Night fell over Vane Manor.
It was usually a quiet time. Servants scurried in the shadows. Guards patrolled the perimeter.
But tonight, there was a commotion at the main gate.
A caravan had arrived.
Not just any caravan. It bore the golden insignia of the **Alchemy Guild**.
"Delivery for Young Master Vane!" the driver shouted.
The gate guards were confused. "Master Thorne is in the healing ward. He can't receive—"
"Not Thorne," the driver interrupted. He checked his manifest. "Kaelen Vane."
The guards exchanged looks. Kaelen? The cripple? Since when did he order crates of... whatever this was?
"Let them in."
Kaelen stepped out of the shadows.
He was clean. His new robes were crisp. But the massive, bandaged slab of iron on his back gave him a silhouette like a grim reaper.
"Take the crates to the West Garden," Kaelen ordered.
The guard captain frowned. "The West Garden? That is Master Thorne's private cultivation pavilion. You are forbidden from—"
Kaelen stopped.
He looked at the captain.
"Thorne isn't using it right now," Kaelen said mildy. "He has a headache."
The captain stiffened. Everyone knew Kaelen had smashed Thorne's face into a table.
"Young Master," the captain said, his hand drifting to his sword. "The Patriarch has not authorized you to seize property. Go back to your shed."
Kaelen didn't argue.
He reached over his shoulder.
He grabbed the leather-wrapped handle of the **Nameless Slab**.
"I'm moving in," Kaelen said. "You can try to stop me. But I suggest you check your medical insurance first."
The captain drew his sword. "Arrogant trash! Seize him!"
Four guards rushed forward. They were **Body Refining Stage 4**. Elites.
They came at him from four angles. Spears aimed to cripple.
Kaelen didn't dodge.
He swung.
He didn't use a technique. He just rotated his hips and let the 400-pound iron slab follow the momentum.
*WHOOOSH.*
The air pressure alone blew the rain sideways.
*CLANG.*
The slab hit the first two spears.
It didn't cut them. It shattered the steel shafts into shrapnel.
The force continued. It hit the guards armor.
*CRUNCH.*
The two men were launched. They flew twenty feet, crashing through the wooden gate of the West Garden. They didn't get up.
The other two guards froze. They looked at their comrades. Then at the slab.
It wasn't a sword. It was a battering ram.
Kaelen rested the tip of the slab on the cobblestones.
*THUD.*
The ground cracked.
"Next?" Kaelen asked.
The captain swallowed hard. He sheathed his sword. He stepped aside.
"Delivered to the West Garden, sir," the captain's voice trembled.
***
The West Garden was beautiful.
A private pavilion surrounded by bamboo. A Koi pond. A Spirit Spring that gathered ambient Qi.
Kaelen dismissed the delivery men.
He stood in the center of the room. It smelled of Thorne's expensive incense.
"Disgusting," Kaelen muttered.
He opened the windows to let the night air in.
Then, he opened the crates from the Alchemy Guild.
**Sulfur. Mercury. Blood-Rot Orchid. Corpse-Dust.**
"Time to renovate."
Kaelen didn't use the furniture. He pushed the expensive silk bed into the corner.
He took the poisonous materials and began to draw on the floor.
He wasn't drawing art. He was drawing an Array.
In this world, Arrays were used for defense or gathering Qi. They were holy. Pure.
Kaelen drew a **Demon Array**.
*The Nine-Hells Filtering Formation.*
He placed the **Blood-Rot Orchid** in the center.
"System. Activate Array."
> **[Array Detected]**
> **[Efficiency: 300%]**
> **[Warning: Toxicity Levels Critical.]**
The lines on the floor glowed a sickly purple.
The Orchid bloomed. It released a thick, red miasma that filled the room.
If a normal cultivator stepped inside, their lungs would melt in seconds.
Kaelen walked into the center. He sat down cross-legged in the red fog.
He took a deep breath.
The poison burned his nostrils. It stung his eyes.
"Perfect."
For the **Heaven-Devouring Scripture**, pain was fuel. Poison was spice.
He closed his eyes.
*Inhale.*
The red mist swirled into his nose.
His cultivation, which had just settled at **Stage 6**, began to boil again.
The City Tournament was in one month.
The Frost Sect would be there. His ex-fiancée, Elara, might be there.
And the Vane Patriarch was watching, waiting for an excuse to crush him.
Kaelen smirked in the darkness.
"One month?"
He picked up the Nameless Slab and laid it across his lap. The metal hummed, drinking in the poisonous aura.
"I'll turn this city upside down in a week."
He closed his eyes.
The night went silent.
Save for the sound of breathing.
Deep.
Hungry.
Monsterous.