Kaelan moves through the underground treasure chamber in silence.
Layer after layer of seals open before him as his perception sweeps across the shelves, vaults, and suspended platforms. He does not linger on rare curiosities or exotic materials. His eyes search only for what resonates with his intent.
Seven elements.
He selects the best quality spiritual stones of each—Dark, Fire, Wind, Earth, Water, Thunder, and Light. Each stone is flawless, dense to the point that even ambient energy bends faintly toward them. Alongside the stones, he gathers several refined metals, each imbued naturally with elemental affinity rather than artificially infused. Some carry the heaviness of earth and gravity, others hum with lightning, shimmer with wind, or glow faintly with restrained light.
When he has everything he needs, Kaelan leaves the chamber.
He returns to his cultivation room and sits cross-legged at the centre. The materials float before him, arranged in a precise arc, neither touching nor drifting. The room seals itself automatically, arrays activating to isolate space, time, and external interference.
Kaelan closes his eyes.
This refinement will not follow the conventional path.
His spirit space opens.
Not fully—only enough.
From within it, his conscious sense emerges, no longer bound to thought alone. It sweeps outward like an invisible tide and sinks into the materials. Each stone, each grain of metal, each microscopic fragment comes under his control.
Then, at once, the materials burst apart.
They do not shatter violently. Instead, they dissolve into particles—countless motes of elemental matter suspended in the air. Dark fragments drift like shadowed dust. Fire particles glow faintly, restrained but volatile. Wind particles spiral endlessly. Earth particles hang heavy and still. Water particles ripple as if submerged in an unseen current. Thunder particles crackle with restrained force. Light particles shine softly, stabilising the rest.
The particles gather together, forming a dense cloud.
Kaelan's will tightens.
Around the cloud, runes begin to appear.
One.
Ten.
A hundred.
A thousand.
Each rune manifests fully formed, precise and absolute, carrying Kaelan's complete understanding of the seven elements. Fire does not dominate wind. Light does not suppress dark. No element claims authority over another. They exist in perfect circulation.
The runes rotate, then sink into the particle cloud.
The particles respond instantly.
They rearrange, realign, and restructure, guided not by force but by logic encoded within the runes. Where conflict arises, circulation resolves it. Where instability forms, balance corrects it.
Kaelan adds more.
Runes of calculation appear next, sharp-edged and geometric, embedding mathematical certainty into the structure. Runes of data storage follow, creating layered memory pathways capable of recording every change, every state, every transformation. Finally, runes of analysis weave through the core, granting the forming treasure the ability to observe itself.
The particle cloud begins to tumble.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Within the cloud, a shape starts to emerge.
Edges form.
Planes stabilise.
A cube takes shape—perfect, symmetrical, absolute.
The particles condense inward, layer by layer, compressing until the cloud collapses into solid form. The cube grows denser with every rotation, its surface etching itself with runes as internal arrays lock into place.
Time stretches.
Kaelan remains unmoving.
At last, the motion stops.
Before him floats a large black cube, its surface smooth yet etched with countless runes of the seven elements. Multi-coloured light pulses beneath its surface, cycling endlessly without dominance. Each pulse sends faint waves through the room, bending air, light, and space itself.
The refinement is complete.
Kaelan opens his eyes.
He rises.
The cube shrinks, folding inward until it is no larger than his palm. He steps out of the wizard tower, and the sky responds immediately.
Dark clouds gather overhead.
The air grows heavy.
Kaelan glances upward once, then moves.
Thunder murmurs far above.
Kaelan floats higher, drifting over the forest canopy until he reaches the mountain peak. Broken stone juts from the summit like the spine of the land itself, and upon it lies the weathered skeleton of a tiger, bleached white by time and death. The bones radiate faint traces of lingering will, but Kaelan does not linger on them.
He raises his hand.
The cube lifts from his palm and rises above his head.
For a brief moment, the world seems to pause.
Then the cube releases its presence.
It does not explode with light or roar with power. Instead, a deep, silent pressure spreads outward, as a thought pressed directly into existence. Its aura is heavier than any spiritual treasure, denser than authority refined through blood or inheritance.
Ripples surge through the rule network of the world.
They do not merely disturb it.
They change it.
New pathways are carved. Existing structures bend and adapt. The cube's logic, its circulation of seven elements, its balance without dominance, is recorded directly into the world's underlying framework.
This treasure is not a borrowing authority.
It is writing itself into reality.
Across the continent, those capable of sensing the rule network react.
