That day, the alchemy halls of Azure Dragon Sky Sect trembled.
Haotian never once lit a cauldron. Instead, he stood in the center, sleeves still, hands weaving. Herbs rose in endless streams, unraveling into threads of colored essence that danced above his palms. His right hand gathered, his left hand sealed. Spheres formed, split, condensed. Flawless pills fell like rain into jade bottles, then into baskets, then into crates, until the attendants could scarcely keep up.
Morning became afternoon, then bled into night, but still he did not stop. Healing Pills and Spirit Recovery Pills came first by the hundreds of thousands. Next, Crystal Vein Pills, shining faintly with the glow of pure qi veins. Then Detoxifying Pills, their emerald sheen carrying cleansing power. Round after round, batch after batch, with no fire, no furnace, no pause.
By the end of the day, the tally was whispered in disbelief.
"Over one million…?""No… one point three million…"
The sect vaults, once cavernous and echoing, now brimmed with bottles stacked floor to ceiling. Vault keepers who had guarded shelves with a few dozen precious jars now stared at walls lined with glittering jade containers, each filled with hundreds of perfect pills.
Disciples sat on the floor outside the halls, their legs numb, staring blankly into space. Some laughed hollowly, others cried. One muttered, "A single day… he's done more than all of us combined in our lifetimes."
An elder, face pale, whispered, "This… this isn't alchemy. This is creation itself. The sect's foundations just leapt forward a hundred years."
And yet Haotian stood calm amidst it all, his voice steady as he sealed the final batch into a bottle.
"These will not be treasures to hoard," he said softly. "They are weapons against despair. When the demons rise, let every soldier, every disciple, every sect stand armed with life itself."
He set the final bottle aside. His eyes gleamed faintly with exhaustion, but his hands never shook.
That day would be remembered not as the day of alchemy, but as the day the Azure Dragon Vaults overflowed.
The sect master and the Four Saint Dragons stood at the highest balcony overlooking the alchemy halls. For three days and nights, they had listened to the steady rhythm of pills condensing and bottles being sealed. For three days and nights, disciples and elders staggered in and out, carrying crates to the vaults, only to return and find more waiting.
By the end of the first week, their sect no longer whispered numbers. They screamed them.
"Another five hundred thousand—!""We've passed nine million!""Eleven million… by the Heavens, over eleven million!"
The sect vaults, once proud for their modest stores, had transformed into overflowing mountains of jade bottles. Healing pills, Spirit Recovery pills, Crystal Vein pills, Detoxifying pills—varieties upon varieties, each batch producing hundreds, sometimes thousands, from only a handful of herbs.
The disciples cried, laughed, and despaired in equal measure. Some collapsed in meditation circles, swearing to abandon alchemy altogether. Others begged to be taught even a shadow of what they had seen. The ratio of efficiency to resources—unheard of, impossible, yet undeniable—drove them half-mad with envy.
The Sect Master at last spoke, her voice low, shaken. "In my three hundred years, I have seen great masters refine pills, and I have seen legends written in fire and smoke. But never…" She gripped the railing, knuckles white. "…never has a man reshaped the foundations of alchemy itself."
The Dragon Saint Ancestor Yangshen nodded gravely. "With this alone, the Azure Dragon Sky Sect's strength has leapt a century ahead. When war comes, we will not fear exhaustion. Even our weakest disciples can recover, fight, and recover again."
Ancestor Yuying exhaled sharply, her eyes shining with restrained awe. "This method… if it spread, entire continents would collapse into chaos. Armies would be born overnight. Our enemies would be undone by supply alone."
Ancestor Jinahi's lips curled into the faintest smile. "And yet it belongs to him. To our Saint Son."
Ancestor Meiyun turned, her gaze steady on the man in the hall, hands moving without pause. "It is as if fate itself armed him. And us."
Down below, Haotian capped another bottle, set it aside, and finally looked up toward the balcony. For the first time that week, he allowed himself a faint smile.
"You see?" he called, his voice carrying easily. "I wasn't busy making a harem."
The alchemy hall erupted into startled laughter. Some disciples choked, others slapped their foreheads. Even the stern Sect Master raised a hand to her lips to hide a twitch of amusement, while Ancestor Jinahi barked a laugh so sharp it echoed off the stone pillars.
Haotian lowered his gaze again, hands already moving to gather the next set of herbs. His expression returned to calm focus. "I was busy making this."
For seven days and nights, the alchemy halls thundered with light. Disciples carried crates until their legs gave out, elders staggered under the weight of jade bottles, and the vault keepers wept openly as their once-spacious stores became choked with mountains of pills.
Eleven million.That was the final count.Eleven million flawless pills refined in one week by a single man.
Healing Pills. Spirit Recovery Pills. Crystal Vein Pills. Detoxifying Pills. More varieties than the stewards could catalog. Every batch that should have yielded one or two instead produced hundreds. The efficiency was madness; the output, beyond reason.
From the high balcony above the hall, the Sect Master of Azure Dragon Sky Sect—a man whose Saint Realm aura alone commanded continents—stood with his arms folded. He had lived through centuries of war and glory, seen sects rise and collapse, but even his expression betrayed awe.
"This…" His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. "…this overturns alchemy itself. If one man can do this in a week, then the Azure Dragon Sky Sect has already stepped a hundred years ahead of every rival."
Ancestor Yangshen inclined his head gravely. "And when the demons rise, our disciples will never lack the pills to stand again."
Ancestor Yuying clasped her hands behind her back, her tone sharp. "If word of this leaves our gates, every sect on the continent will lose their minds. Armies could be rebuilt overnight. No siege would hold. No clan could withstand such supply."
Ancestor Jinahi smirked faintly. "And yet this secret lies in the hands of one man—our Saint Son."
Ancestor Meiyun, the calmest of the four, said quietly, "It is not just alchemy. It is creation. He was chosen not for pride, but for burden. Perhaps fate itself armed him for what is to come."
Down in the hall, Haotian capped another jade bottle and finally looked up, sensing the weight of their gazes. His lips curved into a slight, knowing smile.
"You see?" his voice rang clear, cutting through the murmurs. "I wasn't busy making a harem."
For a breath, silence ruled the hall—then laughter broke like a wave. Disciples stumbled, some choking, others clutching their heads in disbelief. Elders groaned, half laughing, half despairing. Even the grim Sect Master let out a short, sharp exhale that might have been amusement, though he covered it with a cough.
Haotian's eyes lowered again, his hands already weaving seals, drawing essence threads into another sphere. His tone was calm, matter-of-fact.
"I was busy making this."
When the last jade bottle was placed into the sect's overflowing vault, Haotian turned his gaze elsewhere. Pills could mend wounds, restore qi, and buy time in war—but against the coming tide, he needed more than healing. He needed weapons.
With the Azure Dragon Sky Sect's resources at his disposal—mountains of spirit stones, rare metals, and rune-forged ink—Haotian began his next great task.
On the first dawn, disciples awoke to find him striding along the sect's outer ridges, hands weaving seal after seal, his qi pouring into the earth itself. He did not explain. He did not need to. Soon, the perimeter of the sect glowed with faint lines of runes, like a dragon's skeleton traced into the mountains and valleys.
"This isn't a barrier," whispered one elder as he followed at a distance. "It's… a battlefield."
For eight days, Haotian worked without pause. His right hand dragged lines of golden light into the earth, his left pressed sealing talismans into the ground, each one locking into place like the scale of a beast. Disciples carried ink, ores, and spirit stones in endless streams, only to stare as Haotian consumed them faster than they could be supplied.
The runes spread across valleys, up cliffs, even beneath rivers, forming a vast unseen network. It was not a wall, but a hunting ground.
On the eighth day, the sect gathered in silence as Haotian stood atop the main peak, raising both hands. His eyes blazed faintly with cosmic light as the final rune burned into place, linking the entire sect's perimeter in a single resonant hum.
The mountains shuddered. The skies darkened.
And then—nine colossal flood dragons burst forth from the glowing lines, their bodies coiled of pure qi and rune-light. Each roared, their voices shaking the clouds, their eyes burning with killing intent.
"They're… real?" a disciple gasped, falling to her knees.
"No…" an elder whispered, trembling. "Not real, but not illusion either. Manifestations of the array. Each one… each one radiates the might of a Saint Realm expert."
The dragons circled the sect in perfect unison, their movements aligned with Haotian's seals. When one struck, all nine struck as one. When they roared, the air itself fractured.
The Sect Master's expression tightened. "Each can face a Saint Realm… and together, they could slay one at the peak."
Haotian lowered his hands, and the dragons dissolved back into the earth, the glowing runes dimming until only faint traces remained.
He turned to the assembled elders, his tone calm. "This is only a miniature. I call it the Nine Divine Flying Dragons Array. For the Sea Bridge, I will construct a grand version, layered with hundreds of arrays, each one binding the seal and tearing apart what leaks through."
He looked to the horizon, his eyes cold with resolve.
"This is only the beginning."
For eight days, Haotian carved the heavens into the earth. Every ridge and valley of Azure Dragon Sky Sect's territory bore the marks of his hand: sweeping lines of light, interlocking runes, and embedded talismans that pulsed faintly with restrained qi.
By the time the final rune was pressed into the ground, Haotian exhaled deeply, his robes damp with sweat. Even he, whose body carried three cores, could not maintain such precision without pause. So he left the runes to slumber and withdrew in silence.
On the ninth day, the sect gathered instinctively, sensing the weight of something vast pressing at the edges of their territory.
At dawn, Haotian climbed to the highest peak. His robes fluttered in the mountain wind as he raised his hands, fingers forming rapid seals. With a sharp exhale, his qi burst outward, flooding into the web of lines he had laid.
The mountains rumbled. The valleys trembled.
One by one, thirty-six nodes lit across the landscape, each a qi-gathering formation feeding into the whole. Spirit veins resonated, streams shimmered, and the air thickened until disciples found themselves gasping under the weight of raw energy.
The nodes connected, light flowing like rivers into the heart of the formation. The earth itself seemed to breathe.
Then—suddenly—the killing array awakened.
Lines of runes blazed like fire across mountainsides, binding together with deafening harmony. From the heart of the sect, light erupted skyward, and from that pillar of light surged nine flood dragons, each vast and terrible, their forms woven from qi and rune-fire.
Their roars split the clouds, echoing like thunder across the continent.
"Saint Realm power…" gasped an elder, his knees buckling under the weight of their presence. "Each one carries the strength of an initial Saint Realm expert!"
The dragons coiled, circling the sect in endless flight. Their scales shimmered with killing runes, their claws left trails of tearing wind. And when they struck in unison, their combined might radiated the oppressive weight of a peak Saint Realm cultivator, enough to make even the Sect Master's expression harden.
From the summit, Haotian lowered his hands, his eyes reflecting the dragons circling overhead. His voice cut through the roar.
"This is the Nine Divine Flying Dragons Array. A killing formation meant to protect the sect, a miniature of what I will build at the Sea Bridge. There, it will be vast enough to bind the seal and slay whatever emerges."
The dragons circled once more, then dissolved into motes of qi that sank back into the runes carved into the earth. The glow faded, but the power lingered—a silent promise written into the bones of the land.
Haotian turned, his face calm though his aura still rippled with residual force.
"This is only the first step."
For eight straight days, Haotian worked along the perimeter of Azure Dragon Sky Sect. His figure was seen striding across valleys and ridges, his hands dragging runes of light into the earth, every seal etched with flawless precision. Disciples followed at a distance, carrying spirit stones, inks, and metals, but none dared speak a word. By the time the eighth day closed, the last rune was pressed into the soil, glowing faintly before sinking into silence.
Only then did Haotian finally rest.
On the morning of the ninth day, the sect gathered at the main peak, drawn by the stillness in the air. Haotian stood at the summit, robes stirring in the wind. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then raised both hands. Fingers curled into rapid seals, flowing like water—seal after seal, his qi rising like a tide.
With a sharp breath, Haotian thrust his hands outward. His qi erupted across the land, racing through the network of runes.
At once, thirty-six nodes lit up around the perimeter—chi-gathering formations, each one drawing from spirit veins and rivers of qi. Lines of energy streamed into the greater pattern, weaving into a colossal web that wrapped the sect in a dome of living power.
The air thickened, humming with raw pressure. The earth quaked as the final seals locked into place.
And then—the killing array awakened.
Light surged, and nine colossal flood dragons burst forth from the runes, their forms coiled from pure qi and etched with runic light. They roared as one, their cries shattering the clouds above, their bodies vast enough to circle the sect in endless flight.
Each dragon radiated the power of an Initial Saint Realm cultivator. Their claws raked the sky, their fangs gleamed with killing intent. When they moved together, their presence fused into a crushing tide—might capable of overwhelming even a peak Saint Realm expert.
