In the depths of the night, a large bird soared above Yellow Wind Town.

Merin stood atop its back, gazing down at his house through his mental field.

He found no trace of his family inside.

“According to Bai Yanli, they were captured by the Sky Sword Sect two days ago.”

He tapped the eagle with his foot, and the beast turned east, toward the Sky Sword Sect.

Two days earlier, after returning from the Evergreen Forest, he had met Bai Yanli at the outpost.

She was his fiancée, though this was the first time they had seen each other in person.

She had merely greeted him and then informed him, without hesitation, that his family had been taken by members of the Sky Sword Sect.

Merin hadn’t stayed at the outpost for even a moment.

With a growing sense of unease that had plagued him since morning, he understood now what it meant.

He entered the Evergreen Forest at once, determined to cross the Evergreen Hills.

That very night, he encountered a Giant Eagle—a creature of the Great Beast Realm.

Without hesitation, he attacked and subdued it using his mental power, and flew it westward without rest.

Now, having confirmed Bai Yanli’s words, only one thought drives him:

Find his family.

As the bird carried him toward the Sky Sword Sect, Merin swore to himself—

If anything had happened to his parents, then the Sky Sword Sect no longer had any reason to exist.

Asuna wouldn’t matter.

If she stood in his way, she wouldn’t need to exist either.

Sensing his fury, the Giant Eagle let out a piercing cry and soared faster into the night.

As Merin flew, he observed the spiritual core within his mental scene.

Two days ago, when he had first advanced to the Spiritual Core Realm, the core had been nothing more than a phantom—now, it was slowly becoming virtual.

Once it became fully virtual, he could attempt to create a magic power and imprint it into the core.

If successful, he would likely advance to the True Core Realm.

He said likely, not guaranteed, because the process required offering a portion of his vital energy when imprinting the power.

For now, he had only just stepped into the early Spiritual Core Realm.

He still had time before he would need to worry about advancing again.

But already, he had discovered the true nature of spiritual cultivation—

Unlike martial cultivation, which focuses on the physical body and direct confrontation,

The spiritual path advances by researching the material world and crafting items.

Spiritual cultivators delve into the microscopic rules that govern reality—

The subtle laws of nature, the fusion of elemental principles, and the deep mechanics of creation.

There are countless rules in the world.

Some exist inherently, like the Nine Fundamental Rules,

while others emerge from the intersection of those core laws.

Most of these intersections manifest as artistic conceptions,

and only a few evolve into stable, yet imperfect, rules of their own.

A spiritual cultivator who forges magic instruments often refines various metals together.

Through this process, the metals fuse into an alloy, altering their properties.

If the alloy is newly discovered, the world itself responds—

Recognising the innovation, it grants a blessing, accelerating the cultivator’s progress

and aiding the transformation of a phantom core into a virtual one.

He had also received the world’s gift two days ago, after helping a vine tree, which was only halfway evolved into a spiritual tree, complete its transformation.

Although the vine only became a low-level spiritual tree, the world still acknowledged his effort.

As a result, his core’s virtualisation increased from 0% to 1.5%.

That small act didn’t just help the vine—it also enabled the world to assist other vine trees stuck in half-evolution, making it easier for them to become spiritual.

This elevated the background foundation of the world itself.

At the same time, Merin gained insight into the artistic conception of the hardness of wood, deepening his comprehension of one of the elemental aspects.

But this wasn’t the only way to cultivate in the Spiritual Core Realm.

Invention is rare, difficult, and often depends on luck.

Had he not come across the half-evolved vine tree—had he not felt the urge to help—it’s likely he wouldn’t have received the world’s gift at all.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Thus, luck plays a crucial role when following this path of cultivation.

Another, more stable method of cultivation was to pursue a specific research direction, gradually deepening one’s understanding of the material laws of the world and using that knowledge to form a prototype of magic power.

Such prototypes didn’t need to be original.