Hidden among the clouds, Nyxarin's puppet eyes focus instantly. Streams of data flow back to him, recording rune density, elemental circulation, and refinement logic.
Nyxarin's expression darkens.
"What is this?" he mutters.
Far above, on the sky island, Nyra and Issac form the sky eye once more. The moment their gaze falls upon the cube, Issac's breath catches.
"A true spiritual treasure," he whispers.
One born not from inheritance, nor from divine fragments, but from comprehension itself.
Nyra watches silently, then speaks. "Should we ask for help from Kong Wuya?"
Issac does not answer immediately. A thoughtful expression settles on his face as he considers what such a treasure means—not only for Kaelan, but for the balance they are trying to preserve.
In her office, Isla pauses mid-motion. Daylight filters through her window, and with a simple act of will, her perception pierces distance. The cube appears in her sight, hovering above the mountain like a condensed truth.
Her eyes narrow slightly.
At her temple, the blood-bound weapon she wears—a delicate hairpin ending in a phoenix-tail needle—trembles faintly, responding to something it recognises yet cannot define.
Deep within the Immortal Volcano, Veena continues her refinement. Bone essence extracted from the five Divine Mind enemies circulates within her formation. She feels the ripple as well and opens her eyes briefly.
"My treasure must be refined further," she murmurs, sensing the standard Kaelan is setting.
Above the mountain, the sky finally responds.
The first thunder falls.
It descends without warning, a pillar of white-blue lightning striking the cube directly. The impact shakes the mountain, stone cracking beneath Kaelan's feet. The cube trembles violently, its surface lighting up as runes flare in defensive response.
Cracks appear.
Not structural fractures, but temporary disruptions in rune alignment.
Then the cube shines.
The lightning is absorbed.
Thunder energy floods inward, stripped of chaos, refined through calculation runes, redistributed across elemental circuits. The cracks vanish as if they never existed.
The cube stabilises.
The sky darkens further.
The second thunder falls.
Twice as powerful.
It crashes down like a judgment, splitting clouds apart, tearing the air itself. This time, the cube is driven downward several meters before stopping. Runes shatter across its surface, entire sections dimming under the assault.
For a breath, the treasure seems overwhelmed.
Then the inner arrays activate.
The thunder energy is seized, broken down, and fed directly into the cube's core. Dark and Light stabilise it. Wind disperses excess force. Earth anchors it. Water smooths instability. Fire and Thunder integrate the power instead of resisting it.
The damaged runes reform.
Sharper.
Denser.
More complete.
The cube's aura grows heavier.
The mountain beneath Kaelan fractures further, the tiger skeleton turning to dust under the pressure.
The sky roars.
The third thunder descends.
Twice as powerful as the second.
It is no longer merely lightning—it carries intent. The World Will press down, testing not durability, but legitimacy. The thunder strikes with such force that the surrounding forest is flattened outward in a massive ring, trees uprooted and flung aside.
The cube is engulfed.
For an instant, it disappears entirely within blinding light.
Kaelan does not move.
Inside the lightning, the cube breaks apart—momentarily.
Its surface disintegrates into particles.
Then those particles rearrange.
The runes do not merely recover; they rewrite themselves, refining their logic using the thunder as reference. The cube condenses again, smaller, denser, its glow deeper and steadier than before.
When the lightning fades, the cube remains.
Untouched.
Refined.
It floats quietly above Kaelan, seven elemental lights cycling beneath its black surface, now carrying a faint trace of tribulation within its core.
The sky falls silent.
And the world watches, knowing something irreversible has just taken shape.
The dark clouds do not disperse.
They churn.
They sink lower.
Their colour deepens, black turning crimson, as if the sky itself has begun to bleed.
The World Will is no longer testing.
It is angry.
The fourth thunder descends.
It is not lightning alone, but fire given judgment. A pillar of scarlet flame wrapped in thunder crashes down upon the cube, carrying the Law of Fire in its purest, most destructive form. Heat is so intense that space distorts and engulfs the mountain peak. Stone beneath Kaelan's feet softens, then vaporises. The air ignites.
The cube glows red-hot.
Its surface runes flare violently, fire pathways screaming as they are overloaded. Portions of the cube blacken, edges softening as if about to melt.
Then the cube adapts.
Fire is broken down.
Not resisted.
Not expelled.
Refined.
The fire-law is dissected by calculation runes, stabilised by water pathways, grounded by earth circulation, and finally absorbed. The cube's internal fire circuits deepen, becoming more complete than before.
