Veena arrives at the frontline and passes directly over Heavenly City.
No one notices.
There is no disturbance in the air, no ripple in energy, no omen that announces her presence. She appears at the battlefield, as if she had always been there.
From that day onward, something strange begins to happen.
After every battle—regardless of which side wins—both sides start to notice the same phenomenon.
When the fighting ends and the corpses lie scattered across the field, a woman appears.
She comes after the clash is over.
Silent.
Unhurried.
And when she leaves, the dead are missing their bones.
Not shattered.
Not stolen as trophies.
Gone.
For the refinement of the bone mask, Veena does not need physical bones.
She needs the essence hidden within them.
The condensed history of life, strength, and transformation that accumulates in bone over time.
Days pass.
Then more days.
Veena continues her work without interruption.
The Twilight Race does not interfere.
To them, humans and demons under their banner are expendable assets. The dead already have no value, and the loss of bone essence from corpses does not weaken their armies or affect their calculations. As long as the living continue to fight, the Twilight Race remains indifferent.
But the reaction among the lower ranks is very different.
Humans and demons under Twilight's command are furious.
Their fallen comrades are being desecrated.
Their corpses stripped.
Their remains were violated.
Anger spreads through the camps, sharp and bitter.
If this were anyone else, retaliation would have been immediate.
But it is Veena.
A Divine Mind Realm cultivator.
Only another existence in the Divine Mind Realm could stop her.
And more importantly, Kong Wuya stands behind her.
Attacking her risks inviting his retaliation.
And that is a price no one wants to pay.
On the other side, the Night Dynasty's reaction is colder.
They do not care about the stolen bones.
What they care about is Veena herself.
She was once a member of the Divine Puppet Sect.
Now she stands beside Kong Wuya.
To them, she is a traitor.
Deep within the Night Dynasty's stronghold, Nyxarin's energy clone sits upon the throne. His presence dominates the hall, shadow and authority intertwining as his gaze sweeps over the assembled high-ranking members of the Divine Puppet Sect and the demon race.
His voice echoes softly, yet carries crushing weight.
"The traitor is here," he says. "Which of you will kill her?"
Silence follows.
Glances are exchanged.
Then a demon from the Platinum Tiger Clan steps forward, lowering his head slightly.
"Your Majesty," he says carefully, "killing her may draw Kong Wuya to the battlefield."
Nyxarin's gaze locks onto him.
His aura descends like a mountain.
The Platinum Tiger Clan member's knees buckle under the pressure, cracking the stone beneath his feet, yet he forces himself to remain standing, head bowed, teeth clenched.
Nyxarin speaks coldly.
"Do you think I—the God of Night—am afraid of Kong Wuya, a mortal?"
"No," they answer in unison.
But in their hearts, the truth is different.
You are not afraid, they think. But we are.
Their confidence in the Night God's strength is absolute. They believe that even the founder of the Wizard Way cannot rival a true god.
But Kong Wuya does not need to defeat Nyxarin.
If he targets them instead, their end is guaranteed.
And the Night God cannot protect everyone.
Not at all times.
Not everywhere.
The shadow of Kong Wuya looms larger than any blade, and Veena continues her silent harvest on the battlefield—untouched, unchallenged, and unopposed.
Inside the Night Dynasty's council hall, tension thickens.
A demon from the Silvermoon Wolf Clan steps forward, ears twitching slightly as he speaks.
"Your Majesty, Veena is a traitor of the Divine Puppet Sect."
His gaze slides sideways toward the elders of the Divine Puppet Sect standing opposite him, lips curling into a faint sneer.
"Then it should be their responsibility to deal with her."
An elder of the Divine Puppet Sect reacts instantly, turning toward Nyxarin with controlled urgency.
"Your Majesty, we are executing your plan. We cannot spare any Heavenly Officials to handle Veena."
Nyxarin taps his fingers slowly against the armrest of his throne.
Once.
Twice.
The sound echoes softly through the chamber.
His gaze moves between the two sides.
The demons are not wrong—Veena is a traitor of the Divine Puppet Sect, and cleaning one's own house is indeed their responsibility. Yet the Divine Puppet Sect is also correct. Their Heavenly Officials are occupied with something far more important.
Elder Zhao.
Every part of Elder Zhao's body is being refined into Spiritual-Treasure-level–level components. His limbs, organs, bones—each refined again and again as his understanding of the Law of Puppets deepens. Now, even his brain is undergoing refinement.
