After Hong uploaded a newly optimized cultivation manual to the Limit Hall's central database, his virtual intelligence pushed it to the back-end systems of other martial organizations around the world.
Naturally, when a technique came recommended directly by Hong—the number one human on Earth—everyone paid attention.
That's why rumors started swirling within Thunder Martial Hall: someone had reworked Thunder God's signature force-based blade technique—the Ninefold Thunder Blade—and created a completely new style based on it.
When the new manual titled "Refined Ninefold Thunder Blade" appeared in the Thunder Martial Hall's database, most martial artists were stunned. At first, few believed it. But rumors don't grow from nothing. Word had it that even Hong had verified and endorsed the new manual.
That's when things changed.
One warrior, a long-time practitioner of the original Ninefold Thunder Blade, bought the new version. Not long after, he broke through to the next force realm.
That event sent shockwaves through Thunder Martial Hall.
The most startling part? The warrior had discovered that Thunder God's original Ninefold Thunder Blade had flaws.
This was hard to swallow. Thunder God was the absolute peak of force cultivation. Even Hong had said he couldn't match Thunder God in that regard.
But now? Evidence suggested Thunder God had been walking the wrong path. The idea shook the martial world—and especially Thunder God's followers—to the core.
What made it worse: the person who fixed it—Wei Wen—was young. Very young. His name and background weren't exactly a secret.
When the data came in, it was obvious. Wei Wen wasn't just gifted. He was possibly the most talented force-user in Earth's history.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Inside a sealed chamber, Thunder God opened his eyes, frowning. Someone was banging on the door to his secluded training room—something that simply didn't happen unless it was urgent.
"What is it?" he said calmly.
A God of War-level subordinate bowed deeply. "Hall Master, a new force manual just appeared on Earth. It's said to be an evolved form of your Ninefold Thunder Blade."
Thunder God's eyes narrowed. "Oh? And?"
"We tried it. Briefly. It's… incredible. The technique is shockingly refined."
Thunder God pushed open the heavy chamber door. "You're telling me someone improved my technique? Made it better?"
The subordinate hesitated. "We can't say for sure. But you'll understand when you see it." He handed over the data slate with the Refined Ninefold Thunder Blade loaded onto it.
Thunder God scanned it.
His eyes lit up instantly.
A few seconds passed in total silence.
Then: "What the hell…?"
His voice was barely a whisper. He sucked in a breath. His expression twisted into something between awe and disbelief.
The God of War next to him could feel it—Thunder God, a man who could control every muscle in his body down to a microscopic degree, had just shivered. Reflexively. That never happened.
And that reaction said everything.
Thunder God, creator of the original Ninefold Thunder Blade, was speechless.
After studying the Refined version in silence, his brow furrowed. He knew this technique better than anyone. And what he was seeing now wasn't just an upgrade—it was correction.
The Refined Ninefold Thunder Blade looked more complex at first glance. But to Thunder God, its structure was clearly simpler—more logical, more elegant. He saw it instantly: his own method had gone astray. No wonder he'd hit bottlenecks.
"I don't know how he created this…" Thunder God muttered.
"But this—this is what a flawless force technique should look like. My original version is nowhere near this level."
He sighed, lost in thought.
"If I'd had this kind of clarity years ago… if someone had guided me down this path back then… my Thunder Force would've gone far beyond nine levels."
He kept flipping through the manual. Every concept Wei Wen laid out hit him like a revelation. He'd been fumbling through the dark for years, developing techniques through pure intuition. Now it felt like someone had finally handed him a map.
But then—
"Damn it…"
Thunder God frowned again.
"It only has three levels?"
Relief washed over him, and he let out a dry chuckle.
"Good. Only three levels. If this kid had fixed all nine, I'd have to bury my head in shame."
Still, even just the first three levels showed him the path forward. Wei Wen hadn't just corrected his work—he'd revealed the core truth of force blade cultivation.
In that moment, Thunder God stopped seeing Wei Wen as a mere prodigy.
To him, Wei Wen had become a beacon, a pioneer—someone who could lead Earth's force cultivators into a new era.
Meanwhile, Wei Wen was just beginning his new life at the Elite Training Camp. As a newly accepted student, he was ranked 181—an odd number.
According to the camp's system, students with odd rankings would venture into the Wilderness Zones to hunt monsters on odd-numbered days, and remain in the camp to train on even-numbered days.
Just like that, it was September 1st—an odd day.
Wei Wen joined the other odd-numbered students as they headed toward City 1001, a ruined urban zone about 300 kilometers from the training camp.
A satellite monitored City 1001 from orbit. Every student had to hunt there. It was the rule—for safety, and to prevent cheating.
Battle points were the currency of the training camp. Your rank depended on them. But to keep things fair, the camp strictly forbade students from transferring monster materials between each other. Anyone caught cheating would be expelled immediately.
Killing a fellow student? That was punishable by execution.
Pfft!
A razor-sharp silver streak tore through the air. Wei Wen's SS-rank flying knife shot cleanly through the head of a massive bull-like monster, its skull crushed before it hit the ground.
Despite not having reached the Planetary Rank, Wei Wen could fly—thanks to his powerful spiritual force as a Psyker.
Other students worried about being surrounded by monster hordes. Not Wei Wen.
His spiritual power was already close to High God of War level, and he had a 6x force amplification technique. His efficiency was insane. He racked up battle points faster than almost anyone else.
"I've already got 1,000 points," he muttered to himself. "If I took down a couple Lord-level monsters, I could skyrocket my score."
The point system worked like this:
Each monster had intrinsic value.
Plus, you earned bonus battle points based on its level.
Bonus battle points:
Low Commander: +1 point
Mid Commander: +10 points
High Commander: +100 points
Low Lord: +1,000 points
And so on...
If Wei Wen hunted two Low Lord monsters, he'd gain 2,000 battle points. Multiply that by his force amplification and tower rating, and he could instantly hit 39,200 points.
But there was a catch.
He hadn't yet updated his official force rating. If he turned in the corpses of two Lord-level monsters, it would expose him as having God of War-level strength, triggering a forced graduation from the camp.
And that? That would be dumb.
Because the Elite Training Camp wasn't just a school. It was Earth's most advanced hub for cultivation: top-tier gear, elite instructors, endless resources.
Only a fool would rush to leave that behind.
Each month, students competed to rack up the most points. At midnight on the 29th, the scores reset, and rankings—and rewards—were recalculated.
Then, the whole thing started over.
That's why the pressure never stopped.
The game was constant—and Wei Wen had just begun to play.