The chamber air grew heavy after Haotian's words.
Yinxue's eyes, usually calm as winter frost, sharpened into ice-blades. "You went into this knowing it would destroy your body?"
Ziyue leaned closer, her voice trembling between sharp scolding and panic. "You idiot, you can't just— just smile and tell us you broke yourself because of some ancient martial art!"
Shuyue said nothing at first, only clutched his hand tighter, her head bowed, her lips pressed together. Her shoulders shook faintly.
Haotian exhaled, his smile thinning into something more fragile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. But even after speaking with Alter… this was the only choice he gave me to grow strong enough to face what's coming."
Yinxue's eyes narrowed. "The only choice? That doesn't sound like him. What else did he say?"
Haotian's gaze flickered, his lips parting before he fell silent. He turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "…The other choice was…"
He trailed off, words caught in his throat.
"…To merge. His soul with mine. He'd take over completely. I'd disappear, and he would replace me."
The silence that followed was deafening.
All three sisters froze, their breath caught, their eyes wide with shock.
Ziyue was the first to find her voice, and it cracked as she shouted, "You didn't say yes, did you!?"
Haotian's gaze dropped. He didn't answer.
That silence was enough.
"You DID!" Ziyue's face flushed with rage, her hands gripping his collar. "How could you!? Do you have any idea what that means!? We'd lose you! You'd— you'd throw yourself away like nothing!"
Yinxue's mask of frost shattered, her voice rising with a rare edge. "Haotian! To even consider that— how dare you! Do you think we'd accept living with an Alter who wears your face, but isn't you?!"
Shuyue's eyes filled with tears, her grip on his hand tightening as if afraid he'd vanish in that moment. "Senior Brother… no… I don't want another you. I want you."
Their voices layered — sharp, trembling, desperate.
Haotian flinched, looking away, guilt written plain across his face. His voice was hoarse, low. "…If my sacrifice saves all of you… isn't it worth it?"
"No!" they shouted in unison, voices shaking the chamber walls.
The chamber air crackled with tension, heavier than any killing intent. Haotian lay against his pillows, sweat and blood still clinging to him, while the three sisters stood around his bed, faces pale with anger and fear.
Yinxue was the first to break the silence, her frosty calm shattering into something raw. "Do you understand what you're saying, Haotian? That you would vanish? That your soul would sleep forever, and some other being — even if it's Alter — would wear your body, speak with your voice, look at us with your eyes?"
Her voice cracked, just faintly, but enough to betray the storm beneath. "Do you think that's the same? It isn't. We would lose you."
Ziyue's sharp voice cut next, fierce as a whip. "You're a selfish idiot if you think that's acceptable!" Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of his bed. "Do you think we trained, bled, laughed with you all this time just to watch you offer yourself up like some sacrificial lamb? You think we'd bow our heads and smile while another man pretends to be you?"
Her teeth clenched, and her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. "If you disappear, then it doesn't matter what power is gained. It won't be you."
Shuyue's voice was softer, but it struck deeper for its quiet sincerity. She pressed her forehead against his uninjured hand, her small frame trembling. "Senior Brother… you've always carried us forward. But we don't need a god wearing your skin. We need you. Even if you're weaker than an Emperor. Even if you break yourself again and again. As long as it's you."
Her grip tightened on his hand, as if anchoring him in place.
Haotian's chest rose and fell, his golden eyes flickering with guilt and stubborn fire. "But you don't understand. Merging was the most efficient way. Alter told me himself — if I merged, my three cores would resonate fully, my cultivation would leap to the Immortal Realm instantly. That's how dangerous the abyss threat is. That's the scale we're facing."
The sisters' faces twisted, but before they could shout again, Haotian continued, voice hoarse but steady.
"…But Alter gave me a second option. This martial art. The Demon God Killing Martial Arts. And I've already seen its worth." He lifted his trembling hand, curling it into a fist. "Even with just four strikes, the power stacks — layer by layer. Each one stronger, sharper. I must continue this training."
He coughed blood, then forced a smile. "And… what you saw tonight, the state I was in — that was four months of training collapsed into a single night. Alter changed the time flow inside my sea of consciousness. If I pace myself better… reduce the time spent on each strike… the damage to my body outside will lessen."
Yinxue's eyes narrowed, but her voice trembled. "So you would still break yourself, but slower?"
Haotian smiled faintly, pain etched into his face. "If that's the price for surviving what's coming, then yes."
The chamber fell into silence, the sisters' breathing sharp and uneven.
None of them could accept it. Yet none of them could deny the truth in his words.
The chamber fell into silence. Haotian's smile was faint but steady, even through the blood on his lips.
Yinxue's hands lingered on his shoulder, her frosty aura wrapping around him as though she could keep him from vanishing. Ziyue turned away, arms folded tight, hiding the tears trembling in her eyes. Shuyue still clung to his hand, her warmth the only thing grounding him against the cold weight of his choices.
None of them spoke again that night. They didn't need to. Their anger had not faded, their fear had not lessened, but their resolve had shifted. If Haotian insisted on walking this brutal path, then they would not abandon him to walk it alone.
By morning, his body had healed enough to move. The triple recovery pills and the Undying Dragon Body Sutra had done their work, stitching his frame together though the ache still lingered in every joint. He rose, dressed, and stepped out into the light.
The sect's disciples were already gathered in the training ground, their faces pale from yesterday's fright. When they saw him walking calmly across the courtyard, their eyes lit up with relief — though worry still clung to them like a shadow.
Haotian smiled, raising a hand. "Don't look so gloomy. Your Senior Brother isn't that easy to kill. I'm fine."
The laughter that rippled through the group was weak but genuine. Relief softened their shoulders. Still, their eyes searched him, wondering, fearing.
Haotian's smile lingered, but his voice turned more serious. "But before I go cultivate the Undying Dragon Body Sutra again, there's something I need to do."
He walked past them toward the far edge of the grounds, where the cliffs overlooked the mountains. The disciples followed at a distance, whispering nervously.
Haotian stood in the open air, rolled his shoulders, and dropped into stance. His golden eyes narrowed, his fists tightening. "Watch carefully."
The air stilled.
He exhaled sharply, his chi flaring as he slammed his fist down.
First Strike – Fist of Ruin.
The air shook, a ripple spreading like a drumbeat across the sky.
Second Strike – Heaven-Piercer Step.
His body blurred, reappearing midair with a crushing kick that thundered through the valley, scattering clouds.
Third Strike – Void Fang Rend.
His clawed palm raked forward — and the air itself tore open, seams of shadow bleeding before stitching back together.
Fourth Strike – Bloodlash Howl.
He spun, his leg sweeping out, a storm of chi blasting outward. The air screamed, space itself quivering. Then—
CRACK.
The heavens split.
For an instant, a jagged line of black void cut through the air, a wound in reality itself. It healed quickly, the rift snapping shut, but the sound echoed like glass breaking across the world.
Haotian landed heavily, his chest heaving, his body shuddering under the invisible strain. He grunted, biting back the pain in his bones, refusing to show weakness.
Behind him, silence. Dozens of disciples stood frozen, their mouths open, their eyes wide.
Finally, one voice whispered, trembling: "D… did he just shatter space?"
Another gasped. "That's… that's like Alter…"
The whispers swelled into stunned murmurs. None of them had ever seen such a thing with their own eyes. Shattering space was something of myth, something belonging to the stories of ancient gods and monsters.
But their Senior Brother had just done it — with his bare hands.
Haotian straightened slowly, golden eyes calm even as the ache gnawed at his marrow. He turned back to the stunned disciples, his faint smile returning.
"This is only the beginning."
The disciples were still whispering in awe when Haotian left the training ground. He didn't linger to soak in their stares. He knew the truth — power without stability was just suicide wrapped in glory.
So he went to the bathhouse.
The vast chamber glowed faintly with the combined treasures resting beneath the pools — frost, flame, and lightning harmonized under the concealment flags. Tonight, however, there was no laughter, no teasing voices, no sisters or disciples sharing the waters.
Only him.
Haotian slipped into the central pool, the liquid qi hissing against his skin. He crossed his legs, spine straight, and began cycling the Undying Dragon Body Sutra.
At once, pain surged — the bruises, fractures, and torn marrow from his martial practice roared awake. His veins burned, his bones groaned, his flesh ached. But with every breath, the sutra's rhythm wove through him, dragon roars echoing faintly inside his dantian.
One cycle. Then another. Then another.
Golden scales shimmered faintly across his skin, rising and fading with the pulses of chi. His blood thickened with vitality, his marrow hummed, his lungs drank deeper. His broken tissues knit, faster and cleaner with each pass.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the deep hum of cultivation.
Then it happened.
On the eighty-first cycle, his body jolted — light bursting from every pore. His chest swelled with pressure, his veins shuddered like struck drums. The sutra roared within him like a thousand dragons crying in unison.
CRACK!
Something deep within him broke — not bone, not flesh, but a barrier.
The waters surged upward in a spiral of golden arcs. The bathhouse trembled. Above his head, a phantom dragon coiled, its body glowing, its claws sharp, its roar filling the chamber.
Haotian's eyes snapped open, golden fire blazing within them. His body radiated vitality so intense the air rippled. Cuts sealed, bruises vanished, broken marrow reformed instantly.
He flexed his hand — and felt it.
The Twelfth Stage of the Undying Dragon Body Sutra.
The stage of true regeneration.
He grinned, wide and unrestrained, as he clenched his fist. "Good… good!"
If his arm were severed, he could regrow it. If his body were pierced, he could mend it instantly. As long as his chi endured, his flesh would return to its perfect state.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "No more depending on pills for every wound. Now… I can rely on myself."
The waters around him calmed, glowing faintly golden as though bowing to his will.
For the first time since beginning Alter's training, Haotian felt confident that he could endure what was coming.
That night, the Moon Lotus Sect slept beneath heavy clouds. In his chamber, Haotian sat cross-legged, eyes closed, body calm. His golden aura flickered faintly, his flesh humming with the vitality of the Twelfth Stage Undying Dragon Body Sutra.
With one breath, he let go of the outside world — and the golden text appeared again, pulling him inward.
The sea of consciousness welcomed him with thunder. Ninety-nine dragons wheeled high above, their roars pounding the air like war drums. At the center, Alter sat waiting, translucent but steady, his arms folded, expression sharp.
"You're late," Alter said dryly.
Haotian smirked faintly. "I was busy rewriting my body. Twelfth stage. I can regenerate now."
Alter's brows lifted — the faintest hint of approval. "Good. You'll need it." He rose to his feet, light flashing across his form. "From the fifth strike onward, every blow tears deeper into you. Pills won't save you. Only your body's ability to regenerate will."
Haotian nodded, fists tightening. "Then let's continue."
Alter snapped his fingers. The battlefield shifted, collapsing into a cracked, barren wasteland beneath a red sky. His voice cut through the roar of dragons.
"Fifth Strike — Soulbreaker Dive!"
Alter leapt high, his knee tucked, his elbow descending like a falling star. The blow landed with a deafening boom, the entire battlefield shuddering as though its very soul had been struck. The air rippled in concentric circles, a vibration that seemed to pierce straight through Haotian's chest.
"Your turn," Alter said simply.
Haotian exhaled sharply, his muscles already tense. He leapt, mimicking the motion — and crashed down with his elbow.
CRACK!
The ground split, but so did his sternum. Pain ripped through his ribs, his lungs convulsing. He spat blood, gasping, his body collapsing to one knee.
Alter's voice was merciless. "Again."
Haotian forced himself up, teeth clenched, golden chi flooding his veins. He leapt again, slammed down again. This time the impact trembled deeper, the ground cratering further — but his spine screamed, his marrow cracking like dry wood. He roared through the pain, regeneration already working furiously to patch him together.
By the third attempt, his chest was caved in, blood pooling in his mouth — but his body regrew as fast as it broke, dragging him upright, forcing him to continue.
And so it went.
The Sixth Strike — Graviton Sever. A crushing palm strike that pinned the air itself, forcing the body to mimic the weight of a mountain. Haotian's legs snapped like twigs under the strain, only to regrow seconds later, trembling as he forced himself up again.
The Seventh Strike — Hellpulse Eruption. A punch infused with chi so dense it detonated inside him like fire. His veins burst, his skin blistered, but the sutra flared, knitting him whole again even as he roared with pain.
The Eighth Strike — Shadowbane Twister. A whirling kick that demanded impossible balance, slicing illusions apart. Haotian's muscles tore, tendons snapped, but his body repaired as he stumbled upright, forcing the spin again and again until the motion became his.
And finally —
The Ninth Strike — Demon's Jaw Crush.
Alter demonstrated with both palms clamping inward, the sound of rupturing stone echoing like bones snapping. "This one doesn't just break flesh. It ruptures cores."
Haotian's breath caught, but he stepped forward. His hands pressed together — and the backlash ripped through his arms, shattering both bones from wrist to shoulder. He fell, screaming, arms bent grotesquely.
Alter's voice remained flat. "Again."
Haotian's regeneration howled, golden light crawling up his arms as bones reknit. He staggered, blood dripping from his chin, and pressed his palms again.
CRACK!
More blood. More breaks. More screams.
But he did not stop.
By the end, his body lay broken, stitched together only by the endless cycling of the Undying Dragon Body Sutra. His chest heaved, golden light flickering weakly across his skin.
Alter finally nodded, faint pride in his eyes. "Five through nine… imprinted. Barely. You'll bleed every time you use them. But you can wield them now."
Haotian's lips curled into a bloody grin, his voice hoarse. "Good."
Above, the ninety-nine dragons roared in unison, the battlefield shaking as though acknowledging his step deeper into the abyss.
The morning sun burned through low clouds, casting long shadows across the Moon Lotus Sect. The atmosphere was tense, disciples whispering as four colossal auras descended from the horizon.
The Four Saint Dragons had returned.
Yangshen landed first, sparks cracking across his shoulders. Jinhai followed, his presence as immovable as stone. Meiyun's aura flowed like an endless tide, steady but heavy. Yuying's frost trailed last, her steps quiet, her face composed yet sharp.
Haotian stood waiting at the sect's main hall, spear resting against his shoulder. His golden eyes studied them, but he didn't need words. Their expressions told him enough — the decision weighed heavily on them.
Yangshen broke the silence, his voice booming through the chamber. "It's decided. We'll involve the Central Continent."
The words landed like stones. Disciples nearby exchanged anxious looks, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Jinhai's deep rumble added, "But whether they'll come or not is uncertain. For Emperors to act is not… normal. They do not move unless their thrones are shaken."
Meiyun's eyes hardened, her tone like crashing waves. "Which means the north and west must still prepare for the worst. Even if the Central Continent answers, they will not bear the burden for us. We must be ready to bleed."
Haotian exhaled, nodding slowly. "Then we prepare. But I should tell you something as well."
The Saints turned to him.
Haotian's golden eyes gleamed faintly as he spoke. "Alter… has begun training me. Personally. He's teaching me the martial art he forged to kill demon gods. The Demon God Killing Martial Arts."
The reaction was immediate.
All four gasped, their auras flaring as old memories stirred.
"The Demon God Killing Martial Arts?" Yangshen's voice thundered. "That… that technique—"
"We saw it," Meiyun murmured, her tone filled with awe. "When you were still a newborn, Haotian. Alter demonstrated its power. It carved heaven and earth apart. Even gods trembled."
Jinhai clenched his fists, his granite expression unshaken but his voice low. "To think he'd pass that art to you…"
Yuying's icy composure cracked into a grin, her eyes flickering with mischief as she looked sidelong at Yangshen. "Hah. Do you remember when you tried to learn the first strike from Alter?"
Yangshen froze, sparks crackling awkwardly. "…That was— a long time ago."
Yuying smirked, resting her chin on her palm. "A long time ago, yes. But the memory of you crumpled in a heap after failing miserably still warms me on cold nights."
Shuyue, standing behind Haotian, stifled a laugh. Even Ziyue smirked, while Yinxue rolled her eyes faintly.
Yangshen coughed loudly, crossing his arms. "Ahem. The point is— if Alter is training you in that art, then our chances of survival increase greatly. Even if an Emperor rises from the abyss, there is… hope."
Haotian's expression softened, but he didn't let their confidence swell too far. "Hope, yes. But I've only mastered the first nine strikes. Even then, each one breaks me apart. The full eighteen… I don't know if I can reach them."
The Saints fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them.
Then Meiyun spoke, calm but firm. "Then we buy you time. If the Central Continent delays, if the abyss presses harder than we thought, we hold the line. You train. You endure. And when the day comes… you strike."
The dragons above the sect roared faintly, as though echoing her resolve.
Haotian exhaled slowly, his golden eyes narrowing. "…Then I'll continue. Whatever it takes."