The flames vanish.
The cube remains.
The fifth thunder falls.
This one carries the Law of Earth.
It descends like a collapsing continent, crushing rather than burning. Gravity multiplies, pressing down with such force that the mountain peak sinks several meters. The remains of the tiger skeleton are pulverised into nothingness.
The cube shudders violently.
Internal layers buckle.
Compression runes fracture under the weight.
For a moment, the cube threatens to collapse inward.
Then earth answers earth.
Earth pathways awaken fully, anchoring structure, redistributing force across every face of the cube. What should have been crushing pressure becomes reinforcement.
The cube grows heavier.
More real.
The sixth thunder follows without pause.
Metal.
Sharp.
Absolute.
A storm of silver-white lightning laced with metal law strikes, slicing rather than smashing. The beam cuts into the cube, shaving layers away, carving runes apart as if trying to disassemble it piece by piece.
Sparks scatter.
Fragments peel off.
The cube is visibly damaged now.
But the metal law does not pass through.
It is seized.
Disassembled.
Integrated.
Metal circuits inside the cube reorganise, redefining rigidity, sharpening structure beyond what Kaelan initially designed.
The seventh thunder crashes down.
Water.
Endless.
Drowning.
A torrent pours from the sky, not as rain, but as overwhelming pressure. The air fills with crushing currents, trying to dissolve the cube into formlessness.
The cube trembles, its internal balance destabilising.
Then water flows.
Circulation stabilises.
The cube learns fluidity without loss of form.
The eighth thunder follows.
Wood.
Growth.
Proliferation.
Green lightning strikes, invasive and aggressive, trying to overwrite the cube's structure with uncontrolled expansion. Runes begin to multiply, pathways attempting to branch endlessly.
For the first time, chaos threatens from within.
But Light and Dark move together.
Light prunes excess.
Dark erases redundancy.
Wood is absorbed, refined into controlled growth rather than wild expansion.
The cube survives.
The sky goes silent.
For one heartbeat.
Then the World Will truly erupt.
The ninth thunder descends.
There is no single law.
A beam forms—condensed, merciless—five elements fused together, wrapped in thunder that carries pure authority. It does not strike the cube's surface.
It targets the particles themselves.
Existence-level annihilation.
Kaelan's breath tightens.
He senses it instantly.
The cube cannot endure this intact.
Its internal structure screams, particles destabilising, runes collapsing at the most fundamental level.
He does not move.
He cannot.
Interference now would not save the cube—it would enrage the World Will beyond restraint.
This is the final test.
Either the treasure becomes part of the world.
Or it ceases to exist.
The beam contracts.
Tighter.
Sharper.
Particles of the cube disintegrate.
Chunks vanish.
Runes flicker, shatter, reform, and shatter again.
The cube shrinks rapidly, compressed to its limit, hanging together by circulation alone.
Then—
The beam fades.
Silence crashes down.
What remains is barely a cube at all.
Its size is further reduced, surface cracked, internal arrays fractured, and the entire structure is on the verge of collapse.
For an instant, it seems finished.
Then golden light descends from the heavens.
Not thunder.
Not judgment.
Reward.
Heaven-and-earth essence pours down, enveloping the cube. The light seeps into every crack, repairing, reinforcing, rewriting. The damaged arrays reconnect, stronger and more refined than before.
Some of the golden light spills downward.
Kaelan absorbs it instinctively.
His mana surges.
Refinement accelerates beyond all expectations.
82.7…
85…
88.8…
91.3…
94…
98.33…
99.91…
99.966…
99.992…
100.
His mana fully materialises.
Complete.
Kaelan looks up.
The cube falls gently and lands in his palm.
He closes his eyes.
His spirit enters the cube.
Deep within its core, he leaves a mark—not ownership, but identity. A declaration of origin, will, and alignment. The cube accepts it without resistance.
Across the world, eyes withdraw.
Nyxarin's gaze hardens.
Nyra and Issac dissolve the sky eye in silence.
Isla's hand tightens briefly around her blood-bound weapon before relaxing.
The sword holders feel the pressure fade and resume their preparations with renewed urgency.
Then—
Kaelan releases his holy spirit.
It emerges behind him and flows into the cube.
The cube trembles.
Violently.
Ripples surge outward once more, but now they are stable, absolute, embedded. The cube rises from his palm, enlarging as its structure aligns fully with Kaelan's existence.