They could be learned from others or based on personal discoveries, since they were not yet complete and not imprinted into the spiritual core.

A spiritual cultivator could study multiple magic power prototypes, each gradually reshaping the core.

Then, once virtualisation of the core was complete, they could select one prototype and finalise it, imprinting it into their core.

All magic power is derived from the artistic conceptions of the world.

Once a cultivator’s understanding of a concept surpasses 50%, the prototype becomes viable.

Only when their comprehension reaches 100% can the magic power be considered complete.

Merin plans to cultivate both paths, since he knows he won’t always be lucky, and he currently has no idea how to invent anything himself.

So for now, he focuses on deepening his knowledge of the human body and the wood element.

When he eventually decides on a direction, he aims to select an artistic conception and elevate it to the same height as the Nine Rules of the world.

He already has a possible direction in mind—something that should be present in both living beings and the wood element:

The artistic conception of vitality.

He’s already grasped about 2% of this artistic conception from studying the vitality within wood.

But vitality is present in all living beings, which means the same concept must also exist within his own body.

He plans to combine these two sources of understanding to form a prototype of magic power.

If not for the Sky Sword Sect, he would have already found a place to sit and continue his comprehension of his body.

Now, forced to fly for an entire day, he feels a bitter frustration.

Even if the Sky Sword Sect hasn’t harmed his family, he won’t forgive them.

They’ve wasted his precious time—and for that alone, he can’t let them go.

A few minutes later, the Giant Eagle lets out a sharp cry.

Its cultivation has reached the Great Beast Realm, meaning it possesses the intelligence of a human.

Merin receives its mental voice—it has noticed something on the ground.

His own vision is still obscured by the winter clouds, so he tells the eagle to descend.

As they drop lower, he finally sees a narrow path winding along the flat peak of a hill.

What catches his eye first is a large carriage, surrounded by a scene of devastation.

It looks like the aftermath of a tornado or a firestorm—chaotic and scorched.

He signals the eagle to descend further so he can extend his mental field and investigate the area.

After the investigation.

Merin looks north—the traces of aura left by living beings clearly lead in that direction.

He frowns, confused by what happened here.

He can tell the carriage below is a prison transport, and he’s certain his family was inside.

But someone rescued them.

Scattered around the wreckage are corpses in Sky Sword Sect uniforms, both outer and inner disciples, along with others dressed in black clothing.

Merin gathers all the information he needs in a moment.

Just as he commands the Giant Eagle to fly north in pursuit, he senses a massive fluctuation of natural energy—the kind needed to cast a powerful spell.

Without hesitation, he urges the eagle forward.

Meanwhile, Taiga glances back at the Yao beast chasing them.

He now recognises the pursuer as a member of the Blood Bat Clan, but that information offers them no help in the current moment.

Another glance shows the Blood Bat closing in fast.

Taiga shouts back, “Stop him!”

To his surprise, the Sky Sword Sect disciples are the first to react.

He expected only the Night Guards to obey, and they do—turning their gryphons around to intercept Vale.

But the Sky Sword disciples respond just as quickly.

Taiga mutters, surprised, “They must be dead men, trained to obey the sect even in death.”

Dark wings blur through the night as the Night Guards dive from the sky, cloaked in black armour atop their shadowy gryphons, their eyes locked on the incoming Yao.

Above them, the Sky Sword Sect disciples descend in waves, riding cloud serpents, each one carrying two or three cultivators—spell formations glowing faintly in their hands.

Vale doesn’t slow.

The air vibrates with incantations.

Blades of wind, arcs of fire, and spears of ice shoot toward him from all directions.

Dozens of coordinated attacks light up the sky like falling stars.

But Vale is already gone.

One instant he’s ahead of the first wave—then he vanishes in a flicker of motion.

Next, a Night Guard’s chest caves inward as Vale passes through him, leaving a spray of blood midair.

A disciple shouts, trying to turn his serpent. Vale’s hand crushes his throat before the scream finishes.

Spell circles flare—instantly broken.

