In the Divine World, Merin’s link with the sliver of consciousness lasts for centuries, guiding him silently through the depths of cultivation.

But when he begins preparing to step into the fourth stage, the link grows thin, fading little by little, until only the faintest trace remains.

Now, all he can sense is that the conscious clone still lives somewhere, but nothing more.

The day of his advance comes like any other, a blistering summer day beneath a burning sun.

Yet as the moment approaches, the sky suddenly darkens, thunderclouds surging as if summoned by his very breath.

They gather with terrifying force above the Royal Palace, lightning flashing across the heavens.

Merin rises swiftly from his throne room, his figure streaking into the distance before the cloud swallows the palace whole.

The dark thunder roars and pursues him, a predator unwilling to let him go.

He leads it far away, flying across mountains and plains, until at last he stops above a vast, endless ocean.

The air turns heavy, pressure pressing down on his chest as the tribulation cloud forms fully above him.

Merin releases his aura; his challenge is sent directly to the heavens themselves.

A deafening crack splits the sky, and the first bolt of lightning descends.

It slams against a glowing barrier above his head, sparks scattering like broken stars.

The barrier holds.

It is the plane barrier of his demi-plane, its very essence rising to shield its master.

Again and again the lightning falls, each strike fiercer than the last, but still the barrier endures.

On the twenty-first strike, the heavens roar with greater fury, and the barrier finally shatters.

The backlash slams into Merin’s body, spreading from his demi-plane and tearing through his bones and veins.

His face twists in pain, but he does not fall.

If his connection to the consciousness clone had endured, he would have inherited the memory of how to cross this tribulation without injury.

But that knowledge is lost to him now.

Breathing hard, Merin gathers spiritual energy to mend his wounds, the light around him flickering unsteadily.

Then the twenty-second bolt comes.

A dark-purple streak of destruction tears through the clouds, descending like the wrath of the heavens themselves.

Merin draws his sword and slashes upward, his strike meeting the thunder head-on.

The moment steel touches lightning, the weapon explodes into countless fragments, scattering into the ocean below.

The thunder smashes into him, coursing through every vein, every bone, every nerve.

His body convulses, blood sprays from his lips, yet his will does not falter.

Within the raging current, something stirs.

The lightning law within Merin twists and reshapes, no longer a borrowed fragment, but something fusing with the laws of this world.

Sparks crackle across his body, racing along his skin like living veins of fire.

Pain still gnaws at him, yet his eyes shine with a brilliance that outshines the storm.

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Confidence swells inside him, steady and unshakable.

He lifts his head, gaze locked on the dark clouds above.

The heavens rumble— the twenty-third thunder gathers, heavier than all that came before.

But before it falls, countless runes begin to shimmer above Merin’s head.

One by one, they appear— first a dozen, then a hundred, then thousands, weaving together in an intricate tapestry.

The glowing symbols shift, bend, and converge until their shape resembles the great shell of a turtle.

The phantom grows clearer, each rune locking into place as if the heavens themselves are sketching its form.

Merin narrows his eyes, then presses his palm forward.

“Array Spirit.”

His will pours into the construct, and the rune-turtle trembles.

Its eyes flare with ancient light.

It roars, the sound echoing across the ocean like a living beast awakened from slumber.

The twenty-third thunder crashes down.

It slams into the turtle with a force that could shatter mountains, but the beast meets it head-on, its shell blazing with layers of runic light.

The sky and sea shake violently as thunder and array spirit clash.

Far away, two figures hover above the horizon, their robes billowing in the storm winds.

Mia grips her mother, Aurora’s sleeve tightly, her eyes wide with fear and awe.

“Mother,” she whispers, “do I also have to face thunder tribulation when I advance to stage four?”

Aurora keeps her gaze on the roaring heavens, her expression calm.

“No, child. Thunder tribulation belongs to mortal races that struggle to escape their destiny. We of the longevity race walk a different path.”

She gently strokes Mia’s hair, her voice steady even as lightning tears the sky apart.

“We can advance to stage four even in our sleep.”

The rune turtle resists for only a breath.

Then, under the weight of the twenty-third thunder, its shell fractures like glass.

Runes scatter into sparks, fading into the storm.

The weakened thunder crashes through the broken defence and slams into Merin’s body.

His muscles tear, bones crack, and blood sprays into the sky.

Raging arcs of lightning burrow into him, clawing through his veins like serpents of fire.

Yet Merin does not falter.

He grits his teeth, sits cross-legged in the void, and forces the wild energy into order.

Each breath refines thunder into essence.

Each heartbeat dissolves pain into comprehension.

It feels as if the heavens themselves whisper to him, etching new truths into his soul.

The law of lightning blooms in his mind—layer after layer, deeper and sharper than before.

Carrying this momentum, he endures the twenty-fourth strike.

Then the twenty-fifth.

And the twenty-sixth.

Each one cuts him open, but each one also forges him stronger, like iron beaten under endless hammers.

At last, the twenty-seventh thunder descends.

The sky splits apart as a bolt of pure pitch-black lightning roars into existence.

It crashes down with the weight of a collapsing world.

Merin raises his arms, his aura flaring—then the strike swallows him whole.

His body is hurled from the sky, smashing deep into the ocean’s bedrock.

For days, black lightning churns within him, tearing him apart from the inside.

When even his immortal body begins to collapse, he releases the only shield left—his demi-plane.

The plane spreads around him like a second skin, slowing the thunder’s destruction.

Inside, the fragments of his soul command the lightning law, drawing in the violent power and tempering it.

The struggle rages for seven days and seven nights.

At dawn on the eighth, the sea stirs.

From its depths, Merin rises.

His wounds are gone, his aura sharper than ever, his eyes flickering with arcs of purple-gold lightning.

A month passes.

He leaves the Divine World behind.

For the first time, his feet touch the edge of infinity.

He stands in the void ocean.

Stars drift like lanterns, and worlds float like scattered continents in the dark.

But the void ocean is no gentle sea.

It is endless, without compass or direction.

One may wander millions of years without finding a single world—

Or collide head-on with a speeding realm.

It is as dangerous as it is unpredictable, where monsters stalk the currents and civilisations clash like storms.

Merin gazes into the abyss, his expression calm.

“Now… where to go?”

A familiar voice echoes inside Merin’s mind, low and steady, “Why not come to my city?”

Merin’s eyes narrow.

The offer is tempting, but he has no wish to become someone else’s experiment.

“Is there any reason for this invitation?”

A chuckle ripples through his consciousness. “You are smart.”

Silence follows, heavy and deliberate, until the voice speaks again.

“I need your help.”

Merin frowns. “I have only just advanced to stage four. ”

My true spirit has yet to transform, and I must return to my main body before I can truly step into this realm. I also need to settle this body and find a way out for the citizens of the Dream Kingdom inside my demi-plane.

He wonders, then adds, “You must be far stronger than I. How could I possibly help you?”

The voice answers plainly, “You want to know my stage? I am in stage six.”

Merin’s thoughts tighten.

Stage six.

Even a breath from such an existence could shatter him.

To refuse this invitation would be foolish.

He bows his head slightly toward the void and speaks with respect.

“Senior, which direction is your city? I will come at once.”

The voice replies, “Cross the void passage.”

Merin glances around.

Endless darkness stretches in all directions.

Only behind him does the faint glow of the Divine World linger.

“In front of you,” the voice says.

At that moment, the void stirs.

Like waves rising in a storm, the space before him churns and twists.

A whirlpool forms, spinning wider, until a black passage tears open in the darkness.

Merin does not hesitate.

He steps forward and disappears into the passage.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep