Lin Shu nodded, but he didn't head toward the Floor of Secrets. Instead, he inquired about any upcoming auctions. The agent answered that one would be held in a week's time—organized by none other than the Mistveil Serpents, the very group whose domain Lin Shu currently stood in.
Lin Shu pressed further, asking about its location. The man replied calmly, "Entry requires a payment of five hundred gold coins. The event is exclusive."
Lin Shu agreed without hesitation. After the exchange, he was handed a token and a map leading to the auction's venue—hidden within this very place. It was an opportunity he could not afford to miss if he wanted to solve his problem.
As he left, however, he took stock of his dwindling resources. His wealth had already been thinned by the cost of entering the city, gathering intelligence on the West, and securing information about the Valor Arena. From what had once been a decent sum, only thirty-five hundred gold coins remained. Now, after the auction fee, he was reduced to three thousand.
Still, he wasn't entirely without leverage. The seven Bluesky Shards remained untouched in his possession. He had no intention of wasting them here; in fact, for the first time, he thought he might have found a far better use for them.
With those thoughts lingering, Lin Shu stepped out of the valley's shadow, the token weighing in his hand like a promise of what was to come.
Lin Shu left, his thoughts caught between choices. Should he wait for the auction to begin, or step into the Valor Arena now? He weighed the paths carefully. Entering the arena without a way to fully wield his powers would be reckless. If he failed to find what he sought at the event, his appearance in the arena would have been for nothing.
Better to hold back. If the auction failed him, there would still be another road—work in the shadows. As an assassin or lone mercenary, he could move unseen, take contracts, and keep his abilities concealed. That life would suit him until he was ready to bare his strength openly.
For now, training came first. Lin Shu made his way to a facility, rented a private room, and shut himself inside.
His goal was clear: mastery of the Lightning Fang Surge. Until now, he had never controlled it with precision. Each time he unleashed it, the entire store of lightning roared out, forcing the technique to explode at peak-tier strength. That gave him a devastating strike—but left him rigid, predictable, drained.
What he wanted was control. If he could divide the surge, release only a portion at a time, then one peak-tier attack might instead become two or even three high-tier strikes. Against a crowd of enemies, that versatility could prove far deadlier than a single overwhelming blow.
He sat cross-legged on the mat, lightning crackling faintly beneath his skin, and began the arduous work of bending the storm inside him to his will.
A week passed, and Lin Shu's training bore fruit. He had managed to split the Lightning Fang Surge into two strikes, each carrying the strength of a high-tier technique that nearly brushed peak-tier. He was certain that with more time, he could refine it further—three strikes instead of two—but for now, this level of control was enough. He was satisfied.
It was time for the auction.
He made his way to the Mistveil Serpents' current base, where masked figures filed in one after another. Every attendee hid their face, protecting identity and status alike. Lin Shu, having already paid the steep 500 gold entry, was led inside and guided to a private chamber tied to the number etched on his token.
The room was sparse but quiet. Before him lay a communication device—his lifeline in this gathering. When his turn came, he would speak through it, state what he had to offer, and declare what he wanted. Unlike the last auction he had attended, this one did not require placing items upfront; here, secrecy was preserved. Only when an offer matched a request would the real exchange occur.
Soon, the event began. A host welcomed them briefly, then took his position. His task was simple: call each number in turn, listen to their offer, and direct the flow of bids.
Lin Shu's number was twenty-six. He sat back, silent, listening as treasures shifted hands. Techniques, artifacts, materials, and weapons of staggering rarity were announced. Once, a peak-tier technique appeared—its starting price fifty aether shards. Yet no one purchased it. Perhaps it was too costly, perhaps its use too narrow.
Still, each deal reminded Lin Shu of all the things he lacked, and of the one thing he needed most. He forced himself not to stray. "I must not be tempted. Only a method to disguise the bones."
One by one, the numbers ticked past. Finally, his turn came.
The host's voice rang out: "Number twenty-six. State your offer."
Lin Shu leaned toward the device and spoke clearly:
"I am willing to offer BlueSky Aether Shards in exchange for a technique that can layer or transform bones into another material for defense."
Silence.
The room on his side felt heavy, and for a moment Lin Shu thought no one would answer. But then, a calm voice spoke:
"I have such a technique. It is incomplete. In its full form, it reforges both skin and bones into steel. But I possess only the fragment for bones."
Lin Shu's eyes narrowed. "An incomplete peak-tier technique… Without the skin portion, it loses half its strength. Even if it is what I seek, it is no longer worth the value of a peak-tier art."
The man chuckled. "Naturally. I never intended to sell it as a true peak-tier technique. But as you well know, Aether Shards are strictly traded only for peak-tier arts and above. So I will ask for five shards in exchange… and to balance the trade, I will add something else."
Lin Shu's tone sharpened. "And what would that be?"
"Mid-tier techniques," the man replied smoothly. "I have several. Tell me the kind of ability you require, and we shall see."
Lin Shu's mind worked quickly. There were many gaps in his arsenal—tracking, assassination, surveillance. Each would help him differently, but one mattered most: survival. If he could remain unseen, he could avoid ambush, strike first, and retreat when needed.
"I want a technique that allows me to remain unnoticed."
The man laughed, low and knowing. "Fortunate. I have precisely such a thing. A technique called Chameleon. With it, your skin will blend with your surroundings. As long as you remain still, the naked eye will never see you. Only investigative techniques can uncover you then."
The box of shards felt heavier than its weight as Lin Shu placed it into the attendant's hands. Moments later, another box was returned to him, containing his personal belongings. He opened it with urgent precision, eyes scanning through each item as though a single missing piece would unravel his entire path. Once satisfied, he slipped everything into his spatial ring and left without a word.
The training facility awaited him, a silent chamber where distractions could not crawl. He had no time to waste. The Valor Arena would demand his strength soon, and if he entered without preparation, his name would be carved into failure.
From his ring, he drew out a torn scroll. The edges were frayed, the ink faded, but the words burned with a savage clarity. It was not a complete manual, merely a fragment, yet within its verses lay the secret of coating one's bones in steel through Qi.
Steelcore Art.
A Peak-Tier Rank 1 technique.
Unlike permanent refinements that shaped the body forever, this was an art of control. With Qi, one could forge the marrow, sheath the bones, and harden the skeleton into a foundation of steel — not unbreakable, but formidable. The moment the user's Qi wanted to stop it he could make the dissolve, leaving only flesh and bone once more. To master it required endless tempering: pouring Qi through the body's hidden channels, layer by layer, until the structure could bear the weight of its own transformation.
Lin Shu sat cross-legged, the scroll before him, and began.
Qi flowed into his spine first, a steady stream pressing against bone. At once, resistance lashed back — his body was not ready. Agony seared along his skeleton, as though every rib and joint was being hammered by unseen blacksmiths. His jaw clenched, but his gaze remained calm, empty. Pain had long ago ceased to be a stranger.
The first week was failure. Each attempt left his body trembling, bones creaking under strain as if they would snap rather than harden. He could summon fragments of steel reinforcement — an arm bone, a shoulder, perhaps part of his ribs — but the moment he tried to connect them, the Qi scattered like shattered glass.
By the second week, his control sharpened. He learned to breathe with the flow of Qi, sending it not in floods but in rivulets, precise as threads weaving through bone. Hours became days, days bled into nights. His meals were small, his rest shallow, every waking breath bent upon the steel.
By the third week, success gleamed at the edges of his failure. His forearms gleamed faintly beneath his skin, a cold metallic pulse thrumming when he struck the stone wall of the chamber. The impact rang like iron against iron, his bones no longer flesh alone. He dissolved the art, then summoned it again, each time faster, sharper.
Yet true mastery was not partial. The Steelcore Art demanded wholeness. Until his entire skeleton sang with steel, the technique was incomplete.
For two more weeks, he endured. Each night, sweat pooled beneath him, his breath ragged, the chamber echoing with the faint hum of Qi striking bone. But slowly, surely, the resonance grew stronger.
On the thirty-second day, he stood. With a thought, the Steelcore Art roared to life. From skull to toe, his skeleton burned with Qi-forged steel, his body weight heavier yet balanced, each step carrying a metallic echo within. He struck his palm against the chamber wall, and the stone cracked. A faint smile ghosted his lips — not of joy, but of grim acknowledgment. One art was his.
But another trial remained.
From his ring, he pulled a thin booklet: Chameleon Skin, a Mid-Tier Rank 1 technique. Unlike the steel bones, this one was artful, deceptive. By adjusting Qi across the skin, one could shift their color, dull their presence, and vanish into the background like a shadow dissolving into dusk.
The first attempt was a disaster. His Qi surged wildly, making his skin flicker in uneven patches — one arm pale as ash, the other still normal. He looked less like a phantom and more like a diseased wretch. He dissolved the art, started again, and failed again.
Days bled into weeks. Thirty-three failures carved themselves into his memory, each one more frustrating than the last. His control over brute force arts was strong, but to spread Qi so delicately, to weave it into the surface of his flesh, was a torment unlike any other.
On the thirty-fourth day, something changed. Sitting in silence, his breathing low, he allowed his Qi to seep outward like water across a still pond. Instead of forcing it, he guided it gently, letting the flow wrap his body in seamless layers. His skin dulled, the edges of his figure blurred, until his reflection in the chamber's mirror-like stone wall seemed to vanish into the backdrop.
When he stepped into the corner, he was gone. Only the faint ripple of Qi betrayed his existence but even that would need techniques of the same rank to expose.
Lin Shu exhaled, dissolving the art. For the first time in weeks, a flicker of satisfaction stirred within him. Steel within, shadow without.
The Valor Arena awaited.
Lin Shu extended his hand, summoning forth the towering ivory monolith that erupted behind him. From its glow, his ivory armor spread across his frame, cold and merciless in its sheen. But he wasn't finished. With a breath that trembled with both exhaustion and exhilaration, he willed the Steelcore Art into motion.
A sickening sound echoed from within his body as steel grew from his very bones, pushing outward and fusing with the ivory plates. The pale brilliance of his armor darkened into the terrible luster of tempered steel. What emerged was not a man, nor a mere cultivator, but something far more dreadful—a monstrous statue of steel and ivory, every contour sharpened into a nightmare made real.
Lin Shu threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming, unrestrained, as if the heavens themselves should tremble before his madness.
"I DID IT! I FINALLY DID IT ! I HAVE COMBINED TWO PEAK-TIER ARTS AND A HIGH-TIER ART INTO ONE! THIS—THIS THING I'VE FORGED—I DARE SAY IT'S WORTHY OF BEING A RANK 2 LOW-TIER TECHNIQUE!" His voice shook with savage joy. "And it doesn't even drain me as much as it should! The incomplete Steelcore Art requires less than half the Qi it would normally demand—this armor, this fusion—it is mine!"
The fusion of Ivory Dominion, Steelcore Art, and Thunderforge Physique stood complete. Yet Lin Shu's smile turned sharp, thoughtful.
"But still… this steel armor devours two-thirds of my Qi in one creation. I can only use it once before I'm empty."
Madness seized him. He raised one arm, pointing the jagged gauntlet toward his own chest. Lightning began to snarl around his palm, forming into a raging fang of storming destruction. His grin widened.
"Lightning Fang Surge. This should tear away the steel, and leave the ivory intact."
The heavens cracked. A roar of thunder split the air as lightning slammed into his chest. The explosion sent him hurling backward, crashing through rubble as stone and dust swallowed his figure.
When he rose, staggering from the ruin, the sight was monstrous. The entire steel plating of his chest, shoulder, half his face, and stomach had been obliterated. Yet the ivory armor beneath endured, scarred by burns and lacerated by cracks, but still holding strong. His organs, hardened by ruthless tempering, had withstood the punishment.
Lin Shu looked at himself and began to laugh again, hoarse and wild, his voice shaking with triumph.
"I should easily claim the Golden Rank with this power… this monstrous form… but what shall I call it?"
He clenched his fists, the fractured ivory catching the flicker of residual lightning. The answer came to him, heavy and unstoppable, like the very presence he now embodied.
"Ivory Forge Juggernaut."
The words lingered in the air like a declaration of war.