Night hung heavy over Dustfall Village, but within the Old Dust Quarry, the darkness breathed with life. Faint trails of heat still wafted from the stone as if the mountain itself had yet to recover from Zhen Wuji's earlier transformation.
He sat cross-legged in the center of the cavern, his pulse steady, his mind honed like a blade. The air around him was eerily still — not out of serenity, but because all lesser forces had been pushed away by the silent tyranny of his presence.
His body had become a war machine. But even the finest weapon needed control.
"The body is strength. The nerves are command."
His internal monologue rolled like thunder through his consciousness. He had completed the Titan Organization — all components of his body now acted in unified synchronization. But if he wanted to unleash the full potential of his might, it wasn't enough to move in unity.
He had to move with perfect timing.
This was the fifth stage: Nerve Resonance.
He lowered his consciousness inward.
He no longer looked at muscle or bone. Now, he sought the hidden threads of will — the vast network of nerves, those invisible transmitters that delivered every intention, every thought, to the body's battlefield.
"Even a Titan can fall if its command chain is severed."
Within his mind's eye, Zhen Wuji envisioned a vast web of golden filaments stretching across his body — from the base of his skull to the soles of his feet, from his spine to his fingertips. Every fiber twitched with dormant potential.
He reached out with his will.
Instantly, fire erupted in his limbs.
It felt like every nerve was being scraped with molten needles. Even breathing became a torment. Muscles seized, then released in wild spasms. His left leg kicked involuntarily. His right arm jerked upward like a puppet on broken strings.
This wasn't just pain — it was chaos.
"Command," he snarled between clenched teeth. "I… give… the command."
His will surged like a tidal wave, crashing down upon the wild current of nerves. Slowly, painfully, the spasms began to fade. Jerks became trembles. Trembles became stillness.
Then — silence.
And in that silence, he found it.
A rhythm.
Each nerve began pulsing at the same frequency. Like strings of an instrument being tuned to a single, divine note. He called it the Nerve Symphony of Force — a silent harmony of transmission, where thought and motion became indistinguishable.
His right arm moved.
But there was no delay.
No resistance.
Just action, pure and perfect, flowing faster than instinct.
Zhen Wuji rose to his feet.
He clenched his fist — it whistled through the air with such speed that the vacuum cracked stone behind it.
He stomped — and the quake rippled outward in precise octagonal patterns, not a single shred of wasted force.
This was no longer the brute violence of raw muscle.
This was execution.
His body now responded with flawless obedience — every nerve, every impulse, dancing to the beat of his will. He had not just overcome the fifth stage… he had dominated it.
"Nerve Resonance… complete."
Suddenly, the cavern trembled.
A figure stumbled into view — bloodied, breathing hard. It was Elder Shan, again. But this time, panic filled his eyes.
"Wuji!" he gasped. "They've come! Three-Scars… they've entered the quarry!"
Zhen Wuji's eyes didn't waver.
"How many?"
"Five outer disciples. Two inner. They're looking for the 'source of the disturbance.' They… they've brought formation flags. They're sealing the canyon as we speak."
Wuji turned to the shattered stone wall beside him.
Good.
He had wondered when the world would come knocking.
He would show them the price of returning — not as predators, but as prey.
"Stay here," Wuji said to Elder Shan. "If I don't return in an hour… don't wait."
The old man opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his tongue.
The youth before him wasn't just strong anymore.
He was terrifying.
Wuji emerged from the cavern mouth into the cold quarry night. The sky above flickered with formation sigils, glowing faintly as they locked the canyon in layers of Qi-restricting light.
Three-Scars disciples stood at key positions, weaving formation arrays with practiced movements.
"Who goes there?" barked one of the outer disciples, noticing Wuji's shadowy approach.
No answer.
Another stepped forward, hand on sword.
"I said—"
Zhen Wuji appeared before him in a blink.
One strike.
No Qi. No technique. No weapon.
Just pure motion, backed by perfect nerve control.
The disciple's chest caved in, ribs snapping like twigs. He flew backward, crashing into the formation array and sputtering blood before falling limp.
The other disciples froze.
That strike hadn't been flashy.
It had been clean, fast, absolute.
"What kind of body movement was that?! He didn't use Qi!" one of them shouted.
Wuji stepped forward.
"I don't need Qi," he said coldly. "Force is enough."
Another disciple screamed and slashed out with a sword art. Blades of Qi danced toward Wuji's neck.
Too slow.
Wuji pivoted with mechanical grace — his nerves firing a thousand commands in a heartbeat. He caught the attacker's wrist mid-strike, twisted, and crushed it.
The blade dropped.
So did the disciple.
From the formation's edge, the two inner disciples finally reacted.
One of them, senior in rank, drew a talisman and flung it into the sky.
"Elder Chen will sense this signal. Even if we fall, you're dead—!"
Wuji raised his hand.
He didn't punch.
He just flicked his finger.
The talisman cracked mid-air, torn apart by a wave of pressure.
The inner disciple stared in disbelief.
"What… what kind of power is that? You're not even… at Qi Condensation!"
"You're right," Wuji replied.
"I surpassed that path long ago."
The two inner disciples charged together, activating joint techniques — spiraling flames and whirling metal blades danced around them like guardian spirits.
But Wuji was already among them.
His footwork was surgical. His limbs blurred with divine synchronization.
Each blow landed with surgical finality — elbows, knees, fists — every impact vibrating down their bones like thunder trapped in flesh.
In ten breaths, both were on the ground.
Unconscious. Broken.
Zhen Wuji stood among the ruins of the formation.
His eyes scanned the horizon, half-expecting more.
But the rest hadn't arrived yet.
He knelt beside one of the talismans, examining the rune design.
"Qi restriction, anchor binding, spatial lock…"
He sneered.
It was nothing before raw force.
With a twist of his fingers, he disrupted the runic pattern and shattered the entire formation net like glass.
From behind, Elder Shan watched with awe.
This youth — once the boy who could not cultivate — had just crushed seven trained disciples, including two Qi Condensation elites.
Without drawing on a shred of Qi.
Wuji turned back toward the cavern.
His body still hummed, his nerves in perfect alignment, his force unshakable.
But he knew this was only the beginning.
Next was the Organ Tempering stage.
The world would send stronger foes.
And he would become stronger still.
Because his path… was not made for limits.
It was built for domination.