All the while, Nyxarin personally suppresses Elder Zhao's consciousness, preventing it from dispersing.
If this plan succeeds, Elder Zhao will become the first mortal to step into the Third Stage of Transcendence.
That alone would cause countless cultivators to flock to the Night Dynasty.
But Nyxarin does not truly care about that.
The outcome of the war does not hinge on mortal allegiance.
It hinges on him.
On whether he can defeat Nyra, Issac, and Isla.
Nyxarin's fingers stop tapping.
"Send three Heavenly Officials," he says calmly, "and two Divine Mind Realm demons."
"Take care of Veena."
The hall trembles faintly under his authority.
They bow in unison.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
As Nyxarin's energy clone begins to fade, his final words hang in the air like a death sentence.
"If they fail to kill Veena," he says coldly, "they need not return."
"Let them kill themselves."
The clone dissipates.
Silence follows.
The representatives of the demon clans and the Divine Puppet Sect exchange sharp looks, snort disdainfully at one another, and leave the chamber in opposite directions.
—
On the battlefield, Veena finishes her work.
The Night Dynasty has won this clash.
Corpses litter the ground, the air still heavy with blood and lingering energy. Soldiers glare at her openly, anger burning in their eyes as they watch her stand amidst the fallen.
Veena does not acknowledge them.
She completes the final absorption, drawing the last traces of bone essence into herself. When she lifts into the air, the battlefield is left hollow—dead stripped of what remains useful.
As she flies, she calculates.
The quantity.
The quality.
The resonance.
It is enough.
She can begin refining the prototype of her bone mask.
Without hesitation, Veena turns north-west, her trajectory bending toward the Immortal Volcano—a place where death, fire, and ancient forces intertwine, ideal for her refinement.
High above, unseen by ordinary eyes, the puppet eyes of the Night Dynasty shift and follow her path.
Tracking.
Watching.
Waiting.
The hunt has begun.
Before reaching the Immortal Volcano, Veena stops mid-air, hovering above a barren wasteland where nothing grows, and the land itself feels exhausted. The wind howls softly through cracked earth and broken stone.
She speaks calmly, without turning around.
"Are you still hiding now?"
The air behind her ripples.
Five figures emerge from concealment, their auras no longer restrained.
A woman steps forward first—a fox demon of the Blood Fox Clan, her smile sharp and mocking. She wears the robes of the Demon Temple, her eyes glinting with malice.
"Fu! Fu! Sister Veena," she laughs softly, "you chose a perfect place for your death."
Veena turns her head slightly, sneering.
As she does, her body fully elementises. Flesh dissolves into pure death energy, her form becoming unstable, fluid, and absolute. Even surrounded by five cultivators of the same realm, her confidence does not waver.
"We'll see," Veena replies coldly, "whose cemetery this place will be."
The five spread out instantly, sealing every direction.
From each of their hands, a crystal drops—five different elements resonating in unison. The crystals sink into the air itself, and a massive dome snaps into existence, enclosing the battlefield.
Space locks.
Escape is impossible.
They have trapped Veena.
And themselves.
One of the Heavenly Officials steps forward. His skin resembles red tree bark, cracked and layered, veins of sap glowing faintly beneath. His hair is made of twisting vines, and massive wings like those of a giant moth spread behind him.
"Traitor," he intones. "Surrender, and I will grant you a merciful death."
Veena's lips curl.
"Shove it up your ass."
She attacks first.
Bolts of condensed death energy erupt from her hands, screaming through the air like wailing spirits.
The response is immediate.
The Blood Fox Clan woman throws back her head and howls. Her human form collapses, fur bursting outward as she transforms into her true body. A river of blood surges forward, thick, corrosive, and alive, sweeping toward Veena.
At the same time, the Bone Mantis Clan member vanishes.
The Heavenly Official with bark skin counters, slamming his palm forward as poisonous mist explodes outward, spreading in a suffocating cloud.
Another Heavenly Official roars—this one bearing the body parts of the Armoured Crocodile Clan. The carapace on his back glows, and a massive black shield materialises before him.
The third Heavenly Official, his skin crystalline and diamond-hard, raises his arm and fires a storm of diamond arrows, each one sharp enough to pierce mountains.
Veena moves.
Some attacks she dodges.
Some she ignores.
The rest crash harmlessly through her unstable form.
Then—
The Bone Mantis appears behind her.
A scythe-like arm flashes.
It slices cleanly through Veena's abdomen, severing her body in two.
No blood spills.
No injury forms.
Her death energy remains intact, undisturbed.
Before the mantis can react, a hand erupts from Veena's back—formed entirely of death energy. It slams into the Bone Mantis's chest.
The impact is devastating.
The mantis is flung across the battlefield, smashing into the inner wall of the dome with a thunderous crash.
The blood river surges closer.
Veena's form disperses into grey-black mist.
In the next instant, she reappears behind the Armoured Crocodile Heavenly Official.
A scythe condenses in her hand.
She swings once.
The blade passes through him.
His body separates cleanly, the upper and lower halves falling apart as death energy invades the cut. The pieces hit the ground—and begin trying to crawl back together.
Too slow.
At the same moment, a vine pierces through Veena's body from below, and a diamond spear punches down from above.
Veena's form dissolves again, dispersing into mist.
She reforms in the air above them, untouched, her presence growing heavier, colder, more oppressive.
Death energy swirls around her like a storm.
It is not passive.
It screams, twists, devours light, and erases warmth. The grey-black mist that forms Veena's body expands outward in layered currents, her presence alone warping the battlefield inside the sealed dome.
The five enemies strike again, without hesitation.
A barrage of attacks crashes into Veena's form.
Diamond arrows punch through her torso, shattering clouds of death particles. Poisonous mist tears through her shoulders, corroding entire sections of her elemental body. A blood wave slams into her side, crushing her into dispersing fragments, while unseen blades carve through her form from angles no eye can follow.
Her body is torn apart.
And then—
It reforms.
In fractions of a second, death particles condense, flow, and realign. What was destroyed simply reappears, reconstructed with cold precision. There is no pain. No damage. Not even inconvenience.
For Veena, this is not an injury.
It is erosion at worst.
She raises one hand.
"Death Bolt."
A lance of compressed death energy shoots forward, ripping through the blood river and striking the Blood Fox squarely in the chest. The fox demon shrieks as her body is thrown backwards, blood splattering against the dome wall.
Not fatal.
But it hurts.
The Bone Mantis vanishes again.
Veena cannot see it.
Not even her perception can lock onto its movements.
But she feels it.
Ripples pass through the rule network itself, distortions moving faster than thought. Her awareness snaps toward the fluctuation just as scythe limbs slice downward.
Her upper body is shredded into mist.
Before the mantis can strike again, Veena retaliates instinctively.
"Death Scythe."
A crescent blade forms in her grasp and swings blindly toward the disturbance. The mantis is forced to disengage, reappearing meters away, its exoskeleton cracked, ichor leaking from between segmented plates.
Still alive.
Still dangerous.
Poison erupts next.
The Heavenly Official with bark skin spreads his wings wide, chanting as green-black vapours flood the dome. The mist carries layered toxins—paralysis, corrosion, soul-decay—all stacked together in lethal harmony.
Veena's body disintegrates where the poison passes.
Death particles dissolve.
Then reform.
Again.
And again.
The poison cannot linger.
Death has no metabolism to disrupt.
She responds by clapping her hands together.
"Death Cloud."
A dense mass of death energy blooms outward, colliding with the poison mist. The two clouds devour each other, hissing violently as they cancel, erode, and collapse into nothing.
From below, the Armoured Crocodile Heavenly Official charges.
His regenerated body is whole again, plates locking together as he plants himself directly beneath Veena. He raises both arms and braces, becoming an immovable fortress.
Veena descends and slams a death-coated fist into his chest.
The impact shatters layers of armour.
The ground beneath cracks.
But he does not move.
He grunts, steadies himself, and holds.
His role is clear.
He thanks.
Veena exhales softly.
"Death Fire."
Black flames burst from her palms and wash over him. The fire eats away at armour, seeps into joints, crawls across flesh.
The Crocodile Heavenly Official roars in pain—but remains standing.
The flames damage him.
They do not break him.
From the side, the crystal-skinned Heavenly Official retaliates.
Dozens of crystalline spears erupt from the air itself, converging on Veena in perfect formation. They pierce her head, limbs, and core, shattering her form into drifting mist.
She reforms mid-air.
Her eyes—two voids of swirling death—lock onto him.
"Death Beam."
A focused line of annihilating death energy fires from her gaze, cutting across the battlefield. The beam slams into the crystal Heavenly Official, carving a molten trench through his torso.
Crystals explode.
Fragments rain down.
He staggers, half his body missing.
But crystalline light surges.
And he begins to regenerate.
The Blood Fox recovers next.
She lets out a shrill, piercing howl.
"Blood Scream!"
The sound wave tears through the dome, vibrating bone, spirit, and energy alike. Lesser beings would have collapsed instantly.
Veena's form distorts.
Her particles scatter briefly.
She remains unaffected.
The Blood Fox snarls and follows with layered techniques.
"Blood Sinking!"
The blood on the ground turns viscous, pulling at Veena's lower body, trying to drag her down.
Veena simply lifts.
There is no weight to pull.
"Blood Corruption!"
A curse spreads through the blood mist Veena created earlier, trying to infect her internal structure.
Nothing happens.
Veena no longer has blood in any meaningful sense.
Her "blood" is death energy.
The fox's law cannot overwrite it.
Enraged, the Blood Fox unleashes her strongest move.
"Blood Rupture!"
All the blood she controls detonates at once.
The explosion engulfs Veena entirely.
When the blast clears, her upper body is missing.
Seconds later, it reforms.
Veena tilts her head slightly.
Disappointed.
The Bone Mantis strikes again.
This time faster.
Sharper.
Its scythes carve through her neck, her spine, her core—multiple lethal cuts in an instant. Veena does not see it.
She senses only the violent trembling of laws being displaced.
Her body disperses repeatedly, reforming between strikes.
But the pressure is increasing.
She cannot counterattack directly.
She spreads both arms.
"Death Cloud."
The battlefield darkens.
Death energy thickens until visibility drops to nothing. The mantis hesitates—just for a fraction of a second.
Enough.
Veena pivots.
"Death Scythe."
The blade arcs through the fog and connects.
The mantis screams as one arm is severed cleanly, death energy flooding the wound and preventing immediate regeneration.
Still not fatal.
But now the balance shifts.
The Heavenly Official with bark skin roars and unleashes everything.
Poison storms.
Spore rain.
Toxic lightning.
Veena answers with layered destruction.
"Death Bolt."
"Death Fire."
"Death Beam."
The spells collide endlessly.
Explosions rock the dome.
Cracks spread along its surface.
Inside, none of them can gain decisive ground.
Veena stands at the centre of the storm, her body endlessly eroding and rebuilding, her power vast but restrained by the chains she has not yet severed.
Her enemies are battered.
Bleeding.
Regenerating.
Still fighting.
The battle grinds on.
No victor.
No escape.
Only death swirling, waiting.
Veena fights on, and frustration slowly seeps into her thoughts.
She is stronger.
Vastly stronger.
Her control over death energy eclipses theirs, her body cannot be meaningfully harmed, and yet—she cannot kill them. Every strike injures, every spell corrodes, but none delivers finality. They endure through regeneration, through coordination, through the crude but effective advantage of numbers.
That realisation unsettles her.
And in that moment, she finally understands Kaelan's terrifying strength.
He fought twenty at once.
And he won.
Veena's eyes narrow.
"Let's try that," she murmurs.
An idea forms—clear, sharp, and dangerous.
She remembers Kaelan's simulations. The way he approached the Third Stage. The way he treated his holy spirit was not as an external projection.
Veena stops defending.
She releases her holy spirit.
The air tears open.
A figure steps out from behind her—tall, cloaked entirely in black, its form indistinct as if reality refuses to define it. In its hand rests a massive scythe, curved and ancient, its blade humming with the sound of endings.
The five enemies feel it instantly.
Their expressions harden.
Grim.
This is no longer a normal Divine Mind battle.
They press forward together, abandoning caution. Poison storms surge, crystal spears rain, blood oceans boil, scythes cut through space itself. Everything they have is unleashed at once, crashing toward Veena and her holy spirit.
Veena does not resist.
Her physical body dissolves into death mist, dispersing completely. At the same time, her holy spirit raises its scythe and releases a vast cloud of death energy that swallows the battlefield whole.
Darkness descends.
Within the cloud, Veena merges fully into her holy spirit.
The sky responds.
Far above, clouds churn violently, black and heavy, rolling inward from every direction. Thunder rumbles—not natural thunder, but something deeper, something that vibrates through existence itself.
From within the death cloud, an overwhelming aura erupts.
It is not merely power.
It is an authority.
Ripples spread through the rule network of the world, distorting invisible structures that govern life, death, and existence. Across the continent, every true powerhouse feels it.
Heads lift.
Eyes widen.
And those nearby see Veena.
Second Stage Transcendents feel their eyes sting, as if something too vast is pressing against their perception.
First Stage Transcendents scream as blood pours from their eyes, some collapsing as their vision ruptures under the pressure.
Mortals and lesser cultivators fare far worse.
Some draw their weapons and kill themselves in blind terror.
Others lose their minds entirely, laughing or crying as their consciousness fractures.
The death cloud is pushed outward.
Veena emerges.
But she is no longer standing as she was before.
She stands in her holy spirit form.
Her presence alone bends the air. The scythe rests lightly in her grasp, and death energy coils around her like a living crown.
The five enemies stare in horror.
This aura—
It is higher.
Not by refinement.
By realm.
Veena has not broken through the Third Stage.
But she is standing at the threshold and forcing the door open with sheer authority.
The Heavenly Officials tremble.
The demons brace instinctively, knowing that if they hesitate, they will die.
Veena moves.
She swings her scythe once.
Not toward their bodies.
But through existence itself.
The blade slices through the life-rule lines that bind the five enemies to the world.
For an instant, everything freezes.
The three Heavenly Officials stiffen.
Their eyes lose focus.
Their bodies collapse, lifeless, before they even hit the ground.
Dead.
No resistance.
No struggle.
Their existence is simply… cut.
The two demons react faster.
The Blood Fox screams, blood laws surging desperately as she reinforces her life-rule line. The Bone Mantis anchors itself to space itself, scythes locking as it resists the severing force.
They survive.
Barely.
But they are grievously injured, their auras shattered, their foundations cracked.
Veena does not pause.
The dark clouds above roar.
Lightning flashes—black lightning, infused with death.
She moves faster.
A second swing.
The scythe descends toward the Blood Fox.
This time, the fox cannot scream.
The blade passes through her.
Her blood freezes.
Her laws collapse.
She falls apart mid-air, body unravelling into lifeless fragments before striking the ground.
Dead.
The Bone Mantis tries to retreat.
It fails.
Veena steps forward.
The third swing comes down like a verdict.
The mantis's scythes shatter.
Its life-rule line snaps.
Its body stiffens and drops, hitting the ground with a dull, final sound.
Silence crashes down.
Veena inhales.
And immediately pulls back.
Her holy spirit dissolves.
Her physical form reassembles in its place, death mist condensing into a familiar shape. The oppressive aura withdraws as if it never existed.
Above, the dark clouds rumble one last time.
Then they disperse.
Sunlight breaks through, warm and ordinary, spilling over the wasteland once more.
Veena stands alone amid the dead.
Her breathing is steady.
Her expression is unreadable.
Veena lifts her gaze to the sky as the dark clouds disperse and sunlight returns, ordinary and indifferent. In that quiet moment, understanding settles fully in her mind.
If she advances to the Third Stage of Transcendence, the World Will respond.
Thunder will descend as a trial.
If she passes, she will stand as a true Third Stage Transcendent.
If she fails, she will die.
There is no middle path.
And now she understands something crucial—if she had cut all the chains earlier, if she had destroyed her physical body entirely, she would have had almost no chance of surviving that test. Without a physical anchor, without a true vessel to bear the pressure of the World Will, the thunder would have erased her completely.
"Thank you, Heaven," she murmurs softly. "I listened to Kaelan."
The decision becomes firm.
She will refine her natal treasure with everything she has.
It will not merely be a tool.
It will be her body.
Her anchor.
Her foundation for the Third Stage.
Veena turns her attention to the battlefield below. The five corpses lie scattered across the wasteland, their auras extinguished, their laws severed. With a thought, she draws them into her spirit space.
Since her body has fully elementised, her spirit space has changed.
It is no longer only a place of storage for soul-bound objects.
It has become a true internal void, capable of holding matter directly.
She had not mentioned this to Kaelan—not out of secrecy, but because she herself only noticed it during the long days of harvesting bone essence. The change came naturally, quietly, as if it had always been meant to be so.
With another casual motion, Veena strikes outward.
The elemental dome shatters instantly, collapsing into fragments of light. She gathers the five elemental crystals that formed its core, storing them alongside the corpses.
Then she rises into the air and turns north-west, flying toward the Immortal Volcano.
—
Far away, deep within the Night Dynasty, Nyxarin sits in his cultivation chamber, his expression grim.
He has seen the ending.
Not through hearsay.
Not through reports.
But through direct observation.
Veena has not broken through to the Third Stage.
Not truly.
But she has stepped so close to it that the boundary is already thinning.
She will reach it.
Soon.
Nyxarin stands.
He moves without hesitation, entering the chamber where Elder Zhao's body is being refined. The process is already extreme—every limb, every organ, every bone refined into Spiritual-Treasure-level components, Elder Zhao's consciousness held together by Nyxarin's will alone.