From the peak, Haotian stood unmoving, his aura steady, his gaze fixed on the circling dragons. His voice rang clear, cutting through the roaring heavens.
"This is the Nine Divine Flying Dragons Array. A killing formation born from my hands. For the Sea Bridge, I will build a grand version—a wall of flood dragons bound in formation, powerful enough to bind the seal and slaughter what emerges."
The dragons circled once more, roaring into the horizon, before dissolving into motes of qi that sank back into the runes etched across the land. The glow faded, but the power lingered, written into the bones of the earth itself.
Haotian lowered his hands, his expression calm though his presence still weighed heavy.
"This is only the beginning."
On the first day, Haotian set foot at the edge of Azure Dragon Sky Sect's territory, his robes billowing in the mountain wind. Without a word, he raised his hand and drew the first line of light into the soil. The rune sank into the ground, glowing faintly, and the work began.
From that moment, the sect held its breath.
For eight days, disciples saw him move ceaselessly—through valleys, over ridges, across riverbeds—each step dragging endless lines of runes that linked mountain to mountain like threads of a vast tapestry. Spirit stones, inks, and ores were delivered by trembling disciples, only to vanish into the ground as Haotian inscribed seal after seal, talisman after talisman.
When the final rune was pressed into the earth on the eighth night, the entire perimeter of the sect glowed faintly, like a dragon's skeleton hidden beneath the mountains. Only then did Haotian step back and allow himself rest.
On the ninth day, the sect gathered in silence at dawn. Everyone's eyes turned to the highest peak, where Haotian stood alone. His hands formed seals faster than mortal eyes could follow, qi surging like a rising tide.
A thunderclap split the sky as his energy poured into the runes.
At once, thirty-six nodes lit across the land, each a chi-gathering formation, pulling from the veins of the earth and sky. Lines of energy surged between them, binding into a single colossal web. The air thickened, the ground trembled, and disciples clutched at their robes as the pressure bore down on them.
Then the main array stirred.
Light blazed, and from the ground erupted nine flood dragons, coiled of pure qi and runic fire. Their roars shook the heavens, their wings swept aside clouds, their presence alone overwhelming.
Each radiated the power of an Initial Saint Realm cultivator. And when they moved as one, the combined might pressed down with the suffocating weight of a peak Saint Realm expert.
Haotian's voice rang across the sect, steady and unshaken.
"This is the Nine Divine Flying Dragons Array. A killing formation. This is but a miniature. At the Sea Bridge, I will build its grand form—one vast enough to bind the seal and slay whatever emerges."
The dragons circled once, then dissolved into motes of light that sank back into the earth. The runes dimmed, but the power lingered, alive in the bones of the land.
Haotian lowered his hands, his breath calm.
"This is only the beginning."
The sect had gone mad with celebration. Vaults once echoing with emptiness now groaned under the weight of jade bottles. Elders wept openly. Disciples cried out, declaring the name of their Saint Son in awe and disbelief. Eleven million pills in a single week—an achievement that turned centuries of alchemy upside down.
But Haotian only smiled faintly.
He didn't linger in the cheering halls, nor sit to receive the endless stream of praise. Once his hands were clean of ink and essence threads, his eyes turned not to the pill vault but to the horizon.
"There's still more to be done," he murmured.
For healing pills could only prepare warriors. They could not stop what was coming.
So he moved on to his next task.
On the first day, he stood at the sect's outer ridges and pressed the first rune into the ground. Light sank into the soil like the scale of a sleeping dragon. Disciples whispered, realizing their Saint Son had already turned to formation work.
For eight days, Haotian inscribed the land, linking runes across valleys, rivers, and cliffs. His qi never wavered, his seals never faltered. By the eighth night, the perimeter of Azure Dragon Sky Sect shimmered faintly with sleeping power, like veins glowing beneath skin.
Only then did he allow himself a single night of rest.
On the ninth day, at dawn, he climbed the mountain peak. His robes whipped in the cold air as his hands flew through seals. With a shout, his qi burst outward, racing through the runes like fire down a fuse.
Thirty-six nodes of chi-gathering formations lit at once, pouring energy into the greater array. The land shook, the air grew heavy, and the main killing array awakened—summoning nine flood dragons whose roars shook the clouds from the heavens.