Cloud serpents cry out and fall, some pierced along with their riders, others veering away in panic.

Vale weaves through the chaos with terrifying ease, his wings carving the air like black blades.

He doesn’t use spells.

He doesn’t need to.

He moves faster than they can react, striking with a speed that seems unreal.

A spear of light meets his body—Vale doesn’t even flinch.

The attack bounces off his skin without a scratch.

He catches the caster’s arm mid-chant and rips it free.

In moments, the defenders are no more.

A dozen bodies spiral downward.

Blood rains silently.

Dark Gryphons fall riderless, cloud serpents scream in retreat.

The sky stills again, save for one figure—Vale, untouched, wings spread wide, eyes locked ahead.

He resumes his chase.

Taiga glances back—nothing fills the sky but Vale, gliding silently behind them.

Only three Night Guards remain, flying beside him on their dark gryphons, each carrying a member of Kanoru’s family.

One of the guards asks, “Highness, what do we do?”

Another mutters, “Highness… give them to him. Your life matters more.”

Yes. He could hand them over and live.

But it would be a borrowed life.

Kanoru would never forgive him—not for this.

Not when Kanoru’s family dies because of a trap meant to force his surrender.

And Taiga knows, if he hadn’t let the Sky Sword Sect act against Kanoru, none of this would have happened.

There are two paths before him.

Die here, protecting the people of his kingdom.

Or live as a coward, only to be hunted down later by Kanoru.

One is a death of self-sacrifice.

The other—a death steeped in guilt and shame.

He chooses.

“Land,” Taiga says.

A guard protests, “Highness—”

But Taiga ignores him, steering his gryphon downward.

The guards follow.

He leaps off, feet hitting the ground hard.

He turns to face Vale.

From the sky, the blood-winged Yao descends slowly, landing with quiet steps, his expression calm and amused.

Taiga doesn’t flinch.

He’s already begun channelling the forbidden technique, his body swelling, aura surging violently.

He’s burning everything—life, blood, soul.

Ascension Realm.

His flesh reddens, muscle grows dense, and his form expands until he towers like a crimson giant.

Every heartbeat shakes the earth beneath him.

“I’ll tear something off you before I die,” Taiga mutters.

And then he charges.

Taiga crashes forward like a boulder hurled from the heavens, the ground trembling with every step of his towering red form. He swings a fist—Vale dodges, but barely. The second strike grazes his shoulder, sending a shockwave rippling through the air. Vale skids back, wings flaring, eyes narrowing as he reassesses this transformed opponent.

Taiga doesn’t let up. He lunges, slams his fists, drives knee and elbow with savage precision.

Vale blocks with his arms, parries with quick steps, but Taiga’s raw strength bends the earth around them. Each blow explodes like a thunderclap, the earth cracking beneath their feet.

For a moment—a rare moment—Vale is on the defensive.

But time is not Taiga’s ally.

The forbidden technique devours his life with every second.

Already, his heartbeat staggers. His movements slow.

He lands a punch that sends Vale crashing into a tree.

But the recoil snaps something inside him.

His knees buckle.

His massive red form begins to shrink.

Muscles deflate.

The glow fades.

Wrinkles appear like cracks in glass.

His black hair bleaches to white.

He falls to one knee, gasping.

His eyes lift—Vale stands up, brushing off blood from his lip. A shallow cut marks his chest, but that’s all.

Taiga exhales, bitterly amused.

So that was all. His death… a gesture.

Still, let them say he tried.

Let it be remembered he didn’t run.

As Vale walks toward him, step by calm step, Taiga closes his eyes.

Then Vale stops.

His brows knit. He turns his head slightly.

A voice drifts from the sky—

“Sleep.”

Vale’s eyes widen—then droop.

His wings fall limp.

His legs falter.

And like a puppet with cut strings, he collapses, unconscious.

Taiga watches it happen, his fading mind struggling to believe.

Then darkness claims him too.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep