strike, but simply existed — cold, dominant, and unquestionable. Every breath felt heavier. Even standing still required subtle effort.
Then, another presence descended.
The temperature dropped abruptly.
An indescribable chill spread through the forest, carrying with it a faint but unmistakable killing intent. It was ancient, heavy, and merciless, like the shadow of countless lives extinguished. When this presence overlapped with the previous field, the change was immediate.
The invisible sword-filled space darkened.
The two forces did not clash.
They fused.
In that instant, the pressure multiplied rather than expanded. The sword intent became colder, sharper, and incomparably more oppressive. The killing intent no longer felt wild or chaotic — it was restrained, refined, and utterly obedient to a single will.
Domination.
That was the only word that fit.
Liu Ming's breathing grew uneven. Zhao Qing's fists clenched unconsciously. Chen Yu felt a chill crawl up his spine as his soul power struggled to circulate normally, as though even flowing within his own body required permission.
It was not suppression through strength.
It was suppression through authority.
As though everything within this space instinctively acknowledged a ruler.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure receded.
The chill faded. The invisible field collapsed inward. The forest exhaled.
Wang Yan withdrew his power completely.
The sword vanished. The space returned to normal. Only faint traces of disturbed leaves and uneven soul power fluctuations proved that what had just occurred was real.
Wang Yan stood up calmly, his expression unchanged, his aura once again perfectly restrained.
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Then Liu Ming finally took a step forward, his gaze fixed on Wang Yan, his voice low and serious.
"Just now… what was that?"
End of chapter.