Nyxarin joins the refinement personally.
Power surges.
The process accelerates.
The Night Dynasty will produce a Third Stage first.
That is his conclusion.
A god cannot lose to a mortal.
—
In another place, Nyra and Issac pause in their refinement.
Using the divine pool's authority, they observe Veena through the sky-eye formed of divine power. Thoughtful expressions appear on their faces as the ripples fade.
They understand the limitations they face.
The Twilight Race is not a true race.
Their power does not come from cultivation, but from the divine pool.
They cannot naturally advance to the Third Stage.
Only when the divine pool is fully refined into a Divine Artefact—only when it allows the Twilight Race to reproduce naturally—will a true Third Stage be born among them.
Until then, refinement must continue.
Nyra, Goddess of Evening, and Issac, God of Dawn, return their focus to the divine pool, deepening its transformation.
—
Elsewhere, Isla, Goddess of Day, opens her eyes.
She senses the ripples.
Studies them.
Then closes her eyes again.
Whoever caused them only touched the Third Stage temporarily.
Not enough to draw her full attention.
If a true Third Stage appears, one that stands firm beneath the World Will, then she may look again.
—
And then there are the sword holders.
They gather in silence, looking at one another, determination hardening in their eyes. Their gazes finally settle on their leader—the holder of the Spirit Sword.
Ge Qiu.
The knowledge of the Third Stage did not exist before.
It appeared only after they broke through the Gang Qi stage.
They had a choice to make.
They made it.
Ge Qiu speaks, his voice steady.
"One of us must break through the Third Stage as soon as possible."
No one argues.
They separate immediately, each moving to gather the resources required, knowing what this decision means.
—
Veena arrives above the Immortal Volcano.
Heat rises in waves beneath her, magma churning, ancient power roaring in silence. She lowers herself and sits above the volcanic mouth, death energy stabilising the space around her.
The refinement will begin here.
Veena works without haste.
She draws out the bone essence little by little, each strand extracted from the corpses she collected, each fragment carrying traces of law, bloodline, and existence. Death energy wraps around the essence as she refines it, stripping away impurities with ruthless precision. What remains is condensed, pure, and cold.
One by one, the essences are forged into identical blocks.
Each block is no more than one centimetre long.
Yet each is a Spiritual Item of the Second Stage.
Dense. Heavy. Absolute.
When the last fragment is refined, Veena does not stop. She begins the second process—melding the blocks together, aligning them not by shape but by law, resonance, and intent. The prototype of the bone mask slowly takes form, invisible at first, existing only as a conceptual framework sustained by death energy and will.
Time loses meaning.
Months pass beneath the volcanic sky.
The Immortal Volcano roars endlessly below her, magma surging and collapsing, ancient heat rising in waves. Veena remains unmoving, refining, correcting, refining again. Each cycle brings the prototype closer to stability, closer to becoming something that can truly bear her body data.
—
Deep within the Tang Kingdom capital, inside a sealed cultivation chamber, Kaelan opens his eyes.
The moment is silent.
Complete.
He has finished his elementisation.
He senses it immediately—the golden chains.
They wrap around his physique, piercing through dimensions unknown, binding flesh, law, and existence together. Unlike Veena, he does not act impulsively. He observes them calmly, following each chain with his perception, understanding their function, their limits, and the authority behind them.
The World Will.
He withdraws his focus and examines himself.
Everything else matches Veena's condition.
His body is fully elemental.
His spirit space has changed, no longer limited by flesh-based constraints.
The process of elementisation has pushed further transformations forward. His spirit has reached complete materialisation—one hundred per cent. His mana has surged beyond eighty per cent, continuously refined by the magic circuits engraved within him.
Kaelan exhales slowly.
He rises and enters the core room of the wizard tower. Information flows into him at once—reports, battle outcomes, ripples across the world. He learns of Veena's fight, her near-step into the Third Stage, and the direction she has chosen.
"I need to refine my treasure quickly," he says softly.
There is no jealousy.
No anxiety.
But as the founder and leader of the Wizard Way, he wants to be first.
Not out of pride.
But because he sees it as a challenge.
He descends into the underground treasure chamber beneath the wizard tower. Shelves of rare materials, ancient fragments, elemental cores, and forbidden substances surround him.
Kaelan stands still, eyes scanning the collection.
What kind of natal treasure should he refine?
The answer will define not only his path—but the future of the Wizard Way itself.